Burnt Worlds (18 page)

“Yes, sir.
 
Thank you.”

“Okay,” said the Commodore.
 
“Again, this is an unsecure channel, so I can’t entirely tell you what I need to tell you.
 
I want you to check out a particular file from the ship’s secure archive.”
 
She tapped at an unseen console, and a long file number popped up on Dillon’s display.
 
“Give this a quick look.
 
I’ve asked for it to be put on hold, based on your recent experiences.
 
But there are politics involved, way above my pay grade.
 
It seemed prudent to mention it to you.
 
The fleet science arm thinks it might give you ideas.”

“Yes, sir.
 
I’ll give it a look right away.”

She nodded.
 
“Good.
 
Atwell gave me your current supply situation.
 
She’s very good, isn't she?
 
It seems like everything’s in hand.
 
Get the Tassali back to her people, and the Palani just might be impressed with us for once.”

“Miracles do happen, sir.”

“We can dream.
 
Keep me apprised.
 
And quit getting eaten by things, if you can help it.
 
Sinclair out.”

The image abruptly disappeared, leaving Dillon alone in the cabin.
 
He allowed himself to relax for a moment, letting his eyes fall closed.
 

When he opened them again, the console’s clock had jumped ahead by an hour.
 
He reached for his coffee, which had gone cold.
 
“Damn it,” he muttered.
 
He drank it anyway.

The Commodore’s long file number was still showing across the bottom of his console’s display.
 
He tapped it, and then tapped several more times to get through the security warnings.
 
At last, the file opened in front of him.

-----

“It’s called Project Fulcrum,” said Dillon.
 
“I've decided you all need to know about it.”

Cho, a sleepy Atwell, and the Head Mechanic stood around the Captain’s desk in his cabin.
 
The projector showed the image of two interlocking, rotating rings, forming a sphere.

“A massive, permanent long-jump generator.
 
It will create a permanent jump point to another such generator somewhere else.
 
Any ship could use it just by sailing into it.”

Cho nodded, flashing a wide smile.
 
“A jump gate.
 
Straight out of a movie.
 
I’ve read about the theory.”

“Yeah,” agreed the Captain.
 
“And we’re building one.
 
Well, when I say ‘we’, it’s only a few of the human nations.
 
Canada, America, India, Britain, a few others.
 
With a lot of technical help from the Dosh.
 
Everyone else knows we’re doing some research, but not much more than that.”

Lieutenant Atwell raised a hand.
 
“Where is it, sir?”

Dillon dragged a finger across his console, revealing a map of the human systems.
 
“Here.
 
Less than ten light years from Earth, and close to the major colonies.
 
It’s being built on the largest dark-energy concentration in this part of the Arm.
 
The concentration’s so big that it’ll cut the power requirements by a third.”

“How are they powering it?” asked Cho.
 
“I’ve seen the theoretical energy requirements…”

Atwell looked sideways at Cho, rolling her eyes but saying nothing.

“Well,” said the Captain, “they’re using the power plant that was supposed to go in the second British dreadnought, the
Hawke.
 
The one they cancelled.”

Saparun leaned forward, studying the image in the projector.
 
“A much better use of resources.
 
Where is the other end?”

“They’ve built a temporary one of these things about a light-year away from it, so they can do some testing.
 
And the Dosh have recently started construction of the permanent ‘other end’, located close to Dosh Horrin.”

The Mechanic's forehead ridges twitched.
 
“Placing our home worlds a day’s travel apart.
 
That will revolutionise trade and interaction between us.”

“Yeah,” said Dillon.
 
“Except for the problem we seem to be having:
 
ships making long jumps are getting blown up. “

Atwell looked at the other faces in the room.
 
“Sir, it seems unlikely that all this would be a coincidence.”
 
She paused, then continued, “Does anyone else have a bad feeling about this, or is it just me?”

Dillon set the datapad down onto the shelf next to the Captain’s chair.
 
He rubbed at his eyes and leaned back against the seat, watching the navigation display that hovered in front of the bridge windows.
 
Closing his eyes for a moment, he toyed with the idea of dozing, but the dull, regular throb of pain from his abdomen distracted him.
 
His mind nudged him back toward wakefulness with thoughts of his stubborn infection and a list of worst-case medical scenarios.
 
Four days now, and the xenobiotics still hadn’t got a handle on the bacteria from — as Singh had put it — the ‘doggie drool’.
 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Tassali standing next to the bridge window, silently looking out at the expanse of stars ahead of them.
 
She had asked to be allowed on the bridge as they sailed through the Burnt Worlds, and over the past couple days she had spent hours at a time standing in the same spot, watching the navigational display or looking out the window, barely saying a word.

On the overlaid display, a label sprouted from a dot they had just passed, showing the name of the star system it represented.

“Aruhal,” she said suddenly.
 
Dillon turned his head to look at her.

“My family’s ancestral home was there, seven hundred years ago.
 
It had been made to be just like the homeworld.
 
Prettier, some said.”

Dillon said nothing.
 
He just watched the Palani woman as she looked out the window.
 

“Four billion people,” she said quietly.
 
The white face turned to face him, the cobalt eyes seeking his.
 
“We know their names, Captain.
 
We know all their names.”
 
She looked back out the window.
 
“All our people, on all our worlds, who died during the Burning.
 
Over one trillion names.
 
We know them all.”
 
The Tassali faced the window.
 
“The graveyard of our civilisation.”

“But I thought your people won,” said the Captain.
 
“So it wasn’t in vain.”

“Wasn’t it?” she asked, barely a whisper.
 
“Out of three thousand worlds, only five remain.
 
Our bloodlines are forever altered by genetic engineering.
 
Our civilisation, our place in the galaxy, taken from us.
 
Sometimes I wonder.”

“They saved the galaxy,” said Dillon.

She looked back into his eyes.
 
“We never really 'won'.
 
There was no final battle, no heroic last stand.
 
The enemy just…
left
.
 
We never found their homeworld.
 
We never even knew what they were called.
 
We called them
Horlan
.
 
A name from our mythology: the corruption who waits at the end of time.”
 
She was quiet for a moment.
 
“All we can do is honour the lost”

The bridge had grown quiet.
 
The crew worked silently, not taking their eyes from their consoles.
 
Chief Black leaned against the counter at the back of the bridge, arms folded across her chest, eyes looking from the Captain to the Tassali and back again.

Dillon’s voice was gentle.
 
“How do you honour them?”

The Palani’s blue eyes studied his.
 
“A person is not truly dead until they are forgotten.
 
So, we remember them.
 
Seven centuries now, and we have not forgotten.”
 
She suddenly turned away.
 
“Please excuse me, Captain.”

Acknowledging the brief nod from the Captain, she walked briskly from the bridge.
 
Dillon could see the crew trade glances, as they started to speak quietly amongst themselves.

Chief Black appeared by the Captain’s chair.
 
She leaned against the bridge window and faced him, murmuring quietly.
 
“You know, sir, morale’s tricky enough as it is.”

He nodded.
 
“Yeah, I know.”

“I’m trying to imagine,” she said laconically, “a whole planet of Palani.
 
Oh, the fun they must have.”

Dillon shot her a nasty look, which quickly dissolved into a grin.
 
“Chief, you’re a bad person.”

“True, sir.
 
But who’d you rather watch the game with?”

“Yeah, fair enough.
 
Speaking of which, see if you can put the comms together to show a live game from home.
 
Playoffs start tonight, right?”

“Yes, sir.
 
I’ll see what I can do.
 
Maybe a friendly wager among the mess decks.”
 
She shrugged
 
“Or unfriendly.
 
I’m not picky.”

“Are the Royals in the first round?
 
I could contact
Regina
.
 
You know, say rude things to Commander Sanchez about their namesake city.”

“Now, sir.
 
What have I told you about taunting the savages…”

-----

An hour later, Dillon stepped carefully through the bridge hatch into the passageway, his hand pushing against the wall as he walked.
 
He stopped outside his cabin, and silently tapped the console button to open the door.
 
As the door slid open, he stared further down the passageway, then tapped the button again.
 
The door shut as he continued walking along the hallway, passing several other cabin doors before stopping at the end.
 
He pressed a button on the console, which chirped at him.
 
“It’s the Captain,” he said to the console.

After a moment’s hesitation the door opened, and he stepped into the airlock.
 
Leaning against the side of the tiny compartment, he waited for the airlock to cycle, shivering as a burst of cool air blew on him.
 
It wasn’t nearly as cold as before.

The inner door opened.
 
At the room’s small desk sat the Tassali, one leg over the other and her hands in her lap.
 
She wore a loose white robe with her tiara and gloves, and her hair was neatly gathered over one shoulder.
 
Brilliant blue eyes looked up at him, and she smiled as he pushed off from the wall and stepped into the cabin.

“Captain,” she said, her voice a melody.
 
“I am happy to see you.
 
Please sit.
 
I know you are not well.”

He offered a tight smile as he lowered himself into the other chair, facing her.
 
He forced himself not to wince at the sharp dart of pain.
 
“Thank you, Tassali.
 
I just wanted to come by and, well…,” he trailed off, distracted.

Her eyes sparkled in the bright light from the desk lamp.
 
“I imagine, Captain, that you must have a great many questions for me.
 
For instance, you may wonder how I know so much about settlements on the edge of the Burnt Worlds.
 
Or my connection with the
Urlahel
temple commandoes.
 
Or how I learned to shoot a gun.
 
Or how the
Iyurele
touch works.
 
We could start there.”

Dillon looked at her, his mouth open.
 
He consciously closed it again.
 
“I didn’t come here for…”
 
He stopped, then started again.
 
“I have to admit, those are all very good questions.”

The Palani leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes as she nodded.
 
The smile began to fade from her face.
 
“Captain, my family — the Yenaara — is a powerful family.
 
Very powerful.
 
When I was born with the traits of a Tassali, it meant I would be barred from politics.”
 
She opened her eyes, her voice growing quiet.
 
“It was a bitter disappointment for my family.”

Looking down at her hands, she continued.
 
“I entered the service of the Divines as was expected, and began to rise through the hierarchy.
 
Leading a team of
Urlahel
was a prestigious assignment, a path toward power in the temple.
 
And, with the temple’s increasing influence over politics, power in the temple can become political power.”
 
The Tassali continued to study her hands, clasped in her lap.
 

Dillon spoke gently.
 
“What happened?”

She looked into his light blue eyes.
 
“My
Urlahel
unit travelled extensively throughout the Burnt Worlds and beyond.
 
I saw things, met people, and learned things.
 
Things that most Palani people do not know about.
 
Great crimes, committed long ago.”