Burnt Worlds (16 page)

The white face glanced away, and the loss of its attention was upsetting.
 
He followed the direction of the face, and saw human hands holding a datapad with a medical scan on it.
 
After what seemed an eternity of studying the image, the white face nodded and the blue eyes looked back into his.

Dillon realised the Tassali was speaking.
 
“Have you ever been to my homeworld, Captain?
 
You have seen an image of it.
 
I think you might find it to be a pleasing place to visit.
 
Perhaps you could tell me about Earth when you have time.”

 
He felt his gasping, ragged breaths become slower and steadier, as the soft chill of a winter’s day spread outward from his neck and abdomen.
 
The world dissolved around him, leaving only the melodic voice, the white face, and the blue eyes.
 
That too faded from him as he sank into unconsciousness.

Dillon’s eyes fluttered open, and he found himself looking at an unfamiliar ceiling.
 
There was a huge light fixture not far above, but it wasn’t on.
 
The room was dimly lit from somewhere he couldn’t see.

He blinked a few times, and realised he was uncomfortable.
 
Everything ached with a dull, throbbing soreness.
 
And the bed he was on was too hard.
 
And there was tightness around his stomach.
 
And...

Memories began to play back in his mind.
 
Shooting.
 
Yelling.
 
Teeth.
 
O’Neil
.
 
He tried to sit up.
 

Pain seared through his body.
 
He gasped and dropped back down to the bed.
 
His entire world throbbed with agony.
 
Off to his right, something moved.
 
Rolling his head to look, Dillon saw someone on an examination bed next to him, stirring awake and uncurling from the foetal position; she had been snoring.
 
He recognised the coffee-coloured skin.
 

Dillon's voice came in a croak.
 
“Master Seaman Singh.”

She quickly pushed herself to a sitting position.
 
She looked dishevelled and exhausted, and her fumbling hands rubbed at her swollen red eyes.
 
“Captain, sir.
 
You’re awake.
 
How do you feel?”

He swallowed, which hurt, then tried his voice again.
 
“I feel like shit.”

The medic picked up the med scanner next to her and poked at the screen, pointing the device at him.
 
A brief flicker of light passed over his body, and he felt a tingling sensation.
 
She poked at the screen again.
 
“Everything’s okay, sir.
 
Do you need more painkillers?”

The pain from moving still throbbed through him, making his teeth ache.
 
“Yes, please.
 
A lot.”
 
His hands went down to his abdomen, feeling tentatively at the wide composite bandage that was wrapped around his midsection.
 
“How’s the crew?
 
Where’s the ship?”
 
He gulped in a breath, wincing as he breathed too deeply.
 
“What happened?”

“Well sir,” she began, “the ship is fine; Lieutenant Atwell is in command, and the ship is headed to Iralan.
 
We’re still several days away.”
 
She hesitated a moment, then continued, her voice quiet.
 
“We lost O’Neil.
 
I’m sorry, sir.
 
There was nothing anyone could have done.
 
Everyone else is okay.
 
Nothing life-threatening.
 
According to Petty Officer Lee, the Tassali saved your life.
 
You were in the shuttle bleeding out as fast as you could.
 
She stuck her hand in the hole and the bleeding stopped.”

Dillon lifted his head off the pillow, tilting it so he could look at the medic right side up.
 
“She what?”

Singh nodded.
 
“I kid you not, sir.
 
Lee and Graham carried you in here, which opened things back up, and right in front of me she did it again.
 
She held her other hand under your neck and talked to you, which seemed to calm you down.
 
She stayed here and kept at it while I tried my hand at surgery.
 
Just reached in and held her fingers against anything leaking, and the bleeding stopped.
 
Must have coagulants coming out of her fingers or something.
 
Biologically compatible with humans, somehow.”
 
The medic shrugged limply.
 
“I have no idea, sir.
 
This is all beyond my skill level.”

“I’m here, so it must’ve worked.
 
Thank you, Singh.
 
I mean it.”

Her smile was weary.
 
“Sir, you should really thank the doctors back on New Halifax.
 
They were online and talked me through it.
 
And Chief Black for two units of B-positive.
 
And the Tassali.”

“I will, Singh.
 
But right now I’m thanking you.”

She smiled a bit wider.
 
“You’re welcome, sir.”

“So, did we get the supplies?”

“Yes, sir.
 
After we fried the mercenaries, we stayed over the settlement.
 
The locals didn't give us any more trouble.
 
They stayed out of sight while we collected everything.”

“Good news,” said Dillon.
 
He tried to shift his position, but winced as pain sliced through him again.

“Sir,” said Singh, “would it be any use for me to ask you to lie still for a few days?”

“Not really.
 
Help me up?”

“How about if I ordered you, sir?
 
I can do that, right?”

Dillon frowned.
 
“Yeah.
 
But a few days?
 
C’mon, Singh.”

“At least one day, sir.
 
There’s an infection from the dog drool, and I’m concerned about internal scarring.”

“Scars will make me look rugged.”

“No, sir.
 
Twenty-four hours.”

The Captain sighed and let his head fall back on the hard pillow.
 
“Okay, okay.
 
You win.
 
You and the dog drool.
 
Can I at least have a datapad?”

The medic nodded wearily.
 
“Thank you, sir.
 
I’ll get you a datapad, but you’ll have to be quiet.
 
I’m going back to sleep.”

Dillon looked at the examination bed she was sitting on.
 
“What, here?
 
These things are padded with cement.”

She just shrugged.
 
“This is where the patient is, sir.”

-----

“Head Mechanic, sir?
 
There might be a leak somewhere.”

Able Seaman Anderson, one of the
Borealis
’ new apprentice Mechanics, was looking at a warning message on the engine room console.
 
He tapped at the display with a knuckle.

Saparun looked over from the fabricator.
 
“Why are you tapping on the display, apprentice?”

Anderson shrugged.
 
“It's tradition, sir.”
 

The Dosh nodded and returned his attention to the fabricator.
 
He waited while it worked, his right hand absently poking at the bandage on his left hand.
 
When the fabricator beeped, he reached in and pulled a newly-made part from the machine.
 
Giving the new plasma shaper a quick inspection, he set it down on the workbench at the end of a neat row of identical parts.
 
“Fourteen,” he said, mostly to himself.
 
Brushing fine fabricator dust from his red coat, he walked over to where Anderson was standing.

“Cold water, sir,” said the apprentice, pointing to the highlighted display window.
 
“Enough for someone leaving the tap on full-tilt.
 
Comes and goes.”

The Dosh looked sideways at the human.
 
“Full tilt?”

“I mean, fully open.
 
Sorry, sir.”

“No need to apologise.
 
Yes, that is a lot of water being used for this time of day.”
 
He slid a red-skinned finger across the display, tapping at different commands.
 
“Ah.
 
No need.
 
We should let this pass.”
 
He started poking at his bandaged hand again.

Anderson read the output in front of him.
 
“The Tassali’s cabin?
 
She’s been running the shower on cold for ten minutes, it says.
 
Five times, with long breaks in between.”

“Good,” said Saparun.
 
“If this is the fifth time, she’s nearly done.
 
And we should not speak of this.”

The apprentice looked suspicious.
 
“Sir?
 
I don’t follow.
 
Someone ought to mention—”

The Dosh held up a finger.
 
“No, Seaman Anderson, we ought not to mention.
 
The Tassali is finishing a ritual of cleansing.”

“Ritual?”

Tapping the console again, the display window closed.
 
The Mechanic’s voice was soft and smooth.
 
“Apprentice, I have seen Palani temple commandoes.
 
I have been chased by them.
 
I have never been so frightened as I was then. They exist to give and take life in the name of their Divines.
 
They are not to be trifled with.”

Saparun paused a moment, looking toward the far end of the engine room.
 
He looked back at Anderson.
 
“The Tassali are not just priests among the Palani, they are… revered.
 
Clean.
 
Holy.
 
Unlike other Palani, a Tassali must not touch any unclean creature.
 
Doing so makes them less holy.
 
The ritual cleansing…,” he pointed at the readout, “...negates the unclean touch.”

Anderson frowned.
 
“They give and take… wait, so we’re ‘unclean’ to them?”

Saparun nodded.
 
“Indeed.
 
All non-Palani are unclean.
 
Like animals.
 
Who must not touch a holy Tassali.”

“They’re comparing humans to animals?
 
What about your people?
 
Are the Dosh also unclean?”

The Mechanic nodded again.
 
“We are.
 
But we are not insulted.
 
Instead, we find it amusing.
 
A suicidally-brave Dosh ambassador once won trade concessions from a Palani delegation by repeatedly touching their Tassali, who had to leave to clean himself.
 
They were furious.”

The young human shook his head.
 
“Your people are… I don’t know…odd, sometimes.
 
Sir.”

The Dosh’s voice was a soft murmur, barely heard above the sounds of the machinery.
 
“I take that as a compliment.
 
Thank you.
 
To understand the Dosh, apprentice, is to know that we draw a sharp line.
 
Between things we take seriously and things we do not.”

“And other cultures’ religions…”

A rueful smile.
 
“We tried.
 
But we cannot.”

“So why aren’t you messing with her?”

“No, apprentice.
 
I will not provoke the Tassali.
 
I am not that brave.
 
Besides, humans respect the Palani ways, and this is a human ship.
 
I will not interfere.”
 
He smiled.
 
“Much as I wish to.”

“But the Chief is fair game?”

The smile widened.
 
“So… you saw what I did yesterday.
 
Observant.
 
However, that is a different matter.
 
As I said, this is a human ship.
 
Also, she started it.”

Anderson returned the smile.
 
“I begin to understand, sir.
 
Trust me, I won’t say a word.”

“Very good, apprentice.
 
To work.
 
Apprentice Stewart will soon return from her break.
 
When she does, we three unclean animals will begin to install the plasma shapers. By the time we are done all two hundred and nine, we will be very good at installing them.”

Tassali Yenaara sat at the small desk in her cabin, leaning forward, her elbow on the desk and her bare arm propping up her head.
 
Long, wet hair hung limply over her shoulders.
 
Her half-open eyes were rimmed with blue.

On the desk in front of her, lying open on a small blue cloth, was her
Erwa
, her copy of the Palani sacred text.
 
The book, made of hand-lettered ink on plant-fibre pages, had belonged to the Yenaara family for two thousand years.
 
It had been created long before the Burning, before the genetic engineering; back when a Tassali’s only special abilities were those of training and conviction.

Her frustration had been slowly growing, and she was relieved when the door alarm chirped at her.
 
She silently closed the book, and glanced at the console to see who it was.
 
Surprised, she tapped the button to allow entry.