Blue Guardian

by S. J. Madill

  "Enough," she announced, bringing the councillors' conversation to an abrupt end. She already didn't care about cows, or wood fencing, or the large amounts of food that the colonists had to import every few weeks. "I will be making this my sector headquarters. I will require offices and residential space for myself and, in time, a small staff."

  "Oh?" said Miller, her previous enthusiasm fading away to uncertainty. "General, we don't have any space. So many things haven't arrived yet. I'm so sorry. I don't know if we can put you or your staff anywhere. There's only two units left. One for the Russo family, and the other for the social worker. They're all coming next week. We were thinking of building houses from wood, but we have no way to connect them to—"

  "The social worker's not coming," said Lang. "I got a message this morning."

  Miller looked genuinely surprised. Were the two councillors not communicating with each other?

  "Oh? Well then, General, you're welcome to his unit. It's got an office downstairs, and an apartment upstairs, but—"

  "That will do." Zura pointed toward one of her soldiers, who stood up straight. "Mahasa La?" asked the soldier.

  Zura was about to speak, but saw the flashes of worry on the faces of the human councillors. Even the silent Major Roche looked momentarily uneasy. Two words spoken in Palani, and they were nervous already. "We will speak their language," she said to the soldier.

  The soldier didn't hesitate. "Yes, General."

  "Have my things brought off the shuttle." She looked at the councillors. "Which unit?"

  "Back row," offered Miller. "Last one, farthest from the landing pad. Next to the clinic."

  "Good," said Zura. Her eyes went back to the soldier. "Have everything sent there."

  The soldier nodded and raised his left arm, speaking into the tiny console on his wrist. No need to tell the humans that 'everything' included her armour and weapons. They'd only get excited and upset.

  She turned back toward the cows. Most of them had put their heads back down, faces stuck in the tall grass. Two of them were still watching her, their uncomprehending faces stained green around their mouths. According to some of the human literature, cows were gentle, peaceful creatures. Many humans found their presence to be calming, probably because seeing something less intelligent made humans feel better about themselves.

  Zura watched the placid quadrupeds a moment, while the humans shifted uneasily behind her. Like the cows, the humans didn't understand her. They didn't have to. But it would help if they thought she cared.

  "Very well," she said at last. Her boots kicked up tiny puffs of dust as she turned to face the councillors. "I have heard a lot about 'wheat'. Show me what it looks like."

  * * *

  Zura walked along the last row of residence buildings. Her boots crunched on the dry ground, and the air that blew between the rows of buildings had been growing warmer as the day progressed. If it continued, she'd have to unpack and wear her coldsuit. She hated that damned thing.

  The residences were laid side to side like giant building blocks. Utilitarian cubes, less than ten metres a side, designed to be easily transported in a standard freighter hold. They sat on legs, each with a short flight of steps up to their lower-level entrances. Each unit was identical, with the doors and windows in the same places. A few worried-looking faces peered out the windows as she and two of her soldiers walked by.

  When she'd had her fill of the councillors, she'd ended the 'tour', commanding the councillors to come and see her tomorrow with individual reports. They didn't seem to each have specific areas of responsibility; they appeared to involve themselves in whatever of the colony's affairs interested them. She was gaining some insight into the humans' organisational problems.

  "Mahasa," said one of the soldiers. Zura crunched to a halt, turning to face him.

  The soldier — Nathal — gave a brief nod of his head. "Message from Kahala Hila. Asking if you'll be returning to the ship."

  "Probably not," said Zura. "If this planet is to be my base, I will live on it."

  "Yes, Mahasa."

  She looked overhead, spotting the dagger-like shapes of three frigates in silent formation. "Tell the captain I will speak to her shortly."

  "Yes, Mahasa."

  Zura turned back up the path between the residences. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see a few more faces peering at her from windows. It was going to take a long time to evolve their fear into respect. It wasn't necessary to do so, but in the longer term it would be more useful. But that wasn't a task for today. Right now, she still had an entire sector of space to command, quiet though it may be. She needed to make sure she could communicate effectively from this colony, otherwise she'd have to return to the Kahala Hila.

  Walking past the second-to-last module in the row, she saw it had a sign on the door. A white square with a red cross; the humans used the symbol to denote a medical centre.

  At last, Zura and her two escorts came to the final module in the row. The box was perched on steel-frame legs, looking like some awkward creature that might scuttle away on its own.

  Half a dozen steel-mesh steps led up to the front door. Zura ran one gloved hand along the railing as she ascended, trying to ignore the subtle complaints of her right knee.

  Reaching the top, a small console lit up beside the door. Palani Sector Commander — General Z. Varta, Governor.

  The door chirped at her, the console glowing green — the colour humans associated with 'proceed' or 'correct'.

  Zura turned around on the top of the stairs. Back the way she'd come, the path ran between the two rows of modules, falling slowly downhill toward the far end where the nose of the shuttle was barely visible. Beyond that, the land ran flat to the cliff's edge. Beyond that, the sea.

  The local sun was brighter than average, and the landscape was well-lit, with few dark shadows and a faint indigo tint to everything. The smell of the sea was less pronounced here, but Zura could still recognise the scent of saltwater and aquatic plants.

  At the bottom of the stairs stood her two soldier escorts. Nathal was watching her, looking up the stairs while the other — Antur — was turned the other way, casually watching their surroundings. As casually as they could be, thought Zura, wearing bright white-and-blue combat armour, with carbines on their backs.

  "Nathal."

  "Yes, Mahasa?"

  "The shuttle stays here tonight. Your squad will camp on it."

  "Yes, Mahasa."

  Doctrine was specific: on a majority-alien world, she should have a personal guard at all times. But unnecessary displays of strength always struck her as looking too much like weakness. Living unguarded among the humans would make it clear that she had no fear of them. Some of them might even interpret it as a gesture of trust or respect, which would also be useful.

  Giving one last look around, Zura pressed the door console button and stepped inside.

  As the door slid shut behind her, she looked around the entryway. There were stairs going up, and a tiny reception area outside the office door.

  She took a deep breath. The air was recycled, carrying the faint traces of composite-curing chemicals and a hint of a metallic tang. The walls, ceiling, and floors were all of textured composite panels. Soulless and brutally utilitarian, with seams and removable panels. As was human custom, each panel had a tiny yellow serial number printed on it. Presumably, an extensive and complicated database search would reveal what was behind the panel. Just removing the panel would probably reveal the same thing.

  Her bootsteps echoed on the floor as she walked through the reception area. An interior door opened for her with a chirp, allowing her into the office beyond.

  It was more spacious than she'd expected. A wide desk dominated the room, with a giant chair behind it and two smaller ones facing it. Her field-office kit had been unpacked on the otherwise-empty desk. Its smooth white cases contained all the communications resources she needed to run an entire sector of space. If everything worke
d, she'd be spending a lot of time sitting here in the days to come.

  Two more doors were at the side of the office, under the stairs. One led to a small toilet and washbasin, while the other was an enclosed space for storage.

  Zura resolved to check the upstairs apartment shortly. For now, she needed to check her office, to make sure she could govern from this room. If not, there'd be no sense in living here.

  She walked around the back of the desk, shifting the white components around on the desktop. One component held a row of coloured indicator gems; a hand-sized disc held the holoprojector. Everything came alive at her touch, giving soft chimes as they reconnected to the Palani network. Everything was ready for use.

  Pushing the chair aside, Zura began pulling rolled-up data sheets out of a white case, setting them down on the desk.

  A sharp chirp sounded from a console on the human-built desktop, echoed a moment later by a similar console on the wall next to her office door. "Shin sa en-fedor," she muttered, squinting to read the glowing text on the door console. Front door, it said in the human language.

  Scoffing, she walked out from behind her desk, retracing her steps to the front door. With a tap of her finger, the panel chirped and the door slid open.

  A human woman was standing outside the door, on the grated platform at the top of the stairs. Her clothing was sturdy and clean, but new. Her skin was the colour of yttrel, the windswept rocks near Zura's childhood home. Black hair was pulled into a ponytail, and dark brown eyes watched her from a handsome face. The human woman looked nervous, but unafraid.

  Zura was about to speak, but the human spoke first. "My sister," she said, a laugh in her voice. "She complains I'm not social enough. She made me promise I'd introduce myself to my new neighbour the moment they moved in." She extended one hand. "So… hello, neighbour. Aasal. I'm Doctor Pari Singh."

  Zura looked down at the outstretched hand, then reached out and shook it. The human's hand was soft, but had a firm grip. "Aasal. I am General Varta." She was watching Singh's face, but saw no trace of fear. "You can tell your sister you kept your promise."

  Singh smiled. "She won't believe me. It's an honour, General."

  "People in this colony keep telling me that," sighed Zura. "I don't think they mean it. They shouldn't."

  The doctor cocked her head to one side. "Is it true what they say about you, General?"

  Zura held the human eyes in hers. "They say many things about me," she said. "They are usually true."

  Singh nodded at her, looking away a moment. "Then I'm glad you're here, General. Truly." She pointed to the residence module next door, with the medical-symbol sign on the front. "I don't have a clinic yet, so for now my downstairs is my clinic. If you're living here with us, I should be your doctor."

  Zura sighed. Another human, assuming their knowledge of their own species somehow translated to all other species. "Palani anatomy is different, Doctor. I don't know—"

  Singh was already nodding. "Oh, I know, General. I've had a Palani patient before. She's become a friend of mine."

  "Who?"

  "Tassali Yenaara."

  Zura raised an eyebrow. "The Exile?"

  "Yes, General."

  So, Four-Thirteen's file had been correct after all. "You were on Borealis, Doctor?"

  Singh nodded. "Yeah. I was the medic."

  Borealis. Zura knew the name well enough. The vessel and its crew had become legends among the humans forty years ago: their suicidal mission had helped win the war. So few humans understood the concept of self-sacrifice. "Well done, Doctor." A human worthy of respect. Today was full of surprises.

  Singh took a step back, one hand on the railing at the top of the stairs. "I'll tell you a few stories, General, when you come to my clinic for a checkup." She grinned at Zura before turning and walking down the steps.

  Zura shook her head and walked back inside. Sweeping up a handful of datasheets, she headed upstairs to see the apartment. Each step brought a small jab from her knee, and reaching the top of the stairs brought relief.

  The space was cramped, but not as much as she'd expected. In front of her, a table. To the left, at the front of the module, a small sitting area with a couch. On her right, against the back wall, a compact kitchen. There were two doors in the far wall: one held a toilet and bathing area, the other her bedroom. Inside, she could see a corner of her personal footlocker, delivered while she'd been learning about 'wheat' and 'potatoes'.

  The space was lit by the glow of daylight in the wide windows at the front and back. Over the kitchen sink, the afternoon sunlight was creeping in to the room at an oblique angle, creating a patch of light across the counter and onto the floor.

  Same composite materials, same removable panels, same utilitarian labelling on everything. The humans had a tendency to put function over form in so many things; they sometimes seemed like the Dosh that way.

  The apartment was deathly quiet, with no sounds from the outside, and not even the sound of interior ventilation. As she crossed the floor toward the bedroom, the sound of her boots echoed in the small space. Even the rustle and jingle of her uniform seemed louder than she expected.

  Zura slid open the door of the bedroom. Utterly soulless. The walls and ceiling were made of beige-white panels; textured black tiles lay underfoot. A door to the bathroom on the right. A small but passable bed, a tiny table and chair, and — to their credit — a lot of storage. Near the end of the bed, along the windowless side wall, her gear had already been delivered. Her armour frame stood next to the wall, holding her battered blue combat armour with its gold Mahasa stripe on the chest plate. Next to the armour, a locked case leaned against the same wall, holding her personal weapons.

  She tossed her rolled-up datasheets onto the bed. Nudging her foot against her footlocker, she pushed at it until it was lined up straight with the bed. With another tap of her boot the top unlatched, swinging silently open.

  One box. The same one she'd had her entire life. Everything she owned, everything that mattered, in a single standard-issue footlocker that followed her everywhere. There was a housing allowance for officers — especially for one of her rank — but there'd never seemed to be much of a point in owning a house. Everything she owned fit in the box, and she'd never stayed in one place very long, anyway.

  Pulling off her gloves, she tossed them over onto the small shelf beside the bed.

  At the top of the footlocker were the blue velvet cases for her decorations. She removed the human decoration from around her neck, and put it away in its box with the Mahasa chain on top. With a touch of her fingers, her belt unbuckled, and her uniform coat unseamed itself down the front. Decorations rattled against each other as she shrugged out of her coat and hung it up in the closet, breathing deeply as the weight fell away.

  Zura sat on the side of the bed. It was much more comfortable than she'd expected. The practical-minded humans didn't usually seem to have much use for comfort — proper comfort — and whenever they attempted it, they usually wound up with something decadent and absurd.

  But this was satisfactory. She sat there for a few moments, surveying the room. The open closet door, with her uniform coat. Her gloves on the shelf. Her armour and weapons. The footlocker full of issued equipment and her few small mementoes of a life lived.

  And now, here she was. Once, she'd led a battlefleet to victory. Once, she'd done all the things that needed doing when no one else could do them. For years, she 'patrolled' hundreds of empty, abandoned worlds; she'd become the mistress of graves. Now, she would babysit a tiny group of humans. Humans, the upstarts of the galaxy, who lived fast, bred prodigiously, and understood nothing beyond themselves. This was the present to which a long and proud past had led. Just as it had for her people as a whole, now forced to ally with the humans or become extinct. Or, she thought, ally with the humans and become extinct.

  Zura picked up one of the scrolled datasheets. It unrolled in her hand as she held it, displaying lists of messages that
awaited her attention. None of them were urgent.

  A sweep of one finger dismissed the message window, revealing the text underneath. Another human book. Another attempt to understand them better. Another 'masterpiece' from the list provided by Four-Thirteen, of the current best-selling books in human space.

  Stretching to reach into her footlocker, Zura pulled a ration pack. She shifted on the bed, leaning against the headboard and swinging her boots up onto the mattress.

  Looking at the book's cover image, her heart sank a little. A ridiculous-looking woman swooning in the arms of a ridiculous-looking man. "Humans," she muttered. She slid her finger on the datasheet, turning to the first page.

  Chapter Six

  Zura sighed as she read through the reports. One finger hovered over her datasheet, ready to pass judgment on requests from across her sector.

  Request from the Dosh, to mine hydrocarbons on the third moon of Othena, in the Elesh system. Denied.

  Request from the Temple, to escort pilgrims to a holy site on Pel, in the Vur-nain system. Approved. Route to Captain Upara.

  Zura leaned back in her office chair, rolling her shoulders to work out the cramps. The glow of early morning was seeping in the windows behind her.

  The first night sleeping in a new place was always difficult. New smells, new sounds, new feelings. But soldiers rarely had the luxury of getting accustomed to a new environment. So, it was a sip from one small vial to go to sleep, and a sip from a different vial when she'd woken up. She couldn't remember the last time she'd fallen asleep naturally.

  If it weren't for the ration packs she'd brought in her footlocker, she wouldn't have had anything to eat when she got up. That was one of the first orders of business for her: order more rations. The absence of fresh food didn't matter much to her; the ration-pack binva was better than the real thing from the tree.