by S. J. Madill
After half an hour of speeches and handshakes and forced good cheer, the last of the dignitaries had left the ship to the sound of the bosun's pipe. Kalla had agreed to stay behind with a minimal crew, guiding a few tours as part of the goodwill visit.
The last of the pipe's shrill notes faded and Dillon gave the order to prepare for shore leave. Within five minutes, the entire debarking ship's company was assembled in the companionway, in uniform or in civilian clothes, with packs or without.
He'd changed out of his dress uniform and carried his overnight bag. Amba was already there, white boots and short robes over her coldsuit and carrying a small satchel. Dillon gave the crew a final once-over before giving the order to dismiss them. As one, they charged past him and out the airlock, into the station beyond.
"Shall we?" he said to Amba, as the last of the crew surged by. He offered a bent arm toward her.
She smiled at him, threading her white-gloved arm through his. "We shall," she said, walking with him through the airlock.
From the crowded, chaotic bustle in the station's docking corridor, the Chief's loud voice called out above the mob. "Holy fuck yes!"
Dillon steered himself and the Tassali through the crowd, threading their way toward the excited Chief Black. She had grabbed an officer, pinning the woman's arms to her sides in a bear hug. When she saw Dillon approach, she set the officer back down.
The officer was short, with black hair in tight curls. She snapped to attention and saluted, a broad grin on her face. "Commander Dillon, sir."
He returned the salute. "Lieutenant Atwell. What luck, finding you here."
Atwell laughed, feigning surprise. "I know, sir. What an amazing coincidence, being here when the Borealis docked." She gave Amba a respectful bow. "Tassali ma'am, nice to see you."
"And you as well, Lieutenant. I have missed you, as have the crew."
"This is bullshit," said Chief Black through her laughter. She pointed an accusing finger at Dillon. "Surprise, my ass. You did this."
Dillon shrugged. The smile on Black's face was worth it. "I regret nothing," he said. A ship on a goodwill gesture wasn't a secret — quite the opposite, in fact — and their delay at Rubicon station gave civilian ships plenty of time to get to Earth ahead of them. "So," he said, "where will you two be headed?"
The Chief tilted her head a moment as she looked at him. "Captain," she said, "you sure you won't need us?"
"Positive." He knew that if she had the faintest idea of their real mission here — or if he even suggested it — she would have eagerly stayed nearby, in case she was needed.
Black turned to Atwell, her hand holding the Lieutenant's shoulder, her smile spreading across her face. "I was thinking about Oktoberfest. The real thing, in Munich. If we leave right now, they might have beer left when we get there. Want to go?"
"I'm game," said Atwell. Turning toward Dillon, she asked, "With your permission, sir?"
"Happily granted," said Dillon. "Get going, you two."
Turning away, Dillon moved through the crowded docking ring, Amba's arm still locked in his. Surprised people moved aside, or just stared, as the human commander and the Palani priestess walked through the crowd, making their way toward the planetside shuttles. "Look at their reactions," said Dillon. "There's no way a Palani could move around without being noticed."
"He's a smart boy," said Amba, smiling at a staring child as they passed. "He will have thought of something."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Elan sat on the floor of Heather's room, his back against the paint-spattered wall. He took a long breath, then another, focusing his thoughts on warm breezes and the gentle, spreading heat of an imaginary campfire. Maintaining his body temperature at 30C had been easy enough, provided he had the time each day to sit and meditate. Good sleep was essential; with his body less efficient at moving oxygen at higher temperatures, he needed to conserve his energy. He'd heard that the exiled Tassali who now lived among the humans — Yenaara was her name — had medication that allowed her to raise her temperature to that of a human. Apparently she could live without a coldsuit for days at a time. He hoped she'd received his message and had understood it. If she had, then by this time tomorrow he might be on his way back to the homeworld, Palani Yaal La. With Heather.
His thoughts derailing, Elan opened his eyes. The room was dark, the window-shades closed against the late morning light. Heather lay on the bed nearby, splayed across the mattress with magnificent abandon. One foot lay over the end, one arm over the side, and her face down into the pillow, the soft sounds of snoring muffled into the cloth-covered foam. Her bedsheets were wound tightly around her torso and one leg, leaving the rest of her uncovered.
Was it just that she was the opposite of everything he'd known? Was it just the novelty of it all? It had only been two weeks since he'd arrived, and he'd been away for part of it. That tightly-wound bundle of human emotions drew him in, compelled him, but if someone asked him what it was specifically, he wouldn't be able to answer.
And as much as he wanted her to come with him to Palani Yaal La, what life awaited her there? As the humans would say, the tables would be turned. Instead of him being the sole alien on a world full of strangers, it would be her. The Pentarch would never permit her to stay, let alone stay as his bondmate. He was the Elanasal Palani, the one they had created. He was not intended to have a bondmate, let alone one who was an alien.
Heather's long snore truncated into a snort. She shoved her face against the pillow, moving her head. He couldn't see her eyes in the darkened room, but was sure they were fighting against inertia to pry themselves open.
"Good morning, Heather."
"Mmmf," she snorted into the pillow. She paused a moment, then shifted her head and tried again. "Hey," she croaked. "You watching me sleep?"
"I was meditating," he said.
"Meditating? You too hot?"
"I am comfortable," said Elan. "How about you? Are you feeling well?"
"Dunno yet," she mumbled. "Think so." Taking a deep breath, she grunted and began to swing her legs toward the side of the bed, kicking to untangle herself from the sheets and sit up. Bending forward, one hand reached for the datapad on the floor while the other played with her tangled hair. "Any news?"
"I saw Carter out in the kitchen," said Elan. "He did not know I had returned, and seemed surprised by my presence. Unhappy about it, too, although he pretended to be friendly."
"Well," said Heather, "that's Carter."
"He went into his room and shut the door. I do not think he has been out since."
Heather glanced at him, then shrugged and went back to her datapad. "When the world doesn't do everything he wants, he gets sulky. Screw him."
"Ah," said Elan. One more day and it wouldn't matter, but Carter remained the only regret about his stay on Earth. The young man was, in many ways, the closest to the human values that the Pentarch had warned him about. It would have been nicer to leave with the impression that the Pentarch was wrong, and all humans were friendly and civilised, but that was unrealistic.
"Hey," said Heather, "It says here that HMCS Borealis is visiting Earth for a goodwill visit. It's docked at Unity Station." She looked over at him, her brows pulled slightly together. "Isn't that the ship with the guy who married the exiled Palani priestess, or bishop, or whatever?"
Elan sighed, a grin forming in the corners of his mouth as he relaxed. "It is. I am glad they are here. I hope it means they got my message."
"I knew it," said Heather, pointing the datapad at him. "They sent a battleship here because of you, and it's all part of your plan. You're going to meet Commander what's-his-name and the bishop, and get them to take you home."
"It is the best plan I could think of," said Elan. "And I had a lot of time to think about it. I couldn't assume I would find allies here. Of all the people in human space, I could trust Commander Dillon and Tassali Yenaara to be the most sympathetic."
"So what happens next?" asked Heather. "
Do you just go up to Unity Station to tour the ship, then stay on it?"
Elan shook his head. "No, there would be too many people around, and I couldn't assume they would be friendly. If my presence became public, it would embarrass my government. Better to meet when it's just her and me."
"So you've thought this through," said Heather. She was still playing with her chaotic hair, scratching her head.
"I have," said Elan. He watched Heather's face, and saw her lips twist to one side for a moment. She was probably thinking about the same things he was, about what would happen if she came with him. "Heather," he said. "I would like you to come back with me. But I know it might be difficult. I understand if you don't—"
"No, no, it's not that," she said. She pursed her lips and tilted her head to one side, her eyes going to the wall opposite her. "Look, I… it's really happening fast, you know? I was hoping I'd have more time to think about it."
"I know," said Elan. His voice came out quieter than he'd expected and he felt a tightness pulling at his throat. "And it's not fair to you. I'm sorry."
"Don't be," she said. "It's partly me. I've spent years searching for something, and afraid I wouldn't find it. Now I'm scared that I actually have found it, and if I'm too chickenshit to hold on, it might get away."
"Chickenshit?" said Elan. Every time he thought he'd developed a decent grasp of English, something new came along. Some new slang, usually involving body functions.
"Cowardly," said Heather, a soft snort of a laugh coming from her. "Sorry. I should be more clear." She glanced down at her datapad, where a blinking window had popped up. "I just thought I would have a few days to think about…"
"Just hours, I guess," said Elan. "I'm—"
"Jesus fuck!" cried Heather, standing up. She read the datapad again, her eyes widening. Even in the gloom of the darkened bedroom, Elan could see the flush coming to her face and neck. "Breaking news," she read, her voice shaking. "Palani youth living secretly in Rockcliffe area of Ottawa, unknown to authorities. CBC to report live from the scene." She stared at Elan, her mouth silently forming words.
The bottom fell out of Elan's stomach. "I was wrong, then. Not hours, just minutes." He felt a flush of anger grow in his chest, followed by disappointment and frustration. He pushed against the wall to get to his feet. "I'm going to go pack. You should too, if…"
But Heather had already stormed by him, still in her underwear, headed out the bedroom door with the datapad in her hand. Elan followed her into the hall, turning toward the small room he'd been using. He left the door open as he quickly put his few things in his satchel. He'd known this time would come, but had hoped it would be tonight, on his own terms. Now he would have to improvise. He began to wonder where he had gone wrong, how he had been identified.
Heather was in the room next door, but her shouting filled the apartment. "What the fuck, Carter? You sold him out, didn't you?"
Elan couldn't see Carter, but he heard the man's voice. "It's for the best," said Carter. He didn't sound apologetic. "I'm doing what's best for him, and for you. You'll understand someday—"
"Who the fuck let you choose what's best for everyone, Carter?"
"I know you're upset, Heather, but—"
"You're goddamned right I'm upset, you sack of shit! I'm—"
All the voices went silent, and Elan's heart seemed to stop in an icy chill, as the sound of the door chime rang throughout the apartment.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
In the glare of the sun, Dillon squinted at Amba, his hand shading his eyes. "How's your coldsuit holding up?"
She was a vision of blue and white, her tiara sparkling in the sunlight. She turned toward him and smiled, but it stopped just short of her eyes. He could see the discomfort written on her face. "Could we find shade, Feda? I fear I am asking too much of my coldsuit."
"Of course," said Dillon, leading the way north across the wide green lawn. Ahead of them, the Houses of Parliament stretched across the top of the hill, dominated by the thin sandstone spire of the Peace Tower. Other regions of the city were shaded by the giant parasol-like structures that unfolded over the skyline, but there were none on Parliament Hill.
He slowed his walk to Amba's pace. Once the sun had come out, she had begun to wilt. Initially, he'd suggested staying to indoor sites, but she'd insisted they make the visit.
Few people were about; it was mid-morning on a weekday, so most of those on Parliament Hill worked there. All the same, several people had approached the two of them. Naval uniforms were nothing new to Ottawa, but a Palani Tassali was. She handled each person they met with her usual calm grace. Dillon felt stiff and awkward when trying to make small talk. A few civilians had given decidedly unfriendly looks, he'd noticed, but that was to be expected. Relations with the Palani continued to deteriorate, and there were always those unable to see past the white skin and blue hair. It was just as well that Chief Black hadn't come with them; one nasty look from a civilian, and she would've had them doing pushups amid a colourfully-delivered tirade. She took care of her own, that one.
Walking under the archway at the base of the Peace Tower, Amba headed for a stone bench and sat down. The security guards at the doors to Parliament were busy with a tour group, but one of them nodded their way. Dillon returned the gesture before sitting next to Amba.
She was taking deep breaths, inhaling slowly and exhaling quickly. Her face was shining as she turned toward him. "I'm fine, Feda. Just a bit warm."
"Then let's stay here a moment."
"Yes, please."
Dillon watched her eyes look up at the sculpted stone arches that supported the tower. The pained expression on her face dissolved into her public smile as a security guard approached them. "Excuse me, sir," said the guard. He had the bearing of someone who had been in the military, and seemed for a moment like he was about to come to attention. "Are you Commander Dillon from the Borealis, sir?"
"I am," said Dillon, standing up and reaching out his hand.
The guard grasped Dillon's hand in a firm handshake. "I am honoured to meet you, sir." He gave a slight bow of the head to the seated Tassali. "Your worship, ma'am." He was still shaking Dillon's hand. "Name's Owens, sir. I was aboard Bonaventure at the jumpgate. You — both of you — and your crew saved all of us. Thank you."
Keeping a smile on his face, Dillon cringed on the inside; he hated being singled out. Like everyone else in the fleet, they'd just been scrambling like mad to stay alive. It hadn't felt heroic at the time, and certainly not now. "It was a team event, Owens. We were doing our jobs, just like you. Glad you're in one piece."
With one last shake, the guard let go of Dillon's hand and motioned toward the doors of Parliament. "Sir, I'd be honoured to give the two of you a tour."
Dillon turned back to ask Amba. Her eyes were losing their sparkle, her lids heavy, and her shoulders were beginning to slump. When she saw him looking, the tight expression in her face changed into a smile.
"You know what, Owens?" said Dillon. "I think the heat is getting to the Tassali. We should've come in January, when it's more her kind of temperature."
"Oh," said the guard, his smile fading. "I understand, sir. Is she unwell? Is there anything I can do?"
"Could you call a car for us, Owens? An air-conditioned one?"
"Of course, Commander. Right away, sir."
As Owens turned away and climbed the stairs, Dillon sat down next to Amba.
"I'm sorry, Feda," she said. "The coldsuit can't do it. I should've brought the armband."
"Doesn't matter," said Dillon, taking his datapad out of his coat pocket. "We'll come back another time. Right now, the most important thing is that we be ready for the meeting tonight." He read the notifications that were popping up on his datapad. "Oh, goddamn," he breathed.
Dillon glanced up as Amba turned her head toward him. Behind her, a self-driving government car was coming up the long, curving avenue. "Feda?" she asked.
He turned the datapad toward he
r. "Cat's out of the bag."
She stared at him.
"The secret is out," he corrected. "The media knows there's a Palani kid in Ottawa."
Amba nodded, but continued to stare at him, trying to form words. He watched her, but his mind was already in gear, trying to figure out what to do next. The plan had been laughable to start with, but now it was turning into a fiasco. No more meeting under a streetlight at three in the morning; now they needed to find this kid immediately.
Dillon stood up, quickly brushing off his uniform as the car rolled to a stop next to them. He wanted to throw something, to rage and scream, but instead he gritted his teeth and kept a pleasant smile firmly planted on his face. He held out his hand to Amba, guiding her to the car's open door.
"Feda," she said, "where is he? We need to get to him."
"Rockcliffe, it said," sighed Dillon. "Near the spaceport. I'll try to get some details while we're on our way. Otherwise, we'll just follow the crowd of media."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Elan was just leaving his room, bag in hand, as the door chime sounded again. Heather passed by him as Lakshmi emerged from her room. "What's going on?" she asked.