Burnt Worlds (11 page)

“This area of
nothing
, Lieutenant.
 
No emissions, no noise, no background.
 
Nothing.
 
The rest of the universe has background noise.
 
But not this area.
 
Now go further back in time, to when we exited the jump.”

Cho leaned closer, his face almost touching the display.
 
A few taps, and the scene ran longer, starting before the dot appeared.
 
He dragged his finger on the screen, watching the image swivel and turn.
 
“Yes!” he blurted suddenly.
 
“I see it!”
 
He began to tap furiously at the console.
 
“Let me get it to map the area of nothing…”

On the display, a shape was drawn.
 
It was a kilometre away from the image of the
Borealis
.
 
A massive upright cylinder, according to the readout: forty metres in diameter and two hundred metres high.
 
Beginning as a single object, it appeared behind
Borealis
as she exited the long jump.
 
Keeping pace with the ship for several seconds, the top third of the cylinder had separated by five metres or so, then the dot had appeared from the gap.
 
The dot moved in a straight line to the
Borealis
, whereupon the animation came to an abrupt end.

The human and the Dosh sat and watched the animation several more times, unable to pull their eyes from the image of the cylinder following their ship.
 
“Lieutenant, please document this.”

“Yeah,” said Cho, not taking his eyes from the screen.
 
“I’ll get the Captain.”

“Agreed,” replied Saparun.
 
His head suddenly tilted, his eyes looking toward the tech suite’s door.
 
“Did you hear that? “

Cho looked at him, puzzled.
 
“No sir, I—”

The speaker chirped.
 
There was an unfamiliar voice, speaking carefully.
 
“Captain and Chief to the junior ranks messdeck, please.
 
Urgent.”

Long, slender fingers tugged at the seams of the shining white coldsuit, stretching it across porcelain skin.
 
As the seams met in the middle of the Palani woman’s chest, the suit silently fastened itself, drawing together from her abdomen to her chin.
 
Across her back and up her neck to her hairline, the glossy white material of the coldsuit tightened and then relaxed, forming itself to the curves of her body.
 
She slowly moved her arms and legs, getting a feel for the suit’s ease of movement, then stepped into her cabin’s wash area to see herself in the mirror.

She frowned.
 
The coldsuit covered almost every inch of her skin, from the boots up her legs, to her thighs and upper arms, and her entire torso up to her neck.
 
It was comfortable enough, but absurdly tight.
 
No
, she thought.
 
Absolutely not.
 
Not on this ship full of semi-feral humans
.

Fortunately, there was a class structure on the ship:
 
officers and crew.
 
The Captain had shown himself to be somewhat civilised, which was a relief.
 
The Dosh had been a welcome sight when she’d boarded:
 
a known quantity in a ship full of unknowns.
 
Hopefully the Dosh had been a civilising influence on the humans, though the Dosh attitudes toward propriety were famously lax.

Back in her cabin’s main room, she wrapped herself in a loose-fitting sleeveless robe, fastening the red and gold belt at her waist.
 
She examined her tiara before kissing it twice and putting it carefully on her brow.
 
Heading back into the so-called “head”, she examined her appearance again and was satisfied with the result.

It took her a few moments to negotiate with the plumbing, trying to remember how to produce water that wasn’t unbearably hot.
 
Twisting the control all the way to the right, she was rewarded with a pleasing stream of near-freezing water.
 
The melodic words of an ancient hymn filled the tiny room as she carefully went through the ritual of washing her hands and forearms.
 
Still singing, she patted herself dry using the same gentle, methodical steps she had followed since she was old enough to reach a basin.
 
Without touching anything else, she pulled on a pristine pair of elbow-length white gloves, checking to make sure the fit was correct and all the seams were straight.
 
As she quietly sang the final bars of the hymn, she kissed the fingertips of both hands, and touched them together in a brief prayer to mark the night's surrender to dawn.
 

She sighed, and looked up at the mirror.
 
The face looking back at her still had furrows on its brow and tightness around the eyes and mouth.
 
Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly, but shuddered as she did so.

Tassali Yenaara wondered how it had come to this.
 
No home, no family, no ship.
 
No one to trust, nothing to hold on to.
 
Everything was strange, incomprehensible, and unsettling.
 
But she had her beliefs, her faith, and the rituals.
 
Rituals for the start of the day, for the end of the day, for coming and going.
 
Rituals for everything.
 
Structure and certainty to occupy her mind while she waited.
 
She needed to look around, to learn more about the humans and their ship.
 
She knew she had to remain calm, to have faith.
 
If she was righteous, the Divines would provide, would keep her safe.
 
An opportunity would present itself.
 
There is still time.

Staring at her reflection, she forced her face to relax and her eyes to brighten, assuming a look of serenity and control.
 
There must be no outward sign of anything else, especially not among the savages.
 
The mentors had been very clear about the nature of humans.
 
The last time a Palani had checked on them, before the Burning, the animals had been living in filth, dwelling in mud and stone huts, rutting like beasts while their young died in squalor.
 
Uncountable human factions hacked each other with metal blades; the strong harmed the weak and the rich discarded the poor.
 
Now, a dozen centuries later, the same species had traded their mud huts for colonies, still squabbling among each other even as they spread from world to world like a contagion.

Reaching up, the Tassali pulled a slender ribbon from her tied-up hair, letting it tumble across her shoulders and down her back.
 
One last glance at her expression, and she stepped confidently from the head, through the cabin and into the airlock, which quickly cycled.
 
The passageway door opened.

It was like stepping into a furnace.
 
Her hand quickly went to the small controls on the side of her suit, and within moments a chilling comfort spread throughout her body.
 
While the air was still hot on her face and in her lungs, she felt cool enough.
 
This would do.

The lights in the corridor were dim and blue.
 
While to the humans this signified the depth of night, to the Tassali it was a reminder of early morning at home.
 
The ship was quiet, with most of the crew sleeping.
 
The only sound was the faraway hum of the engines provided any sound.
 
Walking past the Captain’s cabin, she heard talking from up ahead, and approached the entrance to the bridge.

Standing in the hatchway, she looked at the crew at their stations, at the empty Captain’s chair to her left, and through the large windows to interstellar space beyond.
 
Most of the stars barely moved at all; only a few of the nearest ones slid by the field of view, passing to one side or the other.
 
There had been a similar view from the meditation area on her former ship.
 
She had enjoyed spending time with Orlahal, or Ennur, quietly meditating or talking while the stars passed by around them.

“Tassali Yenaara!
 
Please come in.”

It was a human female that spoke to her, and was now approaching from across the bridge.
 
The one with the dark blue hair.

The Tassali bowed slightly.
 
“Thank you.
 
You know me, but…”

The human woman smirked.
 
The Palani was unsure what to make of that expression.
 

“I’m Chief Black, ma’am.
 
Haven’t seen much of you.
 
Settled in?”

The Tassali cocked her head slightly.
 
“You are a chief?
 
Are you a tribal leader?”

The Chief began to laugh, then stopped herself.
 
“What?
 
Not officially, ma’am.
 
I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh, ma’am, but you’re more right than you know.”

The Tassali remained quiet, watching the human woman's face.

“Er,” began the Chief, “every warship has a ‘Chief of the Ship’.
 
Usually the longest-serving, non-commissioned officer on the ship.
 
Oldest and, in theory, wisest.
 
Though I have my doubts, ma’am.”

The Tassali offered a faint smile.
 
“Having doubt is an expression of wisdom, Chief Black.
 
I am sure the crew benefits from your experience.”

The Chief glanced over her shoulder toward the crewmembers at their consoles.
 
“They had better,” she said for them to hear.
 
“I’m also in charge of discipline and adherence to regulations.”

“A highly responsible post, Chief Black.
 
But not a member of the officer class?”

Black looked the Tassali in the eyes, raising an eyebrow.
 
“Officer class?
 
No ma’am, I work for a living.”

Disrespectful of class, thought the Tassali, or at least irreverent.
 
Was this Chief some sort of agitator for the lower classes?
 
Or perhaps the ruling elite permitted a controlled level of dissent, to provide the illusion of freedom from within the structure; to prevent a building up of seditious thought.

She noticed that the Chief was staring at her hair.
 
The human woman's eyes had grown distant.
 
“Chief Black?”

The Chief glanced at the Tassali’s face, then back to her hair.
 
Her voice was quiet.
 
“You have the most beautiful hair, ma’am.
 
I’ve tried for years to get a colour like that.”
 
She reached out her hand.
 
“May I?”

The Tassali hesitated.
 
A human savage, presuming to…?
 
And yet, this one was different.
 
Like the Captain.
 
“You may.”

Chief Black smiled, and reached toward the Palani’s neck.
 
She gently touched the wavy blue hair, lifting a thick lock of it and feeling it between her fingers.
 
She withdrew her hand.
 
“It’s very pretty, and so soft.
 
Thank you.
 
What can I do to get mine that colour?”

 
Tassali Yenaara returned the smile.
 
“It would be easiest if you were born Palani.
 
My home world is rich in minerals that are rare on yours.
 
Perhaps, if you lived there for a time, yours might take on some of the hue.”
 
She shook her head.
 
“Probably not.”

The Chief beamed for a while, smiling broadly at the Tassali, then suddenly seemed to snap out of a reverie.
 
She took a sudden step back.
 
“What?
 
Oh, wait.
 
I’m sorry ma’am, that was inappropriate.”
 
She shook her head.
 
“I intended no disrespect, ma’am.”

A small wave from a gloved hand allayed the Chief’s concern.
 
“There was no disrespect, Chief Black.
 
Please do not worry.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“I believe,” began the Tassali, “I shall go for a walk.
 
I will be up for a while longer, before I take my second sleep.
 
Perhaps we shall talk later.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the Chief, giving a short nod.

Walking calmly from the bridge, the Palani turned to her right, following the passageway that led away from the cabins.

She paused at the entrance to the wardroom, and looked inside.
 
The room was dimly lit, save for a bright light over the long wooden table she had used as an altar some days ago.
 
There was music coming from the speakers inside:
 
it was complex and gentle, with dozens of stringed and wind-based instruments playing together in complicated harmonies.
 
She found it immediately soothing.

Sitting at the end of the table, facing down its length, was the Captain.
 
His elbows were on the table, and he was leaning slightly forward with his face buried in his hands.
 
A datapad was on the table in front of him, along with an empty glass and a mangled pen.

She watched him take a deep breath.
 
He exhaled with a hint of a shudder.
 
A sudden urge came over her, to approach him and offer some words of consolation; some thoughts to ease his burden.
 
Instead, she found herself continuing down the passageway, unsure of her course.
 
She resolved to speak to the Captain later, maybe offer some meditations.
 
Then again, no doubt humans had their own simple ways of coping with difficulty; perhaps she ought not to meddle.