Crusades

by S. J. Madill

  He took a deep breath and leaned forward, his elbows on the table. When he spoke, his voice was unexpectedly calm. "I'll tell you a secret."

  Yaella raised an eyebrow. One moment, the guy was being an ass. The next, he was being friendly. Mom wasn't wrong about this guy being moody.

  "It's okay," he said. "Not having a plan is okay."

  "What?"

  "Just don't let people know you don't have one."

  Yaella frowned. "What the hell would you know about—"

  He waved a hand to cut her off. "Try running a science team." He rolled his eyes. "Egos the size of planets. All with their own agendas. Most of them out for glory."

  Yaella wondered if all scientists were like this guy. How the hell did anything ever get discovered?

  He pointed an accusing finger at her. "Your crew knows you don't have a plan. They're all at loose ends because you're sitting around waiting for a solution to drop on your head. And that's not going to happen."

  "Wait, wait," she said, waving her hands in front of her. "I know what we need to do, okay? Who the hell are you to say I don't have a plan?"

  One white eyebrow raised. "Because if you did, you'd be telling me about it, instead of getting your back up." His other eyebrow went up to meet the first. "Or am I wrong?"

  She wanted to protest. She wanted to tell him he was full of shit. She wanted to stomp her feet and throw things. In other words, she realised, she wanted to throw a tantrum.

  Instead, she slumped in the seat. "No," she sighed. "You're not wrong." She lowered her eyes to the datapads covering the table. "I'm no good at planning. There's too much to think about. What if it doesn't work? What if I make the wrong decision?"

  "So that's your solution? Avoid making a mistake by doing nothing?"

  Yaella scoffed. "When you put it like that, it sounds stupid."

  "It is."

  "Look," she said, the flush returning to her face. "There's a lot to think about—"

  "That's an excuse."

  "Screw you," she said. "It's complicated, okay?"

  "Another excuse."

  "Oh, for…" She rolled her eyes. "Must be nice to be right all the damn time. Where's your Nobel Prize?"

  She regretted it as soon as she said it; as scientists went, that was probably a low blow.

  To her surprise, his smile barely faltered. "Go ahead. Get annoyed. I don't care." He shook his head. "There's nothing you can call me that I haven't already been called."

  "You sound like my mom."

  He cocked his head a little, but didn't break eye contact. "From what I've heard of her, that's a compliment."

  Yaella leaned back. Why the hell had she agreed to any of this? To haul this smug asshole out here to find a murderous moving junkyard? And how was any of this getting her any closer to finding the hybrid kids?

  The clatter of datapads startled her as the Doctor swept the devices aside. "There is a standard planning methodology used throughout the academic world." He dropped a single datapad in front of her. "It's bullshit. We're doing it my way."

  On the table, the datapad's screen was blank, awaiting input.

  She frowned. "What the hell?"

  He waggled a finger at the datapad. "Write down your objective."

  "What? I'm not in class."

  "You are now. You need to learn how to plan. I said, write down your objective. Your goal."

  "I don't…" She trailed off when she saw the look in his eyes. The sort of look that every professor had, somewhere between contempt and pity. The look that said they were going to make the student understand, no matter how much blood was spilled.

  She sighed again — a bit theatrically, she realised — and picked up the datapad. The device translated her hesitant finger strokes into text. "Fine," she said. She turned the datapad to show him. "There: Find Planet Killer."

  He shook his head. "No. That's not your goal. That's my goal."

  "I don't—"

  "Your goal is to find the hybrid kids I keep hearing about." Dr. Munshaw looked at her with the same impatient face she'd seen on a dozen professors back in university. "You think the Union has these hybrids. But not only do you not know where the Union is, the only time you met them they almost killed you. So, you're stuck. Stuck until you find out where they are, and get them to listen to you instead of shooting at you." He cocked his head. "Am I close?"

  She stared back at him. After a moment, she realised her mouth was hanging open. "How did you…"

  "I did my research. Now then, taking me to the Planet Killer is something you're doing for Pentarch Yenaara. You need to get it done so you can continue searching for the hybrids."

  "I…"

  He raised an eyebrow. "Stop gawping; it's not a good look." Leaning back in the seat, he took a sip of coffee. "On to your goal of getting me to the Planet Killer. What do you do next?"

  "What?"

  He rolled his eyes. "Try to keep up. What needs to happen next?"

  Yaella shrugged. "Nothing? I don't know? Lil said the Planet Killer left a droid-like thing behind when it took off. If I can get you to that droid thing, can you use it to find out where the Planet Killer went?"

  It was the first time she'd seen the Doctor smile. He opened his hands with a flourish. "There, see? You had an idea, and you involved a member of your team. Now look at me: I feel empowered and included."

  She frowned at him. "You're patronising me."

  "Of course I am. And instead of just floundering and saying 'I don't know', you sounded like you had a thought. Maybe even the beginning of a plan. You spoke to me from a position of apparent competence. And now—" he pointed at himself— "I feel like you have a clue. Maybe we won't all just blunder into a catastrophe."

  "Divines," she breathed. "Now you're really patronising me."

  He nodded. "Very much. Is it working?"

  "Are science teams always like this?"

  "Usually worse." He waggled a finger at the datapad in her hand. "Now, you have an immediate goal: get me and the droid in the same place, so I can examine it. Very good. Write it down."

  "Then what do I—"

  Another waggle of the finger. "What people, skills, and resources are available to you? What are the known obstacles? Come on, start writing."

  She scoffed. "List the problems? The things that could go wrong? This is going to take all day."

  The Doctor leaned back in his seat. After a moment, he began stroking his beard, his fingers pulling the hair to a point. "I'm sorry," he said, looking down his nose at her. "Did you have somewhere you needed to be?"

  Yaella sighed. "No, Doctor Munshaw." She picked up the datapad and started writing.

  At least he isn't taking attendance.

  * * *

  Yaella was in the cargo bay, arranging crates in a loose semicircle, when Lanari appeared.

  "Oh, hey," said Yaella. "D'you think—"

  Lanari nodded in the direction of Dr. Munshaw, who was sitting on a crate. "Has he been a problem? I heard you raising your voice."

  Yaella looked over her shoulder at the Doctor. He had his arms crossed, his eyes studying something high on the wall. "No," Yaella said. "Not really." She hesitated. "He's blunt, but… honest, I guess."

  Those cobalt-blue eyes studied her. "Very well," said Lanari, apparently satisfied. She moved away, and stood at the back of the semicircle.

  "What's this?" asked Bucky, coming through the hatch. "Are we having a meeting, Blue?"

  "Yeah," she said. "I guess we are."

  "Okay," said Bucky, his eyes narrowing. "Who are you, and what have you done with Blue?"

  "Ha ha," she replied sarcastically.

  Ocean slid sideways past Bucky and stood at the back. His eyes were on the hand-drawn star system that still decorated the forward bulkhead.

  The shuffling of slippers heralded Tal's arrival. He stepped through the hatch, mug in his hand. "Ooo, neat," he said. "It's like a campfire. But without the campfire."

  "Have a seat, Tal
," said Yaella. "We're all here."

  She felt self-conscious as she moved to the centre of the semicircle. All eyes were on her; she hated being the centre of attention. In school, just hearing her name spoken by the teacher made her want to panic.

  "So," she began. She rubbed her hands together, mostly to hide how sweaty they were. "We, uh, need to find the Planet Killer ship. That's why we brought Dr. Munshaw out here."

  No one said a thing; they were all watching her. It was already starting to get hot in the cargo bay.

  "Anyway." She cleared her throat. "The Planet Killer isn't here, but it left behind some kind of droid. The Doctor…" she gestured at him; he still sat with his arms crossed, "…he thinks the droid might provide a clue as to where the Planet Killer went. We just need to get the Doctor and the droid in the same place."

  Bucky raised a hand. "That lady in the bar—"

  "DeWinter," said Tal. "She seemed nice."

  "Yeah," said Bucky. "Her. She said the Guild had the droid in a warehouse or something, remember? She said it weighed a couple hundred kilos."

  "Exactly," said Yaella. "Too heavy to carry."

  Bucky made a face. "We can't push it all the way across Canteen on a cargo loader. Someone would notice."

  Tal raised a hand, sitting up straight. "Oh! Oh, I know this one. It's like that saying."

  Yaella sighed. "What, Tal?"

  He still had his hand up, and poked the air with his finger as he spoke. "If the mountain won't go to him, then he must go to the mountain. Something like that?"

  "Exactly," said Yaella. This was going much better than she'd imagined. "We need to get Doctor Munshaw to the droid."

  Bucky frowned. "Wait. Inside the Guild warehouse?"

  Yaella nodded. "Yeah."

  "What about all the Guild guards and mercenaries?" Bucky jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "They aren't just going to let you waltz in and look at their prize."

  "I know," said Yaella. "So we need to distract them."

  Dr. Munshaw spoke up. "Start a fight. Lil said the Guilds and the McLean-Irvine mercenaries are spoiling to fight each other. We just encourage them to start."

  "Oh," said Tal. He squirmed a little. "I don't know. I was hoping for something that involved less fighting. I mean—"

  "We're not going to hurt anyone," said Yaella. She looked at the datapad in her hand. It was full of notes she'd written herself: things she'd thought of. "Canteen has dust storms. We wait until there's a storm in the middle of the night. There'd be so much confusion that no one would hit anything. Can't see anything in a dust storm, right?"

  Bucky made a face. "Let's suppose we do that. How do we get to the warehouse?"

  "I'll lead you there," said Lanari. She turned her eyes to Dr. Munshaw. "Think you can keep up with me, Doctor?"

  The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "No, Handmaiden. I can't keep up with you. You'll have to move at an old man's speed."

  Yaella looked back and forth between the two of them.

  "Very well," said Lanari. "I'll get us to the warehouse."

  Bucky held up his hand. "What about us, Blue? Lookouts? Backup?"

  "Yup. Just try to keep anyone from getting in the way. We won't be able to see much, but neither will anyone else."

  "We hope."

  "Yeah, 'we hope'. If someone shows up, a few warning shots coming out of the dust might be enough to get them to keep their distance. We only need to buy a minute or two."

  "Excuse me." At the back of the group, Ocean raised a hand. "I might be able to help."

  "Oh?" Yaella hadn't expected him to say anything. "What do you have in mind?"

  "If there's a lock that you are unable to open, I could open it."

  "Wait." Yaella stared at him. "Really? You can do that?"

  All eyes had turned toward Ocean, who raised his shoulders in a shrug. "I've done it before."

  "Okay," said Yaella. "Wow. That's awesome, Ocean. Thank you."

  She looked at Tal, who was fidgeting. "How about you stay with the ship, Tal? If something goes awry, we might have to take off in a hurry."

  She could see him relax a little. "Yeah" he said. "That'd be great. I could do that."

  Yaella took a deep breath and looked around the room. Everyone seemed… relieved? Maybe they were just stunned to hear that she had a plan. "So this isn't written in stone, okay? If anyone has any ideas, let's talk about it some more. And there's some risk, too: we'll be out in the dark, in a dust storm, with shooting going on around us." She pursed her lips. "So we stay in cover. You know… hide. A lot."

  The Handmaiden caught her eye. "Captain."

  "Yes, Lanari?"

  "I will go out tonight. I will scout the area and return."

  Bucky half-raised his hand. "I, uh, could go with you—"

  "No." Lanari shook her head. "I will go alone. I know how to do this." She looked sideways at him. "But I appreciate the offer."

  "Oh," said Bucky, offering an awkward smile. "No problem."

  Yaella paused a moment, to see if anyone else had anything to say. "Okay then." She was already feeling anxious. This was her idea, and she was responsible for the results. "So… everyone think about it. We can talk again tomorrow, and go over it in more detail. And then…" she opened her hands, "…we wait for a night with a dust storm."

  She forced a smile to her face, and tried to keep from showing her growing anxiety. This was my idea. How stupid is it? And what am I forgetting?

  Chapter Eleven

  Holding the ration pack in one hand, Zura stabbed her fork into the last of the grilled nirval and bit off half with her teeth. She leaned on the railing of the balcony outside her bedchamber, watching the city as she chewed.

  The headquarters' kitchens had some of the finest military chefs from throughout the Alliance, who despaired at her preference for field rations. But to her, the rations were consistent: the same recipes, prepared the same way, as they had been for centuries. The red-label packs were her favourite. She knew what she was getting, and how good it would be (or how mediocre), and there were no surprises. Food was fuel; fill up and keep going. Having somewhere clean and safe to eat was luxury enough; she wasn't about to start fussing over artisanal this, or post-ethical that. Plants and animals were killed, cooked, and put in packages. That's how food worked. Anything beyond that was pretence.

  Zura looked out over the spires and towers of New Fraser, to the sky and the horizon beyond. Another beautiful day that I'll be spending at my desk. She sighed and headed back inside.

  Putting the empty ration pack in the disposal, she crossed the floor to her dressing room. She picked up the nearest of her identical uniform coats, and checked the mirror as she put it on. The woman in the reflection looked bored. Another day spent waiting to see what would come along to complicate it. She hadn't even checked her messages; the indicator light said there was nothing urgent waiting, so she hadn't bothered. It could wait until she made it to her office.

  She studied herself in the mirror as she fixed the Mahasa's chain around her neck. Part chain, part leash.

  The gloves of a Palani officer were symbols, too: that the empire's leaders would get dirt and blood on their hands, metaphorically or otherwise. Zura pulled them on, carefully scissoring her fingers to tighten them.

  One last look at the woman in the mirror: all correct. She glanced at the time display on the wall. Exactly on schedule.

  She sighed. It had been days since she'd talked to Pari, who was working nights at the hospital. As much as they wanted to spend an evening together, they needed to maintain the charade. Pari's co-workers teased her about needing a 'hobby', about not having any interests outside of work. If Pari changed her schedule to get evenings off, questions would be asked, and that was the last thing they needed. Instead, they were confined to a few brief messages now and then. For the next few days at least, it would have to do.

  Plucking a speck of dust from her coat, Zura turned and left the dressing room. She marched through the gaudy ro
oms of her official residence, out the door, and down the extravagant stairs to the office level below.

  The staff officers scrambled to attention at their desks, sitting down again as she waved them off. Ahead, Admiral Amoroso was waiting outside the doors to her inner office. He wore his heavy overcoat — he intended to be in her office for a while — and had a hint of a grin.

  He bowed at her approach. "Mahasa."

  "Good morning, Admiral. Join me in my office."

  Amoroso pulled open one of the double doors and followed her inside. A steaming cup of tea was waiting on her desk.

  She heard the office door close behind her. "Ken?" she asked, picking up the teacup. "Is something going on?"

  Humans were hard to read sometimes. Right now, Ken looked like he was only pretending to be serious. "Zura… if you want my resignation, you'll have it."

  She frowned at him over her teacup. "Shin sa en-fedor," she muttered. This had to be a record: the fastest time that an ordinary day had fallen apart after she entered her office.

  The smile hadn't left his face. "Oh? You haven't read it?"

  She shook her head. "I have not. Something interesting, I presume."

  Ken reached into one of the pockets of his overcoat and pulled out a datapad. His breath was visible as he turned the device to show her. "It's on the front page of everything. There was a scientific study published about everyone who was on the Borealis, like me. It showed that the time distortion Borealis went through caused psychological problems that affect our judgment, our morals—"

  Zura rolled her eyes. "You don't believe that—"

  "Of course not," he scoffed. "It's bullshit. But the media is running with it. They're saying everyone who was on Borealis should be removed from positions of authority."

  "Nsal 'neth," she spat. Even for Ivenna, this was clumsy and idiotic.

  "Look," said Ken. "Just for the sake of public perception, if you want me to—"

  "Denied. You're not going anywhere." She sighed. Some days, she actually longed for a proper battle, fighting with ships and weapons instead of gossip and lies. "In fact," she said, putting her cup down on the desk, "I doubt it's just about you, Ken. There were others on the Borealis with you."