Crusades

by S. J. Madill

  Pari shook her head, her smile fading. "Oh, Zura. What am I going to do with you?"

  Hands at her sides, Zura stood stiffly next to the window as Pari calmly crossed the floor toward her.

  "Hey," said Pari.

  Zura took a breath. "Yes?"

  Pari stood next to her. "Do you remember the day we met? I knocked on your door."

  "I remember."

  "Do you have any idea how scared I was?"

  "You didn't seem scared."

  "I was. I was terrified of you at first. But after a few days I started to think you were kind of amazing. Do you know why?"

  Zura shook her head.

  "It's easy. You knew that I'd been on Borealis. You knew, and you didn't care."

  "I don't understand. Why would I care about that?"

  "Exactly."

  Zura stared at her.

  A smile cracked Pari's lips. "I'd spent twenty years being 'that doctor who was on Borealis'. To most people, that's all I was. I'd emigrated to New Fraser to escape it, to start again. And then you showed up, and you knew, and you didn't goddamn care. You treated me like I had value apart from what I'd done in the past. A Palani Mahasa, of all people, treated me like an equal. That meant so much to me."

  "I didn't know."

  One hot human hand briefly touched Zura's chin, turning her head until Pari could look her in the eye. "So, look… Yes. I saw you fight today, and it startled me. That look in your eyes… I damn near pissed myself."

  "I don't—"

  "Hush," said Pari. "That look was a lot, I'm not going to deny it. It was a look that said, heaven help anyone who gets in your way."

  Zura nodded. "I spoke to you then. You were upset."

  "Yeah. I was. It threw me off. But I went and helped with the wounded, and it suddenly came to me."

  "Came to you? What came to you?"

  Pari's smile widened. "Holy shit, I'm lucky. Lucky that someone so fierce, someone with so much determination and fire, cares about me. And not only are you her, but you're this other woman, too. You're also kind, and gentle, and awkward, and totally clueless when it comes to affection. You're all of it."

  Zura cleared her throat. It was getting difficult to speak. "Thank you."

  Pari cocked her head. "Are you getting it yet? I feel safe when I'm with you. I feel valued. Who wouldn't? You're… are you crying?"

  "No," said Zura. She blinked away the warmth in her eyes and focused on her breathing, trying to force her emotions back down.

  The room was quiet for a while; Zura imagined she could feel the heat of the human woman standing next to her.

  "What're you thinking?" Pari asked.

  Zura sighed. Each breath felt heavier, and made her slump a little further. "I'm tired," she said at last. "I told you before. I'm tired of fighting. Tired of being in charge. Tired of this life I didn't want."

  "Tired of being strong?"

  Zura nodded.

  "Okay," said Pari. "I get it. You don't have to be strong all the time. Not with me. Let me be the strong one. Just for a few minutes." She held Zura's arm with both hands. "Try it, see how you like it."

  "I don't…" She looked out the window, feeling Pari's grip on her arm. This was who she was; a person couldn't just choose to be otherwise.

  Pari's voice was barely a whisper. "Tell me something."

  Zura looked sideways at her.

  "What life did you want? When you were a little girl…" Pari smirked, "…you know, when the Pyramids were new… what did you want your life to be?"

  Zura's mind raced, still full of thoughts about deployments, resources, and duties. One by one, the thoughts began to fade away. Instead, she saw blurry glimpses of snow-covered hills, of a small village on a remote world. She thought of her parents and her little brother, though she couldn't remember their faces.

  A small, furry face came to mind. "I had a pet thana," she said. "I wanted to be a pet doctor." She could still feel the thana's fur between her tiny fingers.

  "Nice," said Pari. "Then how about we get a pet someday?"

  "A dog. Like Kaiser."

  "Oh? Why a dog?"

  "I like them." Zura shrugged. "They're loving and loyal. They're uncomplicated."

  Pari laughed out loud. "Wow. So that's my competition, is it?"

  "No, not at all." Zura shook her head. "You're better than that. If you were an animal, you'd be…" She thought a moment. "A feda."

  The laughing abruptly stopped. "Wait, what? I've heard that before. What's a feda?"

  In her mind, Zura could almost hear her grandfather's voice. "It's from folklore. A magical companion, that was one creature and two creatures at the same time. Always opposites. Lover and fighter, master and servant, day and night—"

  "Top and bottom?"

  "—strong and weak. Happy and sad. The feda was whatever their companion needed, when they needed it most."

  "Wow," breathed Pari.

  They were both quiet for a while. The visions in Zura's mind became more vivid, more colourful, as she remembered the snow-covered village.

  "Zura?"

  Visions of her childhood evaporated. "Yes?"

  "May I call you Feda?"

  Zura looked at Pari. "I'd like that."

  "Done." Pari smiled. "Feda."

  Through the sleeve of her coat, she could feel the warmth of Pari's hands on her arm. "Pari? I'd like to ask you for something."

  "Name it."

  "That medication you talked about… the one that will raise my body temperature to be the same as yours…"

  One of Pari's hands let go, and immediately reappeared holding a small bottle. "Two a day: morning and night."

  Zura stifled a laugh. "You had it with you? Hoping I'd ask?"

  Pari shrugged. "Since we're making this a permanent thing, Feda, there'll be no more insulated suits. No more making out in a meat locker."

  Zura raised an eyebrow. "Oh? We're making this permanent?"

  "Yes," said Pari. "I've decided we are." That mischievous grin. "We dance until the music stops."

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Yaella sat in the pilot's seat, her plastic-encased leg stretched out in front of her. She watched the stars smear themselves past the Blue Guardian's windshield.

  Quiet footsteps came up the passageway behind her. It took her a moment to realise it wasn't Tal. It couldn't be; he'd stayed behind.

  With the whine of a rarely-used electric motor, the co-pilot's seat slid back. She heard a grunt, and the popping of a knee, and the seat began moving forward again. The Admiral sat in it, a steaming mug in his hand. "Mind if I join you?"

  "Sure. I keep forgetting that the seats go back."

  "So it seems." He examined the boot prints on the centre console. "You sure this is meant to be stepped on? Some of these things look important." He shrugged. "But hey, your ship."

  "Bit different from yours, huh?"

  He took a sip. "You've been on it. You tell me."

  "Wait. How did you know we'd been there?"

  "It's the only place to get those stupid chocolate pens."

  "Oh." She thought a moment. "Our ships aren't that different, I guess, when it comes down to it. Just some different… accessories?"

  Dillon nodded. "The quality of the people are the same, though."

  "Can I ask you something?"

  "Shoot."

  "What's the navy like? As a job, I mean."

  "Oh." He raised an eyebrow. "Well… it's not a job, for one thing. There's no Monday-to-Friday, especially not on deployment." He took a sip. "The hierarchy permeates everything. You always know where you are in the pecking order, because everyone wears it on their sleeves. Rules and tradition and procedure. Superstition, too. Every now and then, you might get shot at. But you get to shoot back, which seems fair." He was quiet for a while. "I miss the people. The team. You look out for each other, you know? Friendships in the service are different; it's hard to explain. They last a lifetime."

  He turned his eyes to
ward her. "And, somewhere in all that, you might get the chance to do something really worthwhile. Something that makes all the bullshit worth it."

  "Yeah," she breathed. "Worth it."

  A noisy slurp from the copilot's seat. "What's on your mind, Captain?"

  "What?" She blinked. "Just wondering."

  "Wondering what?"

  Yaella waved one hand at the cockpit around her. "This. All this. If what I've been doing has been worth it."

  "Oh," said the Admiral. "You're having one of those days. I know the feeling." He shifted in the copilot's seat. "Okay, then. What was your original plan?"

  It sounded so idiotic now. "I was going to find all the galaxy's kidnapped hybrids and rescue them. Take them home."

  Dillon gestured with his mug, the coffee inside sliding around alarmingly. "And now the kidnapping has stopped, and the hybrids have a home. Mission accomplished, right?"

  "What? No. I didn't do it—"

  "It's a matter of perspective. Your goal was to make sure they were going to be okay. You were the first person who cared enough to go check on them."

  Yaella shook her head. "No, that's not—"

  "So now," the Admiral interrupted her, "the hybrids have a good home, and they're going to be okay. Your objectives were met."

  "But I didn't really do anything to help."

  "Uh huh." He nodded slowly. "I see where this is going. You're determined to see yourself as a failure."

  "No, I'm not. It's just…"

  "You wanted to ride to the rescue and fix everything yourself—"

  "Yeah—"

  "—Like your mom."

  Yaella stopped, slowly releasing her held breath. The grey-bearded face held her gaze, while he took another loud sip from his mug. She began to wonder if he was being noisy on purpose.

  Had she been out to prove something? To whom? To her mom, or to herself?

  The beard twitched again. "From what I've heard," he said quietly, "being the kid of someone famous is a shitty deal. You live in their shadow. Like I said before, you gotta go a long way, or shine really bright, just to be noticed. It's not fair, but there it is."

  "I don't…" she sighed, then shook her head. "Nothing turned out the way I thought it would."

  "That keeps happening, I promise you."

  "But—"

  "You got the results you wanted. Sometimes, that has to be enough."

  Yaella threw up her hands. "But I kept screwing up, you know? Like starting a fight on that planet, or getting abducted in the first place. Every time there was a setback, I didn't know what to do." She saw the look in his eyes. "That's not going to change either, is it?"

  Dillon shook his head.

  She looked away. "And I keep thinking about Ocean. I can't believe he's dead."

  "I'm going to be blunt, Captain: he was already dead. You helped him find what he needed so he could be at peace."

  "I feel like I used him."

  "Maybe," said the Admiral. "Maybe he felt he was using you, too."

  Yaella couldn't help but laugh. "Are you for real? Is a captain's job being a therapist, too?"

  "You'd be surprised." Dillon rolled his eyes. "Mostly, I just try to remember that everyone has their own perspective, their own goals."

  "What about you? What's your goal?"

  "Me?" He looked down into his empty mug. "My next life goal is something to eat and a fresh pot of coffee. All other goals will have to wait." He paused. "That, and I need to find a way to stop aging. No luck so far."

  * * *

  Bucky stood in the passageway, facing the closed cabin door, focusing on his breathing. It felt like the last few moments before going on the ice for a playoff game: nervous, yet exhilarated. Looking forward to hearing the whistle and getting the game underway. At least there weren't hundreds of people in the stands watching his every move.

  Even as he raised his hand to the door, he had second thoughts. Should I, or—?

  On a moment's impulse, he knocked twice on the door. I did.

  After a moment's hesitation, the cabin door slid open.

  The cabin was… perfect, like a ceremonial garden. Everything was spotless, everything was in its place. Clothes and towels were neatly folded. Five small white figurines stood on the counter in a perfect row. Everything precise, as if arranged with a ruler. He thought he caught the faint scent of lavender.

  The bed was perfectly made, with sheets tucked underneath. It'd probably make a drill sergeant weep.

  At the head of the bed sat Lanari, the Handmaiden. She was clean and trim in her white bodysuit, her back against the bulkhead. She had her knees up, her bare white feet on the bed in front of her. A ponytail of brilliant blue hair was draped over one shoulder, and her cobalt eyes watched him over the top of a datasheet. Beside her, the Kaiser-sized ball of fur was curled up, snoring contentedly.

  He realised he hadn't actually thought about what he'd say. "Hey," he managed, then blushed.

  "Hey," said Lanari.

  His mouth had gone inexplicably dry. "May I join you?"

  "You may." Her eyes looked down at the foot of the bed, then back at him.

  "Thanks." He stepped into the room; the door remained open behind him.

  The smell of lavender was stronger in here; she had one of those fragrance diffusers on the shelf next to the bed.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, next to the delicate white feet. Kaiser grumbled a moment before going back to sleep.

  Bucky's smile wilted under the intensity of those blue eyes. He swallowed, and motioned toward the datasheet in her lap. "Whatcha reading?"

  "A story."

  "Ah." Bucky nodded, his smile fading as silence fell over the room. "So," he said, gathering his courage. "I hope I wasn't in the way back there. In that fight."

  She gave a single shake of her head. "You weren't. You distracted some of them. That was helpful. Thank you for that."

  "Oh?" The smile returned to his face. "You're welcome. And you… you were amazing."

  "Thank you."

  "I mean… it was like you were dancing. Did the, uh, Artahel teach you that?"

  "Anyone can do it." She set her datasheet down on the bed beside her. "If they're fit and strong enough. And if they believe they can."

  "Oh. I don't know if I could do that—"

  "Then you couldn't."

  That flawless porcelain face gave nothing away. He had no idea if she was waiting for him to leave, or to say something, or to burst into flames. "Can I ask you something? Why did you join the Artahel?"

  "Artahel is a martial art that develops the self in proportion to effort. The harder I trained, the better I became. My success was up to me, and me alone. It didn't matter who my parents were." She reached down and ran her hand through Kaiser's fur. "It wasn't until later that I saw the Artahel leadership was making… compromises. Bending their own teachings to suit the Temple and the Temple's politics."

  "Oh," said Bucky. When he looked around the cabin again, everything made more sense to him. The precision, the discipline. He didn't have that much discipline, but he felt like he understood the dedication: all those years of early-morning practices, and tournaments in far-off places. "Have you thought about what you'll do next?"

  She pursed her lips a moment, watching the blissful Kaiser. "I follow the faith, and I follow the art. But I will leave the Temple and the Artahel behind. Their journey has become one of politics and power; my journey will be my own." She turned her eyes back to him, and he felt like he was going to freeze. "Why do you ask?"

  "Well," he began. He paused to swallow the lump in his throat. "I was thinking—"

  He was startled by two loud knocks on the doorframe. Admiral Dillon leaned into view. "Hey Lan… oh, hey Bucky. Fresh pot in the galley, so—"

  "Dad?" The Handmaiden had a smirk on her face Bucky had never seen before. "Please give us a minute. He's finally going to ask me out."

  Heat flushed up Bucky's neck, spreading into his face.

 
"Oh?" said the Admiral. "Brave young man. Carry on, then." He disappeared from view.

  Bucky stammered, "I… uh…" All of a sudden, it was too hot in here. He swallowed repeatedly, before turning back to face Lanari.

  A hint of a grin remained on her face. "Well? Don't stop now."

  "Wow," he breathed.

  One delicate blue eyebrow edged upward. "Or was I mistaken?"

  "No," Bucky laughed self-consciously. "You're not mistaken." He shook his head. "Wow." She was still watching him, though her eyes weren't as hard as before.

  He summoned his courage and tried again. "So…when we get back, I want to get my own ship. Go into business for myself. I have enough for a down-payment…"

  "I see. You don't want to work for Yaella anymore?"

  "I love her to bits," he said. Panic washed over him. "Wait! Like a sister, I mean. It's just… I'd like to focus more on business. Less on, uh, adventure. You know?"

  "And you want to hire a crew."

  "Well, no. Not really. I'm hoping for a partner." Another burst of panic. "A business partner, I mean." He bit at his lower lip. "I, uh… what d'you say? I mean, if that's something… if you don't have any immediate plans. Maybe? Would you think about it?"

  "Well," she said, her eyes studying him. "It's an interesting offer. When we get home, we will discuss it more." She raised her eyebrow again. "Where should we have this discussion?" There was an expectation in her eyes.

  Bucky smiled, his panic draining away. He'd actually thought about this part. "Do you have a pair of skates?"

  "Yes, at my parents' place on New Halifax. The lake should be frozen by now."

  "Mine are on New Canmore, at my dad's place." He decided to push his luck. "That's a lot of miles for a date."

  "A date, is it?" She grew a mischievous grin. "We'll get our skates, and I'll show you how to play hockey."

  "Oh wow," laughed Bucky. "You're going to show me? You're on." He stood up from the bed, the last of his nerves swept away. "C'mon, let's hit the galley. I'll get some coffee, and you and your dad can embarrass me some more."

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Zura pulled her cloak tight around her, holding it against the snapping wind. Not long ago, this sort of New Fraser day would have been comfortable for her, maybe even warm. Now, the wind carried a chill that blew across the landing pad and right through her.