Crusades

by S. J. Madill

  "Hey Blue," said Bucky as she entered the cockpit. "You're just in time to try… uh…"

  "It doesn't have a name yet," said Tal from the copilot's seat.

  Yaella stepped up on the centre console before dropping down into the pilot's seat. "What is it?"

  Tal held up his mug filled with leaves. Some of them were blue, with a couple of yellow ones poking out.

  "Huh," she grunted. "It's colourful, I'll give you that."

  "It tastes horrible," said Tal. His eyes were bloodshot, and he couldn't stop blinking.

  Yaella raised an eyebrow. "Tal? Look, I'm getting concerned…"

  He nodded, pursing his lips. "It's good, Chief. The, uh…" He poked at the leaves with his free hand. "The Uta leaves… these ones… they go straight to the eyes, you know? Expand the…" He looked at Bucky.

  "Capillaries," offered Bucky.

  "Yeah. Them."

  Yaella leaned closer, taking a tentative sniff. It smelled of almonds and burnt toast. "By the Divines, Tal… what are you doing?"

  His bloodshot eyes lit up, and he held up a finger. "I'm glad you asked. It's an experiment, you see."

  Yaella glanced at Bucky, who just smiled and rolled his eyes.

  "Okay," she said warily. "So my co-pilot is doing experiments. In the cockpit. This has to stop."

  "Yeah." Tal wasn't entirely listening; he prodded the individual leaves in his mug. "Each of these… Uta, Jaljal, Hasanadali, Palani… has a helpful property. This one helps you think. This one's great for sleeping… no, wait…"

  Her hands gripped the arms of her seat. "Taliesin," she said, frowning. "Listen to me, damn it."

  Somewhere in the fog of his mind, she could see Tal struggling to focus. "Keep cool, Chief—"

  Yaella felt the flash of irritation, the impulse to snap at him. But she was determined to keep calm, the way Mom did. "Tal? By the Divines, you're my friend and I love you to bits. But…" She raised a finger. "But you're also my employee, and you're the co-pilot of this ship."

  He was slouching in his seat, in his rumpled and stained shirt, looking like he was going to sulk. "Chief, it's cool. Niner's doing the driving—"

  "I don't care, okay? Cut back on the plants."

  Tal looked down, absently poking at the leaves sticking out of his mug. "Okay," he said quietly. "Sorry, Chief."

  "Yeah," she said, letting out a shuddering breath. "It's just… just take it easy, okay?"

  She leaned back in her seat. Outside the windshield, beyond the opening of Niner's cargo bay, she watched the streaks of onrushing stars. Behind her, the boys had grown quiet. She knew it was difficult out here for them. For all of them. Maybe Tal most of all; he didn't deal well with anxiety.

  Yaella drummed her fingers on the armrest. Mom had warned her about hiring friends as crew; she said they'd be less likely to be professional, and would take advantage of her goodwill. She said it was hard to discipline someone you had an emotional bond with, even just as a friend. Over the years, Mom had warned her about a lot of things, but she hadn't always paid attention.

  "Hey, Blue." Bucky's voice was quiet.

  She turned around. "Yeah?"

  "Did you talk to your mom?"

  She shook her head. "Talked to Pari. Mom's not great. She's in one of those tanks."

  "Oh?" Bucky's eyebrows raised. "Shit, Blue. I didn't know. I hope she's okay."

  She gave him a tight-lipped smile. "I hope so, too. I mean, Pari's looking after her, so…"

  Bucky watched her for a while, nodding slowly. "You miss her, don't you? Wish you were there?" He sighed. "I miss my Dad."

  "Yeah." She bit at her lower lip to stop herself from getting emotional. She wanted to go home. But she couldn't. Not yet. She needed to see this through; to find the hybrid kids and bring them home. Because that's what she'd want someone to do for her, the way Mom had rescued her when she'd been kidnapped last year. Everyone needed someone who would come to their rescue. Didn't they?

  "So, uh, Blue…"

  Bucky was leaning forward in his chair, forearms on his knees. "How're you feeling about everything? I mean, if you don't mind me asking."

  She raised an eyebrow. It sounded like he was leading up to something. "What d'you mean?"

  "Are things going… you know, according to plan?"

  She made a face. She'd never had enough of a plan, not really. Just an idea. Things came along that helped or hindered, and bit by bit she seemed to be getting closer. "Well," she sighed, "we're headed in the right direction, so…" Was that enough?

  Beside her, Tal mumbled into his mug. "Are we really even driving anything?"

  She frowned at the two of them. "What're you two getting at?" She was used to people not having much faith in her — including herself — but they could at least not talk in riddles.

  Bucky pursed his lips. "Look, Blue. So…we're headed in the same direction as these other people. But are they helping us, or are we helping them?"

  "Why can't it be both? Is there no such thing as a 'win-win'?"

  "Sure," said Bucky. He held up a placating hand. "Sure. No reason it can't be a win for everyone. I'm just saying… you know what your 'win' looks like. But what's their 'win'?"

  She shrugged. "I never figured it was any of my business—"

  "Isn't it? I mean, whatever their goals are, we're participating. And we don't even know what they're up to."

  Yaella rolled her eyes. "Okay, so now it's conspiracy time? Is that it?"

  "Look," said Bucky. He checked the passageway. "So, a Palani Pentarch sends her husband and daughter out here. The two people she trusts the most."

  "Yeah," said Yaella. "They came to search for the 'Planet Killer', and—"

  "Which they found. And then what?"

  "And then…" she faltered. "The Admiral wants to meet the Union, so they're coming with us."

  "Right. Just like that." Bucky sounded like he was being sarcastic. "So the husband and daughter of a Pentarch, and an eleven-kilometre-long alien dreadnought, are all coming along with us because they happen to be going in the same direction? That's cool with you?"

  She shook her head. "I don't know, okay? I don't know." One of the most powerful politicians in Palani space had sent her family out here to do… what? How many times had her mother told her never to trust a politician? How many times had she not listened? Please get better, Mom. I have a lot of apologising to do.

  "I bet it's big," said Tal.

  "What?" asked Bucky.

  "Whatever they're doing, you know? The two people the Pentarch trusts the most, plus this doomsday ship thing, all headed coreward? What for?"

  "Yeah," said Yaella. "To go do something the Pentarch wanted done by people she trusted."

  "Look," said Bucky. "I hate to be an asshole like this, but don't you think—"

  "I get it, okay?" She resisted the urge to snap at him. "I get it: I'm naïve. I'm an idiot." She was being taken advantage of by everyone in the galaxy. All these years, she'd always thought her Mom had been an incurable cynic. Maybe she was just a realist, speaking from centuries of experience. Did a long life make you hard and cynical?

  "For what it's worth," said Tal, "it's Admiral Dillon, right? He's supposed to be one of the good guys. Whatever it is he's doing, I don't think it's something bad."

  "Whatever it is," said Bucky, "it's gotta be big. What do you think, Blue?"

  Her mom's words kept spinning through her head. Remember your goal, make a plan, and execute it.

  "Screw 'em," she said.

  Tal's eyebrows jumped up his forehead. "Say which?"

  She waved a hand. "Seriously, screw them. Them and their big plans." She straightened up in the seat. "So, big things are happening? Fine. Let them happen." She looked from Tal to Bucky. "They know what they want, and so do I. And as long as we're headed in the same direction, we'll travel together." Is this what you meant, Mom? "I know what I want, and I'm going to chase it. Whoever wants to come, can come."

  Tal stared at her a
while, then his red eyes went to Bucky. "See that?"

  "What?" asked Bucky.

  Tal nodded toward Yaella. "Chief knows what she wants, and she's going to go get it. How about you?"

  Bucky squinted at Tal. "What in the hell are you talking about?"

  Tal grinned. "Here's a hint: she wears a white suit."

  "Oh, for…" Bucky rolled his eyes, his face turning red. "Jesus, Tal. That again? I told you, that's different—"

  "Is it?"

  Yaella turned around to face the front. Beside and behind her, the boys kept giving each other a hard time.

  Everyone on the ship, pursuing their own goals. Bucky was saving money and getting ready to join the Navy, and Tal was… doing whatever Tal did. Everyone had their own priorities. And that's okay. When they got to Union space, what then? Would the Admiral and Niner be able to help her, and would she be able to help them? But what did it matter? Just because they had different goals didn't mean they couldn't work together. She could trust the Admiral and Lanari.

  She frowned. What about Ocean?

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Through an act of supreme will, Zura forced her eyes open.

  The ceiling above looked like a medical bay on a ship, but the lights were dim. The bed underneath her was hard and uncomfortable.

  Flickering memories collided in her mind: all the times she'd woken up in a medical bay, or in a field hospital, or just lying in the mud. Maybe a surgeon nearby, or an armoured combat medic, or a soldier in her squad; any of them trying to keep her alive for the next fight.

  She heard something move, and tensed up.

  "Hey." Pari's voice. She was in her big black coat, standing next to the bed. "Weren't we just here a few days ago?"

  Dread clawed at her. "Pari?" she said. Her throat was dry and scratchy. "When am I going in the tank?"

  Pari stifled a yawn. "You just came out. You were in the tank for twenty-one hours."

  "Just came out?" She lifted her head from the pillow; the kinetic bandage clicked as it stiffened around her abdomen. "Can I sit up?"

  "I sure hope so. Try it."

  Zura clumsily pushed herself up to a sitting position and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Under her gown, the bandage clattered as she moved.

  "There," said Pari. "How's that? How do you feel?"

  She took a moment to think. There was very little pain, but everything ached. Her body felt slow and weak; she longed for sleep. She tried taking a deep breath. The bandage clicked rhythmically, but it didn't stop her and there was no spike of pain. "So I'm not going in the tank?"

  Pari shook her head. "You're not, I promise. You just came out."

  The fear and dread that had been gnawing at her mind started to fade. The tank nightmares drifted further away. "I don't remember a thing. I didn't wake up once?"

  "Not once. That was the idea."

  The last remnants of fear remained; they began to twist into anger. "All those times I woke up in the tanks. It didn't have to happen."

  "Well," said Pari. She was trying to be diplomatic. "It's hard to say that for sure. It might have been unavoidable in some cases…"

  Zura remembered faces peering at her through the walls and the murk of the tanks. Taking notes. Making adjustments. Treating her like a slab of meat, even though they saw she was awake. She curled her hands into fists.

  A hot human hand was on her shoulder. "Whoa there," said Pari. "Let it go. You're here now."

  Zura shook her head. "I should space them."

  "No, you shouldn't. Let it go."

  Her eyes met Pari's. "You're right," she forced herself to say. "I'm glad you were with me. Thank you."

  "Of course."

  One by one, other thoughts started to intrude. The war hadn't paused just because she was in a tank. "Where are we?"

  "We came out of FTL ten minutes ago. All I know is there are a lot of ships here. Frigates, transports, you name it. The Captain would like to speak with you as soon as you're ready."

  "Am I ready?"

  Pari nodded. "Yup. You won't want to hear this, but the time in the tank did you a world of good. A week's worth of natural healing in twenty hours. Real healing, mind you; not just gut-glue. And the infection is gone." She let go of Zura's shoulder, turning around to get something from the bedside table. "All that's left are the incisions from the irrigation tubes, which are no big deal."

  Pari turned back toward her, putting a folded undersuit on the bed. "You're keeping the kinetic bandage for a while longer, so behave yourself." She put a pair of folded uniform breeches next to the undersuit. "As far as meds go, you're pretty much clean. Just some mild painkillers."

  "Stimulants," said Zura. "I have a lot to do. I need some stimulants."

  Pari shook her head. "No."

  "No?"

  "We just finished getting the pharmacy out of your system. Have some mercy on your liver, will you? I said you're getting some mild painkillers, nothing more. Not unless it's an emergency."

  "How about tea? Can I have some tea?"

  Pari raised an eyebrow. "Bargaining, huh? Okay, sure. You can have some tea." The smirk faded from her face. "I'm going to make myself scarce. You've got more Mahasa stuff to do." She leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. "Go do your thing. I won't be far away."

  * * *

  It had been a slow walk back from the medical bay to the admiral's cabin. Her body ached for sleep. But, she reminded herself, she wasn't in blinding pain, nor was she bleeding. Small victories.

  The moment she'd lowered herself into the big chair in her sitting room, the parade of officers had begun. Mwangi, then Captain Para, then a host of holographic faces: providing reports, bringing her up to date. Twenty-one hours was a very long time to be out of touch, but her officers had all done their jobs well. Even the enemy had co-operated with their inactivity.

  Mwangi had just left again, giving her the first moment of quiet she'd had since leaving the medical bay. Pari was in the cabin's guest bedchamber, catching up on sleep.

  Zura closed her eyes to think. The fleet was at the deep-space rendezvous point. From here, frigates came and went as they conducted constant raids on enemy locations around the Home Worlds. Maintaining a constant tempo of raids had produced results: the Temple had become slower to respond, especially their McLean-Irvine mercenaries. As expected, their jump-capable ships were having maintenance problems.

  And yet, the Temple still hadn't counterattacked. They'd made no attempt to project power beyond the Home Worlds. They seemed content to sit still and allow themselves to be worn away, while they waited for…what? Were they waiting for a single glorious battle to decide everything? Why should she oblige them? Ken called her attrition campaign the 'death by a thousand cuts', which suited well enough.

  Near her ships, a second fleet had assembled: over a hundred transport ships of all shapes and sizes, each of them confirmed loyal before being given the co-ordinates. They stood a distance away from the fleet — at the very edge of weapon range — and were allowed to approach one at a time to deliver their supplies and personnel. One of the transports was currently docked with the Kaha Ranila.

  Zura picked up her datasheet and started reading. There were projections on the rate of Temple attrition, but she had doubts about how the numbers were derived. What if—

  A chime from her door; a message popped up on her datasheet. Colonel Mwangi. Again? "Come."

  The colonel entered the room and came to attention. "Mahasa," he said. Despite the obvious fatigue on his face, he conducted himself smartly.

  "Colonel." He'd come here to deliver an update. Something he hadn't wanted to put in a message. "Go ahead."

  "Report from the hangar, Mahasa. The transport Wasan Four has docked, bringing escapees from the Home Worlds."

  Ah. "Anyone in particular?"

  "Yes, Mahasa: the Pentarch Yenaara, and one of her staff."

  Zura raised an eyebrow. She'd had a feeling that the Pentarch was alive somewher
e; the woman seemed like she'd be difficult to kill. "Confirmed?"

  Mwangi nodded. "Yes, Mahasa. Searched and scanned, top to bottom. It's her."

  "Good. Have her escorted here."

  Mwangi pulled out his datapad and poked at the screen. "Yes, Mahasa. They are on their way."

  They. "What of her staff?"

  Mwangi lowered his datapad. "One, Mahasa. A low-level bureaucrat from the Ministry of Education."

  Zura raised an eyebrow. "How did they escape from the Home Worlds?"

  "I don't know the specifics, Mahasa. According to the ship's logs, they took a very indirect route."

  "I see." Zura dropped the datasheet in her lap, letting the device roll itself up. She rubbed her eyes with gloved fingers. Perhaps she should have pursued the issue of stimulants; pushed Pari to let her have some. The thought made her grin. That would never happen. Her side ached and she leaned toward it, her elbow on the arm of the chair.

  A chime sounded from the cabin door, and she nodded at Mwangi. At the touch of his hand on the console, the door opened.

  The woman who entered her cabin was not the same as the woman she knew. Pentarch Yenaara was tall and slender as always, but her usual grace was subdued. Gone were her traditional flowing robes, replaced by the coat, breeches, and boots of an officer's uniform, without decorations or markings of rank. Her long blue hair was tied back in a ponytail that lay across her shoulders, and her flawless white face had lines around the eyes. Her voice, when she spoke, was still musical. "Aasal, Mahasa," she said, giving a respectful bow.

  Zura studied the woman's eyes. "Aasal, Pentarch. Pardon me if I don't bow."

  The Pentarch gave her a polite smile. "No offence is taken, Mahasa. I know you have been… poorly treated. We are all fortunate that you are alive."

  "Thank you."

  The Pentarch seemed to stand a little straighter, lifting her chin. She feels safe. Possibly for the first time in days. Was she hiding her identity on the transport?

  Zura gestured to the chair across from her. "Please have a seat. You must be tired."

  "Thank you, Mahasa." The Pentarch took a step to one side, revealing the Palani man standing behind her. He was average height, average build, and also wearing an undecorated officer's uniform. Nothing about him was remarkable; he was entirely forgettable, except for his eyes.