Crusades

by S. J. Madill

  Yaella puffed her cheeks as she exhaled. "Here goes, I guess." She pressed a fingertip against the flashing yellow button. "Hello?" she said tentatively. "Blue Guardian to unknown station. Please respond."

  It took a moment for a response to come. When it did, the speaker had an accent unlike any she'd heard before: the start of every word was stressed, and vowel sounds were slurred together. "This is Fortress Langer to Blue Guardian. Come no closer. Do not make power to your weapons."

  "Okay," said Yaella, leaning over the dash. "We understand. We're not here to fight. We just want to talk to someone. Can we send a ship over?"

  She released her finger on the yellow button. "I hope that was okay."

  "That wasn't proper procedure," said the Admiral behind her. "But they'll probably get the idea."

  She twisted in her seat to look back at him, one finger still hovering near the comms panel. "I mean, Niner says her weapons aren't powered up, so…"

  He shrugged at her, mug in his hand. "They aren't idiots. Idiots don't build stations like that."

  "Yeah, I guess—"

  The voice came from the speaker again. "Fortress Langer to Blue Guardian. You may send a small ship to land at Area Four. We will wait for you."

  "Area Four," she repeated. "We're on our way with a small ship."

  "Blue?" asked Bucky. "We don't have a small ship."

  "Are you kidding?" she asked. "Compared to Niner, we are the small ship."

  Tal gestured hesitantly at the window. "So, uh… you want me to fly us down there?"

  She nodded.

  "And hope that Landing Area Four is easy to find?"

  "Yeah."

  "Sure," said Tal. "Why not? In for a penny…"

  Yaella leaned back in her seat, chewing at her lip as Tal started the engines.

  Think. She didn't know who to talk to. Just like every step she'd taken so far, she had nothing to go on. All she had was the same feeling she'd had all along: if not this, then what?

  And how the hell did the Union speak the trade language? From their point of view, she came from the far end of the galaxy. What the hell was she going to say? 'Hello, please give me all your slaves'? Like the Admiral had said, these people weren't idiots. She needed to show them that she wasn't an idiot, either.

  Bucky's voice came from behind her seat. "Would you look at that?"

  Yaella blinked. They had left Niner's cargo bay, out into the wide-open darkness of space. Ahead of them were the red columns of the Union fortress: a forest of towers that extended above and below. "Don't scan them," she said on a hunch. "Passive only."

  "Will do."

  The cluster of spires shone in the reflected sunlight, but there was no light from within. Only a small group of towers was lit, huddled around the rectangular opening of a landing bay.

  As they approached, she saw that the nearest towers — the ones with lights in the windows — didn't glint in the sunlight the same as the others. The sides of the inhabited towers were dull and rough-surfaced, compared to the shining metallic spires behind. "Bucky?" she asked out loud. "What d'you see?"

  "The fortress has several hundred towers; only ten have power and heat. There's a reactor running in there somewhere, but the fortress's main power plant is offline."

  She heard him tapping at his console. "Same with weapons and shield generators," he said. They're only running on this side of the fortress. The place has eight landing pads, but the one facing us is the only one with power."

  "So I guess that's number four?"

  "I kinda hope so."

  In the nearest towers, light glowed from square windows; in some of them, Yaella thought she could see movement. Maybe there were people inside, staring out their windows at the little ship approaching their station and, in the distance, the menacing bulk of the scrapyard dreadnought.

  The fortress had once been gleaming red. Gold-coloured fittings ran up the walls of the spires, giving the red columns the appearance of gold trim. But large patches of the shiny red metal were covered in dull red material that didn't shine or sparkle. "Wait a sec…"

  "Huh." The Admiral was standing behind her, leaning forward over her headrest. "That red substance… is that what those bodies were wrapped in?"

  "You can patch a station with it? Handy stuff."

  The Blue Guardian descended to the central disk below the towers; it was no more than fifty metres thick, shining with navigation beacons and interior lights. Turreted weapons silently followed their movements.

  Between two of the turrets, a brilliant rectangle of light spilled out from a bay as big as Niner's. There were no ships inside; the landing bay was an empty box. Blinking lights on the floor showed where the Blue Guardian was expected to land. Near it, a figure awaited their arrival: a male human in a red uniform. At the back of the landing bay, a half-dozen more uniformed humans stood in a row. "Uh," she said hesitantly. "They've got guns. So… I guess we should, too."

  "You sure?" asked Bucky.

  "Yeah," she said, but she wasn't sure. Part of her was hoping that the Admiral would step in — after all, he was the expert, right? But I'm the Captain, she reminded herself. This was her show. She had to decide what to do.

  And right now, all she knew was that they were in the domain of an advanced warlike race. A race who, by the looks of it, were taking this very seriously.

  "C'mon," she said, climbing out of the pilot's seat. Bucky and the Admiral shifted aside to let her pass. "Let's not keep them waiting. Meet me in the cargo bay."

  As she headed down the passageway, she heard them talking behind her, but she wasn't really listening. What was she going to say to these Union people? They were highly advanced, that was clear. But what was going on with this fortress of theirs? Why was most of it uninhabited? Had there been a battle?

  Rounding the corner, she went straight to her cabin. Her freshly-polished breastplate lay on the trunk, and she put it on as she tried to think. Hearing the Union people speaking the human trade language was a surprise, but if they were highly advanced, learning a foreign language might be easy for them.

  She looked down at herself. Where once she'd struggled to put on the armoured breastplate, it had become easy, almost second nature. She wasn't sure if that was good or not.

  She turned to leave her cabin but stopped, her eyes on the wall-mounted lockbox. The Union waiting outside weren't going to be pushovers. Were they making a show of force for the benefit of Niner and the Blue Guardian crew? Should she do the same in return?

  Tapping her fingers on the lockbox's keypad, the door slid open. She hesitated a moment, before reaching inside and pulling out her handgun. The ancient, powder-burning sidearm was heavy in her hand, and she paused a moment to look at it. They'd detect it, of course. There was no way they'd consider her a threat, but maybe it'd show them that she was wary; that she wasn't an idiot. Picking up a magazine with her other hand, she headed out the door.

  When she got to the cargo bay, there was tension in the room. Tal was fidgeting, his hands in his pockets. Bucky was chewing on his lower lip. Lanari wasn't straying too far from her father the Admiral, who was taking deep breaths and occasionally working his shoulders. Yaella started doing the same; she hoped it worked.

  Just as she approached the others, Ocean entered the cargo bay. His face was a storm cloud: brows together, jaw clenched. She headed to intercept him; the last thing they needed right now was someone looking for murderous revenge. "Ocean?"

  He was spoiling for a confrontation; she could see it in his eyes. It was even in the way he stood: feet apart, hands clenched at his sides. "Captain?"

  Asking him to stay behind wasn't going to work, so she didn't try. "Would you like to come?"

  "Yes, Captain. I must face these people."

  "Okay," she said. "You can come." It's my ship, damn it. "But we're here to gather information. Not to pass judgement. We want the truth, not a body count." She studied his face. "We do it my way. Do you understand?"

  He k
ept staring at her, but didn't say anything.

  She hadn't come all this way for him to pick a fight and risk their lives. "Do you understand? Say it."

  Ocean took a deep breath — probably for her benefit — and sighed. "I understand, Captain."

  "Thank you," she said, then turned to the others. She didn't know how much they'd heard, but all eyes were on her. "Everyone ready?"

  "Ready," said the Admiral. The boys mumbled assent; Lanari's blue eyes were locked on Ocean.

  "Okay." She motioned to the cargo ramp. "Lower the ramp, please."

  "I got it," said Tal. A few taps on the screen, and familiar clunks signalled the unlatching of the cargo ramp. The rear bulkhead of the cargo bay began to hinge open, descending toward the floor of the landing area.

  As the ramp lowered, it revealed a soldier standing nearby: a young man, not much older than her. His uniform was a deep crimson, with thin gold panels on his chest and shoulders that sparkled in the bright lights of the landing bay. In his left hand he held a small gold cylinder, like a baton.

  Yaella chewed her lip. She felt nervous, and knew she wasn't hiding it. Here I am, she thought. Everything's going so fast. This was the course she had set. Now she was here — not through any skill or particular effort, but through the help of others and a lot of luck — and she didn't know what to do. Deep down, maybe she'd never really expected to get this far. Maybe she was waiting for someone — a grown-up — to tell her to quit playing around and get serious.

  She looked sideways at the Admiral, who raised an eyebrow at her. Yeah, she thought. Just fake it. Sucking in a deep breath, she stepped forward, out of the Blue Guardian's cargo bay and down the ramp.

  She approached the Union officer waiting at the bottom of the ramp. He was tall, with short dark hair.

  The officer's hand went up, holding his baton in front of him like a talisman. He spoke — so quietly she could barely hear him — in a language she couldn't understand. After a moment's delay, the officer's voice came from the baton: the same voice, with the same inflection, but in the human trade language. "You have landed on the Fortress Langer. What is your purpose here?"

  "Oh," she said. "Hello." As she spoke, she heard a delayed voice — her own, but in the officer's language — coming from the baton. "Oh? Is that thing translating?"

  He didn't respond.

  "Neat," she said, forging ahead. "I'm Yaella. I'm the Captain of the Blue Guardian." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "And this is my crew. Are you in charge?" She followed it up with a hopeful smile.

  The officer started speaking again. After a moment, the baton translated. "I ask again: what is your purpose here?"

  Yaella hesitated. Wasn't honesty the best policy? "I… I'm here about hybrids. People like me. Half-Palani, half-human, brought from rimward—"

  A curt wave of the baton. "You, come with me. The rest stay here."

  "No," she stammered. "No, wait. This is my crew. We're all together, and—"

  He shook his head. "The rest stay here. You come alone."

  Without another word, the officer turned and started walking away, toward the rear of the landing bay.

  "But…" Yaella took a breath and was about to protest, then stopped. "Okay," she sighed. "Not up for discussion, I see." She gave her crew a helpless shrug before following.

  The man took long steps, and Yaella had to hustle to keep up. He was tall, she thought, and fast. Human, at first glance, but as she watched him walk she began to see differences. His ears were further back on his head. His hair was coarser than that of humans and Palani, and his hairline came to a point down the back of his neck. Like the station itself, everything about him was familiar enough to be recognizable, but subtly different.

  The deck under her feet was heavily worn, with long-faded markings showing landing areas and movement lanes. The walls had fittings and hatches, labelled with alien text.

  The more she looked around, the more she noticed something else: patches of dull red. It was everywhere: on the deck, on the walls, and even the ceiling. "Hey," she said, hearing her voice coming from the officer's baton. "That red stuff. It's like cloth, or something. You use it everywhere. What is it?"

  He kept walking, following the faded markings on the floor. She heard him speaking quietly, then the baton spoke. "Is the inquiry relevant to your purpose here?"

  "Well, no—"

  "Then it need not be discussed."

  "Ah. Sorry."

  They approached a small door-sized hatch. Next to the opening stood a perfect row of six soldiers in crimson uniforms, each holding an elegant gold rod as tall as they were.

  When she looked over her shoulder, she faltered. Panic swept through her as she saw the rest of her crew back at the ship, watching her from across the landing bay.

  This was a terrible idea. She'd separated herself from her crew and her ship. Here, inside an armed space station. Ocean had called the Union 'warlike', and while they weren't being inhospitable or violent, there was a tension to this place. Like a finger was already on a trigger. The last time she'd met a Union ship, they'd immediately tried to kill her. But not this time. What was the difference? Was it Niner? Was the presence of the giant ship outside the only thing keeping her and her crew alive?

  She took a deep breath, and held her hands together to keep them from shaking. She turned around, away from her ship and crew.

  The officer was waiting for her a short distance ahead, where a side door led off the corridor. Beyond him, the corridor went deeper into the fortress, through multiple sets of open doors. People were moving about in the distance, all of them in uniform.

  "In here," said the officer's voice, coming from his upheld baton. "Please."

  As she walked to the door, an endless parade of doubts ran through her mind. These 'warlike' people were being very tolerant of foreign civilians showing up out of the blue. It had to be Niner, she decided; the giant ship's presence was threatening to them. Threatening enough, maybe, for them to listen to what she had to say?

  She tried to analyse the situation as her mom would. The military mindset — thinking strategically — was foreign to her, but Mom insisted it just came down to being pragmatic. Soldiers, Mom insisted, were the last people to start an unnecessary fight. Yaella hoped these Union soldiers were the same.

  As she arrived at the doorway, the officer gestured again. Yaella turned and entered the side door.

  It was like the front desk of a particularly spartan hotel. A long counter ran along one wall, crewed by three grim-faced officers. On the wall behind them was a bank of screens: most were dark, but one showed organised grids full of constantly-changing data in the alien text.

  At the centre of the counter was an older woman in uniform, with intricate layers of gold panels on her shoulders and across her chest. She had a baton as well, stuck upright into the countertop in front of her. As Yaella approached, she saw that the woman was writing — by hand, in ink — in a book made from sheets of the same ever-present red material. They use that stuff for everything.

  The woman looked up from what she was doing, impassively watching Yaella approach. Something didn't seem right. A scrap-metal dreadnought appears, a blue-haired woman comes in, and this woman just stares like a server at a coffee shop waiting to take her order. Did this sort of thing happen around here every day?

  The woman spoke, her baton translating a moment later. "Yes?"

  Yaella didn't know what to say; her mouth started without her. "I'm… Yaella. Captain of the Blue Guardian, that ship in your landing bay. Thank you for letting us land, and for speaking with me."

  The woman's eyes were locked on Yaella. "You are bold, coming to deliver your threats in person. We respect that."

  "What?" Yaella waved her hands. "No, no! We're not here to make threats—"

  "Are you not? The last time your dreadnought was here, you destroyed two of our ships. You now display them on your hull, like the other ships you have destroyed. Yet—"

&
nbsp; "Divines, no," said Yaella. "That out there… it's not my dreadnought. It's called Niner. It's no one's ship. it goes where it wants. It just came with us, and…" She shut up. Maybe she shouldn't have said so much.

  The woman raised an eyebrow. "It goes where it wants?"

  "Yeah… I mean…" Her throat was dry, and her hands were shaking. She was doing this all wrong. Her one chance, and she was blowing it. "Look," she blurted. "You feel threatened by Niner… well, we feel a bit threatened by you, okay? My friend was tortured by your people. Your scientists did experiments on him. He says you're cruel and warlike and—"

  "We do not torture."

  Yaella looked up. The woman was glaring at her. "But—"

  "A number of our worlds are under the sway of extremists, who seek to spread violence and terror. They use torture and slavery." The woman raised her chin. "We do not."

  "Oh," said Yaella. What have we walked into? "Look. I didn't know. I'm sorry for your trouble, but we don't have anything to do with your civil war or whatever—"

  "We know."

  Once again, she'd stumbled into something bigger than herself. Clearly, there was a lot she didn't know. "Look," she said. "I'm just here about hybrids." She pointed at her hair. "Like me. Half human, half Palani…"

  The woman opened her red-papered book, and picked up her pen. "Hybrids. How many do you bring? Is your… 'Niner'… full?"

  "What?" She thinks I'm a slaver? "No. I'm here to get them. To take them home."

  The officer stopped, then slowly put down her pen on the countertop. She looked back up at Yaella, but didn't speak. Instead, she reached for the upright baton in front of her. Yaella saw a blue light flicker in the woman's eyes as she started whispering, but no translation came.

  She wished the Admiral was here; he'd know what to do. She knew she was going about this all wrong. She was going to start a war if she wasn't careful. What the hell was she thinking? Walking right into a slaver's fortress, expecting them to just give their slaves back—

  "Yaella, was it?"

  The woman had her hands clasped together on the countertop. A small blue light glowed on the tip of the baton, and the same colour light flickered in the woman's eyes.