by S. J. Madill
"Oh? They fought over it?"
"Uh huh. They broke into two factions. They blew up each others' cities, destroyed each others' data networks, that sort of thing." She shrugged. "People, right? They destroyed their own civilisation in an argument over how to interpret some words carved on a ruin somewhere." She stepped carefully past a tangle of vines. "And now they — we — live in the ruins."
"What about… you know, the other side?"
"The Faithful?" Izzy shrugged. "Like I said, I only know what we're told. The Faithful also call themselves the 'Union'. We just want to be left alone, but they're still at war with us. It's not much of a war; the last battle was a hundred years ago. The maps have all been ruined, and neither side knows where all of each others' worlds are any more. Even if we did, there are so few ships, we couldn't afford to fight anyone. It would be so stupid and wasteful. Isn't it better just to get along?"
Yaella shook her head. "But… I mean, you still want to stay here?"
Izzy came to a stop in a small clearing surrounded by ferns. She turned toward Yaella, her hair shining in the sun. "You're still stuck on that, huh?"
"No," Yaella mumbled. "I'm not—"
Izzy took a step closer. "You mentioned 'Blue Hills'. So you grew up in a Palani orphanage, right? How did they treat you?"
"I don't…" Yaella remembered the long nights of darkness; the sound of children crying in nearby rooms. But never crying so loudly to attract the attention of the staff…
Izzy read the expression on her face. "Exactly. And when I turned eighteen, and was dropped into the human refugee camp on New Portland…" She shook her head. "You ever go to a refugee camp?"
Yaella shook her head.
"Yeah. Well, no one wanted us there. We were like an infection to them. The only ones who showed any interest in the hybrids…" She looked away. "Well, it was the wrong sort of interest. So no, I don't want to go anywhere near there. I doubt you'll find anyone who does."
The tightness in Yaella's chest started again. "I came all this way."
A cold hand took hers. "Hey," said Izzy. "You did. Thank you. You're the first person from back home who came to see how we were doing. That's so good of you."
"Nsal 'neth," whispered Yaella. "I thought I was coming to help. To rescue you all."
Izzy nodded. "Because you're like me. You spent your childhood in an orphanage, wishing someone would come rescue you."
"Someone did."
"Wow. Really? That person must be pretty amazing. You were lucky to have them. But here? Here, we don't need rescuing. We're welcome here. Hell," laughed Izzy, "they celebrate us. They call hybrids the 'children of two branches'. Two branches of the human family." She laughed and rolled her eyes. "They make a fuss about it."
"They do?"
Izzy nodded. "Hybrids. Like us. We're two races in one person, right? And my Farat is half Union, so if we have kids…" She grinned. "Well, when we have kids… they'll be three races. There's already been some 'three-branch' kids. In another few years, there'll probably be four-branch babies."
"Wait. Four?"
"It's part of the Union's ways. Bringing people together, finding strength in differences. Like adding carbon to iron to turn it into steel. You know? Like—"
"Be quiet!" Ocean's voice hissed from behind them. He sounded on the verge of panic. "Listen!"
Yaella froze; she'd never heard Ocean speak like that before. She turned toward him, cocking her head as she tried to listen. There were voices coming up from down below, filtering through the ferns. The muttering of adults, the high-pitched squeals of children at play—
"There!" said Ocean. His voice cracked. "Do you hear it?"
Without warning, Ocean sprung forward. He bolted past Yaella and the others and crashed headlong down the hill toward the buildings, smashing through the underbrush and knocking aside fronds that blocked his path.
"Ocean! Wait!" she called after him. "Come back!"
She started down the hillside after him, but he was getting away. Every step made her stumble, the ferns pushing back against her, the vines on the ground clutching at her boots. What the hell had spooked Ocean? Had he heard a weapon? Did he just think he'd heard something? "Come on!" she gasped to the others. They had to stop him, before he—
A white figure passed by her. Lanari bounded down the hill, dodging around rocks and ferns before disappearing into the underbrush below them. Bucky went crashing by after her, shoving through the plants. Yaella tried to follow in his wake, along the path of crushed and broken foliage. She ran down the hill toward the buildings at the edge of the village. Two figures — one black, one white — crouched in the ferns at the corner of the nearest red building, and Yaella skidded to a stop beside them, feet chewing up the soft ground, her shoulder bumping into the hard red wall of the building.
Bucky emerged from the underbrush nearby, wiping dirt off his knees. Lanari stood up, hands on her hips, behind the crouching black figure on the ground.
Ocean's hands were up to his face, fingertips touching his lips. Yaella stepped beside him, and leaned closer to see his face.
He was staring between the buildings, his eyes wide. "Ocean?" she asked. "Are you—"
"Quiet," he hissed. "Listen."
Yaella lowered herself to a crouch beside him, and looked in the direction he was facing.
Two houses away was a large building, with a group of children playing outside. A dozen children, no older than seven or eight. The small group held all the colours of the human rainbow, plus a few besides: two kids had the bright blue hair of the Palani. Some were bundled up against the day's chill, while others seemed perfectly comfortable in shorts. Some kids ran around and shrieked in joy, while others played quietly by themselves.
Yaella looked again at Ocean. He hadn't moved, hadn't breathed. His fingertips were still at his lips, which moved as he formed silent words. "Ocean?" she asked.
"Listen," he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. "Those two. Over there."
Yaella followed his gaze to the school playground, searching for whatever Ocean was seeing.
Two little girls, no more than four or five, sat together at the side of the playground. They played with small red toys, made from the ever-present retmel. As they played, each immersed in their own little worlds, the two girls sang a song together. It was simple, and stilted — a child's tune, like a nursery rhyme — and Yaella couldn't make out the words. When she looked again at Ocean, she noticed his lips moving in time with the syllables of the girls' tune.
Izzy crouched beside Yaella. "Is he okay? What's going on?"
"I think," began Yaella—
Ocean nodded toward the schoolyard. "Those two girls," he whispered. "They are singing. It is a song from my homeworld."
"Oh?" Izzy listened a moment, a smile forming on her face. "Oh, that's a song of the ship people. Do you—" her eyes went wide, and she stared at Ocean. "Wait. Are you one of them? The ship people? Oh my god. How did you—"
"I am the last of the people of Uryuna," whispered Ocean, not taking his eyes off the schoolyard. "I was the last to leave the homeworld. I…" He fell silent, his lips still mouthing the words of the children's song.
"That was ages ago," said Izzy. "There was a ship, they said. A failed colony of some unknown branch of humanity, living in their crashed ship. Most of them were rescued, but some didn't want to leave and got violent. But that must've been centuries—"
"Yeah," said Yaella. "It would've been centuries ago. What happened to the people who didn't want to be rescued?"
Izzy pursed her lips. "They said that a rescue team returned a year later. But everyone had died." She looked back at Ocean. "But that was so long ago. How old are you?"
"Old," said Ocean. "I am alive long past my natural span. I…" he was silent for a while. "My people live?"
Izzy reached a hand out toward Ocean. "They do. I mean, their descendants do. And the ship-people's customs, like those of others, are passed down. Do you remember the
homeworld of the ship people? There's so much you could teach them. There's so much we could learn—"
Ocean cocked his head. For the first time, he took his eyes away from the schoolyard, searching the sky. "Something else," he whispered. "Something comes."
"What?" Yaella looked up through the canopy of trees at the clear blue sky. "I don't—"
"I hear it," said the Handmaiden. She stood up straight, her eyes turned skyward. "Ships. Several. Coming this way."
"What? Where?"
Then Yaella heard it too, the same time as her eyes caught the glint of metal in the sky. The quiet whine of engines became louder, and the distant specks grew into the shapes of ships. Four sleek new ships, coming in low.
The play in the schoolyard ended, the talking and singing replaced by excited voices. Even though she couldn't make out what they were saying, Yaella could see the anxiety on their faces.
The whine of the ships' engines grew to a loud howl as the four ships flew overhead, their landing gear emerging from under their wings. They were low enough that Yaella could clearly see the markings. "Nsal 'neth," she said bitterly. "McLean-Irvine."
Chapter Forty-Six
"How the hell am I supposed to…"
Pari cocked her arm at an awkward angle. With a last grunt and twist of her wrist, the left-side clasp on her breastplate snapped into place.
"There." She stepped in front of the mirror to get a good look at herself.
Palani combat armour was big and bulky, but more comfortable than human armour. First, there was the skin-tight black undersuit: self-sealing, insulated, and on its own kinda sexy. Then the heavy composite plates went on top: black and angular and menacing.
As she turned left and right to double-check the latches, she whispered a quiet word of thanks to Irasa. Not only for acquiring this suit of armour yesterday, but for telling her — just a few minutes ago — that the battle of Palani Yaal La was going to be decided on the ground. Zura would be landing with the assault troops. Not because she was a Mahasa — supreme commanders didn't do landings — but because she was Zura. Good luck to anyone who thought she wasn't going to be as close to the action as possible. This was Zura's life; this was what she did. Pari wanted to see it up close, just once, before Zura gave up her uniform forever.
Outside the door to her bedchamber, Pari heard the cabin door open and two sets of footsteps enter the sitting area. From the sound alone, she knew it was Zura and Irasa.
"Pari," came Zura's curt voice through the door. "I'm putting on my armour. I'm going down with the second wave of the ground attack."
"I'll be right out," Pari called through the door. Just hearing Zura's voice made her anxious. She turned back toward the mirror, gloved hands trembling as she checked the latches on her breastplate once again. Everything was correct, as far as she could tell.
She picked up the backpack from the bed. It was made of the same black composite, and though it was heavy it was well-balanced. It was surprisingly easy to put one arm through a strap and swing the whole thing over her shoulders. A few clicks, and the pack attached itself to her backplate. She attached two smaller packs to her belt, one on each side. When the last one clicked home, her armour flickered: the black composite lit up with large symbols on her upper arms. On one arm, a white square with a bright red cross; on the other, a white circle with a blue circle within.
She looked again at herself in the mirror. With the pack and the lit-up arm plates, she was identifiable as a combat medic for humans and Palani. Keeping her certifications up to date had been a twice-yearly pain in the ass, but right now it was worth it. She wouldn't even have considered going just as a passenger or observer. She had a role to play; she had a way to contribute.
"Well," she said to the woman in the mirror. "We doing this?"
Her half-smiling face stared back at her. Was this the face — minus the grey hair and the wrinkles — that had shown up to the Borealis all those years ago? The same face that Zura had seen when a half-panicked doctor had knocked on her door? Pari took a deep breath and sighed, shaking her head at her reflection. Yes, that was me. A long time ago.
Satisfied, she headed for the door of her bedchamber. The door slid open, and the cold of the sitting room — the same Palani 'room temperature' cold as the rest of the ship — washed over her.
Irasa was waiting, her helmet off. Pari came up to Irasa's chest, and could see her reflection in the scratched black composite of the woman's breastplate.
The big woman didn't speak. One big hand poked at each of the clasps on Pari's armour. Irasa took a step back, gave her a thin smile, and pointed in the direction of the other bedchamber door.
Pari mouthed thank you to the tall soldier. She'd always liked Irasa; a gentle giant if ever there was one.
She turned toward Zura's bedchamber door. It seemed farther away somehow, like the universe was stretching to remind her of the distance between them.
As she approached, the door slid open. She paused in the doorway.
Zura was facing away from her. She was already in her black under-armour suit — damn, it made her look good — and had armour plates on her arms and legs. Zura swung her blue breastplate into place and, as Pari watched, she cocked her arm at the same awkward angle to snap the clasp shut. It had taken Pari fifteen minutes to get her borrowed Palani armour on, and here Zura did the same in under three. But then, she'd been doing this for centuries.
"I'm coming with you," said Pari. Her voice sounded loud in her ears, like a shout.
Zura glanced over her shoulder at her: blue eyes looked her up and down. "So it appears." She turned toward her weapon locker and tapped at its display screen.
That was it. No argument, no discussion. Just 'so it appears'. An acceptance. Zura hadn't sounded resigned, or exasperated, or disappointed. She just took in new information and kept moving.
Zura pulled her carbine out of the locker. With practiced ease she swung it over her back, where it latched into place. She put a pistol on her hip, and slid two combat knives into their sheaths.
Pari gasped when Zura turned toward her and approached. Zura was barely an inch taller than her, but it felt more than that. Under the scarred white skin of her face, muscles were pulled tight. Her blue eyes were cold, almost lifeless, and scanned her up and down. Hands moved quickly, clinically, checking Pari's armour.
The plates of Zura's armour were a brilliant blue: the same shade as her hair and eyes. A broad gold stripe curved down and across her shining new breastplate, from one shoulder to the other. In a sea of black, the blue-and-gold Mahasa would be easy to spot.
A tap on her right arm brought Pari's mind back into focus. "This," said Zura, fingers on the red-cross symbol, "has to go."
"Oh?" stammered Pari. "Okay. I don't—"
Zura just nodded. One hand took Pari's wrist, the other hand tapping at Pari's forearm, accessing the armour suit's console and navigating through menus. The red-cross badge disappeared, replaced by a second blue-and-white Palani medic badge. "A Palani medic with me," said Zura, "will be overlooked. But a human medic with me… well, that would have to be Doctor Singh. And they want her dead." She shut off the interface, and let go of Pari's arm. "Can't have that, can we?"
"No," said Pari. She fought to keep down the sudden wave of anxiety. "I—"
Zura gestured at the armour. "Was this Irasa's doing?" Not an accusation, just a question.
"Yeah. I, uh…" Pari swallowed. "So… how do you feel?"
The hard eyes softened a moment. "My side aches. It's difficult to move sometimes."
Pari nodded. She could feel the coolness of Zura's breath on her face. "It's a long way from healed—"
"I know. But it will have to do."
"D'you need something? Some 'Fuckitall'? I could—"
"Just took one," said Zura. "But keep them handy."
"Sure."
Zura closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath as she stretched. She arched her back, seeming to grow taller before P
ari's eyes.
The bandage clicked under Zura's suit, and the blue composite plates tapped together with her every movement. She opened her eyes and put her gloved hands on Pari's shoulders. "One more battle, Pari. Then our future begins."
Pari's heart was in her throat. She raised her hands — they weighed a ton — and grasped the sides of Zura's breastplate. Words bubbled out of her mouth. "I love you, Zura."
"And I you." The tension drained from Zura's face. "I'm glad you're coming with me." She thought a moment. "My people have a saying: never face death with words left unsaid." A wry smile. "I have nothing to say. You already know."
"Yeah," said Pari, once her brain let her speak again. "Me neither."
"Good. Don't forget your helmet. You're going to need it."
"Yeah," Pari stammered again. She leaned forward, up on tiptoes, and gave a surprised Zura a quick kiss. "For luck," she said, then turned to leave.
"Thank you," said Zura behind her.
Pari quickly returned to her warm cabin — it felt hot now, after the cold of Zura's room — and grabbed her helmet off the bed. She gave the room a last look around.
When she re-emerged into the sitting area, Zura and Irasa were ready to go, their helmets tucked under their arms. Zura had unscrolled a datasheet and was talking in Palani to the quivering image of a general on the other end. Irasa led the way out the door into the corridor.
Officers stepped smartly to the side of the corridor as the three of them marched by: Irasa in front, Zura in step behind, still speaking on her datapad, and Pari at the rear trying to keep up. Everywhere she looked, Pari saw grim faces and brisk movements; a sense of purpose in everyone and everything. The echoes of boots in the corridor seemed louder now. Blue lights flashed along the ceiling like a rapid heartbeat.
A sharp left turn, and Irasa led the three of them into an elevator. Zura stayed focused on her datasheet, going from one brief conversation to another with a series of talking heads. Apparently, the first wave had landed in Resana, the capital. Factional fighting had broken out across the city as people tried to retake control from Temple-installed puppets intent on burning everything down around them. Assault troops had moved through Resana with relative ease, and only now — near the Temple of the Divines just beyond the city — was resistance starting to stiffen. The ancient Temple was shaping up to be Ivenna's last stand. Were it not for the ten thousand Palani civilians in the Temple, Zura would certainly have bombarded it to dust, but she was determined to avoid a civilian massacre.