by S. J. Madill
That was it. Eight centuries of service. All the bloodshed, all the destruction. An entire life spent in the defence of her people. The things she'd done: the sacrifices, the lives. All of it, thrown away by someone else for their own political gain. It wasn't even about her.
Zura didn't take her eyes away from the Uta. She brought up one finger and touched the channel window. "Upara."
"Yes, Mahasa?"
"Cease fire. End the bombardment. Remain on station."
"Yes, Mahasa."
Qiviq's bobbing slowed. It wrapped its forearms over its mandibles, closing its larger eyes in a gesture of supplication. Varta gives mercy. Qiviq thanks Varta. Qiviq desires peace.
"Of course you do," muttered Zura, closing Qiviq's channel window.
She realised she was leaning forward, hunched over the desk. Her shoulders and neck were stiff and sore, and her knee was starting to bother her. Everything, she thought, had started to feel sore. Started to feel old.
Eve-Anara's voice came from the datasheet. She was calm and placid, her face giving nothing away. "Mahasa Varta, perhaps we owe you an apology."
Zura looked at the windows full of Pentarchs. Threnia's window was empty, showing only the background of her office. Fennin wasn't meeting her gaze. Ivenna was staring wide-eyed at nothing in particular, and Balhammis had a look of dark concern on his face.
The First Pentarch wore an expression that looked contrite, but as insincere as any of her other faces. Or, thought Zura, perhaps she herself had become too cynical about people. She'd always thought cynicism was earned; perhaps she'd earned too much.
"Mahasa, we had been discussing replacing Threnia. She was becoming angry and increasingly underhanded. We were going to offer the position to you. I suppose she must have found out."
"I don't want the job," said Zura. "People have been asking me for years. I don't know why no one will listen to me. I don't want to be a Pentarch. I'm a soldier. I do my duty. I don't want political power." Zura thought a moment, trying to remember a name. "Ask the Exile. The one who bonded with a human? Offer the job to her. I don't want it."
"Mahasa, you were our finest fleet commander. We'll return you to the battlefleet, and—"
Zura shook her head. "No, First Pentarch. You've assigned me to defend and develop this colony and this sector. Let me do that. Just give me what I need."
Eve-Anara cocked her head, looking askance at Zura. "Have the humans grown on you, Mahasa?"
Zura didn't expect that. She thought for a moment, then shrugged. "They're not as bad as I expected."
"I understand," said the First Pentarch, who paused a moment before continuing. "We won't speak of this conversation again, Mahasa. We will agree that Pentarch Threnia has retired for medical reasons. We will say that, once again, Mahasa Varta has done her duty. As she has always done. And for which we continue to be grateful."
Pentarch Balhammis nodded in agreement. Fennin gave a brief, tight-lipped smile, while Ivenna continued to be transfixed by something out of view.
"The honour is to serve" said Zura, bowing her head. She reached up and closed the channel with a touch of her finger. "Captain Upara?"
"Yes, Mahasa?" said Upara from the other channel.
"You are done at Kinnihik. Return to New Fraser."
"Yes, Mahasa."
With another poke of her finger, Upara's channel closed and Zura's office fell into silence. She rolled her shoulders for a few moments, trying to work out the stiffness. Leaning back in her chair, she let her eyes wander up to the ceiling and its featureless composite panels.
She'd never met the Exile, and in fact knew very little about her. But she did know that the former priestess had defied and infuriated the Church, and in Zura's mind that alone made her an excellent choice. She tried to remember the Exile's name.
Two chimes sounded from her datasheet. "Shin sa en-fedor," she mumbled. Leaning forward again, she poked at her datasheet.
A familiar veiled face appeared. "Mahasa."
"Four-Thirteen."
The agent's face was virtually unreadable, as always. "I understand your problems with the Uta have been resolved, Mahasa."
"So it seems."
"I regret I was unable to be of greater assistance. I was… constrained."
Zura shook her head, leaning back in her chair. She sighed. "I don't care, Four-Thirteen. What do you want?"
"It is about the hybrid child Yaella. I have found an agency that has a foster family available to take her. According to my research, they are good people."
"Good people," breathed Zura. She sighed, staring up at the composite ceiling tiles. "Good people."
"What do you wish to do, Mahasa?"
"Send me the paperwork, Four-Thirteen. I'll look at it."
"Yes, Mahasa."
Zura reached up to close the channel, her finger hovering over the control gem.
After a while, Four-Thirteen cocked his head. "Mahasa?"
Zura slowly shook her head. "Never mind that, Four-Thirteen. Send me other paperwork instead."
"What would that be, Mahasa? There is much to choose from."
Zura sighed. "Adoption."
Even under his veil, Zura could see the wide smile lighting up Four-Thirteen's face. "By your command, Mahasa. Good luck."
The story continues in the second book in the series, tentatively called Coreward, available in fall 2019.
Before Zura, there was Dillon: the events of Blue Guardian start forty years after the mission of HMCS Borealis. The story of the ship and her crew begins with Burnt Worlds, available through Amazon:
http://mybook.to/Burnt_Worlds