Burnt Worlds (9 page)

“Okay.
 
We’re not chasing scrap metal into a gas giant.
 
According to this,” he waggled the datapad, “they don’t give a damn about bodies.
 
As long as the spirits are given a proper sendoff, they’re happy.”

Black nodded aft.
 
“And we’ve got their priestess.
 
Think that’s why she was the only survivor, sir?
 
They knew they were screwed, so they packed her off?
 
You know, so she could clear their way to Valhalla or whatever?”

Dillon pulled the pen from his mouth, and pointed the chewed end at her.
 
“I bet that’s it.
 
Genius.”

“True.”
 
She looked past him, toward the bridge door.
 
“Singh?”

The Captain pivoted his chair to look at the young medic.
 
She had hesitated at the entrance to the bridge, looking expectantly at him.
 
He beckoned her closer.
 
“Master Seaman?”

“Sir,” she said, “I’ve been to see the Palani.”

“Ah.
 
Well done, Singh.
 
How’s our guest?
 
She’s been in there ten hours and not a peep.”

“Aye, sir.
 
I decided to check on her.
 
The cabin console said her vitals were low for a Palani, so I knocked.
 
Turns out she was meditating, sir.
 
She let me run a quick scan, but declined any other help.
 
It’s really cold in there.
 
She’s got it set it to five degrees.”

“Huh.
 
Anything from the scan?”

The medic shook her head.
 
“Nothing we didn’t already know, sir.
 
Mostly the same organs as us, but different arrangement.
 
Five glands we don’t have. I’ve got no idea what they do.
 
Scanner says she’s fine, but there’s some readings I’ll have to look up.
 
Probably some of those inherited things.
 
Otherwise it’s straight out of the xeno textbook, sir.”

“Good initiative, Singh.
 
Anything else?”

“Thank you, sir,” she nodded.
 
“And yes, she asked me to tell you — and this is a quote, sir — she will see you now.”

The Chief suppressed a snort as her face lit up.
 
“Congratulations, Captain.
 
You’ve been summoned for an audience.”

Dillon looked from the medic to the Chief and back again.
 
“Summoned?
 
Whose ship is this, anyway?”

-----

While the airlock cycled, blowing cold air into the small antechamber, Dillon did up his overcoat and put on his winter gloves.
 
Even before the inner door opened, he could see his breath.
 
Singh wasn’t kidding about the temperature.
 

The door slid open, revealing the xeno officer’s cabin.
 
Barely three metres square, it had enough room for a bunk, desk, two chairs and an over-plumbed head.
 
The far wall was dominated by a large window.
 
The screen was fully open, and the nearby gas giant filled the view, its colourful green-and-yellow clouds swirled into planet-spanning stripes.

The Palani turned away from the window, her white cloak swirling around her legs.
 
Her blue eyes sought his.
 
“Captain.”
 
Her multi-tone voice was like the playing of chords.
 
“Thank you for coming to see me.”

“Tassali,” said Dillon, the breath of his words visible in the air.
 
“Master Seaman Singh said you wanted to talk.”

“Yes,” said the white-skinned woman.
 
She sat carefully on a chair, her back straight, her feet together on the floor and her white-gloved hands clasped in her lap.
 
“Why is she called ‘Seaman’?
 
She clearly presents herself as a female.”

“Ah,” said the Captain.
 
“A quirk of our language.
 
A relic from an ancient time.”

Delicate furrows creased the Palani's forehead.
 
“Your language is a mess.
 
It is irregular and imprecise.
 
It favours the males.
 
It is full of absurd idioms and slang.”

Dillon nodded slowly.
 
“I agree.”
 

Her face showed she hadn’t expected that.
 

“However,” he continued, “it can be expressive.
 
If you have time, search the archives for Shakespeare, Tennyson, Sharma, or Bao Zhi.
 
Or Gruber.
 
You may be surprised.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, her head tilting.
 
“Nevertheless,” she said after a moment, “your language’s only real value is that every major species can
speak
it.
 
Were it not for that, no one beyond your worlds would bother to learn it.”

He nodded again.
 
“I expect that is true, Tassali.”

She glanced at the other chair.
 
Dillon quietly sat down, then crossed one leg over the other and rested his hands in his lap.

She held his gaze with her cobalt eyes.
 
“Our language was once spoken throughout the galaxy, of course.
 
But the Dosh cannot make the sounds to speak it, and their language is offensive to us.”

The Palani’s tone was condescending, but Dillon didn’t feel bothered.
 
The cabin seemed quite pleasant; the temperature didn’t feel nearly as cold as it had when he came in.
 
He felt himself becoming relaxed and comfortable.
 

He suddenly became conscious of his own calm.
 
He pulled himself away from leaning on the back of the chair, sat upright, and began to study her face.
 
The narrowness left her eyes as the furrows faded from her brow.
 
She was looking at him differently, though he couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Tassali,” he began carefully, then stopped.
 
He steered to safer waters.
 
“Is the cabin comfortable for you?”

She looked around her, as if seeing it for the first time.
 
“It is enough, Captain.
 
I understand this is a warship, and luxuries are few.”
 
Turning slightly in her chair, she looked out the window.
 
“My ship was a diplomatic vessel.
 
We were unarmed.”
 
She fell silent, still looking out the viewport at the planet that loomed beyond.
 

Dillon remained quiet, looking at the Palani.
 
He began to marvel at her brilliant blue hair, the way it tumbled down past her shoulders.
 
The contrast against her white clothes and the grey room was captivating.

He blinked.
 
“Your ship was attacked, Tassali?”

She turned back to face him.
 
“Orlahal came to get me.
 
I was meditating in my room.
 
He came to me, right after the first explosion.
 
The idols, the altar service… he threw them in with my things…”
 
She glanced at the white satchel that lay on the bed.
 
“He grabbed me.
 
Pulled me from my room and pushed me into the survival pod.
 
It was forceful, and a sin, but not unkind.
 
He asked me to convey the crew to the Divines.”

Her eyes flared as she looked at his.
 
“I blessed him.
 
I saw his face when he closed the hatch.
 
He knew.”

Dillon swallowed, trying to clear the lump that had appeared in his throat.
 
It wouldn’t go away, and it tried to catch on his voice.
 
“I’m very sorry, Tassali.
 
Did you… did you see what attacked your ship?”

The Palani shook her head.
 
“No, Captain.
 
I saw nothing.
 
We had just jumped, as far as we could, and were attacked shortly after.”

“If you choose not to answer, I understand, but it may be relevant… Tassali, what was your ship’s mission?”

She hesitated.
 
“I would prefer not to say.”
 
A blue tint began to spread on her cheeks.
 
She swivelled in her chair, turning her back to him. “Why are we still in this system, Captain?
 
There is nothing to be gained, and our attacker may be nearby.
 
I spent twenty hours in that pod, looking out at this.
 
Please, Captain, take us away from this place.”

Dillon stood, reflexively smoothing the front of his overcoat.
 
“I understand.
 
I plan to be underway soon.”
 

Her back was straight and her shoulders were square, even as her head sagged slightly.
 
He struggled for something to say, but wound up standing in silence.
 
Turning, he pressed a button to open the inner door.

“Captain,” said the Palani.
 
She looked over her shoulder at him.
 
Her face and eyes were flushed with blue.
 
“I wish to ask a favour.”

“Name it.”

She looked at her bed, then back toward him, her eyes meeting his.
 
“I must convey the spirits of my crew to the Divines.
 
It should be today.
 
I need a larger, private room to do so…”

Dillon nodded.
 
“I will have the wardroom cleared and locked for you.
 
Twenty-two hundred hours?
 
That’ll give the room time to cool.”

The Tassali looked at the clock on the wall console, and frowned.
 
“Your system of time makes no sense either.
 
But if I understand it correctly, that would be two hours from now.
 
That seems adequate.”

“Is there anything I can do to help with your... observance?”

“No.
 
As the Captain, you would be permitted to attend if you wished, but no, there is nothing I need.”

She turned to look back out the viewport as he closed the airlock door.

-----

Tassali Yenaara adjusted the position of the box once again, making sure it was centred on the wardroom table.
 
The box and the table were both made from the dark, thick-grained wood of trees native to Earth.
 
A crew member had produced it from a cabinet.
 
It held things used in the rituals of human religions.
 
It seemed appropriate.

From her satchel, she carefully picked up a folded blue cloth, kissing it twice.
 
Reverently unfolding the altar cloth — the
Lenira
— she draped it over the makeshift altar.
 
Her gloved hands smoothed the cloth, long fingers running along the intricate gold embroidery.
 
Reaching back into her satchel, she carefully pulled out the five cloth-wrapped idols of the Palani deities, kissing each in turn and placing them delicately on the top of the altar.
 
The last she placed was Elinth, the Lady of Dusk, who was foremost during the ritual of farewell.
 
The Lady’s arms were outstretched, as in the embrace of an unseen lover, her eyes filled with calm regret.

As the Tassali touched the gem on the idol’s back, the wardroom began to fill with light.
 
After a moment’s hesitation, the light resolved itself into a spherical image.
 
The image filled the room around the altar, showing the homeworld at dusk.
 
The Tassali watched the image as it began to move, displaying a live image from Palani Yaal La, the eternal world.
 
She knew the specific place being shown: it was Resana, a temple on the southern continent, not far from the ocean.
 
Birds flew past and, as the sound began to come through the idol, she heard their mournful calls.
 
The room of this alien ship, so very far from home, was suffused with the warm blue and pink glow of the Palani dusk.
 

Behind her, the wardroom door chirped as it unlocked and opened.
 
A moment later it chirped again as it locked shut.
 
She slowly turned around.

The human Captain stood inside the door.
 
He wore a long heavy overcoat, the colour of night, with two rows of brass buttons and a belt around the waist.
 
On the cuffs were thick gold-embroidered stripes, and over his left breast were two rows of coloured ribbons.
 
He looked clean and tidy, unlike before.
 
Not so much the human savage of which her people often spoke.
 
On his hands were white cloth gloves much like hers, and her expression softened as she looked at them.
 
Her eyes met his, and she gestured to the floor just inside the spherical hologram of the Palani sunset.
 
He stepped forward, nodded once, then stood quietly.
 
His breathing, calm and even, was visible in the air.

Turning back to face the altar, she looked around her and took in the sights and sounds of her home.
 
A lone cloud was passing overhead, and a soft chorus of birds had started their song.
 

Bowing her head and taking a deep breath, she began her prayer.
 
“
Aas tenala huen yaal Elinth la—
”

She stopped, raising her head.
 
Above her, the small cloud kept moving on the wind.
 
Turning her head to her left, she glanced out of the corner of her eye at the human standing behind her.
 
He stood still, silent and unmoving, his eyes taking in the Palani vista around him.