by S. J. Madill
Yaella slid forward to the edge of the bed, dropping her feet to the floor and standing up. She grabbed her box of chocolates off the bedside table. "Kaiser? You coming, boy?"
The dog yawned and rolled over on his side.
"That's a no, then."
She opened her door and stepped out into the passageway. Across from her, the Handmaiden's cabin door was shut; so were Dr. Munshaw's and Bucky's. Tal's door was wide open, allowing everyone to feast their eyes on the glorious chaos of his cabin: colourful posters from movies and cartoons, strange bits of art, and on every flat surface a potted plants.
Yaella reached into the box and pulled out a long, thin chocolate. She nibbled on it as she headed for the galley.
At the galley entrance, she met Lanari. The Handmaiden looked spotless in her white bodysuit; her hair was up in a perfect bun, not a single strand out of place. Yaella had once tried to get her hair into a bun like that. She'd come close, but there were always a few rebellious strands of blue that managed to escape. Compared to the perfect Handmaiden, she'd always wound up looking like she'd been electrocuted.
Handmaiden Lanari had a tall glass of water in one hand, and a binva in the other. "Captain," she said, as she glided by; the woman moved with a grace and fluidity that was almost unnatural.
Yaella paused and turned to watch the Handmaiden head to her cabin — that white suit was remarkable — before heading into the galley.
"Oh," she said, lurching to a stop.
Dr. Munshaw sat at the small diner-style table. In front of him was a collection of datapads and other small devices she didn't recognise. He was hunched forward, frowning at the datapad in his hand. His white hair was neat and tidy, except for one lock that veered wildly askew.
"Hey," said Yaella. "Excuse me, Doctor. Didn't mean to—"
"What?" He looked up at her. "Excuse you for what?"
"For distracting you. Sorry. I didn't know you were—"
The Doctor's brow furrowed. "Why are you sorry? It's your ship."
Yaella gestured at the doorway behind her. "No. I meant, I thought I'd interrupted your work."
"Oh," said the Doctor. "Don't worry about it." He looked down at the datapads in front of him. "I've taken over your kitchen table. I hope you don't mind." He gestured back and forth with a finger. "My room doesn't have a… um…"
"Desk?"
"Yeah. That." He surveyed the datapads again. "I spread out when I work. Lots of…" he stared at the device in his hand. "Um…"
"Datapads?"
"Yeah," he said to the device. He shook his head. "Ugh. Words."
Yaella nibbled on her stick of chocolate. Was this what Mom meant? She'd known a few people like him in university: so smart, they had trouble carrying on a conversation. She figured it was because their mind had already gone on to something else, leaving their mouth to continue the conversation unassisted.
She took a step closer, tilting the box toward him. "Chocolate?"
"Huh?" The Doctor peered into the box. "Is it?"
"Would you like one?"
"Oh. Sure. Please."
He carefully pinched the end of a stick between two fingers and pulled it out. "Dark chocolate. Nice."
"Only the best."
He examined the chocolate stick, frowning at it.
"It's a pen," Yaella offered. "A pen-shaped chocolate."
"I see." The frown faded from his face. "Chocolate pens." He started nibbling on the end. "How novel. Thank you, Captain."
"No problem." Yaella moved to the counter, setting down the box and opening a cupboard door. It was an ongoing struggle to keep clean mugs on this ship. The Handmaiden kept her mess kit in her cabin, of course; probably locked away in some hermetically-sealed reliquary. Bucky always cleaned up after himself. As a result, the mugs and plates piled in the sink belonged to her and Tal. She tried to get him to help clean them, but usually wound up doing it herself.
She found the one she'd cleaned the day before, and carefully slid it into her favourite kitchen appliance: the coffee machine that somehow made awesome hot chocolate. The oversized antique had come with the ship; a relic of a bygone age, when machines had as many moving parts as possible.
As the machine gurgled and shuddered, Yaella turned around and leaned against the counter.
Dr. Munshaw was still at the dining table, his panoply of datapads momentarily forgotten. He was watching her while nibbling at his chocolate pen.
She felt self-conscious all of a sudden. "What?"
"That was your mother," he said, matter-of-factly. "At the starport. When we left." He nibbled again. "Mahasa Varta," he added, in case she wasn't sure who he was talking about.
"Yeah, that was Mom."
The Doctor folded his arms across his chest, the end of the chocolate pen sticking out of his mouth. "Was it difficult?"
"What?"
"Growing up. Lots of rules? Spit and polish?"
"Oh." She hadn't expected that. "I guess. I mean, no more than other kids."
"I doubt that."
"What?" She glared at him. "Just a damn minute. What the hell do you mean by that?"
"Your boots." He didn't break eye contact. "How many kids do you suppose grew up polishing boots like that?"
Yaella looked down. The galley's overhead lights reflected off the glossy black leather. This was getting a bit more introspective than she'd intended for today. She didn't even know this guy, and he was already trying to dissect her life. "Okay, fine. I learned to polish boots the old-fashioned way. So what? What are you getting at?"
"Someone like your mom casts a big shadow."
Yaella stared at the Doctor. The way he said it wasn't an accusation or a put-down; it was just an observation. Like he was sitting in a lab watching an experiment, calmly documenting the results. "I don't…" She started, then fell quiet.
"A shadow that big, you've got to travel a long way to get out from underneath it."
She felt warmth flood her face, and knew she was blushing. "I guess."
The guy wasn't being mean, but his bluntness was making her uncomfortable. She felt strangely exposed, her life being taken apart and examined by this man she'd barely even met. It'd be easier to laugh it off, except she couldn't get the vision out of her head: her mom, a shadow, and—
The machine next to her gave a last wheeze, and she gratefully turned to retrieve her mug. Out in the passageway, she heard quiet footsteps approaching.
Handmaiden Lanari appeared in the doorway, an empty glass in one hand. Her cold blue eyes met Yaella's, then went to the man at the table. "Doctor," she commanded. "Behave yourself. Back to your books."
Yaella silently picked up her mug and headed to the door. When she looked at the Doctor, he had returned to his collection of datapads, still nibbling the chocolate pen.
She met eyes with Lanari, who gave a slight nod of her head. Yaella answered with a grateful smile, and left the galley.
When she got back to her cabin, she closed the door behind her. Kaiser was still passed out on the bed; when she sat down next to him and started running one hand through his fur, he grunted contentedly.
A shadow that big, you've got to travel a long way to get out from underneath it.
She shook her head, looking down at the dog next to her. "Damn it, Kaiser. Is that what I'm doing? Why the hell does it feel like everyone else has my life figured out, but I don't?"
Kaiser grumbled and licked his chops, before going back to sleep.
Chapter Six
Zura lay awake in the dark, gradually becoming aware of the world around her.
She was on her back, her hands behind her head. She felt her breathing slowing down, becoming gentle and regular. Tired muscles ached; her body yearned for sleep. Above her, she could make out the geometric pattern of the ceiling's architecture: dark shapes highlighted by darker shadows. As she took long, relaxed breaths, she felt the gentle movement of the thin sheet against her naked skin.
She became aware of another sou
nd: the heavy breathing of the woman lying next to her. Pari lay on her back, chest heaving with every panting breath. In the cool room, the hot human breath was visible. "Jesus," Pari gasped. "You're strong."
"Mmm." Zura was still watching the ceiling, her eyes tracing the edges of the decorative panels. The design's regularity was soothing.
All she heard was breathing: her own deep, calm breaths, and Pari's gradually-slowing panting. There were other sounds, further away, but she let them go by without notice. None of it mattered.
"Goddamn it," said Pari.
Zura watched the dark silhouette moving next to her.
Pari pushed herself up on one elbow, her free hand fumbling at her neck. She was still wearing her insulated bodysuit; a Palani bedchamber was too cold for a human. Where Pari's skin showed, she was glistening with sweat. "This thing's too damn hot."
Zura lay still, hands behind her head, and watched.
"There," said Pari. Her hand slid down the front of her suit, opening the seam. In the dark, Zura saw glimpses of shining skin.
"C'mere." Pari rolled toward her, throwing back the sheet. Hot human skin pressed against hers as Pari sprawled across her. One searing hand clutched at Zura's side, and the side of Pari's face pressed against her scarred chest. "Oh god yes," moaned Pari. "You're so cold."
Zura looked down at the head on her chest, and the body draped over her. Humans had such high body temperatures.
Pari mumbled into her chest. "Hey."
"Yes?"
"Hold me."
In the dark, Zura pulled her hands from behind her head. She wrapped one around Pari's shoulders; the other held Pari's head against her.
"Ah," mumbled Pari. "S'nice. It's just…" she trailed off. When she sighed, her hot breath blew across Zura's skin. "Doesn't matter. Just stay there."
Zura took a deep breath, her chest lifting Pari, before slowly releasing it in a sigh. Her eyes went back to the darkness above. The room was still and quiet: no noise, no movement. The heat of the human body against hers was warming her up, making her drowsy.
"Zura?"
"Yes?"
"Tell me what you're thinking."
The question caught her off guard. "I… I'm not." She took another deep breath. "I wasn't thinking of anything. Everything just washed away." For a few moments, at least, it had been true. No uniforms, no warships, no colonies. Nothing at all. "Peaceful."
"Nice," mumbled Pari.
Zura lay in silence, caressing the silky hair under her hand. Like ghosts emerging from a fog, things were coming back to her. Things she needed to deal with. Feuding Pentarchs. Squabbling human governments. Supplies and patrol routes and—
"You're getting tense."
Zura sighed. "I suppose I am." Another thought came to her: a thought Pari had left unfinished. "It's just what?"
"Huh?" The head under Zura's hand shifted, as Pari tried to look up at her in the dark. "What d'you mean?"
"Earlier. You said 'it's just…' and didn't finish. What were you thinking?"
"Oh." The body shifted against her. "I was hoping you hadn't noticed that."
"I did."
A pause. "I was going to say, I just wish we didn't have to be a secret. To hide all the time. Sorry, I'm ruining the—"
"Don't be sorry," said Zura. "It can't be easy for you. You're not one to deceive or mislead." She'd been thinking about it, trying to imagine things from Pari's point of view. "Perhaps you feel like you're something I'm ashamed of—"
Pari sighed. "I know. I shouldn't think that—"
"I'm not ashamed. I'm proud. But for now, we have to do this."
"I get it. It's okay."
"It's not okay," said Zura. "I need you to understand. I need you to truly understand what's at stake."
She could feel Pari getting tense, too. This wasn't a conversation she wanted to have, especially not now. But it was necessary. "You humans have a saying. A joke. You say something is 'as screwed-up as a Palani hit man'."
"Yeah. They kill everyone in the room, but not the target. It's stupid, but—"
"That's the one." Zura's body was warming up, but the creeping anxiety was keeping her awake. "It's accurate. Palani politics can be brutal. If someone wanted me destroyed, they wouldn't kill me. Instead, they'd kill everyone I care about." She blinked away the wetness in her eyes. "Do you understand, Pari? I'm not the only target. If something goes wrong, they'll kill you, too. They might try to kill you instead of me. I need you to understand this."
The hot human body was rigid, clutching at her. "Oh." Pari's voice was quiet. "I understand."
"I'll try to keep you safe," whispered Zura. "And the moment you stop being in danger, you'll stop being a secret. I swear it."
The breath was hot on Zura's skin. "I trust you."
No, don't trust me.
When she was a little girl, she hadn't been able to protect the ones she loved. From the day she joined the military eight centuries ago, she'd fought. Battle after battle, war after war, scar after injury after pain. All of it to protect others. To protect strangers, to keep them safe with their loved ones.
Because she wasn't able to protect her own. Not her parents, not her little brother, not her friends. All of them had died because she couldn't keep them safe.
Now, after centuries of solitude, things had changed. She had a daughter who meant everything to her. She had this human woman in her life, who sought her companionship and affection though she didn't know why. And she couldn't keep either of them safe.
As the woman in her arms fell into a contented sleep, Zura lay awake staring at the ceiling.
Chapter Seven
Yaella sat straight in the pilot's seat, cradling a steaming mug in her hands.
Across from her, Tal paused his tuneless humming to lean forward and poke a button on the dash. "Hello everyone," he said. His voice crackled from speakers throughout the ship. "We'll be at Canteen in five minutes. So let's look our best for the Planet-Killer thing…" He turned toward Yaella. "Boss?" he asked, his voice still coming from the speakers. "You okay with everyone watching from up here?"
"Sure."
"Okay," Tal continued. "That's a green light from the Captain. If you want to watch from up here, that's fine." He paused a moment, seemingly unsure what to say next. "So have a nice day, then. Bye bye." With a last chirp, the ship went silent again.
"Brilliant," said Bucky from behind them. "Tal, I think you have a promising future ahead of you in broadcasting."
Tal half-turned in the co-pilot's seat. "Hey, thanks. You think that?"
Bucky rolled his eyes, then turned to Yaella. "Blue?"
"Uh huh?" She took a sip from her mug. The coffee machine needed cleaning, but cleaning it ruined the flavour. "What's up?"
Bucky held up a datapad. "So," he began. "We can now read the manuals for our engines. I downloaded an English translation."
She harrumphed. The Palani rarely translated anything into 'lesser' languages. Just one of the many ways they reminded the other races what they thought of them. "What does it say? Are we doing everything wrong?"
"I haven't read the whole thing. But I now know that the message we keep getting is because the engines want someone to run diagnostics."
"Aren't they still under warranty?"
Tal chuckled in the co-pilot's seat. "A Palani warranty? That's funny."
"Beats me," said Bucky. "They just want some diagnostics. And now I know how."
"Cool. Go ahead. Any time is fine."
"Can't. Can only do it when they're shut off."
Yaella frowned. "What? Who came up with that?"
"Whoever built it, I guess…"
"Fine," she said. "Whatever. Next time we sit still for a day…" Out of the corner of her eye she saw something move, and turned to look.
The Handmaiden was leaning against the bulkhead; Yaella hadn't heard her approach. "Hey," said Yaella. "Good morning, Lanari."
Blue eyes went to each of them in turn. "Captain. Talies
in. Bucky."
"Hey," said Bucky. He shifted in his seat to face her, an awkward smile on his face. "I got that translated manual." He held up the datasheet. "Thanks for suggesting where to get it."
She gave him a curt nod. "You are welcome." Her eyes turned to follow Dr. Munshaw as he walked past her.
The Doctor barely seemed to notice the rest of them as he stood behind Yaella's seat. He looked like a university professor on his way to give a lecture: all he needed was a rumpled tweed jacket. Yaella wondered if new professors were given tips on how to maintain the stereotype.
The Doctor turned his attention out the bridge windows. He kept one hand on the back of Yaella's seat, the other stroking his beard.
Yaella took another sip, and watched the Doctor's face. "Have you ever been in a ship's cockpit before?"
His eyes flicked to hers for a moment. "I usually fly commercial." He looked back out the window. "Nice view. How long until we arrive at…what was the place?"
"Canteen?"
"Canteen," he repeated.
Taliesin spoke up. "You asked 'how long'? How about now?"
Yaella felt the familiar lifting in her stomach as the FTL engines disengaged. The streaks of stars out the window sprung back to points of light, and the rusty ball of Canteen appeared below them.
"Contacts," said Bucky. "Four ships in orbit, another one climbing up from the surface. Huh."
Yaella thought his 'huh' sounded full of meaning. "A little more detail there, Bucky?"
"What? Sorry. Two of the ships in orbit are brand new. I mean, they've probably still got their original packaging. Transponders say they belong to some outfit called 'Red Castle'—"
"Corporate mercenaries," interrupted Lanari. Her icy voice had a sneer in it. "Humans."
Dr. Munshaw waved a hand. "I don't care about mercenaries. Where's the object?"
"You mean the Planet Killer?" asked Bucky.
"Obviously," said the Doctor. "That's why we're here."
"No sign of it. Nothing on passive."
Yaella pursed her lips. "It didn't show up on passive last time, either." She looked over her shoulder at the Doctor. "Should we do a scan?"