Crusades

by S. J. Madill

  CRUSADES

  HYBRID: BOOK FOUR

  S.J. MADILL

  COPYRIGHT STUFF

  © Copyright 2021 by S.J. Madill

  All rights reserved

  No portion of this book may be reproduced, scanned, altered, or distributed in any commercial or non-commercial use without the express written consent of the author. Exception is made for quotes used in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to individuals, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  BOOKS BY S.J. MADILL

  Science Fiction

  HMCS Borealis series:

  Burnt Worlds

  Chosen

  Loyalties

  Realm of Elinth

  Red Space

  Hybrid series:

  Blue Guardian

  Coreward

  Alliances

  Crusades

  Fantasy

  Summoned: Magic Comes to Whiteport

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Sincere thanks to the Readers Of The Apopsicle, who continue to give me the gift of their honesty. It's weird how many problems are invisible until someone else points them out.

  Mike, Aaron, DeVerne, and Bill.

  The Story So Far

  Blue Guardian

  It has been fifty years since the end of the war and the evacuation of Earth. Tens of millions of human refugees still live in camps, while governments argue over their fate. Only the Palani — humanity's allies — are doing anything about it.

  The Palani are an ancient race now in decline. Through their efforts, long-abandoned worlds see life again as new colonies are established to house human refugees. Overseeing these new colonies is Mahasa (General) Zura Varta, a living legend among the Palani with a reputation for cold efficiency.

  In a final bid to avoid extinction, Palani geneticists have created human/Palani hybrids. Over the past twenty years, thousands of hybrid children have been created in the laboratories of the Palani Temple. The most genetically-Palani children are adopted by grateful families, but those that are 'too human' are abandoned. Left to languish in orphanages, the abandoned children are moved to human refugee camps when they reach adulthood. Only the truly fortunate find homes, like Mahasa Varta's adopted daughter Yaella.

  Coreward

  People are disappearing from the refugee camps. Word is they're being shipped coreward, and the abductors are paying a premium for hybrids.

  Young Yaella Varta, now a university graduate, has her hopes set on buying a ship and going into business. With her friends Taliesin and Bucky, they long to see distant worlds. And, despite her mother's warnings, she is determined to find out where the abducted hybrids are being taken.

  During a trip coreward, a moment's carelessness leads to Yaella's abduction. She finds herself thrown into the pipeline of hybrids and humans being shipped further coreward; merchandise for an unknown alien race.

  But Yaella isn't about to become part of some alien's collection. She sets about freeing herself and the other captives, including the silent, enigmatic alien she knows only as 'Broody'. Meanwhile, an enraged Mahasa Varta will stop at nothing to rescue her daughter.

  Mother and daughter are finally reunited in the middle of a violent prisoner revolt. Hundreds of prisoners are set free, headed to coreward outposts of returning home to Palani/human space.

  While the Mahasa has colonies of irritating humans to govern, Yaella has her own agenda: she remains determined to find and rescue the galaxy's abducted hybrids.

  Alliances

  Yaella continues her quest to free the galaxy's hybrids, but her methods bring her into conflict with her mother the Mahasa. She strikes out on her own, but her impulsive behaviour leads her to financial ruin. Rescue comes from an unexpected benefactor: a member of the Palani leadership council who puts Yaella and her crew back on track… with a few conditions.

  Meanwhile, Mahasa Varta's job becomes ever more complicated. The McLean-Irvine Corporation has achieved suspiciously-dramatic breakthroughs in military technology, and human nations equipped with these technologies are becoming aggressive. Her colonies are threatened, and her concern for her daughter adds to her stress and anxiety.

  Back on the Blue Guardian, Yaella and crew head Coreward despite reports of a giant 'Planet Killer' dreadnought attacking ships at random. They make it to a station deep in alien space, where they learn more about the fate of the hybrids and are reunited with the enigmatic 'Broody'. Unsure what to do next, Yaella agrees to take Broody to his home planet: a dead world populated entirely by microscopic machines.

  The Mahasa's problems build as human ships demonstrate impossible technologies, outmanoeuvring her own ships at every turn. At the same time, she knows her daughter may be in peril, but she can do nothing about it. More and more, she finds herself turning to her friend Pari Singh for relief from the relentless stress and struggle.

  Yaella's quest to find the abducted hybrids leads her to the Union, a powerful and warlike alien race. As they grapple with the dangerous events around them, mother and daughter suspect that everything — the Union, the hybrids, the 'Planet Killer', and McLean-Irvine — is all connected.

  Chapter One

  Pine cones. That's what the humans called them.

  Ulon Furill rolled the little seed pod over in his porcelain-white hands, feeling its rough texture.

  Apparently, the pod would break open at some point, opening like a flower and releasing the seeds held within. He hadn't yet seen it happen, and didn't want to miss it, so he'd been carrying one of these cones with him since he'd left home to rejoin the ship.

  He stepped into the lift, turning around as the doors slid shut behind him. Without a sound, the lift began to descend to the lower decks.

  Growing human trees had been easier than he'd expected. As with all things, the key was in the research. The 'pine' was one of a few species of Earth trees that were suitable for long winters on the Palani home worlds. He'd always wanted to try gardening, especially exotic alien plants. Retirement had offered him the chance to give the Earth trees the attention they needed. Until he'd — he tried to construct the appropriate human word — 'un-retired'?

  With a gentle chime, the elevator came to a stop and the door opened.

  There was a time when he'd known the Kaha Devada's powerplant control room better than he knew his own house. The five-hundred-year-old dreadnought had seemed eternal and unchanging: the same twelve technicians at the same twelve consoles. He'd started at one of those consoles, eventually graduating to the central station. But during his brief retirement, the Construction Bureau had improved the control room. Four technicians now sat at four consoles; controls and displays he once knew by heart had been rearranged, all useful information now buried deep within a ridiculous series of menus and sub-menus.

  Improvements, they said. To make things more efficient. Ulon suspected the humans were involved: the more his people 'collaborated' with their new allies, the more they saw changes being made for the sake of change.

  His bond-mate Jelaza had told him he was too resistant to change. Change, said Jelaza, was good. But Jel would say that: their career had been in automation, where things never stopped changing.

  Ulon smiled to himself as he threaded his way through the 'improved' control centre. For someone so committed to 'change', Jelaza had been very upset about the 'un-retirement'.

  "Excuse me, Lead Powerplant Officer?"

  Ulon tried not to cringe, at least not visibly. The new technician — a human — was trying very hard to speak Palani. But their flat human voices made the beautiful language sound harsh and inelegant. At least they were trying. Ulon forced a smile onto his face, remembering the xeno-relations training he'd received: humans were so emotionally delicate, they became unhappy if everyo
ne they met wasn't smiling all the time. "Second Technician Nash?"

  Pointing a gloved hand at the screen in front of him, the human's insulated suit creaked as he moved. When he spoke, his hot breath was visible in the air. "Sir, PLIC maintenance is running late. We'll have to delay the third phase of diagnostics."

  Ulon put one hand on the back of the human's chair, looking over the man's shoulder. Nodding thoughtfully, he tried to remember what PLIC really meant. Humans and their acronyms. Nothing could be called by its correct name anymore; everything had to be translated into English, then shortened to an acronym. It made even the simplest technical discussion a complex memory game. He wondered what the humans did with all the time they 'saved'.

  "Ah," he said, when it came to him. Primary Lateral Injection Coil. "Second Powerplant Officer Venzaan must be — as you say — running late. Very well. Delay the diagnostic; I will go see him."

  "Yes, sir."

  Ulon straightened up and headed toward the airlock at the far end of the control room. He kept rolling the pinecone over in his hand, his fingertips tracing its bumpy surface. It felt like it was starting to dry out. Maybe it would open soon.

  If the maintenance was taking longer than usual, it was probably due to Venzaan's well-known caution. People used to tease Ulon about his caution, but he was positively reckless compared to his second officer. The way Venzaan had been talking the other day, one would think that the control room's refurbishment had been for the express purpose of annoying him. After working together for centuries, they'd come to know each other well.

  He paused in the airlock, waiting for the light to turn blue before he continued.

  When the airlock door opened, the powerplant hall stretched out before him. It was the largest single compartment on the ship. Venzaan had once done some calculations to settle an argument, and had determined that yes, a frigate could fit inside the reactor hall without touching the sides.

  Ulon headed aft, following the catwalk along the side of the compartment. Beside him, the hall was dominated by the powerplant heart: a metallic sphere fifty metres across. Whenever he came out here he could feel it. The tingling in his feet, the itching of his skin.

  As he walked, he kept playing with the pinecone in his hand. Venzaan teased him about walking everywhere instead of taking a lift, but some days this was the only exercise he got.

  He could tell how close he was to the powerplant heart by the way it felt. He'd begun to feel it in his teeth — like a film that needed to be cleaned off — and soon he'd be close enough to the centre that he'd get the metallic taste in his mouth.

  The smooth, curved sphere of the powerplant heart shimmered in the light, its solid casing rippling like the surface of a lake. Deep inside, a tiny artificial star — the size of a person's head — was held on the brink of death, at the tipping point of collapsing into a black hole. Frozen on the edge of oblivion, shedding enormous amounts of energy: enough to power the ten million tons of ceramic, alloys, and exotic materials called the dreadnought Kaha Devada. Brought out of retirement, like him, to serve the Palani people once again. In a few days Mahasa Varta would board, and battle wouldn't be far away. Some things, like the 'Executioner' Mahasa, weren't subject to change.

  Up ahead, Ulon saw Venzaan working at the maintenance station for the lateral injectors. A brief spell of retirement had been good to Venzaan: he'd lost weight and become fit. He seemed calmer, too; whatever he'd been doing, it had changed him for the better.

  "Aasal, Venzaan," said Ulon. "How is the maintenance?"

  Venzaan looked up only briefly, before returning his attention to the console in front of him. "Aasal, friend Ulon." A wistful smile played across Venzaan's face, as if remembering something from long ago.

  Ulon cocked his head to one side. "What are you thinking?"

  Venzaan kept working. "Just remembering your bonding day. You and Jelaza."

  Ulon smiled. Four hundred years had passed — four hundred and three, as of next month — and he still remembered it clearly. The clear sky. The land in bloom, alive in the glorious frenzy of spring. Venzaan had been there, along with all their friends and family. And beautiful Jelaza; looking radiant as they exchanged their vows—

  "You should have stayed retired," said Venzaan. "Stayed with Jelaza." There was a catch in his voice. "You could have refused the summons. Enjoyed your retirement. You earned it, you know. Both of you."

  Ulon's brow furrowed. How odd, for Venzaan to be emotional. "But my friend, how could I let you sail the Kaha Devada by yourself? One without the other—"

  "I have enjoyed these centuries serving with you, Ulon." Venzaan touched the console in front of him. White warning icons spilled across the screen.

  Ulon felt the metallic taste in his mouth, then heard a buzzing in his ears. That's not right. He looked at the powerplant heart: its metres-thick casing was quivering, the undulation settling into a static pattern. A resonance buildup had begun: the containment was about to fail. "What are you doing?" he whispered. It was hard to speak; his teeth felt like they were coming loose in his mouth. "Venzaan? Reset the—"

  When he saw the calm in Venzaan's eyes, he knew. This wasn't the Venzaan he'd known for centuries. No panic, no anger; just serenity. "Our people need change, Ulon. They need to return to the Divines."

  Ulon saw flashes in his vision; the powerplant hall sparkled like it was full of stars. He knew what it was: a flood of gamma rays hitting his retinas. It was too late.

  Through the flashing stars, he saw Venzaan's sad smile. "Farewell, friend."

  Ulon clutched the pinecone in his hand. One species, he remembered, only released its seeds when exposed to fire. Burn away the old, so that the new could take root.

  His last thoughts were of Jelaza, and their bonding day. The beautiful blue sky. The blossoming of spring all around them. Jelaza's smile—

  Chapter Two

  The shuttle gave a gentle lurch as it entered the atmosphere; black space gave way to blue sky.

  In the back, sunlight spilled in the windows. Three uncomfortable-looking holographic officers sat across from their commander.

  Zura held the datasheet in her hand, her fingers pinching it so tight it creased the sheet and discoloured the text.

  Seventy-five dead. Thirteen more in tanks.

  One of the holographic images said something, but she ignored it. She just crossed one knee over the other, her eyes drawn out the window to the thickening atmosphere and the clouds below.

  Thirteen in tanks. She never forgot her first time in a tank. Or her second, or third, or tenth. The yellowish-green murk; the tubes and machines keeping the meat alive. A lucky patient would be sedated and numb; an unlucky patient would wake up again and again.

  Zura lowered the datasheet to her lap, forcing her fingers to relax. The sheet silently rolled itself up. "Captain Sato?"

  "Yes, Mahasa?"

  Across from her, one of the three holographic officers — the captain of the crippled Kaha Devada — was clearly struggling to stay focused. His face was drawn and haggard, his eyes heavy. He probably hadn't slept in a long time.

  "How are you?" she asked him. It was something Pari had been suggesting: acknowledging the emotional toll. A very human thing to do.

  Captain Sato blinked; the question had clearly caught him off guard, but he recovered quickly. "I am well enough, Mahasa. Thank you."

  Zura nodded, keeping her eyes on the man's face. She could see the questions in his eyes. After two sleepless days and nights of damage control, he'd been summoned — along with his entire chain of command — to speak with her. He was probably expecting to be relieved of duty.

  But she didn't work like that. "Captain, I commend you and your crew for their heroic efforts. I don't want there to be any doubt: you're staying where you are. Your ship needs you."

  He closed his eyes for a moment. "Thank you, Mahasa."

  Zura picked up the datasheet from her lap, waving it in front of them before tossing it aside. "I'v
e read the reports. Now, I want to hear everything you left out."

  Captain Sato became more relaxed. Good. She needed him to know his job was safe; otherwise, he'd have too much incentive to flavour what he told her. The other two holographic officers — both Palani admirals — looked on impassively as Sato gathered his thoughts.

  "Mahasa, the reactor failed properly, with all the energy venting downward. It vaporized the bottom of the hull, and a shuttle passing underneath, but spared the rest of the ship. With help from teams from the Kaha Terra and the Kaha Ranila, we've reinforced the upper keel. For the time being, the ship is no longer in danger of breaking in two. We have just repressurised a longitudinal passageway; we can now reach compartments aft of the reactor hall without going outside."

  "Good." The initial images hadn't been encouraging. They'd shown the massive vessel with the middle third missing: only a thin, twisted thread of structure kept the stern from floating away. "Power?"

  "Thanks to the backup generators from Terra and Ranila, we have life support in all compartments."

  Next to Sato, the Palani squadron commander raised her hand. "If I may, Mahasa?"

  Zura nodded.

  Rear-Admiral Nadisa led the squadron consisting of the Kaha Devada and her two sisters. The left half of the Admiral's face was covered in old burn scars that made her appear far more menacing than she actually was. "Mahasa, damage-control teams from all three ships are rotating shifts over on Devada; we've recruited teams from the escorts as well."

  "Very well." Zura looked back at Sato. "When can she move?"

  Sato grimaced. "We could try the forward thrusters in an emergency, Mahasa, but I couldn't guarantee the stern would come with us."

  She liked it when officers were candid with her. "Understood. So repairs will have to come to you." Zura's eyes went to the third officer across from her. Vice-Admiral Ikona, the sector fleet commander, had been sitting quietly, taking everything in. He spoke only when he had something to say; she'd always liked that about him. "And no repair ship."