by S. J. Madill
The wave of suicide attacks had claimed over two dozen of her ships. But not all of the Temple's ships had struck home; some of them had missed, or lost their nerve, or had been unable to find a target at their reckless speed. Those few that remained were turning in wide arcs, trying to line up for another run, but were being relentlessly smashed by the combined defensive fire of Zura's entire fleet. Before they could finish their turn, the last of the Temple's frigates burst into flames and flew apart, their scattering debris flaring briefly before winking out.
A message appeared on her display: No Hostile Contacts.
Zura checked the time display. The entire battle had taken eleven minutes. The cost had been staggering, but in line with what she'd expected: more than a third of her ships destroyed, and the rest damaged. With the destruction of the Reserve Fleet eight days ago, the Palani military was now the weakest it had been in a thousand years. And they had done it to themselves.
She ignored the congratulatory words from the commanders in front of her. "Contact the Temple of the Divines," she said. "Demand their surrender." She looked over the railing at Captain Para down below. "Captain, approach the homeworld. Target the Temple of the Divines. Give me firing control up here."
"Yes, Mahasa."
The Kaha Ranila kept turning. Beyond the damaged and smoking bow of the giant ship, the frozen globe of Palani Yaal La slid sideways into view until it was straight ahead. She stared at the console in front of her, its gems still dark.
If they were to fire on the sacred homeworld, to obliterate the centre of their faith… it had to be her. Whoever fired the weapon would have to live with the knowledge of it. For her, it would be just one more monstrous act among many.
The captain's voice came from below. "We are within range, Mahasa. Main battery reports ready to fire."
In front of her, the blue gem lit up.
She looked up at the homeworld and paused. She needed a moment to slow down. There was no need to rush. She took a few deep breaths.
"Any reply from the Temple?" she asked.
Four-Thirteen's voice behind her. "Yes, Mahasa. Pentarch Ivenna refuses to surrender. She is making a speech about martyrdom—"
Zura sighed. "Very well." It had all come to this: the single push of a little blue gem. One push, and the war would be finished. As would the Temple of the Divines, and everyone in it. With the end of the war, she would be finished as well. Her long, struggle-filled journey, finally at an end. Time for her, and Yaella, and Pari… She reached her hand toward the gem.
"Mahasa, wait!" Four-Thirteen's voice.
Zura turned around. Past Irasa, she saw Four-Thirteen in a holographic bubble of his own; he was in the middle of a frantic conversation with a face hovering in front of him. Pentarch Yenaara stood nearby, watching intently. She seemed older, somehow.
Zura raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Four-Thirteen?"
He held up a hand to pause the holographic face in front of him. "My apologies, Mahasa. I have urgent news: there are civilians in the Temple."
"Go on."
"Worshippers, Mahasa. Herded into the Temple last night. Ten thousand civilians."
"Nsal 'neth," she breathed.
Ten thousand people, in the Temple against their will. Held there to make her pay for her victory. To make the Palani people pay in blood for defying the Temple.
She looked again at the glowing blue gem. "Captain," she said. "Cancel target. Power down main battery."
"Yes, Mahasa." The gem in front of her went dark.
The war's not over yet. She took another deep breath, trying not to let her shoulders sag. Around her, the ring of faces watched her and waited.
This has to end today. "Commanders, prepare for a ground assault."
Chapter Forty-Five
It had been a long time since her mom had held her hand. Yaella remembered the strong, reassuring guidance given by cold Palani skin; the safety of her mother's presence. When she'd grown older she'd shunned her mother's hand, as teenagers did. Mom hadn't complained. Right now, Yaella missed it.
The hand that pulled her along was almost as cold as Mom's. Izzy the Daal was Yaella's age; a hybrid, with human colouring but Palani body temperature. Despite the cool air, Izzy was comfortable in shorts and a light shirt. When she'd taken Yaella's hand and started leading her around, Yaella's mind had gone back in time. The cool hand held hers, and she followed. She fought to get her brain back into gear. "So, uh, Izzy—"
The young woman turned around and smiled. They were headed away from the landing pad, following the ancient pavement toward an opening in the side of a hill. Atop the hill, Yaella remembered, was the white-ringed top of the borehole. "Hey," said Izzy. "What's up?"
"How long have you been here?" asked Yaella.
"Me? Oh, about a year and a bit."
They were approaching the opening in the side of the hill. It was ten metres high and at least fifty wide, and the pavement continued inside. The lit interior was like a warehouse, the back filled with stacks of dull-red cubes. Izzy pulled Yaella toward the warehouse opening, and beckoned to the others. "C'mon," she said. "It's fine."
"So you've been here a year? Where'd you come from?"
"New Portland, camp twenty-two." Izzy's smile faltered. "Before that, I grew up in an orphanage on Palani Yaal La."
"Wait," gasped Yaella. "Blue Hills?" She held Izzy's hand tighter. "That's where…"
"Nah. 'Sturdy Trees'." She let go of Yaella's hand and turned to the others. "Okay, everyone gather around. I'm gonna do the tour guide thing now."
They were inside the warehouse in the side of the hill. Walls, floor, and ceiling were all made of the same clean white composite. Streaks ran down one wall, where water had once leaked.
High on the ceiling, drooping white cables connected a line of light fixtures, no two the same, that lit the cavernous space. Ahead of them, the back half of the warehouse was full of red cubes: stacks of thousands of identical dull-red boxes, each the size of a small shipping crate.
"Okay," said Izzy, as everyone else gathered around. "Everyone listen. Can you hear it?"
Yaella stood still, and held her breath while she tried to listen. After a moment, she began to perceive something far away, below their feet: not so much a sound as a gentle vibration. A massive presence, like a living thing.
"D'you hear it?" asked Izzy. Her eyes went from one person to the next. "It's the borehole. There are thousands of boreholes, all over the planet, built by the Union millennia ago. They're factories, residences, everything. All connected by caverns and tunnels. Most of them are dead now, but this one—" she gestured around at the open space— "is still running."
Behind her, Yaella heard Bucky clear his throat. It was the first time he'd spoken in a while. "Excuse me? Millennia, and it's still running? How?"
Izzy smiled and shrugged. "Beats me. There are maintenance tunnels going down there — I've been down a hundred metres or so, but others have explored for kilometres. The machines just go on and on. No one touches anything, because… why would you, right?"
"So no one asks any questions? No one tries to take anything apart?"
She laughed. "Would you?" She pointed a bare-skinned arm at the nearest pile of dull-red boxes. "This borehole makes crates of food that never spoils. Why the hell would anyone mess with it?"
"Food?" asked an incredulous Yaella. "That's what all this is?"
"Yup. When the Union resettled this planet, deciding where to put the town was a bit of a no-brainer." She chuckled. "I mean, duh, right? So… any questions so far?"
"Yes," said Yaella, staring wide-eyed at the rows of boxes. "So many questions."
"Okay," laughed Izzy. "Fire away." She walked past Yaella and the others, and headed back outside. "In the meantime, let's go this way. Next stop on the tour is up the hill."
Izzy led them outside, then turned off the path and started up the hill beside the warehouse opening. The ground underfoot was lush and green, covered in a carpet of ground-hu
gging ferns and vines that grabbed at their boots as they climbed. Barefoot Izzy was in front; she clearly enjoyed the climb, as well as the cool breeze that came down off the top of the hill. It was even cooler in the shade, where giant ferns curled their fronds overhead, mottling the sunlight.
At the summit, the vegetation stopped at a half-metre-high wall of shining white composite. Without a word, Izzy jumped up onto the top of the wall. Yaella followed.
It wasn't a wall at all. The white composite spread out before them. The distant tree line curled around in a circle, bordering the ring-like platform. A hundred metres in front there was a shadow: a darkness in the centre of the broad white surface. "Is that—"
"Yup," interrupted Izzy. "The borehole. Go take a look if you want. But be careful; it's a super long way down."
Yaella took a few tentative steps forward, her boots loud on the ceramic surface. She could hear the others behind her, slowly moving around, and the padding of Izzy's bare feet.
The shadow on the ground grew as she approached, turning into a dark shaft that went straight down into the darkness. Trembling air rose from the borehole, bringing the smell of damp stone. As she got closer, she heard a sound: a single, impossibly-deep note that came and went, like a monster breathing.
She heard the padding of feet behind her. "D'you hear it singing?"
"Yeah."
Izzy stood beside her. "They say the breeze blowing across the borehole is like blowing over the mouth of a bottle, but bigger. It's neat."
"I don't…" Yaella trailed off, as her eyes went to the sky overhead, as blue as any she'd seen. The sun — more yellow than the one on New Fraser — bathed the world in light. Here atop this shining white surface, she had to squint against the glare. Just the white under her feet, and the blue over her head. No frames of reference, nothing to tell her if she was standing still or sliding forward…
"You okay?"
Yaella turned to Izzy. She had tanned human skin, simple clothes, and a warm smile. A face that showed neither stress nor worry. Not the face of a prisoner or a slave. "Nsal 'neth," she muttered to herself.
An eyebrow rose on Izzy's face. "I know what that means." A hint of concern in her dark eyes. "What's going on?"
"Everything." Yaella cleared her throat. "Divines, I've been such an idiot."
"I doubt that," smiled Izzy. "They don't let idiots become ship captains, do they?"
"Yeah," chuckled Yaella. "They do."
She'd been doing this for what, two years? Chasing an idea. An idea of doing good, of putting the galaxy right by riding to the rescue of hybrids like herself. All she'd had to do was turn her back on her mom and abuse the trust and patience of her only friends. That, and drive herself into financial ruin so she could sell out to a politician. Was it about rescuing the hybrids, or about being the person who rescued them? Mom's the hero, not me. She looked at Izzy. "You don't want to go back Earthward, do you?"
Izzy had a sad smile on her lips, like she already knew what Yaella was thinking. Once again, I'm the last to figure things out.
"I'm sorry," said Izzy. "But hell no. Why would I go back there?"
"Yeah." Yaella sniffled. "I guess this is your home now."
"It is." Izzy seemed to be thinking about something. "I won't lie, it was scary."
Yaella looked at her. "What was?"
Izzy shrugged. "Coming here. I was kidnapped from the camp. Others were tricked or kidnapped or whatever. The mercenaries — the traffickers — shipped us like cargo, and didn't tell us anything. And then one day, the ship lands and the hatch opens, and we're here." She gestured around her. "Open air and open hearts. Took me ages to realise it wasn't a trick. But this is the real thing, you know?" She smiled and leaned in closer. "You gotta admit, this is better than a refugee camp full of people who hate hybrids."
"I guess so, huh?"
"Yup. Instead of people throwing rocks at us, we get food, a place to live, and something worthwhile to do." Her smile widened. "Hell, I've even met someone and gotten engaged. Not a bad year so far, you know?"
"Wow. Congrats."
"Thanks. His name's Farat. He's half-human, half-Union." She shrugged. "They keep track of that sort of thing."
"They do?"
Izzy nodded, her eyes glancing past Yaella. "Yeah. It used to be part of their religion. I mean, they've mostly given up on religion, but they still fuss over bloodlines. C'mon, your friends are getting restless. Let's keep going."
Yaella followed Izzy back across the white platform. She could see down the hill to the tidy collection of dull-red buildings that housed the people of Marble Arch. "So," she asked. What's a 'Daal'?"
Izzy laughed. "Would you believe I'm in the government? The Daalrad is like the senate, or parliament, or whatever. There are ten of us, chosen every year at random. We make the laws."
"At random?"
"Yeah," said Izzy, like it should've been obvious. "Kinda like jury duty back in human space."
"And the Otlaff—"
Yaella had slowed down, and Izzy gave her hand a tug. "The Otlaff? Kind of like a baron or something. More like a referee, really; he makes sure the Daal is running properly."
"Wait. So no one gets elected?"
Izzy shook her head. "Nope. The Union doesn't do that. They don't like the whole 'I voted for you so you owe me' thing."
"Oh." Yaella glanced over her shoulder. The others were still following; they looked like tourists. Which they were, she supposed. "So does it work?"
"Huh?"
"The whole not-a-democracy thing."
Izzy shrugged. "I guess. Seems to? I don't think it's any worse."
They were at the edge of the platform. Izzy was just about to jump down to the ground, but stopped and looked back up at her. "Ready to go?"
"Yeah. Can I ask you something else?"
"Sure. What's up?"
Yaella gestured toward the red-roofed buildings. "That red stuff. You use it for everything—"
"Retmel," said Izzy. "Yeah, that shit's awesome. The borehole produces it: it's the packaging the food comes in."
"What? You're using food wrappers?"
"Sort of," Izzy laughed. "Sounds silly when you put it like that." She fumbled one hand at her chest, like she was reaching for a necklace that wasn't there. "There are these… keys; I had one for a while. You touch the key to a sheet of retmel, and it goes limp like cloth. Has something to do with passing a specific current though it. Take away the key, and the retmel holds whatever shape it's in. Can do that a bunch of times before a sheet falls apart." She pointed down the hill. "We use it for roofs, walls, you name it. We even cut it into pages and use it as paper." She rolled her eyes. "God, we use so much paper."
"Huh." Yaella crouched at the top of the platform, then jumped down to the ground.
Tal landed beside her, stumbling before catching his footing. "Excuse me," he said, raising his hand like a schoolboy. "Can I ask something, too?"
"Of course."
"Well…" he pointed into the distance, past the red-roofed village. "If you get free food from this borehole thing, why do you have farm fields?"
"Oh, that. That was the Otlaff's… great-grandfather, I think. His idea. Figured we should know how to actually grow crops, in case the borehole ever stops working. Besides, who wants to eat the same thing every day forever?"
"Wait," said Yaella. "The borehole might stop?"
"Sure," she said. "No one knows how to maintain them. There used to be another one…" She turned around, using the sun to orient herself before pointing to the north-west. "Way over there. A whole complex of them, that made fighter ships. When the Union resettled the planet, the only part that still worked was the borehole that made the, uh…" She made sweeping motions over her head. "Windows? Canopies. That's it. Anyway, there was an earthquake a hundred years ago, and the canopy-making borehole just stopped." She shrugged helplessly. "Nothing you can do."
"Are you serious?" asked Bucky. "All this advanced stuff all around
them, and they can't figure it out?"
Izzy held a finger up towards Bucky. "Hey. Have some respect, okay?"
"I didn't mean—"
"They're smart people, but that only goes so far." She nodded toward Yaella. "Like your ship… you know everything about it, but could you make parts for it? Could you make a new pilot's seat?"
"It does need one," offered Tal.
Izzy ignored him. "All these technologies use advanced materials that no one knows how to make anymore." She made a circling motion. "All these people? They know what they've lost." She pursed her lips. "They know."
A moment's tension hung in the air, before Izzy smiled. "C'mon," she said. She turned and started down the hill, into the shade of the giant ferns.
Yaella shot Bucky a look, then caught up with Izzy. "Sorry about that—"
"Oh, don't be," she replied, with a smile and a dismissive wave.
"So… what happened?"
Izzy cocked her head. "What, just now?"
"No… I mean, to the Union. We were told you lived in a state of constant war."
"Oh. Well…" She threaded her way between two ferns. "No war here. I can only tell you what they told the rest of us. The story's been passed down for centuries. I'm not sure they know the whole story anymore."
"Sure."
Izzy paused a moment, one hand on the trunk of a fern. "Okay," she said, moving again. "So, the Union is very old. Older than the Palani, they say. And we call them 'Union' because that's the easiest translation. A better translation of what they called themselves might be 'togetherness'. They were all about bringing people together, you know? Finding strength in differences. It was taboo to marry someone from your home town. The more unlike you your partner was, the better. It was a cultural thing."
"Huh. But something went wrong?"
Izzy nodded. "Yeah. But not in the way you might think." She made an exaggerated shrug. "Supposedly, some explorers came back from somewhere near the galactic core, and said they'd found the word of God, inscribed on an old ruin."
Yaella raised an eyebrow. "The word of God?"
Izzy held up her hands in surrender. "Hey, don't look at me, I'm just telling you what they told us. Anyway, there's no record of where this ruin was or exactly what it said, but it was along the lines of uniting all the branches of humanity to get us into heaven. People took it seriously. Way too seriously."