Crusades

by S. J. Madill

  "They're consistent. Gotta give them that."

  Nichols scoffed. "And Ken? Sorry about the Mahasa. Hope she makes it. I know you and her are friends."

  "Yeah. Thanks. Talk to you later, Sam."

  "Will do. Nichols out."

  Ken silently returned the handset to its holder. He sipped at his coffee, peering over the rim of the mug at the displays on the front wall.

  Come on, Zura. You've got too much to do.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Yaella stood frozen in the corridor, clutching the datapad in her hand. Behind her, the others were silent. They all watched as the door opened to Dr. Munshaw's cabin.

  She tightened her grip on the datapad, holding it like it was the only thing keeping her universe together.

  The Doctor took a single step out into the passageway. His eyes were dark, his shoulders slumped. He looked old. In his hand, he held a datapad of his own.

  "Doctor?" she asked. "What's—"

  She trailed off as the Doctor walked slowly toward them.

  He stopped in front of her. His clothes were rumpled, his hair and beard pressed against his face. Either he'd just got up, or he'd been in a fight, or both.

  "The Handmaiden," he said quietly, "needs to be alone for a few minutes." He sounded tired. "Can we all leave her be for a while?"

  "Uh…" Yaella was even more confused than before. "Sure, I guess." She heard murmurs of assent behind her.

  A thin smile from Dr. Munshaw. "Good. Let's go to the galley and have a chat." He turned his head and spoke over his shoulder. "Lanari? Go ahead."

  The Handmaiden emerged from the Doctor's cabin. She moved slowly, like she was on autopilot. As she passed behind Dr. Munshaw and into her own cabin, she kept her eyes down toward the floor. Her cheeks were flush with blue; a few strands of blue hair hung loose. As soon as she disappeared into her own cabin, the door closed behind her.

  Yaella's mind had suggested a thousand different things that could've happened, most of which involved being dead by now. She hadn't expected to see the white-clad commando looking… meek? "Doc? What's going on?"

  He nodded up the corridor. "Galley? I could use a drink—"

  "Oh?" said Tal, his voice cracking. "Say no more. I've got just the thing."

  * * *

  Five of them were gathered in the galley. No one sat; they all stood around the room's edges, spaced apart, leaning against the counters or the walls. No one had spoken for a few minutes, long enough for the coffee machine to cough and dribble out a few cups' worth.

  Dr. Munshaw had opened a cupboard no one ever used, and pulled out a bottle of amber-coloured liquor. He put a long pour of it in his coffee. At a nod from Yaella, he'd put some in hers, too.

  She noticed how the Doctor kept looking at his datapad. He was doing the same thing she was, nervously checking it every few seconds. Her own message was still on the screen, still marked as 'unread'. Between shuddering breaths, she sniffed her whiskey-laced coffee and took a sip. The stuff was like solvent, but it cut the coffee taste. She held her datapad against her chest in one hand, gripped the shaking mug in the other, and leaned back against the counter.

  Bucky was next to her. He had a coffee in his hand as well, and kept giving her concerned looks. Tal was across the room, leaning against the bulkhead. He'd been chewing on a twig or something; he'd offered some to everyone else, but no one had accepted.

  Her eyes went to Ocean. He fidgeted for a while before crossing his arms over his chest and standing still.

  She cleared her throat. "So," she began. She heard the quiver in her voice; her hand tightened around her datapad. "Doc? What's going on? A war has started back home. Whose side is she—"

  "Yeah," drawled the Doctor. He drained the last of his coffee, then picked up the bottle from the counter. "Handmaiden Lanari came into my cabin…" He paused to fill his mug with liquor. "She told me that she'd just been ordered to kill me. To kill me, and then all of you." He wiped his face with a shaking hand. "So that was upsetting."

  Yaella hesitated. "But—"

  "She then told me she wasn't going to do it." A pained smile came to his lips. "I didn't think she would; not for a moment. But still, you don't want to hear that sort of thing from someone, you know?" He laughed: a single, self-conscious chuckle that bordered on hysterical.

  "Wait," said Yaella. "She's disobeying orders from the Artahel?"

  "Nearer to say, I think, that she just quit the Artahel."

  "You can do that?" asked Bucky.

  "No," said the Doctor, shaking his head. "You can't. They'll kill her when they find out." He reached into his pocket and pulled out two pen-sized metal tubes. "That's why she broke the Tunnel cells." He offered them to Yaella. "So the Temple would think the ship was destroyed and we were all dead."

  Yaella looked down at the dead Tunnel cells in the Doctor's hand. Without them, their only connection to the rest of the galaxy was the silent datapad in her hand. "Keep them," she said. "For all it matters."

  The Doctor closed his fingers around the Tunnel cells. He nodded toward the datapad she clung to. "Any news from your mother?"

  She shook her head; she didn't trust herself to say anything. Instead, she gestured at the datapad the Doctor had in his own hand.

  "Yeah," he said, looking down at his device. "This one's connected to my boss at the Science Ministry."

  "Anything?" asked Bucky.

  The Doctor shook his head.

  Yaella checked her datapad again, but nothing had changed. She wanted to turn the ship around, to rush home and… do what? You couldn't turn around in FTL. And even if they could somehow get home in a minute, what then? As far as she knew, they'd be flying into the middle of a civil war.

  While her heart demanded she do something, anything, her mind quietly reminded her of the obvious. "We've got nothing."

  "What?" asked Bucky.

  "No options. Nothing we can do. My mom, and who knows how many other people, are in danger. Maybe there's a war going on now. Maybe it's over already. There's nothing we can do about it." Tears started filling her eyes again. "Nothing."

  "Huh," mused Tal. "What a lousy day. I've got plants, if it helps…"

  She smiled at him. There was always so much calm and kindness in his eyes. Maybe it didn't matter what he chewed on, if it brought him peace. "Thanks Tal," she said quietly. "Maybe later."

  "Okay," said Tal. "I'm going to go see how the ship is doing. Someone should be driving, I guess." He headed for the galley door. "Come by later, if any of you change your mind about having a chew on something. It'll help, I promise."

  As Tal left the galley, Ocean started fidgeting. He unfolded his arms, and took a step toward her, repeatedly looking at her and then away. "Hope everything is okay," he said awkwardly. He put one hand on her shoulder, just for a moment, then turned and left the galley without another sound. She watched him go.

  "C'mere," said Bucky. He leaned closer, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. "Let me know if there's anything I can do. Or if you want to talk, or whatever."

  "Thanks." She couldn't bear to make eye contact with him; she kept her eyes on the floor as he left.

  Another quick glance at her datapad. Still nothing. It had been less than twenty minutes since this all started. Maybe Mom was in the command centre. Maybe she was fighting for her life. Maybe it was already over. Without the ship's Tunnel cells, they were in the dark.

  Dr. Munshaw broke the silence. "You okay?"

  She didn't trust herself to speak. She just shook her head.

  "Yeah. Me neither."

  Her eyes remained fixed on the floor. On her polished boots, a distorted face looked back up at her. "How…" She sniffled, and wiped her nose again. "How're you doing it?"

  "Doing what?" asked the Doctor.

  "Staying calm. You must be worried about people, too. Your family, your boss, your colleagues…"

  "I'm not calm," he said quietly. "I'm terrified. Scared. Frustrated. Lanari wouldn't hurt me,
but still…" He was leaning against the counter, his shoulders slumped. Even with the grey hair and beard, he'd never seemed old. Not until now. He looked like a tired old man.

  "Hey," she said. "You said you used to lead science teams. There must've been times when it was, you know… hard."

  "Oh, there were times." He shook his head. "I was supposed to be in charge, but I don't think I was good at it. Some people said I was hard to get along with." He shrugged. "They were probably right."

  She checked her datapad again. Nothing. "I guess I've gotten used to having Mom around to back me up. To fix things when they go wrong, you know?"

  He nodded. "Growing up sucks, huh?"

  She tried to force a grin, but couldn't. "I was hoping there was a trick to it."

  Dr. Munshaw thought a moment. "You could do what I do: put on an act. Be brave in public. Fall apart in private. Repeat, every day, until you die."

  Yaella stared at him. "Divines," she whispered. "That's not great…"

  "No, it isn't." He pushed off the counter and stood up straight. "I'm going to go get some of that stuff Taliesin is offering. If all I can do is wait, I'd prefer not spending the whole time on the edge of panic." With a last tight-lipped smile, he left the galley.

  She stayed where she was, leaning on the counter, her whole body curled around the datapad she held to her chest. She watched Dr. Munshaw until he was out of sight. Maybe she should—

  Her heart jumped into her throat as the datapad started chirping. An incoming call. She fumbled with clumsy, excited hands, turning the device around and pressing the button.

  "Hello?" she said, her voice cracking.

  It wasn't Mom.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  She was still in the back of the shuttle. Still in Irasa's arms, with Pari hovering over her. She'd only shut her eyes for a moment. But when they fluttered open again, she wasn't in the shuttle anymore. She looked up into bright lights, like staring at the sun. A figure moved nearby, silhouetted against stark white walls. Everything was shrouded in a fog.

  She didn't know where she was, but she remembered that she was in danger. There were things she needed to do. People she needed to warn. But she couldn't remember who or what.

  She tried to move, but her arms were too heavy. Her fingers had no strength to them, and she couldn't grasp the surface she lay on. She couldn't sit up, and could barely move her legs. She was trapped. Opening her mouth to scream, she heard a pathetic moan.

  The shadowy figure in the fog turned toward her and approached. A Palani man, dressed as a fleet surgeon. He had a bruise on his face.

  "Ah," said the surgeon. He looked down at her like she was a sample in a petri dish.

  Zura tried to speak again, but only moaned. She couldn't take a deep breath. There was pain, too, but it didn't bother her. It was present but distant, like it was someone else's pain.

  The surgeon bowed to her. "Mahasa," he said, then straightened up. He kept talking, but she didn't understand him.

  He held up a datasheet and started reading. It sounded like a shopping list: names of organs, muscles, and procedures. He said something about minimally functional. What did that mean?

  He tapped a finger on his datasheet and seemed to switch languages, using more words she didn't understand: hematol, lapitrozitin, quantrotoxicin. Dosages. Side effects. He kept mentioning nausea.

  "Do you have any questions about your medication, Mahasa?"

  The best she could do was grunt.

  The surgeon looked back at his datasheet. "I'll take that as a 'no', Mahasa. There is still a large amount of synthetic blood in your system. It will take four to six weeks to fully metabolize. In the meantime, you may experience issues with fatigue and/or loss of sleep."

  She tried to say something, but the surgeon forged ahead without waiting for her. "On your arms and legs are packs to dispense medication and collect waste. An attendant will have to replace both at regular intervals. Your kinetic bandage—" he gestured toward her midsection— "will limit your movement, and provide physical support for your abdominal muscles. Do not fight it or exceed its capabilities. If you do, your wounds will reopen. Also, do not consume solid food: water only. Nutrition will be supplied through the medication bracers." His eyes met hers, one eyebrow lifting imperiously. "Any questions, Mahasa?"

  She squinted at him. I think I'm in a hospital. Or maybe a medical bay on a ship.

  "No? Very well." The surgeon rolled up his datasheet and slid it into a fold of his robes. "If I may, Mahasa: you should be in a regeneration pod—"

  "No," she grunted. It was difficult to form words; her tongue felt too big for her mouth. "Not the tank." She had visions of the green-yellow fluid. The transparent walls around her; the tubes jammed into her body.

  "For injuries such as yours, Mahasa, we prescribe two to four days in a regeneration pod, at least…"

  "No tank," she croaked. She slowly shook her head.

  "Quite," said the surgeon. "Your friend, the human 'Doctor', would not allow it. She was determined to interfere with our chosen course of treatment. I regret that she became… combative."

  Zura knew who he meant. It took a moment for her mind to locate the face that went with it. Pari.

  The surgeon sighed. "We summoned security to have the human removed, but your bodyguard…" he glared at something behind her, "…sided with the human."

  Zura lifted her chin, trying to see behind her. At the head of the bed was a massive suit of black combat armour, the masked helmet tilted down toward her. Irasa?

  The surgeon cleared his throat to get her attention.

  "Mahasa, it will take another few minutes for the neurocelcitade to take full effect. When it does, you will be mentally ready to return to your duties. However," he raised his imperious eyebrow again, "do keep in mind the precariousness of your physical state. Any excess movement could reopen your injuries, and you would bleed out just as fast as before. You must understand this, Mahasa." He looked at her like he was expecting something. "Mahasa?"

  "Understood," she whispered. She experimented with taking a deep breath, but only got a sip before pressure from her midsection stopped her. "I… may have questions later."

  "Of course, Mahasa. Now, I have other patients to attend to." He turned toward the door. "Your friend the human is outside. Do you wish—"

  "Yes," she said. "Let Doctor Singh in."

  He made a face like he'd just smelled something distasteful. "Very well."

  As the surgeon headed out the door, Zura tried to relax.

  Things were becoming clearer. She was on a bed in a medical bay. She'd woken up on a bed like this many times before; sometimes she'd woken up while the medical team was still working. Memories paraded past her; it was hard to tell what was recent and what was ancient. Torn and burned flesh. Blood; more blood than she thought she could possibly contain: brilliant blue, with beige swirls of synthblood. Sometimes, she'd be patched up and sent back out, often in time to rejoin the same battle. Or, if too badly maimed, she'd be put into the tank. "Irasa?"

  A voice came from behind her, distorted by the helmet-mounted speakers. "Yes, Mahasa?"

  "Thank you for keeping me out of the tank."

  "Yes, Mahasa."

  She tried to take another deep breath, but couldn't. She tried harder, pushing against the pressure around her midsection, and was rewarded with a jolt of pain: it was real pain, but it still felt distant. "Irasa?"

  "Yes, Mahasa?"

  "What of your squad?"

  "It is just me, Mahasa. Pelaa and Nathal are dead. Antur is in a tank."

  "Nsal 'neth," she whispered.

  "Yes, Mahasa."

  What of her staff? Were they all dead? She assumed she was on the Kaha Ranila. She needed to contact Captain Para, and Ken Amoroso…

  She froze. Yaella. "My daughter. Any word of—"

  "She's fine." Pari appeared at the side of the bed. "You look better than you did." She held out a hand. "C'mon, let's sit you up. Nice an
d slow."

  Zura clasped the offered hand; it was hot, and she was surprised by its strength. She leaned on her other arm, and a second hot-skinned hand on her back helped her sit up. Every move was accompanied by a chorus of clicks coming from the vise clamped around her abdomen. It squeezed tighter as she straightened up.

  "There you are."

  Zura looked down at herself. A thin green gown hung limp from her shoulders. Thick white composite bracers were clamped around her forearms, their displays flickering with data. Larger white packs were strapped to her thighs. Wearable medical gear: input on the arms, output on the legs. Bulky and heavy and uncomfortable, but better than being in the tanks. Anything was better than that.

  With a shaking hand wrapped in bandages, Zura pulled the hem of the gown to one side. Around her midsection, from under her breasts to the widest part of her hips, she was wrapped in a broad white kinetic bandage: a grid of small white squares, each moving independently, reshaping and reapplying force. To do what her body couldn't: hold her together and upright.

  "You okay?" Pari was watching her.

  "No." She tried to hide a wince. "The fleet surgeon said a bunch of things, but…"

  "Oh?" said Pari. "Doctor Personality deigned to speak to you? That guy's something else. Bedside manner of a shark. Want the short version?"

  Zura nodded.

  "Okay." Pari held one hand on Zura's shoulder to steady her; Pari's hand was bandaged, too. "You tried really hard to bleed out, you know. I carry some synthblood in my pack, but not that much. Anyway." She glanced over at something on the wall. "It's been seven hours. Captain Para said he needed you awake and able to think, so that's what they did. You're sealed, not healed. You hearing me, Zura? You're held together with sutures and gut-glue."

  "Understood."

  Pari pointed at the kinetic bandage. "This thing is holding your guts in. It'll provide support, help you move, and keep you from overdoing things. Don't fight it, okay? I'm serious."

  "Yes," Zura nodded. "Understood."

  "Okay. Meds. You're loaded up with an entire pharmacy. The last one they gave you was to get your brain back in gear. It's all fleet-approved; you're good to assume command right away. Captain Para is on his way down from the bridge to give you an update. Admiral Amoroso is standing by to speak to you. There's a lot going on."