by S. J. Madill
As the Blue Guardian's ramp reached the ground it revealed one last figure, standing in front: a boy, no more than twelve or thirteen years old. A series of gold squares dangled from the right side of his chest, and over his clothes he wore a sash of the same brilliant crimson as the uniforms back on the Union fortress.
What Yaella most noticed about the boy was the look on his face: calm and confident. The same look she'd seen on her mom: the face of someone who had everything under control.
Yaella stepped off the ramp and stopped a few paces from the boy. "Hi," she said.
He studied her with an appraising eye. "Greetings," he said at last. His high-pitched voice spoke the Earth trade language with only a faint accent. "In your language," he continued, "this world is called 'Marble Arch'. My name is Bann. I am the fifty-third Otlaff of Marble Arch. These citizens…" he gestured to the gold-badge-wearing people to his right, "…are members of this year's Daalrad."
There was no emotion in his words, nor on his face. He shifted his feet further apart and clasped his hands behind his back. "And you are?"
"Yeah," she began. The boy's stare was intense; the more she looked at him, the more he reminded her of her mom. "I'm Yaella, Captain of the Blue Guardian. And this…", she said, trying to mimic the Otlaff's gesture, "…this is my crew."
She saw the boy's eyes go to each of her crew in order, but he didn't say anything. The silence quickly made her nervous. "We're not here to cause trouble," she added, then winced. No, that didn't sound suspicious at all.
"Then why are you here?"
She wasn't sure if that was sarcasm or not. The young man's voice gave nothing away.
Yaella paused, and looked at the faces of the hybrids standing behind the Otlaff.
I'm here.
She'd done it. This was where she'd been trying to reach. Here she was, standing in front of the hybrids. Her people. She swallowed, and tried to think of what to say.
"Where we come from," she began hesitantly, "hybrids — half human and half Palani, like me — are being abducted. Through the Shard and a business called McLean-Irvine, they've been brought coreward against their will." She cleared her throat; her eyes were getting warmer. She'd intended to be cagey, maybe even to hide her purpose, but when she looked at their faces it all tumbled out. "I've come so far," she said, a catch in her voice. "You don't understand…I…I came to rescue them. To take them home."
Yaella saw it in their faces: the surprise, the disbelief. There were no looks of joy, or hope, or gratitude. They don't want to leave. She'd come all this way for nothing. "I wanted to…" She trailed off.
"You've done well," said the Otlaff.
There was no emotion on the boy's face. But on the others behind him, she saw sympathy. She saw pity.
"You came a long way," the boy continued, "for an entirely worthy goal. A noble goal. Thank you. But there are no slaves here."
The Otlaff's eyes went to Ocean. Yaella saw the dark scowl on Ocean's face.
"You," said the Otlaff. "In you, I see doubt." The boy looked so calm and wise, like someone many times his age. "I understand."
The boy turned sideways, his too-big sash dangling past his waist and his gold badges clinking. As he stepped aside, the people behind him parted.
"If what you say is true," said the Otlaff, "then you have come a long way in the service of others. You sought to right a wrong." He gestured behind him, where the crowd had created a path toward the settlement. "Go, then. See for yourself. Walk wherever you wish. Speak to whoever you want." He turned toward the line of citizens with gold badges. "Perhaps one of the Daal—"
"I will, my Otlaff." A long-haired young woman stepped forward, gold badge jingling as she moved. She was Yaella's age, and wore only a light shirt and shorts. "I'll go with them." Her eyes sparkled when she smiled.
"Very well," said the boy. "Thank you, Daal Isabelle." With a final nod to Yaella, the young Otlaff turned away, headed back across the landing pad toward the settlement. The rest of the crowd was already breaking up.
"Wait…" said Yaella, reaching out an empty hand. Was that it? All this way for a hello, a 'well done', and that was it?
The young woman approached Yaella, her hand extended in greeting. "Hi," she said. "I'm Isabelle, but everyone calls me Izzy. C'mon, I'll show you around."
As Yaella shook the woman's cool hand and mumbled a greeting, it felt like her world had begun to spin.
This is it. This was what she'd come looking for. All the searching, all the flying, all the fear and upset and uncertainty. And what she'd been searching for didn't even exist. She knew it already: there weren't any slaves.
I've been chasing a lie. A lie I told myself.
"C'mon," said Izzy the Daal, tugging Yaella by the hand. "You'll love it here."
Chapter Forty-Four
Palani Yaal La. The beautiful frozen gem: the world where her people had arisen. Where countless generations had fought and bled, before the Palani people had finally been united under a single government and a single religion. From there, to the stars: Palani Yaal La had become the centre of an empire that spanned a quarter of the galaxy; their Golden Age.
But good times were always followed by bad, and the first Horlan invasion had reduced their golden empire to the five planets where it had all begun. After their rise and fall, they slowly rose again, through conflict with the Dosh, the Uta, and the humans. Palani Yaal La remained eternal: the ice-crowned globe was a welcoming sight to her far-reaching people.
Now she, Zura Varta, returned to Palani Yaal La at the head of a fleet. Today, the eternal world wasn't the symbol of home; it was the target.
When the fleet had come out of FTL, seeing the homeworld spring into view had been like a stab in the gut. She was bringing war to her people, to free them from themselves. Because, like the many horrors she'd seen or committed in her life, it had become necessary.
She stood at the front of the admiral's bridge, hands clasped behind her. A holographic sphere surrounded her, showing the heads of her fleet and army commanders, each on their own bridge or in their own headquarters. Above their heads, diagrams showed the locations of fleets and ground forces. Beyond the holographs, she could see the arching dome overhead, and beyond it the hull of the Kaha Ranila stretching into the distance: a kilometre-long blade aimed at the white-and-blue ball of Palani Yaal La.
To their right was a second blade, their sister ship the Kaha Terra. Around the dreadnoughts, three-ship formations of frigates moved like minnows around whales.
Zura looked over her shoulder, wincing at a jab of pain. Nearest to her was the giant Irasa. Behind Irasa were her chief of staff Mwangi, and her intelligence officer Four-Thirteen, each surrounded by their own holographic spheres. At the rear of the bridge stood the Pentarch Yenaara, statuesque and poised.
Zura turned back around. The holographic faces had gone quiet. On the ship's bridge one level below, Captain Para was looking up at her.
She scanned the displays one last time. With the arrival of the last few frigates, everyone was ready. Everything was in place. Even the enemy was ready: a fleet of two hundred Temple warships approached warily, their flank reinforced by a group of cruisers from McLean-Irvine. The machinery of war was ready for action; all it needed was a word.
There would be no stirring speech. No bold words, no appeals to tradition or duty or home. None of that. There was work to be done. "Begin the attack," she commanded.
The great coiled machine began to spin into gear. A giant energy field shimmered into view around the Kaha Ranila, like a sphere of wispy blue light. One by one, the surrounding frigates lit up with shields of their own, until the space around them was a magical array of flickering blue orbs.
And then, slowly, ponderously, Kaha Ranila began to move. With their swarm of circling frigates, millions of tons of steel and composite gathered speed toward Palani Yaal La and the rebel fleet that stood in their way.
There was little for her to do but watch. Admirals
and generals had formulated their plans, and were now executing them. Competent officers leading competent people. The day's work was theirs. She stood in the centre of her holographic sphere, and watched.
A growing chorus of calm voices came from the holographs around her. They relayed vital information, declared intentions, and provided updates. Glowing symbols marched across the shimmering map.
Both sides had, as expected, begun with a volley of FTL torpedoes. Two of her frigates were late getting their shields up, bursting apart in bright fireballs. Outside the Kaha Ranila's dome, the shield flared brilliant blue as torpedoes were tricked out of FTL too soon and slammed into the energy barrier.
After the initial barrage, the fleets closed to beam-weapon range. A few thin white beams stretched across the space between fleets, like fingers probing for each other. As more ships entered range, hundreds of beams began firing. The darkness filled with light.
Through the soles of her boots, she felt the deck tremble as the Kaha Ranila's main weapon fired: a wide shaft of blinding light burst from the front of the ship, searing into the distance. On her holographic display, it registered a hit: a McLean-Irvine cruiser shuddered as light washed over it. Its Union-technology shields held at first, then buckled under the load of energy they were unable to dissipate. The shields collapsed inward and the boiling plasma flooded through, burning the cruiser to cinders.
The first of many, thought Zura. Union technology had allowed McLean-Irvine to build shields as powerful as those her people made. But Palani shields couldn't stop a dreadnought's main weapon, either.
The fleets continued to close the range. A swarm of Temple fighters approached, like a swirling mass of angry insects. The two dreadnoughts launched fighters of their own, which formed up and flew away: not toward the incoming Temple fighters, but toward the McLean-Irvine ships.
Again the deck trembled under her feet and the Kaha Ranila's main battery fired. Searing white lit up the bridge, casting everything in sharp shadows. On her display, another McLean-Irvine cruiser burst into flames as its shields were overloaded. The aft half of the ship burned away, leaving the front tumbling and shedding debris.
The two fleets were closer now, and the view outside the bridge was chaotic: hundreds of beams criss-crossed the sky; flaring shields pulsed bright blue; yellow-red fire blossomed as ships exploded. Fire swept past her as a Temple fighter struck the shields, disintegrating as it tumbled by.
As planned, the McLean-Irvine ships were taking the brunt of the fire. Gunners on Zura's ships were ignoring Temple ships, no matter how tempting the target, in favour of pouring more fire on the mercenaries. The humans had bought technology from the Union, and their advanced weapons and defences made them confident. They approached too aggressively and too near, and their hubris was costing them.
Three Temple fighters soared past the Kaha Ranila's dome, headed for her sister ship. The small craft jerked violently to evade the defensive fire from both ships, driving themselves toward the Kaha Terra's side. The first fighter burst apart when it hit the shields, flaring them bright blue. The out-of-control second fighter fell sideways into the same point, and the shield faltered. The burning third fighter passed through before the shield re-established itself. The dreadnought's side belched fire as the impacting fighter collided with it.
Zura shook her head and turned back to the ring of holographic faces. There was a note of tension in the chorus of voices; they were getting nervous. One of the faces disappeared from the display at the same moment that a frigate exploded in the distance. Zura watched the count of destroyed ships slowly tick upward: sixteen so far. Each held a crew of fifty, with no hope for survival.
In front of her, an argument was breaking out. One of her admirals had lost half his frigates and was withdrawing to regroup; others immediately challenged him. A few eyes turned to her.
"No withdrawal," she said. "No retreat." There would be no second chance, not today. The deck under her feet vibrated as the Kaha Ranila fired again.
In her display, a message window appeared. A message from Four-Thirteen: he was seeing increased communications among McLean-Irvine ships.
Good. Like any business, the mercenaries were re-evaluating their profit/loss outlook. It was an old adage: you could pay mercenaries enough to fight for you, but you couldn't pay them enough to die for you.
The Temple's fighters and frigates were getting bolder: swarming the escort screen, pushing closer. Off the dreadnought's port bow, a Temple frigate collided with its counterpart in Zura's fleet. They were trying to provoke her and her crews; trying to take pressure off their mercenary allies. Not allies, thought Zura. Employees.
A McLean-Irvine cruiser disappeared: gone to light speed, said her display. Three other cruisers limped away, unable to reach FTL. The trickle became a flood, as more mercenary ships tried to leave the battle. She felt a moment of déjà vu: one of them had saved enough energy to use its jump drive.
The Kaha Ranila fired again, and caught a mercenary cruiser at the moment it accelerated to FTL; with a flickering smear of light, a thin trail of debris scattered across the star system.
In under a minute, the mercenary cruisers were gone. Only the Temple's ships remained to face Zura's fleet. The departure of the mercenaries created a brief lull in the fight.
An opportunity. Zura reached up and tapped a finger at the holographic display in front of her, creating an open comms channel. "All Temple ships," she said. She lifted her chin, and kept her expression neutral; both sides would be watching. "This is Mahasa Varta. Temple ships that leave the battle will be spared. Power down your weapons, keep your shields up, and move away. Varta out."
She hadn't intended to interfere in the battle. But opportunities had to be seized; even if none of the Temple ships took her offer, the seed of uncertainty had been planted.
She raised an eyebrow as a Temple frigate immediately disappeared, gone to FTL. Then another. She could imagine the chaos on their command channels: encouragement, exhortation, threats; whatever the zealots could use to keep their wavering forces motivated. It wasn't working: dozens of Temple frigates disappeared.
Without the mercenaries, the remaining Temple forces were outnumbered, and they didn't have dreadnoughts. Those that remained would be the most dangerous of them all: the 'true believers', determined to fight for their faith. And, ideally, die for it.
The Temple's remaining ships didn't regroup; they didn't even attempt some semblance of a formation. Fighters and frigates spun around and charged, accelerating to breakneck speeds, all weapons firing. Criss-crossing beams lit the space around the dreadnoughts, and ships burst into flames, one after the other. A few made it through; flaring shields lit up the darkness as Zura's frigates were hit. Those that didn't get their shields back up in time were hit again. Bursts of angry red and orange fire scattered debris as frigates exploded. Faces disappeared from her holographic sphere; those that remained were grim and tense, some of them shouting orders as their ships spun and weaved to avoid being rammed.
Behind the fighters, the slower frigates approached. Again, the defensive fire sliced the sky apart, battering the incoming ships. Several of the Temple's damaged ships veered off course, tumbling off into space. Others came apart under the concentrated fire, leaving trails of debris in their wake.
But more of them came. Still accelerating, still headed for the dreadnoughts. Zura watched, her heart beating faster, her hands growing tighter on the railing.
The Kaha Ranila began a slow turn, bringing its bow around to face the attackers. A solid stream of defensive fire poured out of the two dreadnoughts and their escorts, beating down the front shields of the incoming Temple frigates. Down below, Captain Para was shouting orders. Zura took a deep breath and waited. There was nothing else for her to do.
Additional contacts appeared underneath the dreadnoughts, as a new salvo of FTL torpedoes dropped out of their hulls. As quickly as they appeared they disappeared again, jumping to FTL as soon as they
were launched.
The nearest enemy frigate flared with blue light as an FTL torpedo struck home, knocking down the frigate's shields and damaging its forward hull. It kept coming, as defensive fire poured into the unshielded front of the ship.
Zura sensed Irasa taking a step closer to her. Out the front of the dome, the burning wreckage of the incoming Temple frigate fell toward the bow of the Kaha Ranila. The dreadnought's forward shield flared brilliantly blue, the curve of the shield shimmering as it consumed the incoming frigate in a wall of fire. With a final flash, the shield disappeared.
Half a kilometre ahead of where Zura stood, the ruined frigate struck the bow of the Kaha Ranila, a thousand tons of wreckage slamming into the giant ship's armoured skin. The ship under her feet shuddered as a fireball began at the bow and moved toward her. On her holographic display, indicators flared red on the ship's schematic, the wave of red spreading back along the ship as debris tumbled and crashed along the hull.
When the wreckage hit the bridge dome, the air concussed with a sound too loud to be noise. Zura winced, watching as the wreck glanced off the dome: she saw hull plates and framing, bulkheads and machinery, lit by burning clouds of escaping gases. She imagined she saw bodies too, in the disintegrating mass of scrap flying past. Was it worth it for them?
With a flash of blue light, the forward shield went back up. Her display was covered in alarms, showing the dozens of compartments struck by debris.
Beside the Kaha Ranila, she saw the Kaha Terra on fire all along her length. A half dozen frigates had thrown themselves against her, two mangled wrecks managing to get through.
Zura took a few deep breaths to calm herself and slow the pounding of her heart.
I'm still alive.
Around her, a third of the holographic faces were missing. Those that remained were stony-faced, their tense voices still issuing commands and providing updates.