Burnt Worlds (20 page)

The Captain nodded.
 
“Thank you.”
 
His eyes watched the large display screen that extended out from the arm of his chair.
 
He poked at the screen with a finger.
 
“I don’t see green for the hangar airlock, Chief.
 
And one of the repair bots hasn’t moved; I want it in its ‘ready’ position.
 
And enough of ‘Beat to Quarters’, please.”

“Aye aye, sir,” she replied tersely.
 
As the repetitive
tap-tap-roll
of synthesised drums faded from the loudspeakers, the Chief began to bark short, sharp orders into her headset, rapidly clicking from one channel to the next.

The bridge crew were buckled into their seats, focused on their consoles.
 
Each of them had a respirator helmet ready in a bag on their hip, and all had sealed up their uniforms to be vacuum-safe.
 
A fully-suited damage-control team was quickly inspecting the bridge, checking the crew’s readiness.
 
One of them caught the Captain’s eye and held up one hand, pointing to it with the other.

Dillon nodded, wincing as he started to pull on his gloves.
 
“Nav, what’s our ETA?”
 
He turned his head to look as Singh came onto the bridge.
 
“And have we had any contact with the Palani ships we’re supposed to meet?”

“Sir, time to Iralan system is one minute ten.
 
No contact from the Palani.”

“Thank you,” said the Captain.
 
He beckoned Singh, who reached out her gloved hand to him.
 
He opened his palm, and she dropped two small tablets into it.
 
“What’s…”

“Quadrileptene, sir.”

Dillon stared at the medic, who quickly continued.
 
“It’s industrial-strength Fuckitall, sir.
 
You’ll be pain-free for two hours.”

“Damn it, Singh, this really isn’t the time to get stoned on painkillers.”

She vigorously shook her head.
 
“No, sir.
 
These are combat-approved.
 
Fleet surgeon’s idea.”

The Captain grunted, and quickly swallowed the tablets.
 
“Okay, thank you.
 
Two hours.
 
Then what?”

“Withdrawal, sir.
 
I’m afraid you won’t enjoy it.”

“For fuck’s sake… okay, carry on Singh.
 
I hope you’re bored for the next while.
 
Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.
 
So do I, sir.”

As the medic left the bridge, Dillon turned back to his display.
 
“Chief, that last bot…?”

“Dead to the world, sir,” came the Chief’s voice.
 
“Engineering is on it.”

The excited chatter of the bridge crew, and of the Chief haranguing the damage control teams, began to settle down.
 
Dillon quickly checked his display, then scanned the bridge.
 
All the displays and consoles showed green indicators throughout.
 
Gloved hands on consoles became more methodical, and sets of eyes began to steal glances at him and other crewmates.
 
Atwell reported all was ready in the main armament control space, as did Cho from the tech suite.
 
The ship was as ready as it was going to get.
 
He felt panic rising in his chest, and concentrated on his breathing, forcing himself to slow down and remain calm.
 
He looked around for his pen, or anything to keep his hands busy.

Chief Black looked meaningfully behind the Captain, and he pivoted his seat to look.

The Tassali had stepped onto the bridge, and had silently taken a place in the farthest corner of the deck, behind the Captain’s chair.
 
She wore a form-fitting suit under her loose robes, a scarf-like cloth over her head, and a nearly-transparent veil over her face.
 
Dillon presumed it was the Palani equivalent of a space-exposure suit.
 
He looked at the blue eyes that were watching him.

“Stay there,” he said.
 
“Be careful.
 
And hold on to something.”

She quietly put her hand on a grab bar beside her.
 
The two of them looked at each other for a few moments, then Dillon nodded and turned away.

“Five seconds,” said the navigator.

Dillon looked at Chief Black, who met his eyes and nodded.
 
He looked back at the bridge windows.

The grey bulk of a planet suddenly popped into view in front of them, filling their field of vision.
 
Wisps of black and yellow-brown clouds swirled across the surface of the world, passing over the delicate outlines of ancient coasts and dried oceans.

Between them and the planet, a cluster of metallic specks sparkled with orange.
 
As they rapidly approached, the specks grew into the twisted shapes of debris: portions of hull and interior compartments, some of which briefly erupted in fire as escaping gases ignited.

The sensor technician broke the silence.
 
“Some sort of space station, Captain.
 
It has been completely destroyed.
 
No power sources, no life forms, no intact escape pods.”

“No ships?”

“No sir, no ships on scope.”

Dillon frowned.
 
“Bullshit.
 
It’s here somewhere, it’s just not showing up.
 
And where the hell are the Palani?
 
Cho, you listening down there?
 
Can you find the attacker?”

The Lieutenant’s voice came from the speaker.
 
“Aye, Captain.
 
Looking for signs of nothing, sir.”

The Captain turned his seat to face the Palani behind him.
 
“Tassali, what’s here?
 
What’s special about Iralan?
 
Why a station in the Burnt Worlds?”

She hesitated.
 
“Iralan has great religious significance.
 
There are buildings on the surface, so people can come and visit the holy sites.
 
Thousands of pilgrims and archaeologists.
 
A station in orbit to service the ships that bring them.
 
There’s nothing military here, Captain.”
 
She paused.
 
“Not as far as I know.”

He narrowed his eyes a moment, his jaw tensing.
 
“I believe you, Tassali.
 
But that ‘as far as I know’ scares me.”
 
Dillon paused for a moment.
 
“How many people are down there?”

“Usually sixty to seventy thousand.”

“Seventy thousand?
 
Damn,” said the Captain.
   
He turned his seat back around.
 
“Cho?” he asked the console above his head.
 
“Anything?”

“Not yet, sir,” came the reply.

The sensor tech spoke up.
 
“Sir, there’s a distinctive pattern in the wreckage.
 
Wreckage of a jump drive, sir.”

Dillon and the Chief looked at each other.
 
She raised her eyebrows at him.

“Okay, thank you,” said the Captain.
 
“A jump drive on a space station, Chief.
 
One guess what they were up to.”

She nodded at him.
 
“Aye, sir.
 
Researching long jumps.”

The Tassali’s voice came from behind him; she sounded urgent, almost pleading.
 
“Please, Captain, I said I didn’t know…”

Dillon turned his head to look at her out of the corner of his eye, holding up one hand.
 
“I said I believed you.
 
That hasn’t changed.”

“Sir!” cried the sensor tech.
 
“Three ships just entered the system.
 
Frigate-size.
 
Palani.
 
Telada
class.”

“Okay,” said the Captain.
 
“There they are.
 
What’re they—”

“Captain,” said the communications tech.
 
“We’re being hailed by the… correction, sir, their English is…”
 
The tech was quiet for a moment, listening intently to his headset.
 
“Okay, sir, the Palani flagship is saying that… they think we had something to do with this attack.
 
They want us to hand over the fugitive immediately...”

“What?” said Dillon.
 
“We just got here; we didn’t have anything to do with—”

The Tassali’s voice came from behind the Captain.
 
“They do not understand the danger.
 
I could speak to them, Captain, and explain the situation.”

Dillon gestured.
 
“Yes, by all means.
 
Chief, open a channel, please?
 
I have this feeling we’re all in over our heads.”
 
He looked at the ceiling again.
 
“Cho?
 
Please tell me you’ve found it.”

“Sorry, sir, nothing yet,” came the reply.

Tassali Yenaara stepped next to the Chief, at her console near the back of the bridge.
 
It had been Dillon’s post only a few short weeks before.
 
The Chief tapped several buttons on the display, and motioned for the Palani to speak.

In a calm, measured voice, the Tassali spoke in her native tongue.
 
With the harmonics of her voice, she sounded lyrical.
 
The Chief stood nearby, watching her closely, trying to understand the conversation.

She had spoken only a few words when she was interrupted by a Palani voice coming from the speaker.
 
It was similarly harmonic, but deeper, coarser, less musical.
 
It sounded angry.

The Tassali tried again to speak, but was interrupted by the angry voice at the other end.
 
She and the other speaker began to talk faster; the sounds became clipped and dissonant.
 
Her cheeks began to flush with blue, and her voice became louder.
 
The Chief’s eyebrows shot up, and she blushed, glancing at the Tassali.
 
Dillon surmised that the Chief must have recognised a few Palani words.
 
And if the Chief knew any Palani words at all, they’d be… he opened his mouth to speak.

The angry Palani voice suddenly stopped mid-sentence, replaced by a burst of static.
 
As the sensor tech yelped, Dillon’s attention was drawn out the window.

Far away from the
Borealis
, toward the looming grey planet, he saw a brilliant flash of light burst, flare and die.
 
He knew what it was.
 
“Fuck!
 
Cho, damn it!”

“Got it, sir!
 
Cylindrical ship, forty metres in diameter and two hundred high.
 
Top third separated from the bottom two-thirds.
 
If it doesn’t move too fast, we can keep it targeted.”

“Thank you, Cho.
 
Helm, get us closer. Atwell, we good to go?”

The officer’s voice came from the same speaker.
 
“Aye, sir.
 
Get us in range, and say the word.”

The supervisor’s console, where the Chief and the stunned Tassali stood, erupted with new Palani voices.
 
Even though he couldn’t understand the language, Dillon could clearly hear the urgency in their voices, bordering on panic.
 
The Tassali tried speaking to them, but was immediately rebuffed by a flurry of angry-sounding Palani.
 
Seconds later, the new voices were silenced by static.

Out the window, there were two more brilliant flashes of light.
 
Out of the corner of his eye, the Captain could see the dumbstruck Tassali slowly lower herself into the seat.
 
The Chief stood nearby watching, her face momentarily creased with concern before she snapped her attention back to the bridge.

“Helm, get us closer,” said the Captain.
 
“Sing out when we’re in range.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

The crewmember at the sensors console spoke up again.
 
“Captain, target configuration is changing.
 
The two parts have reconnected.
 
It’s now a single… wait, sir, it’s changing again.
 
Target now separating into four equal sections, stacked on top of each other.”

Dillon looked out the window.
 
“I don’t know what it’s doing, but there’s no way it’s friendly.”
 
He turned toward the communications tech.
 
“Comms, contact the facility on the surface.
 
Tell them who we are, tell them there’s a hostile ship orbiting their planet, and they need to get their people into shelter.
 
Bunkers, safe rooms, whatever.
 
Tell them to hurry.”
 
He lowered his voice, whispering to himself, “Seventy thousand.”

The comm tech acknowledged his order, and began speaking urgently into his headset.
 
The Chief was looking down at the seated Tassali.
 
“Ma’am, do they have shelters?”

The Palani slowly shook her head.
 
“No.
 
They are pilgrims, Chief Black.
 
They have dormitories.
 
Small chapels and meditation rooms.”
 
She looked up at the human woman.
 
“They come to study the great temples, to worship at the shrines used by their ancestors.
 
The Burning made the atmosphere unbreathable, so they have to wear environment suits to go outside.
 
Only the most devoted—”