Burnt Worlds (52 page)

The ambassador hesitated, then began again.
 
“Revered Tassali of Yenaara.
 
I am pleased to meet you again.
 
I apologise to the Commander for any perception of rudeness.”

Dillon shrugged.
 
“No offence taken.”

Ambassador Estelia straightened, nodded to Dillon, and looked up at the Tassali standing in front of him.
 
He appeared to think for a few moments before speaking.
 
“Revered Tassali, I was just speaking to the Commander, thanking him for the great service he has done for the Palani and all the people of the galaxy.”
 
The ambassador’s eyes searched Amba’s, but she remained silent.
 
He forged ahead.
 
“Revered Tassali, you and the Commander here, you have both come into possession of certain difficult truths about Palani history.”

“Yes,” said Amba.
 
“As I recall, I was being hunted because of it.
 
You may remember how I had to flee the homeworld to avoid being murdered.”

The ambassador’s face flushed with blue.
 
“Yes,” he said carefully.
 
“That was, in retrospect, overly zealous.”

“Indeed.”

The Palani man was quiet a moment, blinking once, his face holding a practised smile.

“Revered Tassali, as I was just saying to the Commander, I hope in future he — both of you — will be able to use discretion regarding those secrets.
 
For the sake of the Palani people.”

“At the moment, Ambassador, I have no need to tell anyone.”

Ambassador Estelia nodded.
 
“Perhaps that is the best that can be hoped for,” he smiled.
 
He produced a small datapad from his robes.
 
“Revered Tassali, I have here a message from your father.
 
He invites you to return home.
 
The Pentarch has agreed that all will be forgiven.
 
All you have to do is—”

“No.”

The ambassador hesitated.
 
“...If I may, Revered Tassali, you haven’t heard—”

“Ambassador, if there are conditions of any kind, the answer is ‘no’.”

“But… but do you not wish to come home?”

“My home chased me out, Ambassador.
 
I have found a new one.
 
One that does not expect me to beg.”

“Well…,” muttered Dillon, but stopped when Amba glanced at him and smirked.

The Ambassador quickly looked back and forth from Amba to Dillon.
 
“Yes.
 
About that.
 
Revered Tassali, it makes some of the Pentarch uncomfortable, the idea of a Tassali… being with a human.
 
If you were to consider—”

Amba’s face became more flush with blue, her skin glistening.
 
Dillon heard the soft hiss of a medical armband giving an injection.

“There is nothing to consider,” said Amba.
 
“I have found a new life, a better life, and I will not give it up just so that the Pentarch can be more ‘comfortable’.”

“I see, Revered Tassali.
 
What message should I give to your father and the Pentarch?”

Amba shook her head.
 
“Tell them I am living my life, free and without conditions.
 
Tell them whatever you like.
 
Tell them that I am at thirty-seven degrees, and I need to, what is the saying…”
 
She looked at Dillon.
 
“Get laid?”

Dillon nodded sagely, suppressing a grin.
 
“Yes.
 
That.”

Amba turned back to the ambassador.
 
“Is there anything else?”

The ambassador bowed deeply.
 
“No, Revered Tassali.
 
Thank you for your time.”

Amba calmly raised one hand, palm out, over the Palani man's head.
 
“May the Divines watch over you and protect you from harm, Delan Estelia.”
 
She turned to Dillon.
 
“I would like to leave with you now, Feda,” she said, starting toward the door.

The ambassador watched the departing Tassali, glancing at Dillon.
 
“Commander, the Tassali calls you ‘Feda’?”

Dillon nodded, turning to leave.
 
“What does it mean?”

The Palani man merely smiled.
 
“You are a most fortunate man, Commander.
 
Most
fortunate.”

Dillon jogged to catch up to Amba, meeting her at the door.
 
Her blue eyes were wide and heavy-lidded.
 
“Where shall we go, my love?” she asked.
 
“My hotel room is a long way away.”

“I still own the old house; it’s close by,” said Dillon, smiling.
 
“Let’s go home.”

Steve Madill hails from the magical land of Canada, and while there may not be any spaceships or unicorns (that you know of), there exists an uncanny natural ability to fix just about anything by using hockey equipment and duct tape.

 
A lifelong reader, and a lover of all things research-intensive, Steve was often left feeling a sense of "what if?" when he finished reading a book. So he decided to answer those questions by writing some books of his own. You may not find any unicorns between the pages (unless they got squashed in the bindery), but you will find compassionate necromancers, reluctant warriors, and an alien who defies pronouns.
 

When not writing, Steve can be found on his blog,
The Edge of the Empire
, pondering universal truths and how embarrassed we’re all going to be when aliens see the Internet.