Burnt Worlds (34 page)

“Aye, sir.
 
Lee out.”

Amba watched as Dillon shook his head, giving a quick shove at the building’s door.
 
As Hamid stepped inside with the scanner, the Captain walked over to the second building.

She turned to face back into the wind.
 
The force of the wind pressed her suit against her body; her loose robes tugged at her shoulders and waist, writhing as they snapped around her.

Looking into the storm was mesmerising, as countless flakes whisked past her on all sides.
 
The silence was only spoiled by her breathing and the constant patter of snow hitting her mask.

The sacred homeworld, Palani Yaal La, was beautiful and majestic during the long winters.
 
Fields and valleys of wind-sculpted snow wrapped around the rocks and mountains, their serene grey bulks shot through with subtle blue stripes of mineral-rich stone.
 
The blue spines of the
nelaan
trees, and the clumps of black, needle-thin grasses poking through the blanket of snow, were the only signs of life through the winter.
 
Until the all-too-brief spring came at last, with its riotous, frantic explosion of life; all the thousands of species of plants and creatures competing for attention, striving to complete their cycles of life before winter came again.

Without thinking, she reached up and pulled her mask away.
 
Scarf and hair streamed out behind her like white and blue pennants.

The cold air slapped her bare face, the bite of the wind and the stinging of the snow like a thousand needles against her skin.
 
She squinted against the pelting snow, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

Amba faced into the blizzard, and let it blow over her.
 
It was a familiar feeling, a reminder of countless winters at home in the mountains.
 
Rushing outside at the first sign of snow, facing into the wind, feeling the flakes on her skin.
 
She could go back, she thought.
 
She could get back all that she had known.
 

All her memories of home came flooding through.
 
Resana: the dusk, purple against the sea.
 
The Hall of the Transcendent Will: large enough to fly a ship in, every surface and statue gleaming white.
 
Family gatherings at the Yenaara estates: the formal rituals of kinship.
 
Her sister and brother; her father.
 
Her mother, before she was lost, singing in the procession on Elinth’s night.

She could have it all back; her father had been sure of it.
 
All she had to do was what the Church demanded: apologise.
 
Prostrate herself before the Pentarch and plead for mercy.
 
Hope they would let her live.
 
Beg.

It wasn’t going to happen.
 
She had changed since leaving home.
 
Her body was warmer now: the snow melted quickly on her skin.
 
The air felt so much colder.
 
Humans said that cold air was 'bitter'; that made sense now.

She hadn’t intended to be with the humans.
 
For some reason, the Divines had laid her path that way; she was meant to find them.
 
And she had been right all along: they weren’t savages.
 
Some of them were coarse or rude, but on the whole they were gentle and kind.
 
They were unlike the Palani.
 
They were, to use their own human-centred term, ‘warm’.
 

She could adapt, and live with them; she could be accepted by them, and even form connections with them.
 
And not once did they demand that she change.
 
Not once did they tell her to beg.

She was a Tassali.
 
One of the Most Holy, the Chosen of the Divines.
 
These were mere savages, she had been told; they were hers to use.
 
With a few words, she could control them as she wished.
 
If she had needs, she could easily take to her bed any of them she chose to conquer.

But, as with everything else about the humans, the Church had been wrong.
 
Honesty was reciprocated.
 
Openness was met with — the human word again — warmth.
 
They were not easily manipulated, nor did she wish to do so.
 
They were beguiling in their own way.
 
She had begun to form bonds with some of them.
 
It was loose, informal, sincere.

And though her needs were considerable — and growing daily — she had no desire to conquer their Captain.
 
With him, she felt something else.
 
Opening up to him had been bewildering and effortless.
 
He was interesting… and he was interested.

Scant weeks ago, when she had stepped out of the escape pod onto the human ship, she had never felt so isolated and alone in all her long life.
 
But now—

Amba became aware of someone standing next to her, and was suddenly aware of herself.
 
Her face was flush with blue, tears streamed from her wind-stung eyes and back across her temples.
 
Her hair was a chaotic blue mess that glittered with snow.
 
She turned to look.

A step away stood the Captain, his helmet off, facing the same direction as her, into the wind.
 
His face was bright red, tears running from his squinted eyes, and his short brown hair, his eyebrows and eyelashes, were all flecked with snow.

She stared at him.
 
“What are you doing?” she asked.
 
Her voice was hoarse and tense, and she could barely hear it.

Dillon looked at her out of the corner of his eyes.
 
He handed her mask back to her.
 
She realised she must have dropped it.

He shrugged.
 
His voice was quiet, but she could still make it out.
 
“I wanted to feel…” He nodded toward her face.
 
“...that.”

Amba tried to speak, but no words came.
 
She put on her mask and turned away.

Atwell looked up from her cards.
 
“Three queens?” she asked.
 
“Where the hell did you get those?”

The Chief laid the three cards down on the table next to the others.
 
“These old things?” she said.
 
“I’ve had them for ages.”

“Well,” harrumphed Atwell.
 
“They’ll add fifteen points to my jacks.”

“Nope.
 
Ten.
 
And thirty-nine for me.”

Atwell stared down at the cards on the table in front of her.
 

“You’re missing the jack of diamonds,” finished the Chief.
 
She smiled, her eyes sparkling.

“Huh.
 
Okay, my turn.”

“Yeah,” said the Chief.
 
She picked up her glass and sipped at it.
 
“How come no one’s touched this vodka before now?”

Atwell didn’t look up from her cards, but pointed a finger at the Chief’s glass.
 
“Is that what that is?
 
You drink vodka by the tumbler?”

Chief Black looked down at her glass.
 
“Well, yeah.
 
It’s Alberta vodka.
 
Really nice.
 
Spare no expense, and all that.”

“I guess no one likes the stuff,” said the Lieutenant.
 
“No one in the wardroom, anyway.”

“Do you mind the petty officers coming to the wardroom now?”

Atwell looked up, paused, then went back to her cards.
 
“No, never thought of it.
 
Besides, it’s a good idea.
 
Only two of you in the P.O.’s mess, so the Captain closed it.
 
Makes sense.”

“Yeah,” said the Chief, taking another sip.
 
“But normally the P.O.s would go to the junior mess.”

Atwell shrugged.
 
“Captain’s idea.
 
Only three officers here, plus the Dosh and the Palani.
 
Gets pretty quiet.
 
Besides, there’s a precedent for it.”

Black swung her glass in a small circle. “Hey, not complaining.
 
Wouldn’t want the officers to get lonely.”

Atwell looked up at the Chief, who gave a wink as she finished her glass.
 
The Lieutenant blushed, reaching out and drawing a card from the top of the deck.

“So,” asked the Chief, “who’s been into the whiskey?”

“Uh,” said Atwell, “that’d be Cho.”

“And the rum?”

“I only had a little.
 
Strictly off duty.”

Black smiled.
 
“Who was into the gin?
 
No one ever has gin.
 
Usually the same bottle lasts until the ship is decommissioned.”

Atwell began laying some cards out on the table.
 
“Saparun tried it.
 
He said it made him hallucinate.
 
Sixty-seven points for me, two for you.”

“Hallucinations, eh?
 
Good to know. “
 
The Chief leaned back, frowning as she looked at the array of cards in front of the Lieutenant.
 
“Holy shit,” she breathed, “look at all those cards.
 
You’re good at this.”

“Thank you, Chief.
 
Your turn.
 
And thanks for hanging out with me tonight.”

“Not at all.
 
You’re family.”
 

Atwell looked up, her cheeks flushing as she smiled broadly.
 
She stopped herself from blurting out what she was thinking.

The Chief drew a card and scowled at it.
 
“Cho’s on the bridge, Sap’s in the engine room, Lee’s in his bunk, and the Captain’s a popsicle.
 
No idea where the Tassali is.
 
Probably holed up in her cabin doing priestess stuff.”

Atwell looked across the room, in the direction of the Captain’s cabin.
 
“Oh, did the Captain do that thing Singh was on about?
 
What was it?”

The Chief nodded.
 
“He did.
 
Back on Planet Four he had his helmet off for a while, and it was colder than hell down there.
 
When they got back, Singh checked him out.
 
His body temperature had dropped a bit, and the doggie-drool infection was half gone.
 
So, she wanted to try giving him hypothermia, hoping it’d get rid of the infection completely.”

“Did it work?”

“Yeah, apparently.
 
I saw him when Singh let him go.
 
I tell you, it’s a good thing I had my datapad with me.
 
No one would ever believe how shitty he looked, without pictures to prove it.”

Atwell looked up at the Chief.
 
“You didn’t.”

Black smiled and started laying out more cards in front of her.
 
“I might have.
 
Forty-four points for me, thirteen for you.
 
Won’t be enough to catch you, though.”

“Not quite, no.
 
Done?”

“Yeah.”

Atwell drew another card, putting it into her hand.
 
“So,” she began slowly.
 
“I’m a bit concerned about the supply situation.”

Chief Black looked at her like she'd grown a second head.
 
“What?”

“I mean,” the officer pressed on, “we’re on half rations and doing full biologic recycling, but it’s still not enough.”

“True,” said the Chief, carefully watching the other woman’s face.
 
“At any other time, our recycling ratio would get us a fleet efficiency award.
 
But we’re still losing a little matter every day.”

“Nine days left, at half rations,” said Atwell.
 
She glanced up at the ceiling, where the fan had begun to rattle again.
 
“I thought that fan had been fixed.
 
The Captain will snap when he hears that.
 
Your turn.”

“Nothing, eh?” said Black, drawing another card.
 
She pursed her lips at it.
 
“Not what I needed.”

Atwell was still looking at the ceiling vent.
 
“We’ll have to find some biologic material soon.
 
Cho’s course has us at two more good-looking garden worlds in the next six days.
 
We could do a third planet if we sped up.
 
Hopefully one of them will have some stuff we can use.”

Black laid out two more cards.
 
“Or a food court.
 
Nine points, none for you.”

The wardroom fell silent as the rattle stopped coming from the vent.
 
The only sound was the ticking of the mechanical clock.

The Chief looked back and forth between her cards and the woman sitting across from her.
 
She let out a weary sigh.
 
“Okay.
 
Look.”

Atwell turned, looking up to meet the green eyes of the Chief, who continued.
 
“We’re both off the clock here.
 
So tell me, before you drive me insane, what it is that's bugging you so much.”

The Lieutenant blinked, her mouth opening then closing again.
 
She swallowed.
 
“Obvious, huh,” she mumbled.

Black leaned back against the wall.
 
Without taking her eyes off Atwell, she reached out and grabbed the vodka bottle, refilling her glass.
 
She smiled.
 
“When I’m at work, I’m the Chief.
 
This is one of my superpowers.
 
So, what’s up?”
 
She filled a second glass, then used the bottle to push the glass toward Atwell.