by S. J. Madill
"Correct," nodded Ikona. "A coincidence."
The sector's only repair ship had been recalled to the homeworlds for modernization. It hadn't been scheduled to receive the work for another year, but the schedule had been changed. Ikona knew her well enough to know what she thought about coincidences.
Zura looked back out the window. They were coming out of a deck of clouds, their shadow flowing across the mosaic of New Fraser's farm fields.
She'd read all the reports; everything was neat and clean. The data from Palani Intelligence was comprehensive and expertly presented. Their reasoning was sound, their conclusions sensible: a one-in-a-billion accident had nearly destroyed the Kaha Devada. An isolated event. Nothing could have prevented it. No one was to blame.
What did the humans say?
Bullshit.
She didn't believe a word of it. Ulon Furill had been the Lead Powerplant Officer on Kaha Devada for a hundred years. He did not make mistakes. Certainly not the long string of individually-plausible mistakes needed for a containment failure.
They'd call her a cynic, of course. They'd tell her she was seeing conspiracies that weren't there. They'd tell her she wasn't making any friends by discarding the Intelligence assessment. Fine. "Admiral Ikona."
"Mahasa?"
"First, have the other two dreadnoughts make conspicuous visits to a few systems. Have them copy Kaha Devada's transponder codes for a few of the visits."
"Yes, Mahasa."
"I want to — as the humans say — 'muddy the waters' for anyone who might be watching."
"Yes, Mahasa."
"Second, assume the squadron's anchorage is no longer a secret. As soon as the Kaha Devada can be moved, find a new anchorage."
Zura pointed at the silent Ikona. "Third, do security checks on everyone in the fleet." She continued as the Admiral raised an eyebrow. "Disregard the files from Intelligence. Check everyone again. Have the checks conducted by people you trust personally."
Out the window, the glint of sunlight on metal caught Zura's eye. Apart from a half-dozen civilian ships parked near the terminal, the New Fraser starport was empty. The Blue Guardian was parked by itself in the farthest corner; nearby, the shuttle carrying Zura's staff and security detail was already landing.
She turned back to the three holographic officers sitting across from her. "Despite the evidence, I believe the explosion on the Kaha Devada was a deliberate act. You are to proceed on that assumption. I expect you to conceal the extent of the damage to the ship. Do nothing immoral, but be prepared to lie and deceive if necessary. If someone is trying to kill us, I feel no obligation to be honest with them. Do you understand?"
The three officers responded in unison. "Understood, Mahasa."
With a gentle bounce, her shuttle touched down. Two of her bodyguard detail, in gleaming black combat armour, approached the shuttle door.
"Very well," said Zura. "That is all for now. Dismissed."
As the holographic officers dissolved into sparkling light, Zura kept her eyes on the empty space. She barely even noticed the opening shuttle door.
If the explosion on the Kaha Devada was deliberate — and how could it not be? — that meant the more belligerent factions in the Temple were becoming bolder. Moderates like Pentarch Yenaara were proving unable to contain them. A storm was coming, and some Palani seemed eager to welcome it.
Zura took a deep breath to centre herself, then climbed out of the shuttle into the bright sunlight. It was a beautiful crisp day — the humans would probably think it was cold — and a few clouds scudded across the sky.
She took a deep breath to clear her mind, but it didn't work. All the unanswered questions were still there. How long until Kaha Devada was able to get underway? Was the squadron's deep-space anchorage known to potential adversaries? Or was it all just — as Palani Intelligence insisted — a coincidence?
Zura scoffed at that, and started walking across the pavement toward the squatting shape of the Blue Guardian. Black-armoured Pelaa and Nathal fell into formation beside her. Behind them, she heard the clatter of boots on the pavement as her usual gaggle of staff officers followed at a discreet distance.
The young masters, Buckingham and Nguyen — 'Bucky' and 'Tal' to Yaella — were moving crates up the stern ramp into the Blue Guardian's cargo hold. There appeared to be quite a few boxes loaded already.
From under the shade of the ship, Kaiser appeared. The black-and-white dog yelped and ran toward her, tail wagging. Zura lowered her hand, her fingers idly scratching the top of the dog's head as he leaned against her.
Bucky was the first to see her. "Good morning, Mahasa Varta," he called out.
Zura nodded. "Master Buckingham."
"We're almost ready to go. Yaella should be back out in a sec."
"Very well."
Kaiser ran off, leaving Zura to clasp her hands behind her back and wait. A ship lifted off from the far end of the starport, and she followed it with her eyes until it disappeared into the glare of the sun. It was a pleasant day: beautiful sky, warm sun on her face, and a refreshing breeze. A good day to head to the coast, to sit and watch the sea while she tried to think. She kept going over recent events in her head, trying to find new ways to fit the facts together. Try as she might, she couldn't bring herself to believe that the explosion on the Kaha Devada was an accident. Someday, my cynicism will be proven wrong. That would be the day that she'd need to finally retire. But retire to what? Growing plants, or arts and crafts, or whatever else people did while they waited for death to come?
"Hi, Mom."
She'd been so lost in thought she hadn't heard Yaella approach. "Daughter," she said, still distracted. She wondered if she should request additional repair ships, or if that would give the impression that—
"Mom? Are you in there?"
Her daughter stood right in front of her, hands on her hips, those cobalt-blue eyes studying her.
Zura allowed herself a hint of a smile. "Yes, daughter. I am in here."
Yaella looked different; she looked good. Her perfectly-polished black boots sparkled in the sunlight, and her beat-up leather jacket had been repaired with a carefully-stitched seam. She seemed taller, and her shoulders wider. She even stood differently: feet apart, chest out, like she owned the patch of ground under her feet. Like me.
There was a moment's hesitation in Yaella's eyes; the little girl showing through for a moment. "Why are you staring at me like that?"
"You're ready to go, daughter."
"Oh," said Yaella. "Yeah. Everything's ready. Just waiting for the Palani science team. They should be here by now."
Zura's eyes scanned the starport. A few travellers crossed the pavement, but nothing that looked like a team of top Palani scientists with their research gear.
"Who's that guy?" asked Yaella. She nodded in the direction of the terminal. "Is that one of them?"
One of the people crossing the pavement had turned in their direction. An old human man: he had long white hair tied back, and a short moustache and beard. He was hunched over the handlebar of a loader, pushing the luggage-laden platform toward the Blue Guardian.
"You're shitting me," muttered Yaella. "Where's the rest of them?" She made a face. "Be right back, Mom," she said, and started jogging toward the stranger with the luggage loader.
The other members of the Blue Guardian's crew had emerged, and were waiting in the shade of the ship. Standing next to each other, Yaella's two young friends were a study in contrasts. Young Master Buckingham — 'Bucky' — was tidy, with pressed clothes and carefully-styled hair. On the other hand, Master Nguyen — 'Tal' — looked like he'd just been in a fight: he was unshaven, with disheveled hair and rumpled clothes.
The white-clad Handmaiden appeared, and stood a few paces away from the boys. Her name was Lanari: she was one of Pentarch Yenaara's staff. She looked perfect and precise, in the spotless white leathers of the Temple's zealot Artahel commandoes. Sworn to protect the Temple, its teachings, and its intere
sts. But Pentarch Yenaara vouched for this Lanari; swore that she could be trusted. But could she? If it came to a fight, Yaella and the boys wouldn't have a hope against an Artahel. Her daughter's life was in the hands of people she didn't trust, and she didn't like it. At all.
Yaella had made a decision about the newcomer. The boys — along with the Handmaiden — took custody of the man's loader full of luggage, moving it toward the Blue Guardian's open stern ramp. Zura watched as Yaella, datapad in hand, led the human over to her. Yaella had a resigned look about her, like she'd chosen to accept something distasteful. That told Zura enough.
"So Mom, this is, uh, the Palani science team." She half-turned to gesture toward the lone human. "Doctor Munshaw, from the Science Ministry."
The human man gave a brief bow. "It's an honour to meet you, Mahasa Varta." His face was cracked with age; his white moustache and beard were impeccably trimmed.
Zura wanted to interrogate this human. To check and double-check his credentials, read his academic history, and have her people run a thorough and invasive check of his entire life. But this was Yaella's ship, and her mission. She could only presume — and hope — that the Pentarch and her people had done their jobs.
She nodded to acknowledge the human, then turned to her daughter. "Yaella? Do you approve of this situation? Are you satisfied?" If you don't like it, you have to say so.
Yaella hesitated; maybe she understood that the decision was hers. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Yeah, Mom." She held up her datapad. "Doctor Munshaw checks out. So yeah, I guess…"
Zura was about to speak, but was distracted by the noise of a shuttle landing nearby. She glanced at it, then at the retreating form of the Doctor heading for the Blue Guardian's ramp.
She wanted to tell Yaella how to do this. What to watch out for. Who to trust. But, as she kept reminding herself, her girl had become a woman, who was determined to make her own path. "Do what you think is right, daughter. Trust your instincts."
Yaella opened her mouth to say something, but didn't. She looked past Zura and smiled. "Hey, Pari."
Zura turned around as Pari Singh passed by her and grabbed Yaella into a hug. "You weren't leaving without saying goodbye, were you?"
"Of course not," laughed Yaella. "You look after Mom, okay?"
"I will, sweetheart. You be careful out there."
Zura was lost in thought as Yaella stepped back. Giving a last little wave, the girl turned and started toward her ship. It took a nudge of Pari's elbow to jolt her back to the present. "Daughter," she called.
Yaella turned back toward her. "Mom?"
A moment's anxiety gnawed at the back of Zura's mind: a fear that she wouldn't see Yaella again. "Be safe, my daughter."
Yaella's smile was wistful. "I love you too, Mom."
But Zura's mind had already returned to thoughts of work. How had the saboteur made it through their security checks? How had a long-trusted officer been turned against them?
"Good morning, Mahasa," said Pari beside her. "You okay?"
"Doctor," she replied, though she wanted to say more. "Just busy."
Pari would know what 'busy' meant. In public, they had to play this stupid game. They couldn't let anyone, especially not Palani Intelligence or the Temple, suspect they were anything more than just casual friends. It was difficult, especially for Pari, but there was too much at stake.
Pari smiled. "Here to see Yaella off?"
Of course I am, thought Zura. Why else would she be standing in the middle of the starport, next to her daughter's ship? She took a deep breath and sighed. She needed to calm her mind. Pari was just trying to get her to talk; to share a look, or a few more words. A moment of connection. She met Pari's gaze. "Yes, Doctor. Just here to see her off."
A hint of a smile on Pari's lips. She knew something was going on, and a smile was as much reassurance as she could offer with so many people watching. "It's a nice day for it, Mahasa."
"It is." Zura went back to chewing on her lip, her mind already wandering. By now, all the Pentarch would know about the Kaha Devada. Should she share details? She assumed the Temple was trying to listen in on every conversation. Perhaps she could use that to her advantage: if she asked for a replacement dreadnought to be activated, the saboteurs would assume they had been successful. Assuming, yet again, that it had been sabotage and not an accident…
"You okay?" Pari asked quietly.
"Not really," mumbled Zura. "There's a lot happening."
"Gotcha. Meetings, huh?"
"Meetings," repeated Zura: their shared shorthand for wanting to spend time together.
She looked away, her mind still wandering. Seventy-five dead, thirteen still in tanks. Highly-trained personnel who would need to be replaced. They'd need to rebuild the security vetting process. One more missed security check could spell the end of another dreadnought…
Zura heard a noise and turned in time to see the Blue Guardian lifting off the pavement. It moved cleanly and gracefully — Master Nguyen must be piloting — and turned toward the heavens, accelerating out of sight into the sun.
Yaella had left, and she'd missed it. Once again, she'd been too wrapped up in the details of her job. Too preoccupied with ships and planets to pay attention to her daughter. How many times had she done this over the years?
"Hey."
Pari was staring at her, her brows furrowed. "I have an important meeting coming up." More shorthand. I want to see you. Soon.
"Yes, Doctor." Zura sighed. "Important meeting."
She wanted to talk to Pari more, but people were watching. Her guards, and her small group of staff officers, stood aside as she nodded to Pari and headed to her waiting shuttle.
I should have said more to Yaella.
Chapter Three
The atmosphere thinned away to the darkness of space, leaving New Fraser below them shrouded in wisps of white.
Yaella sat in the pilot's seat, one leg crossed over the other, barely noticing the sun's light on the blue oceans.
Tal sat next to her, relaxed as always. He held the controls lightly in his hands, making smooth movements in time with the tune he was humming.
He must've sensed her watching him, because he looked at her out of the corners of his eyes. "Isn't this nice? I'm happy to be flying again. Are you happy?" He turned toward her. "Oh. You don't look happy at all. A bit early to be homesick, isn't it?"
"What?" It took her a moment to clue in. "No. Not that. No second thoughts."
"Uh huh. But?"
Yaella frowned. "But what?"
"There's a 'but' in there somewhere."
She shrugged. "I guess."
They sat in silence for a few moments.
"So?" asked Tal.
"So what?"
He rolled his eyes. "So, if you're like this now, it's gonna be a super long trip." A tilt of his head toward her. "Is it your mom?"
Yaella sighed. "How do you always know what I'm thinking?"
"I don't. But when you get quiet, nine times out of ten it's your mom."
With a gentle nudge from Tal, the Blue Guardian began a graceful turn to the left, skirting along New Fraser's equator. "You know your mom loves you, right?"
"Of course I do." She was surprised at how defensive she sounded. "But just now, when we left… she wasn't paying attention. It was like she didn't want to be there. Like she was—"
"Distracted?"
"Yeah."
"You don't suppose she might be distracted by, I don't know, running an entire sector of space? Something like that?"
"I know. But it's always been like that." She stared at him. "How do you do it?"
"Luck, usually. It's all luck." He paused. "How do I do what?"
"I complain, and then you say something that makes me feel like an idiot."
"Oh, that." He smiled like she'd just given him a compliment. "It's a superpower." He started humming again, then stopped. "I'll need a superhero name, then…" In front of him, the display changed. "
Oh, there it is. I see the escape pod. Sixty kilometres."
"Sixty. Got it." Yaella turned around in the seat, kneeling on the cushion and facing the rear. "Hey Bucky?"
"What's up?" Bucky was at the engineering station, his chin resting on his fist, staring at his displays.
"Did you think my Mom was acting weird?"
Bucky didn't answer.
Yaella sighed. "Hey, Buckingham. Anyone home?"
"Huh?"
"Divines help me," she breathed. "What's wrong with us today? We're all out of it."
"Hey." Tal raised a hand. "Speak for yourself. I'm great."
"Whatever, Tal. Did either of you get a look at Dr. Munshaw's research stuff?"
"Yeah," said Bucky. "A bit. I didn't open anything, but some of the boxes had labels like 'scanners' and 'telemetry'."
Tal huffed. "You can print anything you want on the outside of a box. Doesn't mean a thing. Could be full of sandwiches. Kinda hope so."
"The Doctor's in his cabin," said Bucky. "He went in there before we took off, and hasn't come back out. Lanari's in her cabin too, doing her usual…whatever she does."
"Gotcha." Yaella leaned on her seat's headrest, and rested her chin on her arms.
She'd had it all thought out, and then it had started unravelling before they'd even left. Somehow, the 'team' of 'top Palani scientists' had been reduced to one guy from the Science Ministry who wasn't even Palani. When she'd opened her datapad to double check his credentials, there was a message waiting for her from Pentarch Yenaara. According to the Pentarch, this guy was legit — six doctorates — and there had been a 'change in plans' regarding the rest of the team. Maybe this was why Mom had been distracted; maybe there'd been some 'change in plans' for her, too. Nothing got Mom angry more consistently than the Pentarch Council and — as Mom would say — their 'usual nonsense'."
Yaella watched Bucky staring at his displays. There were times when she'd give real money to know what was going on inside his head. In truth, she was a bit surprised that he was coming with them; he'd been talking about joining the Navy. Maybe that hadn't turned out the way he'd hoped. Whatever it was, something had him distracted, too: his screens could've lit up with 'Everything Is On Fire' messages, and he probably wouldn't have noticed.