Blue Guardian

by S. J. Madill

"Child," she sighed. "Your parents are dead. They died protecting you."

  Young blue eyes filled with tears. Yaella tried to speak, but no words came, only a wheeze. "No," she trembled, shaking her head. "No, I don't believe you."

  It was the look Zura had expected: anguish twisting the pretty young face. The fear, the uncertainty, the despair; she knew it from all the times she'd seen it.

  "Child, I regret—"

  "No!" cried the girl. "I don't believe you! It's not true!" Tears streamed down her face, and she sobbed loudly. "You're lying!"

  "Child—"

  "Get away from me!" shrieked the girl, recoiling from Zura like she was venomous. "You're lying! It's not true!"

  Yaella took faltering steps back, but Zura didn't move. The girl turned to run, but bumped into Singh behind her. The doctor shot an icy glance at Zura — was that disapproval? — before turning her attention to the child. "I'm sorry," said Singh, wrapping one arm around Yaella's shoulders. She began to lead the loudly-sobbing child away, back toward the clinic entrance.

  Councillor Miller's voice sounded like an accusation. "You shouldn't have done that."

  Zura turned to look at the councillors. The smug disappointment on their faces melted away as they saw her. "You didn't tell the girl," she said.

  Miller resumed her composure and her smugness. "We did not. We thought it would be best to wait for the right moment. But now, we won't be able to—"

  "The right moment?" hissed Zura. "There is no right moment. There is no kind and soft way for her to learn her parents are dead. You kept it from her because you thought you knew better."

  "And you do?" Lang's drawling voice sounded like mockery.

  "Yes," spat Zura. "Now she knows that you'll hide things from her. She'll soon wonder what else you're hiding from her because you think you know better."

  "Must be nice to be right all the time," mumbled Lang.

  A flash of anger rose through Zura's chest to her face; she didn't care if it was visible to them or not. "Your task is to find her kin. When you do, I will approve transport."

  Without waiting for any self-righteous comments from the humans, Zura pivoted on one heel and climbed the stairs back up to her residence.

  As the door closed behind her, Zura cleared her throat. The look on young Yaella's face — the pain in her eyes — she could still see it. It brought her back to all the times she'd seen the same anguish and despair in other eyes. In some cases, anguish she had caused.

  Suddenly unsure how long she'd been standing inside the door, Zura walked through the waiting room and into her office. Blinking gems on the desktop told her there were messages waiting for her, but none of them were urgent. She stepped behind the desk and pulled out her chair, sitting down.

  Before she had even settled in her chair, the door chime sounded. Front door, said the display.

  "Shin sa en-fedor," she muttered, and pushed herself back up from the chair. "Door. Open," she said, in as clear and flat a voice as she could manage. She was rewarded by a chirp and the sound of the front door opening.

  As Zura stepped out from behind her desk, Doctor Singh appeared in the doorway. She was carrying a small bottle in her left hand.

  "Yes, Doctor? How is the girl?"

  "She's in bed. Or, rather, on the bed." Singh shook her head. "She screamed to be left alone, so I'm giving her a few minutes. I need to hurry back, but I wanted to come see you."

  "Oh?" Zura's eyebrows rose. "What is it, Doctor?"

  "Look," said Singh, rolling the small bottle over in her hand. "I'm sorry, I should've told her about her parents. I was told not to."

  "I see," said Zura. It was a typical enough human response, to ignore and avoid traumatic events. She shrugged. "The traumatic death of parents is… difficult."

  Singh's brown eyes studied her face. "Wait… is that what happened to you, General? You saw your parents—"

  Zura coughed against the tightness in her throat. She raised her chin a little higher. "Yes."

  "Oh," said Singh. "I'm sorry—"

  "No," interrupted Zura. "Save your sympathy for the girl."

  "Do you want to talk about—"

  "No."

  "Ah." Singh nodded, glancing down at the small bottle in her hands. "Anyway. I know pain when I see it, General."

  Something in Zura's expression prompted the doctor to continue. "Your knee, General. You don't want to show pain. I understand that. And since you won't come to me about it…" She held up the bottle. "I will come to you." A tiny smile tugged at the corner of the doctor's mouth. "You're my patient, whether you like it or not."

  "No, Doctor. I cannot—"

  Singh interrupted Zura by giving the bottle a little shake, making its contents rattle. "One pill will block pain for three to four hours. The comedown might upset your stomach a little, or give you a bit of a headache."

  "No, Doctor."

  "It's not addictive or habit-forming. Safe with all other known medication. Approved for use in combat."

  Zura could see it in the doctor's eyes: she wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer.

  Singh reached down and took Zura's hand, pressing the bottle into her palm. "It's called 'quadrileptene'," she said. "In the fleet we called it 'Fuckitall'." She closed Zura's fingers around the bottle. "Just keep it, okay? Just in case. No one knows about this." Singh looked meaningfully into Zura's eyes. "No one."

  "Why are you doing this, Doctor?"

  Singh took a step back, her hands on her hips. "Because you're my patient, General. I look after my patients. No matter who they are." She gave a slight bow of her head. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to check in on Yaella."

  Zura watched the departing Singh. "Thank you, Doctor."

  "You're welcome, General," said Singh, as the door closed.

  Chapter Twelve

  A soft chime sounded from the datasheet, and a message window appeared.

  "Shin sa en-fedor," growled Zura, jabbing one finger at the datasheet. She glanced at the wall console: she'd been reading the same idiotic book for half the night.

  Captain Upara's face appeared in the message window; the woman bowed as soon as she saw Zura. "Mahasa."

  "Yes, Captain?"

  "Mahasa, we have received a transmission from an automated mining platform in the Larinul system."

  Zura was already swinging her legs off the bed, the datasheet still in her hand. "Larinul. Distance?"

  "One hundred and sixty-one light years, Mahasa."

  "The nature of the transmission?"

  "Mahasa, the platform reported an unauthorised landing, followed by an intrusion. Transmissions then ceased."

  Zura held up the datasheet in front of her as she walked over to her armour rack. "Prepare the Kahala Hila for immediate departure. Tell the shuttle to be ready when I get there." She pinched the datasheet so it would remain open, then tossed it onto the bed behind her. Her folded-up underarmour suit was on the rack, and she shook it open.

  "Mahasa," said Upara's voice from the datasheet on the bed. "Kahala Hila could take care of this, if you didn't want—"

  "You could," said Zura, pulling the bodysuit up her legs. "But you won't. I will be there shortly. That is all."

  "Yes, Mahasa."

  The datasheet chimed again as the communication ended.

  Zura slid her arms through the sleeves of the bodysuit. The sleek black suit's seams came together, fastening themselves up her chest and around her neck. When it was sealed, the entire suit pulled itself snug against her body, then relaxed. It was much more comfortable and yielding than the evil coldsuit; designed by a soldier, not a sadist.

  She picked up her armour, swinging the breastplate shut around her. Metal latches gave a satisfying series of clicks as they connected. While she attached her arm and leg armour, her breastplate gave a series of chimes as the systems powered up.

  Pulling on her gloves, Zura thought about Upara's voice. The captain hadn't sounded disappointed or disapproving — not that it ma
ttered — but sympathetic. Upara would understand. It wasn't just about some idiot thief stealing from an automated platform somewhere. It was a chance to suit up and get away from this damned colony for a while. A chance — an excuse — to be herself again.

  Zura tapped her code into the screen on the front of the weapons crate. The screen turned blue, and she heard a series of clicks as the crate lid unlatched and swung open.

  Inside lay her spotlessly-clean carbine, scratched and scarred along its entire length. Her centuries-old partner, waiting to feel the grip of her hand once more. She pulled it out and swung it over her shoulder, feeling it latch itself to her back armour.

  Grabbing her other weapons and her helmet, Zura paused to look down at herself. She ran through the checklist in her mind. The same gear, worn the same way, as she had for centuries.

  A thought occurred to her. Something new to be added to the checklist. She stepped across the bedroom, her boots heavy on the floor, and grabbed the small bottle from the bedside shelf. Holding the bottle in one hand, she popped the lid open. A single white tablet dropped into her gloved palm. It was smaller than she expected, and otherwise unremarkable. She popped it in her mouth and swallowed; it started to dissolve on the way down. Zura slid the bottle into a pouch on her belt, and headed for the door.

  * * *

  By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, her knee didn't seem to hurt any more. She actually felt like she had a little spring in her step. Maybe it was the pill, or maybe just the anticipation of a break in the routine of this damned colony and its fussy humans. She headed out the front door into the darkness.

  Zura looked to the east, and saw the first hints of a glow in the sky. Sunrise wasn't far off. She'd been up later than she expected, reading that damned book.

  She was barely out the door when she heard the doctor's voice. "Good morning, General. You're up early."

  "Doctor."

  In the predawn gloom, it must have taken the doctor a few moments to make out that Zura was in armour. "Oh," she said. "Will I be needed, General?"

  "No," replied Zura, jogging down the steps to the ground. "Nothing to worry about."

  Singh was leaning back against the wall of her residence, her arms crossed over her chest. "In my experience, when people start putting on armour and grabbing weapons, someone has something to worry about."

  Zura was marching down the path between the houses, passing by the bottom of Singh's stairs. She allowed herself a hint of a grin. "Fair point, Doctor. But no, nothing for you to worry about."

  "Good luck, General," came Singh's voice from behind her. Zura just held up one hand in acknowledgement. Ahead of her, the empty path wound through the darkness, down to the landing pad. There was activity at her shuttle, and its lights were on, awaiting her arrival.

  No, she thought, nothing to worry about. Just some thieves stealing from a robotic station. It wasn't worth the time of a Palani Mahasa.

  Nothing was.

  Chapter Thirteen

  With her eyes closed, Zura let the universe melt away, leaving only the sounds and feelings she knew best. The distant hum of the ship's engines. The wisp of crisp ventilated air. The gentle chimes of consoles being attended by crewmembers. When it was quiet enough, she could hear them breathing. It was all familiar and comfortable. The same sounds she'd heard her entire life. The combined time she'd spent on ships added up to a lifetime on its own. The comfortable — almost cozy — certainty of routine.

  She felt it before she heard it: the barely-perceptible tingle of energy fields dissipating as the FTL drive disengaged and the Kahala Hila returned to normal space. One sound faded away, another began: the easy strumming of the sublight engines.

  The air in the control room was chilly. She'd raised her body temperature to be more comfortable on the colony, and now paid the price for it. A giant white nirval-fur cloak, wrapped around her like a blanket, kept her warm. She preferred it over the temperature control in her combat armour, which always made her feet too hot and her arms too cold.

  She heard a rustle of fabric, and an intake of breath. "Mahasa," said Upara's voice.

  "Captain?" she answered.

  "We are at Larinul, Mahasa. Proceeding to the third planet."

  "La," hummed Zura, opening her eyes.

  One patch of star-speckled blackness traded for another. The latest in an endless series of star systems, all viewed through the windows of a ship's control room.

  A sparkling point of orange light came nearer, growing into the ringed globe of a gas giant. Amid the endless darkness, planets were welcome points of colour. She hadn't seen that many orange worlds; purples were also rare. Brown and grey were the most common, with blues and greens and yellows here and there. So many other worlds, all seen through the same windows. Beautiful blue worlds, swirled with white clouds. Dull red worlds, packed with iron. Planets wreathed in flame, and black planets of cinders.

  Upara was watching her. Zura raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Captain?"

  "We've located the mining platform, Mahasa. Your shuttle is ready at your convenience."

  "La. Get us as close as you dare, Captain. Hold position and await our return."

  "Yes, Mahasa."

  Zura grunted, pushing against the wall where she'd been leaning. Unfolding her arms, she left the control room, her fur cape sweeping around her.

  She hardly noticed the walk down the corridor, the brief elevator ride down four decks, or the walk to the shuttle. The same walk she'd made thousands of times before, on warships large and small, orbiting planets both friendly and hostile. Her mind wandered as she climbed up the ramp into the back of the shuttle, automatically acknowledging the bows of Pelaa's squad. She sat in the same seat across from them; they sat where they always did. As the shuttle took off the giant Irasa fell asleep, like she always did.

  Once, Zura had looked out her window and seen an armada. A thousand ships arrayed in formation, all facing the hordes of invading Horlan. All awaiting her orders. Now, she looked out and saw their single frigate above, and a sleepy ringed planet below. She was like a security guard, come to check on a tripped alarm.

  "Mahasa?" Pelaa's voice.

  Zura looked up at the squad leader. "Yes?"

  Pelaa was half-turned on his seat, pointing out the window behind him. "The mining platform, Mahasa. The bag is gone."

  Zura got up from her seat, shrugging off the fur cape and stepping across the floor of the banking shuttle. Pelaa leaned to one side, neighbouring Nathal leaning the other way, making room for Zura to bend forward and look out the window between them.

  The mining platform was tall and thin, like a shard of white hanging in the planet's sky. It had long since been stained by the atmosphere, orange-brown shadows across its sides. Hanging a hundred kilometres inside the gas giant's atmosphere, the frigate-sized shard harvested atomically-pure 'light helium' from the planet's thick clouds. The gas was stored in a kilometre-wide bladder — the 'bag' — that hung underneath the station, waiting to be collected. But this station's bag was missing. Stolen, no doubt, by whoever had visited the station and set off the alarms.

  As the shuttle made a gentle curve around the station, its small landing pad came into view. It wasn't much larger than the shuttle itself: an orange-stained ledge sticking out from the shard's side. The landing pad swung out of view as the shuttle banked again, beginning its final descent.

  "Pelaa," said Zura. "I doubt the visitors are still here, but they may have left a trap."

  "Yes, Mahasa. We'll be ready."

  "Good," said Zura. She reached overhead, grasping a handrail on the ceiling. Once the shuttle touched down, she let go.

  When the shuttle's ramp opened, Pelaa's squad were the first out. Weapons at the ready, they deployed in formation. Zura walked out between them, pulling her helmet over her head.

  Before she reached the bottom of the ramp, she was already being buffeted by strong winds. Clouds of orange particulates hissed against her mask as the gale-f
orce winds swept by. It came in waves, with no discernible pattern to the gusts. She found herself planting her feet wide apart on the landing pad, bracing herself against the shoving gale. Underfoot, the landing pad's white composite surface was stained orange, brown and yellow. Dull-coloured silts flowed across the surface like swirling drifts.

  Ahead, the sloped side of the mining facility rose overhead, the waves of orange playing across its surface. A single door, at the edge of the landing pad, led inside.

  They couldn't stay outside. Zura reached up and tapped the comms button on the side of her helmet.

  Everything went dark, as the helmet lost power and its displays shut off. "Nsal 'neth," she hissed.

  Irasa had been right at her side. Zura reached out one hand and found the woman's shoulder. Tapping twice to get Irasa's attention, she pointed at her own head.

  In the total darkness of her helmet, Zura's breathing sounded deafeningly loud. She jabbed at the controls on the side of her helmet, but nothing happened. Muttering one last curse to herself, she took a deep breath and held it, then grabbed her helmet with both hands.

  As she pulled her helmet off, the cold hit her like a slap in the face. Sixty below, she guessed, maybe lower. The wind screamed in her ears, an unnatural howl like some tormented beast. Sharp grit lashed at her skin, and orange dust stung at her squinted eyes.

  Ahead of her, through waves of screaming orange, two soldiers were working to open the hatch at the edge of the landing pad. Pelaa had turned toward her, urgently motioning her forward. Irasa was at her side.

  Zura didn't see any reason to panic; she'd held her breath before. Wind biting at her face, she walked across the landing pad toward the hatch. One hand held her helmet, while the other reached inside, fingers searching for the controls to reset the helmet's computer. She'd long ago given up asking why the reset controls were on the inside. In eight centuries, no one had given her an answer.

  Through the stinging waves of frozen orange grit, Zura's tightly-squinted eyes caught a glimpse of light from inside her helmet as the computer restarted. She didn't bother putting it back on; Nathal and Antur had the hatch open, and the way was clear into the airlock. The soldiers stepped aside as she entered.