by A. L. Bruno
“Tuvu katru Eid?”
Roberts frowned. He knew that voice.
“Tuvu katru Eid?!” the voice was more insistent now, its timbre one of increasing panic. Roberts suddenly recognized the language, and a moment later he realized what was happening.
Roberts opened his eyes to see Adelisa standing by her bunk, a metal tray gripped in both hands and held behind her head like a weapon. She looked from side to side, fear etched across her features, while Doc Nesheim stood in front of her, both hands raised in surrender.
“Where am I?!” Adelisa insisted again.
“Hyperion,” Roberts managed, his voice cracking. “My ship.”
Adelisa’s eyes shot to Roberts and her brow knitted like a Viking shieldmaiden. “What did you do to me?” she demanded.
“Nothing,” Roberts reassured her. He pushed himself onto his elbows, his spine screaming with the effort. “We’re in my ship’s…” he frowned, realizing that he didn’t know the Tenastan word for sickbay and compromised, “... hospital.”
“Why?!” Adelisa snapped, shifting her footing to face Nesheim and Roberts at the same time.
She doesn’t know, Roberts realized. He took a deep breath, his spine lighting up with the effort, and did his best to keep his voice calm.
“We’d only be here if it was absolutely necessary,” Roberts said. “Trust me on that.”
“Ha!” Adelisa shouted, then spit on the floor. Doc Nesheim flinched. “Why would I do that?”
“What’s wrong?” Conrad called out as he dashed in. He took in Doc Nesheim standing with her hands raised, Roberts on his elbows, and Adelisa with her tray raised above her head and stopped in his tracks. “Oh.”
“What am I doing here?” Adelisa demanded.
“You were hurt,” Conrad replied in heavily accented Tenastan. Roberts and the doctor turned to him, surprised. Even Adelisa stepped back, caught off guard. “She fixed you.”
“Fixed me?” Adelisa growled suspiciously, her fingers tightening on her tray.
Conrad realized his gaffe. He pointed at Adelisa, confused. “How is she out of bed already?” he asked Doc Nesheim in Standard. “I thought she’d be down for another day or so.”
“So did I,” Doc Nesheim replied. “Guess it's her physiology working for her.”
Adelisa turned to Roberts, fuming. “What are they saying? I need to speak to the Kionel at once!”
“Damn it, I don’t give a shit if it offends them, I need to speak to her,” Doc Nesheim barked annoyed. “Engage translation!”
“What is going on?!” Adelisa raged. The soothing voice of the med bay’s translation system kicked in, and her words repeated in Standard. Adelisa turned, confused. “And what is that?”
“It lets me speak with you,” Doc Nesheim replied. “And you were wounded. We repaired the damage, but you need to lie down to rest. Now.”
“What wounds?” Adelisa demanded, her panic rising. “What am I doing here? What happened?”
Conrad and Nesheim looked at each other, then at Roberts. Finally, Conrad turned back to the doctor and shrugged. “You want to tell her, or should I?”
Nesheim offered Conrad an are-you-kidding look and moved towards Adelisa slowly.
“Please, Adishta,” Roberts said. “We’re trying to help.”
Adelisa glanced at Roberts, Conrad, and Doc Nesheim, and finally, slowly, she lowered the tray.
“Very well,” Adelisa said, composing herself. “What is it that you want to tell me?”
Doc Nesheim just patted the bed and smiled.
T.S.S. Hyperion
Medical Bay
23 December 2356
20:00
The lights dimmed in the med bay as soon as the ship’s bells rang four times, pausing between each set of two.
Adelisa sat up, looking around the room, her eyes wide. “What’s that?”
“End of the second dog watch,” Roberts explained tiredly. “It means it’s the beginning of shipboard night.”
Doc Nesheim and the exec had departed hours ago, leaving only after they’d assured each other that, yes, this time they really would sleep. They left Roberts and Adelisa alone in the bay, monitored by the med AI and the dogwatch med techs. Within moments the room went from cacophonous arguments to near silence, the chirping of the med monitors the only sound in the room.
Adelisa eased back, her muscles as tense as woven armor. “Night?” she finally managed. “You have night on a spaceship?”
“We’re still human,” Roberts replied. “Gotta take care of the meat.”
Adelisa stared at him, baffled. “What does this have to do with food?”
“I really need to stop using idioms with you,” Roberts grumbled. He rolled over onto his side and grunted. Lightning strikes of pain shot down his spine and across his torso, and the back of his eyes lit up with internal fire. “Never mind,” he managed, determined not to show his discomfort in front of her. “Get some rest.”
Adelisa didn’t reply. Instead, he heard her shift, and eventually—mercifully—she settled. The only sounds in the bay were those of creaking valves, chirping med sensors, and the constant rumble of Hyperion’s powerplant rattling through the deck plating.
The ship’s bell struck once, its chime an anachronistic splash of warmth in the sterile environment.
Roberts sighed, sleep evading him. He played the attack over and over in his mind, determined to remember something—anything—that would help him understand why this had happened. Instead, he found himself returning to the same three questions. Where was Jagrav? Where were his people? And how could they have been caught so completely off guard?
Roberts shifted without thinking and his spine sparked again. He grunted, the sound echoing across the space.
“What’s wrong?” Adelisa asked. Her voice made it clear that she was nowhere near sleep either.
“Just my back,” Roberts replied. “It’ll be fine.”
Adelisa didn’t reply.
Roberts shifted gingerly, determined not to hurt himself again, but his back would not cooperate. Heat like a welding torch ripped across his shoulders, and his spine lit up as if he were plugged into a power socket. He nearly screamed but instead bit his inner cheek to keep from groaning aloud again. The pain soon passed, and he breathed out, the taste of blood in his mouth.
“Commander?” Adelisa asked softly.
“Yes, Adishta?” Roberts replied.
“Please thank your people for saving my life,” she said. She shifted in her bunk and within minutes was asleep.
Roberts rolled onto his back as gently as he could, looked up at the pipe and cable-laden ceiling above him, and smiled. “No problem,” he muttered, his voice weak. As if on cue his nanos hit their scheduled med period and he was out, his consciousness turned off as if by the flick of a light switch.
T.S.S. Hyperion
Medical Bay
24 December 2356
05:30
“Something’s happening.” Doc Nesheim’s voice greeted Roberts as he awoke. In the distance, the ship’s bell rang three times. “Captain wants you both up and presentable,” she continued. “Time to get your ass outta bed.”
“Why?” Roberts asked, grimacing at the taste of the hydration fluids in his mouth. “What does she need us for?”
“If I knew that I’d be the captain,” the Doc grumbled in return. “Get showered. I’ll take care of the princess.”
Roberts had learned long ago not to cross Doc Nesheim, so he eased himself out of bed and hobbled to the med bay’s shower pods, each step agony. The water pounding down his back left him in tears, but he bit his hand against his own sobs, determined not to frighten Adelisa. When he finally returned to the med bay, his new bag draped over his frame, he quietly wondered whether he would ever walk without pain again.
“Where are my clothes?” Adelisa demanded. Her medical smock clung to her figure, affixed there by the moisture of the shower, while her damp hair lay plastered down her back.
The voice of the translator echoed her words across the room in response.
Doc Nesheim just chuckled. Some color had returned to her skin, Roberts noticed, but the bags beneath her eyes still squatted like untrustworthy tenants.
“Believe me,” Nesheim replied, “you wouldn’t want them any longer.”
“And why should I believe you?” Adelisa challenged as soon as the translator finished its job.
“Because she saved your life,” Conrad replied as he strode into the med bay, his Tenastan so deeply accented as to be barely intelligible. Like Nesheim, the exec looked freshened, as if he, too, had managed some rest.
Adelisa, frowned, working over the exec’s words in her mind. “Yes,” she conceded, “of course.”
“Now that we’ve got that settled,” Doc Nesheim said, “let’s get you into some clean clothes.” Adelisa nodded in agreement as soon as the translator had finished its duty and they both walked to the shower bay beyond.
Roberts turned to Conrad, the movement making him flinch. “What the hell is going on?”
Conrad sighed, then filled him in. It didn’t take long. The combat drop that retrieved them both made Roberts cringe, as did the stories of the marines being assaulted on the surface. In both cases, however, he understood and agreed with the decisions. Those were tough calls, Roberts thought, but the right ones. It was only when Conrad told him of the captain’s speech to the planet below that Roberts actively fought back a groan.
“What the hell was she thinking?” Roberts hissed, quieting his anger lest Adelisa overhear.
Conrad’s expression hardened, and Roberts expected the by-now standard reminder that Boothe was his captain and that he should mind his tone. Instead, the exec blew out an exasperated sigh. “It gets worse. All of the networks are gearing up for a planet-wide broadcast.” Conrad sighed. “From the Kionel.”
Roberts recoiled. “Holy shit,” he blurted. “That’s—”
“Extraordinary, I know,” Conrad finished for him. “First time in eight years, according to Malley.”
Roberts’ skin went cold. “She wants to trot us out like props,” Roberts realized, horrified.
“Yep,” Conrad replied. “She wants to show that you’re both alive, conscious, and doing well. To prove that we’re trustworthy.”
“I was already gaining their trust!” Roberts snapped. “And I didn’t have to steal a member of the Kionelaite to do it!”
“You sure about that?” Conrad gently countered. “You did a helluva job, kid. Honestly, I see that third stripe on your shoulder during the next promotion boards because of this. But everything you did, all that you knew, and it still nearly got you killed.”
The blade struck, Adelisa doubled over, there were screams…
“No,” Roberts replied, frowning. He blew out an exasperated breath. “That’s not what happened.”
Conrad’s face hardened, and he leaned in close. “Then tell me what did.”
“I want to see.”
Adelisa’s voice echoed across the med bay like a queen announcing her entrance to court. Roberts and Conrad turned to find her bedecked in a clean new bag, her hair pulled back in a long ponytail. Her cheeks were pink and healthy, her eyes bright, and a thin line of freckles—usually hidden by a layer of carefully applied makeup—arced over her nose. Roberts realized that he’d never found Adelisa attractive until that moment.
“What do you want to look?” Conrad asked slowly in Tenastan, struggling with the words.
“What do you want to see?” Roberts corrected quickly. He shot a quick glance at Conrad. “Malley helping you with the language?” he whispered. The exec nodded cheerfully.
“If I’m in space,” Adelisa said carefully, “I want to see my world.” She raised her chin imperiously. “I believe that this is not too much to ask.”
Conrad and Roberts turned to each other, eyebrows raised.
“Observation Bay Two,” Conrad said, thinking aloud. “No obstructions. She’d get a great view of the planet.”
“She wants to show that you’re both alive, and conscious.” Conrad’s words echoed in Roberts’ mind.
“No,” Roberts replied, grinning. “I have a better idea.”
37
T.S.S. Hyperion
Medical Bay
24 December 2356
06:10
Adelisa gazed in wonder the moment that she, Roberts, and Conrad stepped onto Hyperion’s bridge. The command center’s lights were still low. Shipboard dawn was fifty minutes away, so the entire deck was painted in the neon blues and greens of the station’s holo displays. The crew were busy attending to their duties. In front of it all, the nighttime bulk of Phelspharia floated below.
“Signals, how much longer?” Boothe barked from her command chair. She stared ahead, her eyes fixed on the planet, oblivious to the dignitary in her midst.
Okoro didn’t respond. He stared back at Adelisa, starstruck, his mouth hanging open. Fortunately, Adelisa didn’t notice. Instead, she stared ahead, eyes locked on the plasteel windows.
“Signals,” Boothe snapped, turning her chair to face Okoro. “I asked you a question.” She followed Okoro’s gaze to Adelisa and Roberts standing by the bridge hatch; conspicuous irritation crossing her face.
“Exec,” Boothe said, her voice ice. “I see you’ve brought guests.”
“Adishta Adelisa asked to see her world,” Conrad replied, his voice carefully neutral.
“There are observation bays better suited for that,” Boothe replied, an uncharacteristic quaver in her voice.
“But this tells her a lot more about us, ma’am,” Roberts replied. He offered his commanding officer an equally hard stare.
Boothe’s hand twitched, and Roberts knew that in any other circumstance he would have found himself in the brig. Instead, Boothe forced a mirthless smile. “Indeed,” she finally managed. She stood and placed both her hands behind her back. “Welcome to Hyperion, Adishta Adelisa,” Boothe said. Her tone was that of a seasoned diplomat greeting a dignitary. “Would you like a tour?”
The bridge’s translation circuits finished their duty, but Adelisa did not answer. She stepped forward, transfixed as Phelspharia’s sun burst across the planet’s bulk, the day-night terminator sliding into view.
“It’s so fragile,” she whispered.
Boothe’s eyebrows raised. She stepped away from her chair and moved between the cramped consoles towards her guest.
“That’s why we’re here,” Boothe explained. “That’s why we travel, because we know how precious our worlds really are.”
Adelisa didn’t answer. She just stared silently out at her home as its seas glittered under a canopy of starlight.
Boothe stepped beside Adelisa and cast her gaze to the planet below. “I understand,” she finally said. “You’re never the same after you see your home from space.”
Adelisa edged forward, stopping just behind the captain’s chair, her eyes locked ahead as daylight crept across the surface of the world below.
Boothe turned to face Roberts. Her diplomatic bearing evaporated, replaced by a displeased commanding officer.
“I see you’re recovered,” Boothe said to Roberts. She moved to his side. “We will have words about this later,” she whispered, her voice promising a buffet of pain.
“Yes,” Roberts replied, his tone equally hard. “We will.”
Boothe shot him a surprised look, but Roberts paid it no attention. Instead, he watched enrapt as Adelisa saw sunlight spread across her world for the first time, and he envied her the moment.
“Captain!” Okoro suddenly called out. “Planetary networks report that the speech is about to begin.”
Boothe turned to Conrad, furious. “Get her off my bridge!” she whispered, careful to keep her voice below the translator’s threshold. She turned back to Adelisa, a strained smile on her face. “Adishta Adelisa—” she began.
“What speech?” Adelisa asked, turning back from the captain’s chair. Behind her, Phe
lspharia’s oceans burned bright blue in the black, their reflected light surrounding her with a soft halo.
Boothe stiffened, ready to reply, but Okoro spoke up instead.
“He’s on, ma’am,” Okoro said.
Boothe closed her eyes and lowered her head, but she didn’t speak, intent on maintaining her composure.
“What. Speech?” Adelisa demanded, her tone iron.
Boothe straightened, resigned, and sighed. “This one,” she finally replied. “Let’s see it, Chief.”
“That’s not an answer!” Adelisa snapped.
The light on the bridge changed the moment the transmission was displayed in the SIGINT holotank. The electric hues of the ship’s command screens gave way to the earthy tans and browns of the Kionel’s palace media room, while the white of the Kionel’s hair lit every distant corner of the command deck.
Adelisa stepped away from the command chair, stunned. “He’s speaking?” She glared at Roberts. “When were you going to tell me?”
“I just found out a few minutes ago,” Roberts answered. He offered Boothe an accusatory look. “That’s why I brought you here.”
Boothe glared at Roberts but said nothing.
The bridge speakers hissed, and Phelspharia’s Great Mediator spoke.
“My people,” the Kionel began. Roberts squinted, listening to the words as the older man spoke them, anxious to avoid the translation. “I come to you today in sorrow, in anger, and in hope.
“Yesterday, a madman with an agenda borne of ignorance and hatred struck my granddaughter down during the Nadala Somfar in the tenali of Saranatari.” The Kionel’s bearing was measured and steady. “The attack was brutal, and its intent was clear. This man wanted a member of my line dead, and he was willing to die in order to accomplish his nefarious goal.”
Boothe turned to the Kionel, surprised, and Roberts frowned. Willing to die? he thought. The glint of the blade in the crowd, the shrieks of fear, and the blood on the cobblestones flashed through his mind, but nothing else.