Crusades

by S. J. Madill

  "Yeah," she whispered to him. "But, you know…"

  "Uh huh," he said quietly. "It's too easy?"

  "Yeah," she nodded. "I know I've been whining about not knowing what to do next, but holy shit, Bucky…"

  He was chewing on his bottom lip. "Someone's giving us a lift, which is nice, but…"

  "But what?"

  "But what are we going to do when we get there?"

  "Nsal 'neth," she muttered. Just like that, she was back to where she started: flailing in the dark, not knowing what to do. She'd found a way to the Union, but it was on someone else's terms. Once again, the galaxy nudged her closer to her goal. And, once again, she wasn't in control of any of it.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Zura listened carefully to Admiral Uderin's report, while trying to ignore the pain in her side.

  She was leaning over her desk, both hands on the desktop. Putting all her weight on her hands seemed to lessen the pressure on her sides. As long as she stayed still, the pain would subside for a while, and the damned bandage would stop its clicking.

  The Admiral paused, having come to the end of his report. He waited for Zura's response.

  She concentrated, trying to sort out what the Admiral had said. Going on like this wasn't acceptable. There was too much to be done, for her to be constantly distracted by pain. At least she'd stopped coughing up blood.

  "Very well," she said. Her eyes scanned the holographic map floating in front of her. "So that's the repair yards at Dural, the fuel depot at Sadin, and the outer defences at Isun and Nurr. Good." She looked at the time display. "And your units are on schedule?"

  The Admiral smiled. "Yes, Mahasa. All ships will arrive on schedule, within a minute of your appointed time."

  Zura nodded, the bandage clicking in response. Why couldn't they make a bandage that was silent? "Well done, Admiral. Your fleet's navigators are outstanding as always."

  "Yes, Mahasa. I'll pass that on."

  "Please do." She tried to suck in a deep breath. As deep as she could, before the clicking bandage stopped her. Nsal 'neth. "Any questions, Admiral?"

  "None, Mahasa."

  "Very well. Thank you. That's all for now."

  "Yes, Mahasa." The Admiral's image scattered into points of light that winked out.

  Zura straightened up, rolling her shoulders against the growing ache. Her eyes were blurry, and blinking repeatedly didn't clear it.

  Nsal 'neth. She stepped away from the desktop; the bandage rattled as it squeezed and shoved her insides around. Redistributing weight around sutured muscles, down to her hips or over to the other side. Doing its job, so she could do hers. And keeping her out of the tanks the surgeons still prescribed.

  Carefully moving her legs — the left was still weak — she turned around.

  The admiral's 'duty cabin' was at the back of the admiral's bridge, across from the conference amphitheatre. It was simple, and pleasingly devoid of ostentation. Her real 'cabin', with all its comforts, was only fifty metres away. But at high readiness, that was too far. The most senior officers — admirals, captains, and others — had 'duty cabins' attached to the bridge itself. It improved response times, and avoided the unseemly spectacle of a senior officer running to the bridge.

  In addition to the desk and chairs and small bunk, her duty cabin had one unique feature: Irasa, in her black combat armour, looming silently in the corner nearest the door. Hour after hour, never complaining, never moving. She'd been with her every moment. Last of the squad of four who had kept her safe for over a century. Just her and Antur — or what remained of him — down in the medical bay.

  No time to think about that now. There would be plenty of time later, she hoped, once the immediate problems had been dealt with.

  Her vision was clearer now; a short moment looking away was enough to rest her eyes and mind. She turned around — again favouring her disobedient left leg — back toward the map. Locking her elbows, she leaned forward, the palms of her hands pressing against the desk surface; her bandaged right hand added its own ache to the chorus.

  The Temple was run by idiots. Zealots. All dogmatism and no pragmatism. Ivenna had decided to proceed with her coup. Maybe some divination had told her it was the right time: some sign in the stars or in a pall of incense. Ivenna had some good officers on her side, but they weren't ready to start a war. Not yet. With no word from Four-Thirteen — or anyone in Palani Intelligence — Zura lacked information. But what she had was enough; enough to paint the outlines of what the Temple's forces were doing.

  The Temple's fleet was scrambling, still resolving which ships were loyal. The Temple wasn't ready to execute a co-ordinated plan. Instead, they were spending precious hours withdrawing to assembly points to organise. They would seek to hold their most vital positions while they came up with a plan. She knew most of the officers: some of them would be waiting for her to make the first move.

  She'd spoken to Ken Amoroso, and he knew what she was going to do:

  When in doubt, attack.

  She watched the tiny indicators moving across the map. Nearly every ship was on the move. The two dreadnoughts, with a minimal escort, were headed to the remote Reserve Fleet anchorage, where the legendary might of the Palani Fleet lay deactivated and silent. Twenty-two dreadnoughts were there, with nine hundred and sixty-one frigates, and hundreds of support and specialist vessels, all arranged in precise rows orbiting the second planet of the system. She believed the Temple's forces would rush there to reactivate a dreadnought or two, to bolster their fleet. They would be expecting her to attack, since the victor would gain unopposed access to the silent ships. Within days, reactivated ships would join the war, swinging the balance in favour of one side or the other. The war could very well be decided there.

  Her eyes blurred again; she saw doubles of everything on the map. She pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers, wincing at the pain from raising her arm.

  A single chime came from the desktop, and a message circle appeared: Colonel Mwangi wished to speak with her. Back on New Fraser, she'd had two dozen staff officers to help her govern the sector. If she'd had two dozen copies of Mwangi, she could've ruled the galaxy. Diligent, tireless, and supremely competent. "Yes, Colonel?"

  "Mahasa. Doctor Singh is here to check your medical supplies."

  "Thank you, Colonel. Send her in."

  Zura straightened up again, turning away from the desk with the usual clatter and pressure from her bandage. When she blinked, Pari was already in the room. She was standing at the bunk, sorting out a collection of medical packs for her arms and legs. Input on the arms, output on the legs. In and out…

  "How're you doing?" asked Pari. She was standing right in front of Zura, a pack in one hand. Those dark eyes were examining her just as carefully and thoroughly as the medical scanner in her other hand. "Still coughing up blood?"

  Zura shook her head. "No. No more coughing up blood." She thought a moment, then noticed her coat was off, draped over the back of a chair. "I'm foggy, sometimes. Moments go missing."

  Pari just nodded, as she worked at replacing the medical packs on Zura's arms. "Any pain?"

  "Yes." She didn't know why she blurted it out so quickly. "It distracts me. Makes it hard to focus."

  "Uh huh." Pari had already replaced the packs on her legs; Zura didn't remember seeing her do that. "Listen…"

  Zura blinked, and tried to focus on Pari. "Yes?"

  Pari held up a datapad, showing results from a medical scan. "Zura, you're not well…"

  "Obviously."

  "Hush. Please remember, you're held together with gut glue and meds. Your body is trying to shut down, and we're stopping it. You need rest. You need to stay still for a few days at the very least." She frowned. "I know you don't want to hear it, but the Palani fleet surgeons are right. You should be in a regen tank…"

  "No," she stammered, waving away the idea. The bandage clattered angrily. "Not the tanks. Don't…"

  Pari her put hand on
Zura's shoulder. Even through the fabric of her coat — she didn't remember putting it back on — she could feel the heat of Pari's touch. "Not without your permission, I promise. I know you hate the tanks. If I thought it'd help, I'd climb in one with you."

  "What?" Zura tried to focus. "You'd do that?"

  Pari shrugged. "Of course. But they're not built for two, so—"

  "No. Don't." She couldn't ask Pari to do that. She couldn't ask anyone to do that. Not for her. "I don't…"

  The hand on her shoulder gave a gentle squeeze. "You in there? You still foggy?"

  She was glad Pari was still with her, though she wasn't sure how long it had been. "I'm having trouble thinking. I miss things."

  "Okay." The grip released from her shoulder. Zura heard some chirping from a datapad, and warmth flooded up her arm. Within moments, the room came into sharper focus. Pari was in front of her, looking at her datapad. "Thank you. That's better."

  Brown eyes studied her for a while before going back to the datapad. "I guess we'll keep it at that level. How's the pain?"

  Zura had to think about it. There was pain, especially when she moved, but it wasn't much. "It's fine. Keep it there. I can handle it."

  The frown on Pari's face told her volumes before a word was spoken. "Okay, listen to me. This is important."

  "I'm listening."

  "Good." Pari touched Zura's arm. She did that whenever she needed her to pay close attention. "You're loaded, okay? The meds you're on are at toxic levels. Do you understand?"

  Zura nodded. "I understand."

  Pari was watching her for a reaction. What did she call it? Her 'bullshit detector'? "You shouldn't be upright. Everything's a mess, held together with gut glue. There's an infection starting. Your meds are at toxic levels just to keep you moving—"

  "But I am moving—"

  Pari shook her head, waving a hand. "The meds work. I could sew a dead rat up in your belly, and still keep you moving. But there's a price. These levels of meds are going to—"

  "I'll pay the price. I need to keep going." Zura did the math in her head. Nine hours to get to the Reserve Fleet anchorage; she'd spend that time speaking to commanders. She needed to get everyone coordinated for the fleet's arrival at the anchorage. Once there, a battle with the Temple forces likely wouldn't last more than an hour. If victorious, she'd need another hour to prepare for whatever came next. "I need eleven hours. Can you keep me going for eleven hours?"

  Pari's face was drawn tight, her lips pursed. "Seriously?"

  Zura nodded.

  "Okay," said Pari. "I'll make it twelve. I'll keep you going for twelve hours, and then you go straight to the med bay. There will be a price, do you hear me? Definitely more surgery. Probably organ failure. I can't guarantee I'll be able to keep you out of the tank. I can't even guarantee you'll live."

  "I understand." There were never any guarantees in life. There were probabilities. Chances. So you did what you had to do, and you paid whatever price it demanded. "Thank you."

  Pari sighed. "It scares me to see you doing this to yourself. But I know I can't stop you. This is who you are."

  "I'm sorry for making you worry. I'm only doing—"

  "I know, I know… you're doing what's necessary." Pari's eyes looked into hers a while, before a grin crept across her face. "You know, you and I are the main topic of gossip on the ship."

  Zura raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know that." If it gave the crew something to amuse themselves…

  Pari rose up on her tiptoes, and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. "Thank you."

  "What?"

  "I'm not a secret anymore. You kept your promise." Pari had a lopsided grin. "That means a lot to me."

  Sniffling, Pari quietly picked up her medical supplies and turned toward the door. "I'll be back in four hours to change your packs again."

  "I'll see you then."

  With a quick grin, Pari's voice was back to its usual breezy self. "Be gentle with yourself, okay?" She turned toward the statue-like Irasa next to the door, and nodded in Zura's direction. "You keep an eye on her, too."

  In a moment she was gone, the door sliding shut behind her.

  Zura stood listening to the bandage clicking as she breathed. When she looked at Irasa, the black helmet looked back at her. The two of them watched each other in silence, then Irasa slowly gave her a nod. Zura returned the gesture, then returned to the holographic map. A list was already forming in her head, of the fleet commanders and sector governors she needed to talk to.

  Twelve hours. Time to get back to work.

  Chapter Thirty

  "Thank you, governor. Until later."

  Zura tapped a gem on her console, and the holoprojection image of the sector governor dissolved into thin air. His name disappeared from the list of people she needed to contact, leaving the list empty.

  She leaned forward over the desk, hands gripping its edges; her bandaged right hand throbbed angrily. She'd spoken to every admiral and general under her command, and the governors of every sector outside the Home Worlds.

  Almost without exception, they'd been pleased to hear from her. Pleased that someone was opposing the Temple's coup.

  Idiots. The Temple had what it wanted — control of all five Home Worlds — but nothing else. They weren't interested in the colonies, or the frontier territories. All they wanted were the 'sacred' Home Worlds: the nucleus of purity their dogma spoke of. As if the Palani living in colonies were somehow less pure; less Palani. They were leaving the colonies to their own fates, not even trying to use them as leverage. That zealot Ivenna had decided that taking control of the five Home Worlds would be enough to usher in a new golden age for the Palani.

  Zura's body tensed as she coughed, the kinetic bandage clenching tight. As the taste of blood flooded her mouth, she took a handkerchief from her coat pocket. She spat the blood into it, then folded it up and tucked it back in her pocket.

  She could feel the pain despite the painkillers. The sharp stabs in her gut; the jagged, scraping rasp in every breath. The ache as the edge of the bandage bit into her skin, transferring her weight from bruised chest down to bruised hip. Her body was failing her.

  Pari had been in every few hours to check on her. She replaced the medical packs, scanned her — the bandage made scanning difficult, she said — and adjusted her medication. She rarely said anything; she just came in, did her work, and left. Always a quick kiss on the cheek, but nothing more.

  She checked the time display. They'd be at the Reserve Fleet anchorage in twenty-six minutes. Pari had bought her time, as promised. Time enough to be awake and alert during the battle to come. If they were victorious, the war could be won with or without her. If they were defeated…

  Zura took a deep breath, feeling the faint gurgling deep in her chest. On her last visit, Pari had left behind the datapad that was connected to Yaella's. She hadn't said anything; she'd just left it on the bunk.

  One last call to make. Zura pushed off the desk, her body slow to move as the bandage chattered and shifted. Her left foot was determined to drag, sliding across the floor as she stumbled to the bunk. Bracing one hand on the bulkhead — leaving behind a smudge of blue — she bent over, fighting the bandage that was determined to prevent her. Her fingertips grazed the edge of the datapad; she grabbed it and stood up straight.

  "Nsal 'neth," she muttered, as she made her slow return to the desk. How many times in her life had she been like this? Trapped in a damaged body that wouldn't do what she wanted? Hastily patched up by combat surgeons, loaded up with painkillers and stimulants, and sent back out. Fighting on, even as she tore her own body apart.

  She dropped the datapad on the desktop and leaned forward, arms propping her up. She could feel the sweat on her forehead. Pari had promised her twelve hours; it would be close.

  Zura paused a moment, leaning over the desk, looking down at the datapad. She coughed, and again tasted blood. A single drop tumbled from her lower lip, landing on the datapad. She
stared at it: blue spattered across the device's screen. Her life slowly escaping.

  I'm done.

  Whatever the outcome, this was going to be her last war. If she somehow survived, she'd make sure there was a new Pentarch Council — with fewer idiots — and then retire. She finally understood; she knew what she was going to retire to. Not this. That was it; that was the answer she'd sought. Her retirement wasn't about the start of something new. It was about the end of what went before. After eight centuries, an end to the fight. Time to let others do the fighting.

  She pressed the button on the datapad, and listened to its curious collection of chirps and beeps. Just as she began to wonder if the device still worked, a familiar face appeared on the screen. "Mom?"

  The sudden furrowing of Yaella's brow spoke volumes: the girl was concerned with what she saw. That face… the little girl had grown into a clever, beautiful young woman with so much potential. It was good to see her. While she still could.

  "Are you okay, Mom?" The voice was like music.

  "Daughter. I only have a few minutes, but I wanted to talk to you." She tried to force a smile to her face. "I wanted to see you—"

  "Mom, you didn't answer my question. Are you okay?"

  Smart girl. "No. You can tell?"

  Yaella pointed at her. "There's a little blood on your chin."

  "Ah." Zura leaned on one arm, the other reaching for her handkerchief. "Pari is keeping me going with medication—"

  "A whole pharmacy of stuff," said Yaella. "I talked to Pari a few hours ago. I guess she brought the datapad to you."

  "She did." Zura wiped her mouth with her handkerchief.

  "Pari said that you went public about you and her."

  "I did." She nodded. "I very much did."

  A smile lit up her daughter's face. "She was so proud, Mom. She was so happy, she was almost giddy. It meant a lot to her."

  Zura put the handkerchief back in her pocket. "I'm proud of her. And relieved to be done with the charade."

  "I get it. The Temple can't threaten you now, right?"