by S. J. Madill
It wasn't like Irasa to speak out of turn. Zura slowly lifted her head to look up at the giant woman. Around them, the crowd of soldiers stayed at attention.
"If I may, Mahasa… the Temple no longer threatens you."
She stared at Irasa. The black composite helmet had no expression, and she could only imagine Irasa's face. What did she mean? Of course the Temple no longer threatened her. When you're trying to kill someone, you can't threaten to kill them. What was Irasa—
"Ah," she said, when it came to her. "Colonel, wait here."
She slowly turned away from the elevator and walked into the foyer.
A murmur went through the crowd; soldiers and crew moved aside and stood at attention as she shuffled past, Irasa behind her. Each step was a spike of pain, a rapid clatter of the bandage. She hid the pain, ignored the wince that came with each step.
The crowd fell silent, making a path to the Palani officer. Pari was standing next to him, bag in hand, her eyes watching Zura's slow approach.
The Palani officer bowed. "Mahasa? It is an honour."
Zura slowed to a stop in the middle of the open deck, surrounded by the silent crowd. "Fourth Officer," she said, acknowledging him. She turned to Pari.
Pari bowed. "Mahasa."
"Doctor Singh," said Zura. "Where are you going?"
The Doctor gestured toward the Palani officer. "I thought there might be a ship that could use an extra human Doctor. I'm going to—"
"Pari," interrupted Zura. "I need you." She ignored the excited muttering that swept across the foyer. The tightness in her throat tried to make itself heard in her voice. "Please stay with me."
Beside her, the Palani officer was momentarily lost for words. "Mahasa? My apologies. I had no idea you two were first-names. I—"
No more secrets. No more hiding. "We're more than that, Fourth Officer. I love her."
A hundred people drew breath at the same time. Whispered voices surrounded her. At the back of the crowd someone cheered, which brought a smattering of nervous laughter.
Pari's face flushed with red, and a smile spread to her eyes. "Thank you, Zura," she whispered. "Yes. Of course I will."
To his credit, the Palani officer recovered quickly. "I'll make the arrangements, Mahasa."
"Good. Doctor Singh will stay in my cabin." She looked back at Pari, and managed a weak smile. "See you later, then."
Zura turned around, and a flash of pain made her see white for a moment. Gritting her teeth, she started back toward the elevator. The pain didn't bother her so much, not now.
"Mahasa?" said Irasa beside her, quiet enough that the soldiers couldn't hear.
"Yes?"
"If I may, Mahasa? I'm proud of you."
When they entered the elevator, Zura stopped and took a slow breath. "You may, Irasa. Thank you."
Colonel Mwangi pressed a finger against the elevator's control panel, and the doors slid shut. As the elevator accelerated sideways, Zura thought she heard cheering from outside.
Not a distraction from the fight; a reason to keep at it.
As the elevator sped forward to the Kaha Ranila's bridge, Zura leaned on the wall and closed her eyes. Old anxieties faded away, taking their weight with them. New ideas began to form in her mind.
Chapter Twenty-Six
"I need a bib," Yaella muttered. She held the hem of her shirt with one hand, stretching it away from her body. With the other hand, she scrubbed at the new stain with a wet facecloth.
The head on the Blue Guardian wasn't big, but for a small civilian freighter it was positively palatial. It wasn't just a wet-room; it had a proper shower cubicle. It even had the extra toilet plumbing: intended for Bezod and Jaljal, it was also great for housekeeping. When it was Tal's turn to clean the head, he just hosed everything down with high-pressure water and waited for it to drain through the floor.
She kept scrubbing. The green-label ration packs weren't her favourite, but the osta sauce was fantastic. Assuming, of course, that she actually got any of the sauce in her mouth instead of just dribbling it down the front of her clean shirt. She didn't know exactly what was in osta — or most Palani cooking, for that matter — but once it stained, nothing short of explosives would get it out.
Yaella stretched the shirt up to her face so she could inspect her efforts. "Well, shit." The stain wasn't obvious, but it was there. That was why she didn't eat in the cockpit any more: she always dribbled on herself. But apparently, she still made a mess when she sat at the table and tried to eat like a civilised person.
Draping the wrung-out facecloth over the towel rail, she slid open the door and stepped out into the passageway.
Someone was whistling in the galley, and the smell of coffee made her thirsty. She headed toward it.
Dr. Munshaw glanced up before returning to stirring his mug. "Hey. Heard from your mom?"
The last time she'd seen the Doctor, he'd looked old and worn out. Now, he looked twenty years younger and had a grin on his face. How much of Tal's stash had they been into? "Yeah," she said. "My mom called me. She's okay, I guess."
"Great." He hesitated. "Wait. You guess?"
"Well… Mom said she was okay, but she didn't have time to talk. I'd been so worried, and…"
Dr. Munshaw picked up his mug, blowing over the top of it to cool it off. "And she rushed off?"
"Yeah. I kinda feel… I don't know."
"Uh huh. Your mom's like a general, right? And a war just started. This is when she does her thing." He took a sip. "I bet she's pretty busy right now."
"I guess." It didn't seem fair. She just wanted some time with her. But like Mom said, the universe wasn't interested in being 'fair'. "How about you, Doc? You got some good news, too?"
"Nope," he said, his smile fading. "Nothing yet, but I'm hopeful. And I've had some of Tal's plants, so…"
The intercom speaker crackled to life with Tal's distorted voice. "Hey? Everyone? We're almost at our destination. So… y'know."
The Doctor stared at the speaker, disbelief on his face. "They don't talk like that on commercial flights."
"C'mon," said Yaella. She took a moment to grab a can of fizz from the fridge, then led the way out of the galley. Behind her, the Doctor started whistling. He seemed calm: probably the effects of Tal's stash.
At the cross-corridor that led to the cockpit, a tense Handmaiden was waiting for them. A nod of the head. "Captain."
Yaella stopped, and tried to read the look in the Handmaiden's eyes. "You okay, Lanari? Any news?"
"Not yet, Captain. I remain hopeful that the Pentarch Yenaara is unharmed."
"I hope so, too."
"Thank you."
As she headed to the cockpit, Yaella wondered if her mom knew anything about the Pentarch. Mom would've found out first, wouldn't she?
Holding her can in one hand, Yaella planted one foot on the centre console and climbed into her seat. "What's up?"
Tal looked at the wet spot on her shirt. "Again, Chief? D'you need a tarp?"
"Very funny. How long 'til we come out of FTL?"
"Soon," he said confidently. "How about now…ish?"
"Now-ish?"
Even as she said it, she felt the dropping sensation in her stomach. The ship sighed, and the steady, constant whine of the FTL drive started winding down. After hearing the engines in the background day after day, the sudden quiet was always a little disorienting.
The displays in front of her were already populating themselves. First they showed the system's star, then the planets and moons popped up. "Passive only," she reminded them.
"Nothing on passive," said Bucky.
"Nothing?" She thought a moment. "Oh, wait. It didn't show up on passive last time, either. Tal? Spin us around."
"Okey doke." With a gentle movement of his hands, the Blue Guardian began to rotate in place. Outside the windshield, the backdrop of stars slowly pivoted around them.
"Nothing," Yaella muttered to herself. "Are we gonna have to fly all around the syst
em and look with our bare eyes?"
"Maybe," laughed Bucky. "Do we have binoculars somewhere? I could go outside…"
"Yeah. Maybe we could tape binoculars to the—"
She trailed off as a shape came into view.
"Divines," she whispered.
The giant mass of wreckage filled their view. An armada of ships, of a thousand different designs, all mashed together. The wreck glowed with hundreds of coloured lights from the individual ships: engines and weapon emitters and cabin lights in every shade. Dozens of coloured points of light circled the great ship, flitting around its bulk.
Yaella chewed her lip, and realised how hard she was holding on to the arms of her seat. "Uh, Doc? Found it."
Dr. Munshaw's low whistle startled her. "Well," he said at last. "How about that."
"Yeah," said Yaella. She swallowed. "How about it. Last time we saw it, it—"
She stopped mid-sentence as her blood ran cold. From deep within the jumbled wreck, a single point sparkled with blue light, and the Blue Guardian's cockpit lit up with a sky-blue glow. She felt her skin tingle, then the feeling washed through her. "Oh, man…"
As quickly as it had appeared, the blue glow disappeared. The cockpit became dark again.
Yaella shivered; the scan from the giant ship left her feeling lightheaded. "It, uh, did that last time."
"Yeah," said Bucky. "I didn't like it then, either."
Dr. Munshaw leaned over her shoulder, staring out the windshield at the dreadnought and its rainbow-hued lights. He clicked his tongue. "Okay, then. It knows we're here."
Yaella looked sideways at him. "So, Doc?" She nodded toward the window. "This was the deal, right? We brought you to the Planet Killer thing…"
"So you did," he said, deep in thought. "So you did."
"Uh… what now? Are you going to take pictures or something?"
He smiled. "Let's get closer."
"Closer?"
"Yes, please."
"Well, okay." It occurred to her that she'd never really thought about it. Of course he'd want to get closer. "Tal? Closer, please. Nice and slow, okay?"
"Nice and slow," repeated Tal. He hadn't taken his hands off the controls. With a small nudge, the Blue Guardian started moving.
The rough, kilometre-wide end of the Planet Killer drew near, its length stretching into the distance.
Yaella kept watching out the windshield, occasionally glancing at the Doctor next to her. "How did you know it'd be here?"
"I didn't."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Bullshit."
Dr. Munshaw took his eyes away from the window and turned toward her. He didn't look annoyed so much as bemused. "Bullshit, Captain?"
She wondered if she should've put it quite like that. "So we left Canteen. You chose a planet at random, and we came here. Got it right on the first guess. That wasn't random."
He studied her a moment. "I had a hunch."
"A hunch, Doc?"
He smiled, and gestured out the windshield. "Keep moving closer, please."
Yaella looked past the Doctor. "Bucky?" she asked. "Any sign of… anything?"
"Nuh uh," he replied. "According to our sensors, there's nothing there."
"Great."
They were close now, within half a kilometre of the surface. The end of the massive ship filled their view: a roughly-circular wall of wreckage. From this distance, they could make out individual parts: a chunk of black Bezod ship, with its distinctive purple sheen; the rounded curves of a Jaljal podship, green lights in its oval windows. All different designs of ship, all crammed together. Sharp angles next to organic curves. Smooth green hulls blended into riveted plates.
"There," said Dr. Munshaw. He pointed. "See it?"
"See what?" she asked. "Seriously. What are we—"
"There," said the Doctor, a note of irritation in his voice. "At the ten o-clock position. That rectangular gap."
Her eyes went to the upper left part of the windshield. She saw it: a rectangular opening in the wreckage. It might once have been the stern of a bulk freighter. Big enough for…
"Oh, no," she said. "No way. I know what you're thinking, Doc. Are you nuts?"
Dr. Munshaw didn't take his eyes off the view. "Don't call me that again. And yes, Captain. I'm boarding it. Take us in there."
She saw the horror on Tal's face. "No way," she said, raising her hands. "No goddamned way."
"No?" The Doctor didn't look at her. "What a shame. I'll have to tell the Pentarch Yenaara that—"
Shit. "Okay, wait." She cursed herself for taking this deal in the first place. She remembered, all that time ago, sitting on the couch in the Pentarch's office, listening to the politician offer this job like she was doing her a favour. Which she was, Yaella reminded herself. "Nsal 'neth," she muttered.
The Doctor's eyebrows went up. "That wasn't in the deal, Captain. Though I appreciate the offer." Of course this guy would speak Palani, wouldn't he?
Yaella huffed. "Fine. I don't really have a choice, do I?"
"Of course you do," smiled the Doctor. "It's just not a fair choice."
"Have it your way." She just wished he'd stop being so god-damned smug about it. "Tal?" She took a deep breath and waggled a finger at the windshield. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but please fly us into the gigantic scrap-heap planet-killer thing. You know, so it can kill us."
"Huh," grunted Tal. "So, it's going to be one of those days. I should've stayed in bed—"
"Tal? Please?"
"Okay, okay." He nudged the controls. "In we go. Into the belly of the… thing."
The shadow-filled gap in the wreckage grew larger as they approached. It was the stern of a Bezod bulk carrier, looking like it had crashed into the back of the Planet Killer and become stuck.
As they slowly drifted inside, the dim cones of the ship's lights revealed a stark, empty hangar: no ornamentation, just the rough texture of black Bezod metal. The Blue Guardian slowed to a stop and started descending. With a gentle bump, the ship touched down. Tal's hands still had a white-knuckled grip on the controls. "We're, uh, here?"
"Yeah," Yaella said quietly. Now what? "Shut it down, I guess."
Dr. Munshaw stood up straight. "Excellent," he said, rubbing his hands together. "Thank you, Captain. I'm going outside to explore. You're welcome to come along—"
"What? Outside? Are you—" She stopped herself. "Never mind. We don't have enough suits. We couldn't—"
"I brought my own," said the Doctor.
"As did I," she heard Lanari say.
Yaella looked around at everyone else in the cockpit. When her eyes met Ocean's, he just smiled at her. Of course he smiles. He'll just stroll out there without a suit. "Fine," she said, throwing up her hands. "Now we're going on a field trip inside a scrapyard the size of a dreadnought. Because of course we are." She turned to the Doctor. "And you know a hell of a lot more about this than you're letting on."
The Doctor didn't say anything; he just smiled at her.
I want to punch that smile so much.
* * *
Yaella was pretty sure her suit hadn't leaked this much when she'd put it away, but couldn't remember when that would've been.
They were gathered in the Blue Guardian's cargo bay; suiting up there was easier than five people trying to put on space suits in the cramped confines of the airlock.
"Hold still a sec," said Tal.
She tried not to fidget as he unrolled a strip of suit-repair tape. He moved clumsily in his suit, and without his helmet his head looked comically small. She was surprised that he'd wanted to come. Maybe he just didn't want to stay behind by himself. She didn't blame him.
"There," he said, pressing the tape against her left shoulder. "That should do it."
"Thanks, Tal." She lifted her visored helmet over her head and carefully lowered it down into place.
Ocean was sitting quietly near the closed stern ramp, watching the rest of them. He insisted that he didn't need a suit. Maybe he did
n't need to breathe, but what about his skin? Wouldn't there be tissue damage in the ultra-cold of a vacuum? It sometimes seemed like he was making a point, like he wanted to emphasize how different he was. Like he didn't want to belong. Maybe a thousand years of solitude did that to a person.
Handmaiden Lanari got ready in private, of course. Apparently, her white Artahel leathers were vacuum-safe, and she'd only needed to cover her head and face with a mask. It looked like she was wearing some sort of loose scarf over her head, but when she affixed the transparent blue visor the 'cloth' went rigid and held everything in place. It was hard to read her, but Lanari seemed… relieved? Maybe she'd spent years watching the Temple lose its collective mind. Maybe she knew the Temple was going to order her to kill everyone, and she'd been dreading it. More than once, Yaella had found herself wondering how close the Handmaiden had come to following her Artahel orders. Was it a difficult decision for her?
Dr. Munshaw had brought along his own space suit: an old military-surplus version that he'd used for years. He'd made numerous trips down to strange planets, he'd said, to catalogue 'some weird thing or other'.
Tal gave her helmet a twist, and it locked with a click. "There you go," he said, his voice muffled. He gave her a thumbs-up. "Try the pressure test again."
"Okay," she said, her voice loud in the helmet. A few taps on the wrist-mounted suit controls, and she heard the gentle hiss of tank-stored air. She never liked the metallic taste of it.
Shuffling clumsily in his suit, Tal leaned in to check her suit's wrist controls. It was up to pressure, with only a negligible leak. As long as they were back in an hour or two — and as long as the bits of tape held — there shouldn't be anything to worry about.
All her movements were slow and clumsy; it took two tries to prod her helmet-mounted radio to life. "Radio check?" She sounded like she had a pail over her head.
"I'm good," came Bucky's voice. He gave her a thumbs-up and took big, stomping steps toward the cargo bay ramp controls.
"Present," said the Handmaiden, her voice crisp and clear.
Dr. Munshaw appeared to be fighting with the controls on his suit's wrist. After a few moments, a loud cracking sound in Yaella's helmet made her wince. "Ow," said the Doctor. "Jesus. Sorry. Good to go."