Destiny Abounds (Starlight Saga Book 1) (22 page)

Branwen could have sworn the rail sparked suddenly with energy, and she felt a vague rumble in the ground, as if something large was approaching her. She realized she had taken an unconscious step back when she bumped Merlo, whose surprising sturdiness halted her. Around her, another ripple of Altairan repositioning passed through the crowd, until most people were once again just barely not standing shoulder to shoulder.

“Something wrong, Captain?” Branwen could hear the smirk in Merlo’s voice, even as the rumbling increased in volume.

“What is that?” She called back, smiling to herself. Logically, she knew it was probably nothing out of the ordinary, but logic did little for her nerves.

“Looks like it’s our ride, Captain.” She sounded entertained. A moment later, from out of nowhere, heralded with only a slightly louder rumble and accompanied by an odd, rippling, reverberating sound Branwen could hardly have described, their ride did indeed arrive. It sped past the Captain in a flurry of more metal and glass, slowing within moments to a standstill. Numerous arcs of glass made a vague sound, released, and rose upward the instant it came to a standstill, revealing many padded benches and seats just behind them. Along its length, Altairans and foreigners alike started to file into the object and seat themselves, save those trapped behind Branwen.

“Come on, Captain, we don’t need to miss it.” Merlo brushed past her, grinning broadly at Branwen the whole time, the lousy woman. A couple of other people also stepped past, but most stayed put. She supposed everyone else was being polite and waiting for her to step on first, but she’d already made the mistake of looking under the strange, caterpillar-like transport.

It wasn’t connected to the rail beneath it
at all
. It just kind of floated there, with only a vague and disturbing distortion of the air between the two objects.

“Oh, bloody abyss,” she said as she stepped onto the transport.

9.1
- Branwen

They arrived twenty minutes early, but it was okay. He was already waiting for them.

“Mr. Batolome will see you now,” chimed a polite young Altairan woman, almost small enough to rival Merlo, from behind a desk. She did something obscure on the glowing display screen hovering before her, and the doors in front of them parted. Merlo stepped in first, and Branwen followed. She hadn’t been specifically asked or permitted to enter as well, but she hadn’t exactly been told not to, either. She put out a hand to close the tall, paneled doors behind her, but they were already taking care of that on their own.

The room was nicely but simply appointed, with rich dark wood edgings and furniture, soft floors, and a respectable view from where most of the left wall was actually a window overlooking Incarnum. Or, it would have been respectable if the planet’s star hadn’t been setting just then, and happening to accidentally cast its last few piercing, azure rays directly into Branwen’s retinas.

She blinked and looked away. The rest of the room’s tasteful decor did little to hide that fact that it was just as technologically advanced as the rest of Altair seemed to be. But what drew Branwen’s gaze at last wasn’t the technology, but the man who controlled this room in its stead.

“Miss Merlo, Captain Hawke. I am Arden Batolome. It is a pleasure to see you again; if you will both have a seat, please?” The distinguished looking officer rose and leaned forward, extending an arm across the table in greeting. Branwen moved first, stepping forward around Merlo and clasping his arm in her typical fashion.

It was one of her ways of assessing him. She could learn a lot about someone from the way they composed and carried themselves, like the fact that it only took him a moment to adjust to her manner of greeting and return it in kind. Looking him over, Branwen realized her prior difficulties in reading the man hadn’t merely stemmed from viewing him through a technological lens at all, but rather from his composed and somewhat imposing manner. Taking first impressions for what they were worth, the man impressed her. She wondered who he really was.

Merlo stepped in as Branwen released his arm and made room for her. She repeated her Captain’s gesture, taking his forearm into her hand with less familiarity but similar confidence. Batolome’s brow twitched ever so slightly, but he clasped her arm with the same lack of hesitation, then released her, gesturing to a pair of seats invitingly. As they complied, he continued.

“I appreciate your haste in coming to meet with me. Let me begin by apologizing for the inadequate manner in which you were treated prior to my intervention.” Branwen noted he spoke with a precise, practical but genial tone. She also saw, on closer investigation, that the suit he wore was definitely of Altairan Legion style, though this time it lacked any insignias that she could use to identify what kind of position he held. “It was never our intention to allow you to leave as you did.” Merlo bristled visibly, narrowing her eyes a little. “Not without seeing to your needs appropriately. And for our failure in this matter, you have my humblest apologies.” He pressed his right fist to his chest and bowed at the waist as Merlo and Branwen looked on in surprise.

“Uh,” Merlo began eloquently, “No problem, I guess. I mean, I was more upset about what happened to my ship, you know? And my crew.” Her face contorted in a bitter frown. Even in this situation, the vestiges of her anger were still palpable to Branwen. She noted that Batalome did not appear blind to it either. “So is that what this is about then? Just giving me my identification and stuff?”

Batalome frowned deeply, and Branwen thought, honestly. When he spoke again, his tone was surprisingly gentle and subdued. “I am so very, very sorry about the lives that were lost in the incident regarding your ship. It was a tragedy that our communications technologies were so disparate that your approach was mistaken for hostilities, and the issue has been raised with our interplanetary affairs department. They will be working with our technicians to seek out solutions to the problem so that such errors will not be repeated.” He settled into his chair, folding his hands on his desk. “I know that no words can possibly salve such a loss—”

Branwen braced herself as Merlo suddenly snapped to her feet, ire flushing the fair skin of her face with a sudden, angry red. “You’re fucking right words can’t solve it! My ship is gone, my people are dead, my
Captain
…” her voice broke as her eyes glistened with remorse. She blinked at the tears that threatened to spill and slammed her fist onto his desk, cracking the sturdy glass coating without even trying.

Batalome observed the display calmly, but not without an obvious measure of sympathy. He lowered his head respectfully at Merlo’s mention of the dead, not even flinching at the violence done to the high tech screen coating his desk. Branwen’s respect for the man rose a notch further. Batalome remained silent for a few seconds as Merlo exhaled heavily, seeming to vent some of the worst of her anger into the air by force of will, before settling slowly, almost reluctantly, back into her seat.

Batalome waited until she had calmed enough to meet his eyes again. “Miss Merlo—”

“Stop calling me ‘miss’!” Merlo snapped.

Batalome nodded, graciously accepting the correction. “There is nothing I can do for those who were lost. I would for all the world that it were possible to unmake this tragedy, but such wonders are simply beyond my power. If you would allow me to focus upon that which
is
within my power, I will do all I can to make right with you to the best of my ability.”

Despite the situation, Branwen almost smiled at the man’s reactions to Merlo’s disorderly outbursts. He was enigmatic, combining a tangible sense of confidence with an unusual wealth of humility; two things that might have been incapable of coexisting within a lesser man’s mien. She was inclined to agree with his reasoning, even as she also sympathized with Merlo’s sense of loss.

Branwen reached out a calming hand, putting it comfortingly but firmly on Merlo’s shoulder as she spoke. “Accepting what we can and cannot change is all we can ever do. We can only do the best we can with what we have.” She glanced at Merlo, who seemed to startle at the sudden physical contact, but the girl nodded then seemed to calm a bit as Batalome continued.

“I will see to your processing personally, ascertaining that no further mistakes are made. You will receive your proper identification by the end of the day. Further, I will begin the query for reparations to be made in regard to the loss of your vessel and your crew.” He tapped at a screen to one unshattered side of his desk as he spoke. “There is no amount of material recompense that is adequate for such a loss, and I entertain no illusions that it is possible to repay you what such losses are worth. So in place of such, I would offer you an adequate sum to aid in your settling in a new location of your choice. Does that seem reasonable?”

Merlo glanced at Branwen, seeming still agitated and uncertain. “What about her sundered star vessel?” Branwen spoke up for Merlo’s indecision. It was one of the reasons she had come along, after all. That and keeping the fiery pilot from striking anyone important.

Batalome nodded to Branwen appreciatively. “As we are unable to determine the value of a vessel we have no direct correlation to within our own models, we are nonetheless well aware of the worth of the foreign technologies it contains.” He made as if to continue, but Merlo stepped in as he paused for breath, defying Branwen’s expectations.

“I don’t care. You can’t bring them back. Just give me enough to make it here, and I’ll be on my way.” The fire and fight seemed to have gone out of her. In fact, contrary to her typical demeanor, her posture contained a distinct mood of defeat.

Batalome frowned even deeper, taking a deep breath. “I will see that it is done, Merlo. I wish that there were more I could do, but I am powerless to reverse the damages you have endured. I pray only that you will not hold anyone else responsible for our defenses firing on your ship in error. Our protocols were unfortunately inadequate to deal with the situation. If you feel the need to blame anyone, I ask that you instead place that burden upon me.”

Merlo shrugged. “Whatever. How do we finish this so I can get out of here?” Branwen felt no small measure of concern for Merlo’s sudden and disturbing reversal in attitude. It wasn’t like the Merlo she knew at all, and it probably wasn’t healthy, either.

Batalome bowed forward, wordlessly accepting Merlo’s request. He asked her a few questions, double-checking her personal information on the holoscreen on his desk, then gathered further identifying material as Branwen sat and listened quietly. She kept a comforting expression trained on Merlo, but the girl never looked up from the feet of Batalome’s desk long enough to see it.

“Is that all?” Merlo was obviously more than eager to leave the his office. Branwen redirected her gaze to the dignified official across from her, figuring that it would indeed probably be best for everyone the sooner they departed. Some sort of quiet chime, or perhaps a distant beep, caught Branwen’s attention, and it took her a moment of scanning the room to realize that it emanated from the datapad at her side. It repeated a few times and then fell silent, to Branwen’s relief, with no one seeming to have noticed it. Just as well, since she had absolutely no idea how to silence it on her own.

Finished with the data entry, Batalome folded his hands on his desk again. “Almost. Before you go, I have a couple of questions, and it would be highly appreciated if you would remain just a short while longer to answer them.” Merlo shrugged wordlessly. “Very well. Previously, you claimed to be from a cluster called ‘Phoenix’. Altair has made attempts to chart the galaxy extensively over the past several centuries. While we are nowhere near to completing such a task beyond our local area, we also have no record of a star cluster like the one you’ve described. We all know that slipstreams can manifest connections between places that are immensely distant from one another, even from the one side of the galaxy to the other.”

“However, the ability to travel far past neighboring systems is beyond even the best of Altairan or Kepo engineers. If you have anything you can say to enlighten us on this matter, or indeed any of your technology, cluster structure, or system location, it could help us to locate your planet of origin, and thus to potentially transport you back to your home.”

With what Merlo had told her of her mission, Branwen expected her to leap upon the thread of hope he extended. But she just shrugged listlessly instead. Meanwhile, another singular, digital beep emanated from Branwen’s hip pack.

“What’s the point?” Merlo asked hopelessly. “I told your people everything I knew that might help after they picked me up in the first place. The slipstream I came here through collapsed. So unless your people can manufacture slipstreams, there’s no way to get me back home. Besides, I’m just a pilot, not an engineer, or a scientist. I can’t tell you anything about our technology that you can’t just figure out for yourself. You have the remains of my ship, after all. You probably already know more about our tech than I do.” Branwen watched as she finally looked back up at Batalome.

The older man considered for a moment, then nodded in agreement. “Very well, then. I understand. If there are any developments I will see to it that you are informed as soon as possible. And I suppose, if there is nothing else of pertinence that you can recall?” He paused to allow Merlo the opportunity to speak, but she just shook her head. “Then you are free to go as you like. Your credentials will be sent to you within the hour.”