Crusades

by S. J. Madill

  The hull was a metal skin stretched over rib-like frames. Ladders, their metal worn smooth from untold hands and feet, led upward through the ceiling to the deck above. Cut-off wiring harnesses protruded from bulkheads and decks.

  The tomblike silence of the ship was broken by the creaking of the hull as Yaella and her crew moved around inside.

  "Hey, Blue?" said Bucky.

  He was standing at the back of the compartment, next to one of the ladders. He gestured at the wall, where an irregular pattern of scorch marks marred the metal. "Is this what I think it is?"

  The Admiral stepped past Yaella, bending down and running his fingers over the scorch marks. "Captain? This is weapon fire. Phased plasma, maybe."

  Yaella turned around, searching for Ocean. He was at the entry hatch, arms limp at his sides, standing like he'd been placed there and was awaiting instructions. Something about him looked different, like the light had been sucked out of him. She wasn't sure if he was lost, or overwhelmed. "Ocean? Do your people—"

  His eyes met hers for a moment before he looked away. "My people did not have weapons like that, Captain."

  Yaella sucked in a breath between her teeth. Had the Union come and killed everyone? But who had stripped the ship of its equipment? The Union was highly advanced — more than the humans or even the Palani — so they wouldn't need it. Had scavengers come later?

  Lanari was examining the bulkhead near the entry hatch. "Here," she said, pointing. "Dents. Consistent with projectile-based weapons."

  Ocean showed no expression. "Probably ours."

  "So…" ventured Bucky. "A gunfight? The Union invading, Ocean's people defending?"

  All eyes turned to Yaella. She gestured helplessly. "What? I don't know. I mean—"

  "I should've found them," said Ocean. "I should've been here. Instead, they were killed."

  "Whoa." Yaella held up a hand. "Now hold on. That's a bit of a leap, don't you think?"

  "The Union killed my people," he said. "The last of my people."

  "Okay, wait." She tried to choose her words carefully; Ocean was more upset than she'd thought. "Let's not jump to conclusions, okay? How about we look around a little more, and see if there are any more clues. Maybe we'll find something that'll tell us more about what happened here."

  Ocean glared at her. "I have seen enough, Captain. I know what happened here. And what must happen next." He turned and stepped out through the hatch, which creaked as it swung partway shut behind him.

  Silence returned to the inside of the dead ship. One by one, the others turned back to her. As if I have the answers to any of this. "Oh, for the love of…" she began. "Keep looking around, okay? Check the other decks. Check outside. Maybe we'll find something to explain what the hell happened here. Anything."

  Some of them nodded, but no one said a word. Bucky started climbing the ladder to the deck above. The Handmaiden and the Admiral began working their way around the interior walls, examining the bulkheads and ribs.

  Yaella stood in the middle of the open space. The ship had landed on a dead world with an unbreathable atmosphere. Nothing would have grown outside; there were no hints of farm fields or outside structures. How did they survive at all? How long had they been here before the Union found them? And what had the Union found? As for Ocean… he'd spent centuries searching for his people, and now it appeared that some of them had survived. For a time, at least. Before… what? Before being killed?

  She headed back to the hatch. Swinging it open — it creaked again as it moved — Yaella went outside.

  She didn't have to go far to find Ocean. He was kneeling on the ground, in the middle of the rows of bodies wrapped in the dull-red cloth. She quietly approached.

  The nearest red-wrapped body had been disturbed: the red wrapping covering the face was gone. Underneath was the pallid face of a middle-aged man.

  Ocean looked over his shoulder at her. As she knelt next to him, he returned his eyes to the dead body.

  Yaella hesitated, then reached up and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Ocean," she began. "I'm so sorry. I—"

  "Don't," he said, glancing sideways at her hand on his shoulder. She withdrew it.

  At last, he spoke. "I didn't know this man."

  "I'm sorry—"

  "I knew all the colonists," he said. "There were a hundred and twenty-five on each ship, and we all knew each other. We lived together in the colonist program before we launched. This man was not one of them."

  Ocean leaned forward and reached out his hand, placing his palm on the chest of the covered body. As Yaella watched, streams of black specks flowed down Ocean's arm from under his tunic. The specks streamed along his hand, to his fingers, then onto the dull red material that covered the body. The specks crowded at the edges of the uncovered face, and the dull red covering gradually reappeared, building in from the edge until it once again covered the corpse's face. The black specks then retreated, flowing back up Ocean's hand.

  "Divines," breathed Yaella.

  Ocean slumped forward, one hand on the ground in front of him. His skin had paled visibly.

  "Ocean?" said Yaella, her hand on his back. "Are you—"

  "Stop touching me," he hissed, his face near the ground. "Why did you bring me here?"

  Yaella frowned. "I'm sorry. I thought you wanted to know what happened to your people." She tried to read the expression on his face. "I know that if it were me, I would've wanted—"

  "This is my fault."

  She stared at him. "What?"

  Ocean shook his head. "I should've been here."

  "Wait," said Yaella. "How the hell d'you figure…"

  His hands were clenched into fists. "I spent centuries looking for my people. Year after year, I kept searching. I was an idiot, always looking in the wrong place. I should've thought to look here. I should've saved them."

  "You couldn't have known." Yaella leaned forward, trying to make eye contact. "Ocean? Hey."

  He hadn't taken his eyes from the red-wrapped body. "I should've been here. It's my fault they were murdered."

  Yaella grimaced. "Cut that out, okay? You're being unfair, to yourself most of all. And you don't know for sure that—"

  Movement caught her eye; she saw the others a short distance away. "What?" she asked.

  The grey-haired Admiral took a step closer. "The whole thing's been stripped, right to the outer hull. All that's left are ladders and internal hatches. It all shows evidence of wear." He nodded toward the hull. "A lot of wear. Many years of heavy use."

  "Many years? So these bodies here… could they be the descendants of the original colonists?"

  "Could be."

  "Descendants." She turned toward Ocean. "Okay," she began. "See? So—"

  His tired eyes studied her for a moment. "Entire generations went by, and I never found them."

  "I don't know…"

  His expression changed, like he'd made a decision about what face to show. His jaw tightened. "I want to meet the Union, Captain."

  "We're going there next," she said. She tried to put on a pleasant smile, but it faltered against Ocean's scowl. "We'll get answers from them, okay?"

  "Answers aren't enough, Captain. I want justice."

  She didn't like the sound of that. "Ocean," she said carefully. "This isn't about revenge. This is about the truth. Agreed?"

  He stared at her for a few seconds, long enough for her to wonder if he'd heard her. A single black speck wandered across his eye. "As you say, Captain."

  Yaella tried once again to put a smile on her face. "Okay," she said, exhaling through puffed cheeks. "Let's go get some answers."

  She stood up, her eyes once more scanning the rows of red-covered corpses. The last of Ocean's people; he seemed determined to blame himself for their fate. What do you even say to someone in that position? Everyone he'd ever known was gone, and he wanted to be angry about it. She could understand the anger, but she needed to act before he turned his anger on himself. Or someone else. />
  Chapter Thirty-Six

  With a nudge of her thumb, Pari's datapad flipped to the next page. A hundred pages already? This new book had sucked her in more than she'd expected. Something about magic had always appealed to her: the limitless possibilities of bending the world to your will. Summoning arcane power to build, or to heal, or — as often happened in these books — defeat the monster and save the world.

  She crossed one leg over the other, balancing the datapad one-handed on her lap. Chairs in medical facilities weren't built for comfort; she suspected it was to keep visitors from staying too long.

  When she yawned, her breath was visible in front of her. She watched it waft upward as it dissipated.

  The regeneration-pod room was more laboratory than hospital. Stark white lights lit the long compartment. A line of tall, clear-walled cylinders dominated the room. Most of them were empty, but a few were filled with translucent yellow-green regeneration fluid, with murky humanoid shapes floating inside. Thick bundles of black hoses snaked down from the ceiling into the tops of the tanks, where they wrapped around the occupants and entered their bodies. To the uninitiated, it was a scene from a horror movie, with giant black-tentacled monsters attacking the helpless victims.

  In the tank beside her, Zura's shape was a vague outline in the yellow-green murk. For the hundredth time, Pari craned her neck to see the tank's status monitor. Vitals were fine. Breathing was slow and deep. Brain activity was a long way from waking.

  From where she sat, Pari couldn't see the door. Her view was blocked by the armour-clad giant in front of her: the motionless Irasa, never far from her charge. Pari checked the time on her datapad: they'd been here for two hours already, since the end of surgery.

  There wasn't much that made Zura genuinely anxious, but going in the tank did. She'd seen Zura's medical file; she knew how many times she'd been in a tank, and how many times she'd woken up in one. After all these centuries, the Palani surgeons kept on doing what they'd always done: giving Zura the same old dosage of sedative they gave everyone in a tank. Even though it wasn't enough — that woman metabolized sedatives like a machine — and even though she kept waking up. No patient should go through that. First the trauma of the original injury, then the additional terror of waking up trapped in a glass jar, naked and vulnerable, with parts of your own body missing and other parts invaded by tubing. Zura had been very specific that Pari was to be in charge of monitoring her in the tank and keeping her sedated. Any Palani doctor who tried to interfere was to be shoved out an airlock. Pari had no doubt that Irasa would do exactly that.

  There were two other occupied tanks further down the row, their contents barely visible. One was Antur, from Zura's bodyguard squad. What was left of him, anyway. The Artahel had placed a bomb in the barracks back on New Fraser, and Antur had taken the brunt of it. The other 'patient', who barely filled half their tank, had been injured in the explosion aboard the Kaha Devada weeks ago. Both awaited their new limbs and organs from the regen lab. In the meantime they slept, floating in their tanks.

  Pari sighed and shifted in her chair, switching legs. She returned her focus to the datapad on her lap, where the hero was still coming to terms with his newfound magical power. Being able to change the world came with a duty of responsibility. Didn't it, though.

  At her feet, her other datapad chirped.

  Pari smiled as she leaned forward, setting her datapad on the floor and picking up the other one: the one with the Tunnel cell. The device chirped again, and Pari tapped her thumb on the display. A familiar face lit up the screen. "Pari?" said Yaella.

  "Hey, sweetheart."

  The girl's face came alive with a smile. It was almost enough to hide the tension. "Pari! How are you?"

  "I'm fine. How're you doing?"

  Yaella hesitated. "I'm… okay, I guess." She wasn't good at being evasive: her face always gave something away. "I'm glad you're there. Is Mom with you?"

  Pari nodded. "She's right here. She's asleep right now, and I don't want to wake her."

  "Wait," interrupted Yaella. The face in the display leaned closer, as if trying to see into the room. "Where are you?"

  "We're in the medical bay. The regeneration tanks." She watched Yaella's face for a reaction.

  She got one. "What? The tanks? Pari, is Mom okay? The tanks scare her so much…"

  Just a few hours earlier, she'd seen that same anxious expression on Zura's face. "She's in bad shape, sweetheart. But she's doing very well so far. She—"

  "Divines, Pari! Mom never told me she was that badly hurt. Why didn't she say something?"

  Pari kept her smile as reassuring as she could manage. Calm, breezy confidence was a learned skill. And sometimes a bit of acting, too. "She is who she is. She hates having people worry about her."

  Yaella sighed. "I just…" She shrugged, words failing her.

  Pari nodded. "I know."

  "So she's going to be okay?"

  "So far, so good."

  Yaella frowned. "But no guarantees."

  Pari shook her head. "None."

  "Okay." Yaella took a deep breath. "Will you let me know?"

  "Of course."

  Pari watched the girl take a few more breaths to calm herself. "Is Irasa there too?"

  "She is." Pari glanced up at the black statue in front of her. The helmet moved once, a single nod of the head; the most Irasa had moved in hours. "She says hello."

  "Hi back," said Yaella, before growing quiet again.

  Pari leaned to check the tank's status monitor. "So what's up with you? I hear you've been busy."

  "What? Oh." Yaella seemed surprised at the change of subject. "Yeah. I guess so."

  Pari gestured toward Yaella's image. "So? Let's hear it."

  "Oh. Well, uh… I don't know how much Mom told you—"

  "I know you've got my old boss with you, and you've been riding around inside a gigantic self-aware scrap heap."

  "Yeah, okay. So we've been on the move…"

  Pari listened to Yaella's retelling of what she and her crew had encountered. The girl's enthusiasm grew as she talked. She was so eager to please, so earnest in her desire to help others. Pari remembered being that age — it seemed a lifetime ago — and wanting to fix the world without knowing how.

  "I don't know," said Yaella. "Was taking Ocean to that world a bad idea?"

  "Your heart's in the right place. Always has been."

  Yaella made a face. "'Heart's in the right place'? Don't you usually say that when I'm being an idiot?"

  "Okay," laughed Pari. "Maybe I do. But that's not what I mean right now. You're trying to help him, but you don't know much about him."

  "I guess I'm trying to… I'm trying to do for him what I'd hope people would do for me. Is that crazy?"

  Pari shifted again on the seat, reversing her crossed legs. "You're giving him the help you'd want in his place. But maybe that's not the help he needs. He might not even know what he needs."

  "I don't know either," said Yaella. "I actually thought I was, you know, interested in him. In getting to know him. But he keeps pushing me away. He snaps at me whenever I try to be nice." She looked out of the screen at Pari. "What should I do?"

  Oh, the sweet girl. So many times she'd seen Yaella like this, with her heart on her sleeve. "Let me ask you something."

  "Uh oh."

  "Hush. Now ask yourself this: do you seek his affection? Or do you just seek affection?"

  "But I… oh." Yaella's eyes turned away. "I mean…" The smile faded. "I don't know… Mom never…"

  "Your mom's never been great at showing affection."

  "I guess not. But I think you're helping her."

  "You and I both are. But being vulnerable is difficult for her."

  "Yeah," said Yaella. "You're not kidding."

  The two of them were quiet for a while. Even through the small screen, she could watch Yaella's face. She could almost read what was going on inside that young mind. "Sweetheart?"

  Bri
ght blue eyes looked out at her. "Uh huh?"

  "Think about what you want in life. What you need." She offered a smile. "You're surrounded by good people, and most of them will help you if they can. But they've got things they need and want, too. They might not want the same things you do. Everyone's got their own stuff going on, you know?"

  "Yeah," breathed Yaella.

  "You going to be okay?"

  "Yeah." Yaella mustered a brave smile. "Thanks, Pari."

  "No problem. I gotta look after my Varta girls, you know?"

  "So, when Mom wakes up—"

  Pari nodded. "The moment she can hold a datapad, I'll make her call you."

  "Okay. Thanks, Pari."

  "Sure thing. Bye for now, sweetheart. Love you."

  "Love you, too."

  The datapad window went blank. Pari held it in one hand, balancing it on her lap. Her other hand gently tapped the wall of the tank next to her. "Two Vartas are a handful," she whispered.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Irasa's black helmet nod.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  At least Mom's going to be okay.

  Leaving the datapad on her bed, Yaella left her cabin and headed toward the galley. It was late at night — two in the morning, by the ship's clock.

  They were parked in the belly of the giant dreadnought Niner, hurtling through space toward the last known location of the Union. The only time Yaella had seen a Union ship up close, it had tried to kill them. That wasn't a great start. In fact, if it weren't for Niner they would be dead. But Niner was an AI: a computer program running on logic and calculation. What possible trail of logic had led to this? An AI wouldn't do something out of altruism or boredom. Would it?

  When she got to the cross-passage, she heard talking from the cockpit. Is everyone still up? She headed forward.

  As she passed the small side passage to the escape pods, she saw Ocean kneeling in the starboard pod. Was Pari right? Was she just looking for affection wherever she could find it? That didn't sound healthy. She felt like she should talk to Ocean. And say what? What could she possibly say—