Chosen (HMCS Borealis Book 2) (22 page)

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Dillon's face was tired from all the smiling.
 
Standing in the companionway next to
Borealis
's main airlock, he'd been shaking hands with a lineup of dignitaries welcoming 
Borealis
on her goodwill visit to Earth.
 
The Prime Minister had come to play up the fiction of the visit.
 
He was tall and thin, with a firm handshake and a hint of a knowing nod.
 
The Defence Minister, with his overly-tanned face and calculated looks, seemed suspicious, as if wondering what was behind
Borealis
's sudden visit.
 
Dillon had watched the Prime Minister make an introduction to Tassali Yenaara; the Defence Minister hadn't been rude, but certainly not polite either.
 
A brief nod, a perfunctory shake of the hand, and he moved on.
 
So much easier to pass by the enemy, than actually try to interact with them.
 
Easier to be a child, than an adult.
 
Dillon wondered if the Defence Minister had held his breath when meeting the Tassali, in case the evil Palani 'sorceress' tried to cast a spell on him.

After half an hour of speeches and handshakes and forced good cheer, the last of the dignitaries had left the ship to the sound of the bosun's pipe.
 
Kalla had agreed to stay behind with a minimal crew, guiding a few tours as part of the goodwill visit.

The last of the pipe's shrill notes faded and Dillon gave the order to prepare for shore leave.
 
Within five minutes, the entire debarking ship's company was assembled in the companionway, in uniform or in civilian clothes, with packs or without.

He'd changed out of his dress uniform and carried his overnight bag.
 
Amba was already there, white boots and short robes over her coldsuit and carrying a small satchel.
 
Dillon gave the crew a final once-over before giving the order to dismiss them.
 
As one, they charged past him and out the airlock, into the station beyond.

"Shall we?" he said to Amba, as the last of the crew surged by.
 
He offered a bent arm toward her.

She smiled at him, threading her white-gloved arm through his.
 
"We shall," she said, walking with him through the airlock.

From the crowded, chaotic bustle in the station's docking corridor, the Chief's loud voice called out above the mob.
 
"Holy fuck yes!"

Dillon steered himself and the Tassali through the crowd, threading their way toward the excited Chief Black.
 
She had grabbed an officer, pinning the woman's arms to her sides in a bear hug.
 
When she saw Dillon approach, she set the officer back down.

The officer was short, with black hair in tight curls.
 
She snapped to attention and saluted, a broad grin on her face.
 
"Commander Dillon, sir."

He returned the salute.
 
"Lieutenant Atwell.
 
What luck, finding you here."

Atwell laughed, feigning surprise.
 
"I know, sir.
 
What an amazing coincidence, being here when the
Borealis
docked."
 
She gave Amba a respectful bow.
 
"Tassali ma'am, nice to see you."

"And you as well, Lieutenant.
 
I have missed you, as have the crew."

"This is bullshit," said Chief Black through her laughter.
 
She pointed an accusing finger at Dillon.
 
"Surprise, my ass.
 
You did this."

Dillon shrugged.
 
The smile on Black's face was worth it.
 
"I regret nothing," he said.
 
A ship on a goodwill gesture wasn't a secret — quite the opposite, in fact — and their delay at Rubicon station gave civilian ships plenty of time to get to Earth ahead of them.
 
"So," he said, "where will you two be headed?"

The Chief tilted her head a moment as she looked at him.
 
"Captain," she said, "you sure you won't need us?"

"Positive."
 
He knew that if she had the faintest idea of their real mission here — or if he even suggested it — she would have eagerly stayed nearby, in case she was needed.
 

Black turned to Atwell, her hand holding the Lieutenant's shoulder, her smile spreading across her face.
 
"I was thinking about Oktoberfest.
 
The real thing, in Munich.
 
If we leave right now, they might have beer left when we get there.
 
Want to go?"

"I'm game," said Atwell.
 
Turning toward Dillon, she asked, "With your permission, sir?"

"Happily granted," said Dillon.
 
"Get going, you two."

Turning away, Dillon moved through the crowded docking ring, Amba's arm still locked in his.
 
Surprised people moved aside, or just stared, as the human commander and the Palani priestess walked through the crowd, making their way toward the planetside shuttles.
 
"Look at their reactions," said Dillon.
 
"There's no way a Palani could move around without being noticed."

"He's a smart boy," said Amba, smiling at a staring child as they passed.
 
"He will have thought of something."

Elan sat on the floor of Heather's room, his back against the paint-spattered wall.
 
He took a long breath, then another, focusing his thoughts on warm breezes and the gentle, spreading heat of an imaginary campfire.
 
Maintaining his body temperature at 30C had been easy enough, provided he had the time each day to sit and meditate.
 
Good sleep was essential; with his body less efficient at moving oxygen at higher temperatures, he needed to conserve his energy.
 
He'd heard that the exiled Tassali who now lived among the humans — Yenaara was her name — had medication that allowed her to raise her temperature to that of a human.  Apparently she could live without a coldsuit for days at a time.
 
He hoped she'd received his message and had understood it.
 
If she had, then by this time tomorrow he might be on his way back to the homeworld, Palani Yaal La.
 
With Heather.

His thoughts derailing, Elan opened his eyes.
 
The room was dark, the window-shades closed against the late morning light.
 
Heather lay on the bed nearby, splayed across the mattress with magnificent abandon.
 
One foot lay over the end, one arm over the side, and her face down into the pillow, the soft sounds of snoring muffled into the cloth-covered foam.
 
Her bedsheets were wound tightly around her torso and one leg, leaving the rest of her uncovered.

Was it just that she was the opposite of everything he'd known?
 
Was it just the novelty of it all?
 
It had only been two weeks since he'd arrived, and he'd been away for part of it.
 
That tightly-wound bundle of human emotions drew him in, compelled him, but if someone asked him what it was specifically, he wouldn't be able to answer.

And as much as he wanted her to come with him to Palani Yaal La, what life awaited her there?
 
As the humans would say, the tables would be turned.
 
Instead of him being the sole alien on a world full of strangers, it would be her.
 
The Pentarch would never permit her to stay, let alone stay as his bondmate.
 
He was the Elanasal Palani, the one they had created.
 
He was not intended to have a bondmate, let alone one who was an
alien
.

Heather's long snore truncated into a snort.
 
She shoved her face against the pillow, moving her head.
 
He couldn't see her eyes in the darkened room, but was sure they were fighting against inertia to pry themselves open.

"Good morning, Heather."

"Mmmf," she snorted into the pillow.
 
She paused a moment, then shifted her head and tried again.
 
"Hey," she croaked.
 
"You watching me sleep?"

"I was meditating," he said.

"Meditating?
 
You too hot?"

"I am comfortable," said Elan.
 
"How about you?
 
Are you feeling well?"

"Dunno yet," she mumbled.
 
"Think so."
 
Taking a deep breath, she grunted and began to swing her legs toward the side of the bed, kicking to untangle herself from the sheets and sit up.
 
Bending forward, one hand reached for the datapad on the floor while the other played with her tangled hair.
 
"Any news?"

"I saw Carter out in the kitchen," said Elan.
 
"He did not know I had returned, and seemed surprised by my presence.
 
Unhappy about it, too, although he pretended to be friendly."

"Well," said Heather, "that's Carter."

"He went into his room and shut the door.
 
I do not think he has been out since."

Heather glanced at him, then shrugged and went back to her datapad.
 
"When the world doesn't do everything he wants, he gets sulky.
 
Screw him."

"Ah," said Elan.
 
One more day and it wouldn't matter, but Carter remained the only regret about his stay on Earth.
 
The young man was, in many ways, the closest to the human values that the Pentarch had warned him about.
 
It would have been nicer to leave with the impression that the Pentarch was wrong, and all humans were friendly and civilised, but that was unrealistic.

"Hey," said Heather, "It says here that HMCS
Borealis
is visiting Earth for a goodwill visit.
 
It's docked at Unity Station."
 
She looked over at him, her brows pulled slightly together.
 
"Isn't that the ship with the guy who married the exiled Palani priestess, or bishop, or whatever?"

Elan sighed, a grin forming in the corners of his mouth as he relaxed.
 
"It is.
 
I am glad they are here.
 
I hope it means they got my message."

"I knew it," said Heather, pointing the datapad at him.
 
"They sent a battleship here because of you, and it's all part of your plan.
 
You're going to meet Commander what's-his-name and the bishop, and get them to take you home."

"It is the best plan I could think of," said Elan.
 
"And I had a lot of time to think about it.
 
I couldn't assume I would find allies here.
 
Of all the people in human space, I could trust Commander Dillon and Tassali Yenaara to be the most sympathetic."

"So what happens next?" asked Heather.
 
"Do you just go up to Unity Station to tour the ship, then stay on it?"

Elan shook his head.
 
"No, there would be too many people around, and I couldn't assume they would be friendly.
 
If my presence became public, it would embarrass my government.
 
Better to meet when it's just her and me."

"So you've thought this through," said Heather.
 
She was still playing with her chaotic hair, scratching her head.
 

"I have," said Elan.
 
He watched Heather's face, and saw her lips twist to one side for a moment.
 
She was probably thinking about the same things he was, about what would happen if she came with him.
 
"Heather," he said.
 
"I would like you to come back with me.
 
But I know it might be difficult.
 
I understand if you don't—"

"No, no, it's not that," she said.
 
She pursed her lips and tilted her head to one side, her eyes going to the wall opposite her.
 
"Look, I… it's really happening fast, you know?
 
I was hoping I'd have more time to think about it."

"I know," said Elan.
 
His voice came out quieter than he'd expected and he felt a tightness pulling at his throat.
 
"And it's not fair to you.
 
I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she said.
 
"It's partly me.
 
I've spent years searching for something, and afraid I wouldn't find it.
 
Now I'm scared that I actually have found it, and if I'm too chickenshit to hold on, it might get away."

"Chickenshit?" said Elan.
 
Every time he thought he'd developed a decent grasp of English, something new came along.
 
Some new slang, usually involving body functions.

"Cowardly," said Heather, a soft snort of a laugh coming from her.
 
"Sorry.
 
I should be more clear."
 
She glanced down at her datapad, where a blinking window had popped up.
 
"I just thought I would have a few days to think about…"

"Just hours, I guess," said Elan.
 
"I'm—"

"Jesus
fuck
!" cried Heather, standing up.
 
She read the datapad again, her eyes widening.
 
Even in the gloom of the darkened bedroom, Elan could see the flush coming to her face and neck.
 
"Breaking news," she read, her voice shaking.
 
"Palani youth living secretly in Rockcliffe area of Ottawa, unknown to authorities.
 
CBC to report live from the scene."
 
She stared at Elan, her mouth silently forming words.