Crusades

by S. J. Madill

  "Whoops," said Tal beside her.

  Yaella raised her eyebrows. "'Whoops'? That's not something you want to hear the pilot say."

  "Nah," laughed Tal. "We're close to the escape pod, and I just realised we're upside down to it."

  "Cool. I'll go say hi." She got up. Putting one boot on the seat, she stepped on the centre console and hopped down to the deck.

  She stepped past the distracted Bucky and headed aft from the cockpit. At the cross corridor she turned left, toward the hatch where the starboard escape pod used to be. She leaned against the bulkhead and waited.

  She had a thousand-and-one things she wanted to ask this Doctor. Mostly questions about the 'Planet Killer', but other stuff as well. A guy couldn't very well pile up six doctorates without learning a few things, right? He was supposed to be the expert on the 'Planet Killer' thing, but had he even seen it? How much did they know about it back at the Palani Ministry of Science?

  The ship shuddered, and a dull thud came from the other side of the hatch.

  She heard Tal's voice from the cockpit. "Oops. I'll try that again."

  Behind her, the clicking of claws on the deck announced Kaiser's approach even before his black-and-white snout peeked around the corner. He walked with his tail between his legs; he didn't like it when the ship shook. He didn't like thunderstorms, either.

  "C'mere, boy," she said. Another shake of the hull made Kaiser whine, and Yaella crouched as he pressed against her. "It's okay, sweetie."

  "Got it," came Tal's voice.

  The airlock door made a series of noises: the whirring of electric motors followed by metallic clicks. As Yaella hugged a nervous Kaiser, red lights turned to green and the airlock door opened.

  Ocean knelt in the middle of the escape pod, looking exactly the same as when he'd gone in there. After a moment, his dark eyes opened and stared straight into hers.

  "Hi," said Yaella.

  A brief nod of the head. "Captain Yaella. Thank you for picking me up. Is all well?"

  She was surprised to admit she'd missed his voice. "Yeah," she said. "All is well. Thanks for waiting."

  Kaiser's curiosity overcame his nervousness, and he pulled free from Yaella's arms. Keeping his nose low, he approached the kneeling Ocean.

  "So," said Yaella. "Do you need anything? Are you hungry?"

  Ocean didn't react as Kaiser sniffed his face. He reached up a hand and gently scratched the dog under the chin. "I'm not hungry, thank you. And no, I don't need to use the 'head'. Like I've told you—"

  "I know, I know. You've told me." Yaella tried to smile. "It's just, you know—"

  He raised an eyebrow. "Weird?"

  "Yeah, I guess. So…what did you do for six days? Weren't you bored?"

  "I meditated." He thought a moment. "Maybe a better word would be 'hibernated'."

  "Like a bear?" She laughed. "I'd love to be able to do that."

  With one fluid motion, Ocean rocked forward onto the balls of his feet and stood up. "I don't think you'd enjoy it. It's… empty."

  She wondered what that meant. "Oh. Well, thanks for waiting."

  "You're welcome." A smile briefly flashed on his face. "Leaving me here was a good idea."

  "I mostly kept it a secret. I hope—"

  "Thank you. Some people might have wanted to study me."

  "I told my friend Pari. She said you sound like a walking Nobel Prize."

  Ocean thought about that for a while. "I've never thought of myself as a prize. The opposite, if anything."

  His eyes were watching her again. There was an intensity in them that she found distracting. It was even more distracting when a single black speck wandered across his iris.

  "So, uh…" she began. "You don't have to stay in here. There's a cabin that's not being used."

  He gave a bow of his head. "I know, Captain Yaella, and I appreciate the trust. But it isn't necessary. Besides, aren't there scientists using those cabins?"

  "Yeah. About that." Yaella rubbed the back of her neck. "The team of scientists turned out to be one guy. A human scientist called Dr. Munshaw. He seems nice, I guess, but…" She shrugged.

  "But the change in plans makes you uncomfortable."

  "Uh huh." Sometimes it felt like everyone knew what she was thinking better than she did. "Anyway. Like I said, one cabin is empty, so you're welcome to it."

  He held up a hand. "Thank you again, but no need. I don't use a bed, and I have no possessions."

  "Well, okay." Yaella gestured toward the passageway. "The offer stands. Last cabin on the right."

  "Last on the right," repeated Ocean. He stepped out of the escape pod and passed close to her. "I think I will go for a walk."

  "Have fun."

  Watching him leave around the corner, she took a deep breath. She shuddered as she exhaled. What the hell's wrong with me? Why do I get tense when he's nearby?

  She shook her head and sighed. Some days, it felt like there was too much going on that was out of her control. In truth, she didn't really want to go find this Planet-Killer thing. But she'd made a deal with a Pentarch, and had to do as she'd agreed. Finding the galaxy's hybrids would have to wait.

  Yaella turned and headed for the galley. When in doubt, chocolate.

  Chapter Four

  Zura swiped two fingers across the datasheet, and the signed document slid out of view. Underneath, her list of tasks had grown by ten in the time it'd taken her to complete one.

  She put her elbows on the table, and rubbed her eyes with her gloved hands. We're running out of time.

  To the outside observer, everything was normal in the Outer Frontier Territories sector. That was the way she wanted it. Civilians, the military, and especially the intelligence services, none had any idea of the work being done. Prioritizing resources. Establishing contingencies. Planning for possibilities. Moving the hundred-and-one pieces around the board, trying to slide them into position for the start of a game that may or may not happen. It might all be for nothing; it might just be chasing shadows.

  But that was the nature of preparedness: if you prepared for something that didn't happen, people called it a waste of time. But if you didn't prepare…

  Admiral Amoroso was proving worth his weight in gold. Having a highly-competent second-in-command — one who understood her — was a gift from the Divines. Ken Amoroso was working as diligently as she, helping to move things into place. He was good at thinking up new possibilities, and formulating contingencies. It meant even more work for the two of them, but they'd be more prepared as a result.

  And yet, they had to give the external appearance of 'business as usual'. All the normal mundane activities of the sector, with meetings and reports and routines. With so much going on, something had to give.

  Zura's eyes went to the datapads at the edge of her desk. There hadn't been any time to see Pari yesterday after Yaella had left. And, the way things were going, there wouldn't be time today either. They couldn't even spend a few minutes to talk: discretion — and cynicism — meant that she had to assume her 'totally secure' communications were being monitored. That left only brief messages between the two of them, in their shared shorthand. There was only so much support a person could offer through a short note or two.

  On top of it all, she was still worrying about Yaella. The last-minute change in plan had been more than a little irritating. If it had been up to her, she would've postponed the mission until she got to the bottom of this nonsense with the one-human 'Palani team'.

  Even as she reached for her teacup she knew it was empty, but she checked it out of habit. It reminded her that she should call to have some food sent up for lunch. Pari had lectured her more than once about how a vial or two of Palani 'wakefulness' medication was not, in fact, a meal.

  With a gentle chime, a lone white gem started flashing on her desktop.

  Finally.

  She'd tried to contact Four-Thirteen the moment she'd returned from Yaella's departure. She had questions, and she needed h
im to have answers. But he hadn't been available, which was highly unusual. He hadn't called her back the rest of the day. Not until now.

  Zura flicked the blinking gem with one finger, then sat up straight. Motes of light flickered to life across from her, coalescing into the image of a seated Four-Thirteen. With his veil she could only see his eyes, but he looked uncharacteristically tired. Evidence, she decided, that things were happening back on the home worlds, despite what she'd been told. Probably more political manoeuvring among the Pentarchs.

  "Aasal, Mahasa," said the intelligence agent. He gave a respectful bow of his head.

  "Aasal, Four-Thirteen. Thank you for returning my call so quickly." Sarcasm wasn't her strong suit, but she trusted he'd pick up on it.

  "Ah," said the agent. "Yes. My apologies, Mahasa, for the delay in returning your call. I was obliged to wait for certain information to be available."

  As always. Someone — presumably the Pentarch — was making decisions about what she needed to know, and when. It was all part of the Pentarchs' political games, where information was a weapon and lies were currency.

  Zura leaned back, lacing her fingers together in front of her. "I have questions, Four-Thirteen."

  Was that a smirk she saw? "I expect you do, Mahasa. Where to begin?"

  "The Kaha Devada."

  "Of course, Mahasa. Have you read our official report on the incident?"

  "I have. That's why I have questions."

  "Yes, Mahasa. How can I help?"

  Zura kept her gaze on the sparkling holographic eyes. The projection made it difficult to make out subtleties in Four-Thirteen's body language, but sometimes there'd be a clue. "Four-Thirteen, a very specific list of failures needed to occur in order for the containment breach to happen."

  "Yes, Mahasa."

  "I asked the Fleet Construction Office to calculate the probability of those failures happening in that order, in that time frame."

  Four-Thirteen didn't say anything; he just sat and listened. She wasn't sure, but she thought he was still hiding that damned smirk.

  She leaned forward to read numbers off her datasheet. "Given a normal tempo of operations, that set of failures should occur once every forty-nine million years."

  "Yes, Mahasa. That matches our data—"

  "Which you didn't share."

  Four-Thirteen opened his hands, making a conciliatory gesture. "Mahasa, I am sometimes constrained—"

  "In addition," she continued, "If we include the failures of the onboard fault-prevention systems, the probability of the incident becomes once in two quadrillion years."

  Four-Thirteen was completely deadpan. "A remarkable coincidence, then."

  That was as close to a confirmation as she was going to get. The Veiled Service knew perfectly well the explosion on the Kaha Devada was deliberate. The official version, therefore, was a lie. And for whom? For whomever benefits the most. She decided not to pursue the issue; Four-Thirteen had likely reached the limit of what he was able to tell her.

  "Very well," she sighed. She could see Four-Thirteen relax at her change in tone. "Tell me about the current status of Eurasia."

  "Yes, Mahasa." Four-Thirteen spoke more confidently, apparently pleased to be talking about something else. "The new government of Eurasia continues to work hand-in-hand with the McLean-Irvine corporation. Most military and policing functions are now provided under contract by McLean-Irvine subsidiaries. Reports suggest they're fairly competent."

  "In exchange for what?" she asked, though she knew. Human corporations had one interest, and only one.

  "In return, Mahasa, McLean-Irvine is being paid well. Very well."

  "In other words, they get to loot Eurasia's treasury."

  "An inelegant interpretation, Mahasa, but not inaccurate."

  She harrumphed. "Speaking of McLean-Irvine, have they had any new technological breakthroughs?" For an otherwise-unremarkable human corporation, McLean-Irvine had enjoyed a string of successes in their research programs. They'd even managed a breakthrough in a field they weren't researching.

  "Not that we know of, Mahasa. However, we have it on good information that mercenaries working for McLean-Irvine are trying to locate and make contact with Species Seventy-Four."

  "The Union."

  "Exactly, Mahasa. We believe the Union to be the source of the new technologies McLean-Irvine has acquired through the Shard."

  "And now they want to go straight to the Union. Cutting out the Shard, the 'middle man'."

  "Yes, Mahasa. Presumably they intend to acquire additional technologies directly from the Union."

  "That would ruin the balance of power among the humans. It may even put us at risk of further human aggression."

  "It may, Mahasa. We will, of course, remain vigilant."

  Zura fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Of course."

  "Is there anything else, Mahasa?"

  She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. As much as she was watching Four-Thirteen's body language, he'd be watching hers, too. He, and whoever else was watching. Regardless of what she was thinking, she needed to present an image of calm detachment. She needed to appear completely in control; in other words, she needed her body to lie. One more reason why sleep eluded her, night after night.

  "Four-Thirteen," she began, forcing herself to sound relaxed. "I was surprised to see the science team that showed up at the Blue Guardian. Just a single human scientist…" She glanced at one of the datasheets on her desk, as if she hadn't memorized the human's name. "Doctor Munshaw, from the Science Ministry."

  "Yes, Mahasa. A last-minute change. The original team of scientists and researchers were reassigned. There is no cause for concern."

  "Of course. What do you know of this human? I presume you conducted a thorough security check."

  Four-Thirteen looked far more comfortable now. These were questions for which he had answers. Scripted answers, perhaps. Was he still reporting directly to Pentarch Yenaara? If so, what was the Pentarch doing? Was she telling Four-Thirteen what to say, or were there other people involved?

  "Mahasa, I can assure you that Dr. Munshaw passed all our security checks. He is a highly-esteemed researcher, with six doctorates in astrophysics, xenoarchaeology and xenotechnology."

  "Six? How is that possible?"

  "We do not recognise doctorates from human universities, and the Dosh—"

  She waved a hand. "I understand. Continue."

  "Yes, Mahasa. Dr. Munshaw has over four hundred research papers to his name. We checked his academic history, his colleagues, his family. Everything—"

  "And?"

  "And, Mahasa, he is entirely qualified, if perhaps a little… peculiar."

  Zura raised an eyebrow.

  Four-Thirteen cocked his head a little. "He sometimes has trouble in social situations—"

  "I met him. He seemed fine."

  "Yes, Mahasa. Just the usual human problems: mood swings and emotional outbursts. Apparently he can be unpredictable. Difficult to work with."

  "How difficult?"

  "There is nothing to be concerned about, Mahasa. Pentarch Yenaara has directed her Handmaiden to ensure there are no—"

  "Nsal 'neth," spat Zura. Was the Artahel there to keep this Munshaw under control? "Is that what happened to the rest of the research team? They withdrew when they found out he was involved?"

  Four-Thirteen's expressionless eyes stayed locked on hers. "Mahasa, I can neither confirm nor deny—"

  Zura closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She needed to do a better job of keeping her outward calm, of not showing what she was thinking. Keeping her emotions bottled up was giving her a headache. "Thank you, Four-Thirteen. That will be all."

  "Yes, Mahasa. If I may…?"

  She sighed. "Yes?"

  "Mahasa. If I were you, I wouldn't tell the young Yaella about Dr. Munshaw. It would—"

  "You're right, Four-Thirteen; you wouldn't. But I'm not you. That will be all."

  Zura flicked the g
em on her desk, and the holographic Four-Thirteen burst into a cloud of dissipating light. She watched the last of the sparkling motes wink out, then touched another gem on the desktop.

  "Mahasa?" came the voice of the staff officer.

  "Get my shuttle ready. I'm going to the coast to take a break."

  "At once, Mahasa."

  She couldn't afford to take a break; the list of tasks that awaited her was still growing. But now that she'd heard the official version of what was going on, she needed to make a few calls without the damned Temple listening in. If she was lucky enough, she might find the truth.

  Zura got up from her desk, scooped up her handful of secure datapads, and headed for the office door.

  Chapter Five

  "Okay, I love you. Bye."

  Yaella ended the call, then sat staring at the datapad in her hand. Kaiser lay beside her on the bed, head down between his paws. When she made eye contact with him, his tail started wagging.

  "That was Mom," she told him.

  It had been a classic Mom-at-work call: very brief, very to-the-point. No warmth, no sentiment; just facts and instructions.

  Things are complicated. That's what Mom had said. She'd never said that before. She'd sounded tense, the way she did when she was trying to sound calm. That meant she wouldn't be sleeping, which meant she'd be taking more of the Palani sleep meds, and then taking the other meds to wake up. That would upset her stomach, which would stress her even more. Maybe that's why Mom had seemed so distant the day they'd left.

  Yaella sighed, petting the contented dog next to her. What did Mom mean, when she'd said Dr. Munshaw might be 'moody' at times? Hell, everyone could be moody sometimes. Just getting up in the morning did that to some people.

  It had only been a two-minute call, but what Mom hadn't said could have filled hours. Something was going on. Something difficult. Yaella wondered if she should've put this trip off for a few days. When things got hectic, Mom just kept going and going— and her body paid the price.