Crusades

by S. J. Madill

  "So…" She looked up at the ceiling. "He makes the decisions?"

  "Yes, other than basic life functions. There are not enough of them to make meaningful decisions."

  "What happens if he bonks his head or something?"

  "If deprived of conscious control for an extended period, the machines would self-terminate."

  "Oh," she said.

  "Captain Yaella?"

  "Yes?"

  "You contain a small number of the machines as well."

  "I know." She remembered Ocean's home planet, and how the sea had moved toward her. How it crashed over her, and the black specks raced over her body—

  "Do you wish for them to be deactivated?"

  Yaella thought about that. "Yeah," she said at last. I don't trust them, you know? I don't know what they're capable of."

  "I understand, Captain Yaella."

  She sat for a while, running her hand through Kaiser's fur. "Hey, Niner. Can I ask you about something else?"

  "Of course, Captain Yaella."

  She tried to think of how to word it, but realised the giant AI would probably see through any nuance or subtlety. "I'm headed Coreward to find hybrids like me. Does Admiral Dillon have a different goal?"

  "Yes, Captain Yaella."

  Shit. "Do I want to know what it is?"

  "I cannot answer that, Captain Yaella, because I do not know what you want to know. However, Dillon has asked that I not share his conversations."

  "Oh. So you keep secrets?"

  "Yes, Captain Yaella."

  This wasn't how she wanted things to work. For years, she'd watched her mother's frustration with the secrets and conspiracies of the Pentarchs: the endless plots and schemes of politicians who kept information from each other — and from Mom. "Okay then, Niner, could you please keep this conversation secret, too?"

  "Yes, Captain Yaella."

  Yaella felt herself deflate a little. Wasn't trust better than secrets? Wasn't co-operation better than scheming?

  She exhaled, and let herself slump. "Thanks for listening, Niner. So… when you deactivate my machines, will I feel anything?"

  "I have already done it, Captain Yaella."

  "Oh." She hadn't felt a thing. Were they alive? If so, was deactivating them murder? It didn't seem the right sort of question to ask a giant machine. "Thank you, Niner. I'll talk to you later, I guess."

  "Good day, Captain Yaella. I'll be listening."

  Chapter Forty

  "Mahasa, they're ready for you."

  Zura looked up from her holographic map. "Already?" According to the time display on her desktop, it was later than she'd thought.

  "Yes, Mahasa," said Mwangi.

  She stood up straight. Two days had passed since she'd come out of the tank. Apart from one or two pangs of pain — usually when she pushed herself — her only complaint was the constant soreness in her recuperating body. That, and the lectures from Pari about why she couldn't have stimulants to keep working.

  Irasa led the way out the door. Zura followed the gleaming black wall of armour across the back of the admiral's bridge and into the briefing amphitheatre.

  Two rows of holographic officers rose to their feet as she entered the room: fleet commanders, army commanders, and sector governors. Only the military. The civilians holding high office would be briefed later, when the time was appropriate.

  In the front row was Pentarch Yenaara, who had found a set of elegant blue robes. Beside her was Four-Thirteen, still in a borrowed officer's uniform. He'd decided to forego the traditional veil of the intelligence service; according to him, too many people had seen his face, making the veil 'pointless'.

  "Be seated," Zura said, mounting the dais' single step. In front of her, the rows of holographic commanders sat on unseen chairs.

  She took a quick look at the display on the wall behind her, the clicking of her bandage the only sound in the room.

  The floor-to-ceiling holographic display showed the entirety of Palani space, from the borders with the humans and Dosh, through the Home Worlds and the frontier sectors, all the way to Uta space. Symbols slowly moved across the map: the same dance of symbols she'd been studying for days.

  "First," she said, her eyes scanning the holographic audience. "Well done. All of you. Over the past forty-eight hours you've been maintaining a very high tempo of operations. Co-ordinated raids have been ongoing against the entire range of Temple-controlled assets."

  Behind her, the image zoomed in to display the sector of the Palani Home Worlds. A complex arrangement of symbols showed the attrition of Temple-controlled defences and facilities.

  She gestured to the graphic. "Together, you have degraded the Temple's defences by an average of sixty percent. Numerous facilities are now entirely without static defences. In addition, they have lost seventeen frigates to some particularly bold and opportunistic commanders; I will be commending these commanders personally. All this," she said, "with total losses of two frigates. Outstanding."

  She could see the looks on their faces. Smiles on some, self-satisfied smirks on others. More than a few sat up straighter, or puffed out their chests a little more. They were proud, and they should be: despite their personal differences — and in a room full of command-level egos, that was significant — they had come together and were co-operating. Ken Amoroso — smiling at her from the front row — had once compared a senior command role to that of the conductor of an orchestra: she decided what tune they would play, then nudged them to play together. The resulting symphony was all their doing.

  She pointed at the intelligence agent in the front row. "Four-Thirteen: in two days, you have re-established the beginnings of an intelligence network. You may give your briefing."

  As she stepped to the side of the dais, Four-Thirteen rose and bowed. He introduced himself and started his intelligence briefing.

  She'd already seen the data, of course. Four-Thirteen had done exceptionally well. Within an hour of settling into an office in the Kaha Ranila's intelligence department, he had already contacted a dozen of his former colleagues. When the coup had begun, most of the intelligence apparatus had gone underground, doing what they did best: watching, listening, and analysing. Apparently, the Temple didn't have much use for the 'underhandedness' of intelligence agencies. At least, not for agencies they couldn't control.

  Zura crossed her arms over her chest as she listened to Four-Thirteen's briefing. The situation on the Home Worlds was, in short, alarming. Temple attendance was now mandatory for all citizens. A newly-formed 'Righteousness' agency was investigating dissenters, or anyone who had somehow been insufficiently pious in their daily lives. There had been little violence as yet, but it was plain enough to Zura where things were headed: when there were 'investigations' today, there would be arrests tomorrow. Ivenna and the Temple leadership had expected the population to be jubilant at their grand new era of righteousness, and the peoples' lack of enthusiasm was both baffling and frustrating to them.

  Four-Thirteen made a sweeping gesture at the graphic behind him, "Here are the ships of the McLean-Irvine mercenary fleet known to be working for the Temple: thirty-eight cruisers of the 'Orbit' class, all heavily modified. All jump-capable. All outfitted with new designs of shields, armour, and/or weapons. All of it of McLean-Irvine manufacture; equal to our own."

  A lot of shifting among the audience; some frowns and pursed lips. The smiles and smirks were fading.

  Four-Thirteen cleared his throat before continuing. "According to my sources, McLean-Irvine made specific commitments to the Temple about their ability to defeat us. Very specific, very confident commitments." He was watching the audience. "They fully believe they can stop us."

  A hanging question. Zura waited to see who would ask it.

  General Hazalla, of the Maun Expanse sector. "What's your assessment? Can they?"

  Someone needed to ask it. It wasn't a matter of confidence or bravado or hubris; just pragmatism.

  Four-Thirteen addressed the
general's holograph directly. "'On paper', as the humans say, yes."

  The last smirks disappeared, even from the most egotistical commanders. Some of them scoffed, or began to mutter to themselves. But they were all paying attention.

  "However," continued Four-Thirteen, "it would require all their latest technology operating perfectly the first time they use it to its full potential. That would be a complete departure from the past four thousand years of human technological development."

  True, thought Zura, as smiles spread around the room. But the humans accomplished in four thousand years what took our ancestors twice that time. She sighed. A problem for another day.

  A gruff voice from the second row: General Valri, the aggressive commander of the Palani Third Corps. "Speaking of the humans, where are they? Where are our 'allies'?"

  Four-Thirteen looked at Zura. When she stepped forward, all eyes turned to her.

  She waited until she had their full attention. "In the past twenty-four hours, I have heard from the governments of three allied human nations, offering to assist. I turned them down."

  Several officers recoiled at that; others sputtered or rolled their eyes. Some just frowned, staring at her, waiting.

  She held up a hand to silence them. "The humans who wish to help us—" she pointed at the audience— "are already here." She looked at each in turn: Admiral Amoroso, from her Outer Frontier Territories sector. Admiral Yamashita, commanding the Palani Second Fleet. General Kumar, commanding the First Shock Brigade. Human officers, assigned to Palani posts as part of various Alliance inter-operability programs. All of them — and hundreds more — remaining at their posts even as the coup and its aftermath swirled around them. "We know honour when we see it. We will share our fight with those who stood with us. Not with those who hesitated."

  She was surprised how quickly that one remark deflected the audience's mood. Skepticism and indignation became gratitude and comradeship. How quickly they could turn. Both on the Home Worlds and in this very room, moods were changing from one day to the next. Becoming darker. That's why she'd already made her decision.

  "It is time," she said. Conversations petered out, and the room fell silent.

  "It is time to attack. I want the fleet ready for FTL at nineteen hundred. We will head directly to Palani Yaal La, where the Temple's fleet awaits us. We will attack and destroy them in full view of our people. Any questions?"

  A dozen heavily-striped arms went up. Senior military commanders, waiting to be called on like students in a classroom.

  Her eyes went to Pentarch Yenaara in the front row. The graceful Pentarch had remained silent during the meeting. She sat quietly, looking around the room, her eyes occasionally meeting Zura's. They'd talked earlier at some length; the Pentarch had the nucleus of a civilian government ready to assume power. Ready to attend to the million wants and needs of a traumatized people.

  A million and one, thought Zura. One of those needs would be her own retirement. The end was in sight; she only needed to deliver one last victory.

  It was going to be expensive.

  Chapter Forty-One

  When Yaella left her cabin, Admiral Dillon was waiting for her. "Here," he said, handing back her datapad. "I appreciated this. Really."

  "Sure. I hope everything's okay? Your wife… Pentarch Yenaara? She's safe?"

  He nodded. "Yeah. She's okay. Lanari and I both had a chance to talk to her. Thanks again."

  "No problem." Not long ago, she'd lived in the same fear, not knowing if her mom was alive or dead. It must have been the same for the Admiral and Lanari, not knowing whether a loved one was alive, or hurt, or whether you'd ever see them again. How many families had gone through the same thing? How many found out their loved one wasn't answering because they were gone? All of it was unnecessary, started by power-hungry Pentarchs bent on taking their people in some new direction.

  She watched as the Admiral headed off to the galley, no doubt going to get more coffee. She once thought Bucky and Tal drank too much of the stuff, but they were amateurs compared to him.

  She turned and headed forward to the cockpit. As she passed the side passage to the escape pod, she stole a quick look at Ocean. He was still kneeling in the doorway of the starboard-side escape pod; still a joyless little cloud, brooding on his own. Sitting alone seemed to be all he knew, all he had left. Biologic functions notwithstanding, was that even living?

  Bucky must've heard her coming. "Hey, Blue."

  "Yo," said Tal from the co-pilot's seat.

  Leaning against the bulkhead, Lanari just nodded.

  "Hey kids," said Yaella, climbing over the console and into the pilot's seat. "What's up?"

  Tal leaned forward, checking something on the dash. "According to Niner, we're a minute or so from the Union place."

  Yaella raised an eyebrow. "So Niner is just putting info on our dash? "

  Tal nodded. "Uh huh. I just assumed she's doing whatever she wants. She probably knows what I ate for breakfast." He shrugged. "What can you do?"

  Yaella returned the shrug. What could you do? Niner knew everything that was going on, probably before they did. Which was great, as long as they were headed in the same direction, chasing the same goals… but what about after that? What if the giant computer redid its math, and decided it didn't need them around? Were they all just variables in a formula?

  "Hey, Chief." Tal was smirking at her. "You daydreaming again? "

  "Huh? No. Just thinking. "

  "You've been doing a lot of that."

  "Making up for lost time," she joked.

  A dip in her stomach, and the stars slid back into place. There was no sound as Niner came out of FTL; no fading away of engines. Out the window in front of them, beyond the yawning opening of the cargo hold, a gleaming shape appeared against the backdrop of stars.

  It resembled a city reflected in a lake, its skyline mirrored above and below. Skyscrapers rose and descended from a central dish, taller buildings toward the centre. The whole city was a bright, vivid red; most of it gleamed in the reflected light of the system's star, but portions of it were dull, as if dirty.

  On the screens in front of Yaella, the sensor grid populated with contacts. In the centre was the city itself — a kilometre wide, and twice that from top to bottom. Then she saw the three other ships. All of them, according to Niner, belonging to the Union.

  "Huh," said a voice behind Yaella. She glanced over her shoulder. Admiral Dillon stood in the passageway behind Bucky, next to the Handmaiden; he was holding a half-finished mug of coffee. "Guess we're in the right place."

  Yaella turned back around, but immediately felt weird: she felt herself turning around again and again. Her movement was stuttered, like an old movie skipping frames, and it took a half-dozen attempts before she was finally facing forward.

  She already knew what the Admiral was going to say. "Guess we're in the right…oh, great. Déjà vu again."

  The displays came to life with additional contacts: a dozen cruiser-sized Union ships that hadn't been there before.

  “Oh," said Tal. "A bunch of ships just jumped in. Welcoming committee, I guess."

  Behind her, she heard Bucky tapping at his console. "Hey, Blue? I'm getting weird readings from everything."

  "You don't say." She resisted the urge to look. "Any chance you could be more specific?"

  "Uh… Well, some of those cruisers just raised shields. They're the most powerful I've ever seen. But others haven't. Any only some of them have powered up weapon capacitors. It's weird. Here…"

  The symbols on her display blinked; indicators showed which ships had shields up, and which had weapons armed. "I dunno what that’s all about."

  Yaella watched the screen as the Union ships — fifteen in all — gathered in formation between them and the station. "So, uh… what about the station? What do we—"

  "Weird readings from it, too," said Bucky. "I don't get it. The station’s got a giant central reactor, but it’s offline. Ninety pe
rcent of the station has no power. One part of the station — facing us — is all lit up: big huge shields, and a couple scary-looking weapon emplacements…"

  "Are they targeting us? I mean, are they targeting Niner?"

  "Oh, yeah, definitely."

  Somewhere nearby, she knew that Niner's AI was doing what it did best: math, and lots of it. It had probably long since decided what it was going to do. "Niner?" she asked hesitantly, her eyes looking up toward the ceiling. "You’re listening, right?"

  The voice came from the dash right in front of her. "Yes, Captain Yaella."

  Of course it was. "Yeah. So… you’re not going to shoot or anything, right?"

  "My weapons are all powered down, Captain Yaella. That increases the probability that they will choose to communicate."

  "Yeah," she breathed. "I bet. So… their weapons are pretty scary."

  "They are, Captain Yaella. They could cause significant damage before I destroyed them."

  "But you’re not going to…"

  "Not at present. Many of my weapons emit radiation that would be lethal to all of you."

  "Oh." She hadn't thought of that. "Very thoughtful of you, Niner. Thank you."

  "Yes, Captain Yaella."

  Yaella looked again out the window, beyond the opening of Niner's cargo bay. The symmetrical city-station was centred in her view. From this distance, she couldn't make out the cruisers surrounding it, apart from the occasional sparkle of reflected light.

  She took a deep breath. This was it: the opportunity she'd been waiting for. A chance to speak to the Union.

  A thought came to her, and she slumped in the seat. "Ah, shit." She couldn't believe she'd done it again: she'd made the same stupid mistake as before. "Language. I have no idea how to speak to them. Niner, I don't suppose you can translate…"

  "No need, Captain Yaella. They speak the human trade language. They are currently attempting to communicate with you."

  On the communications panel in front of her, a button flashed, its yellow light beckoning her.