Chosen (HMCS Borealis Book 2) (15 page)

"A penny for your thoughts, Feda?"
 
She was smiling at him.
 
"Is that the saying?"

"Yeah," he said.
 
"Amba, would you show me how to meditate some time?"

Her smile stretched into her eyes.
 
"Happily, my love.
 
But we will need more time than a single shuttle ride.
 
Perhaps when our job is done, and we have some leave time together."

"I'd like that," said Dillon.
 
"Just as soon as—"

There was a chirp from the wall console, and the pilot's clipped voice cut in.
 
"Vulture to first-class lounge: contact in five.
 
Your boss is outside, sir."

"Thank you, Vulture," said Dillon to the blinking console.
 
He inspected his uniform, brushing specks of dust from his jacket.
 
As the shuttle touched the ground and its engines slowed, Amba stood up, smoothing her robes with one fluid motion of her hands.

The shuttle's hatch slid open and the bright light of day spilled into the cabin, bringing a strong breeze of warm, earthy air with it.

Senior Captain West stood ten paces away from the shuttle, her arms folded across her chest. She was shorter than Dillon, with pronounced lines around her eyes and greying blonde hair.  As Dillon and Amba stepped down from the shuttle, she unfolded her arms and approached.

Dillon straightened up and gave his best parade-ground salute.
 
"Commander Dillon, reporting as ordered, sir."

West paused before returning the salute.
 
Her eyes squinted to thin slits against the daylight, but he could see the hazel-tinted gaze flick from him to Amba, then back.
 
"You're exactly on time, Commander.
 
Welcome."

"Captain West," said Dillon.
 
"This is the Tassali Yenaara.
 
Tassali, this is Senior Captain West."

Captain West gave a curt nod of her head.
 
"Pleased to meet you, your Grace."

"Senior Captain West," said Amba, her harmonic voice like a song.
 
"I am likewise pleased to meet you. You are greatly respected by the crew of the
Borealis
."

"I am?" said West.
 
She glanced back at Dillon.
 
"What the hell have you been telling them?"

"I've been understating it, sir."

"I bet you have," said West.
 
"Come with me."

West set off at a march across the landing pad, steering toward the main headquarters building.
 
Dillon took a few quick paces to catch up, falling into step beside her.
 
On the other side of West, Amba appeared, also keeping pace.

"So here's the deal," said West.
 
She spoke as she returned the salutes of a group of technicians passing them.
 
"I'll expect you to come make a full report later, Dillon.
 
But not now."

"Aye aye, sir."

"Right now, you two have a meeting to attend."

"Sir?
 
Just the Tassali and I?"

West didn't look at him as she walked, her eyes instead drawn to some sailors loading crates into a parked shuttle.
 
"Should be using a loader," she muttered.
 
"Anyway," she said, raising her voice to be heard over the sound of a shuttle flying overhead.
 
"Yes, just the two of you.
 
Whatever it is you're going to be doing, someone has decided that it's above my pay grade."
 
Dillon saw her shrug at that.
 
"I don't care," said West.
 
"If the Admiralty wants to give you something to do, that's fine with me.
 
I've got enough on my plate as it is."

"Aye, sir."

West cocked her head toward Amba.
 
"Since you're invited, ma'am," she said, "it doesn't take a genius to figure out that this has something to do with the Palani.
 
So, Commander, if you can, maybe let me know if a war's going to start.
 
I'd appreciate advance notice of that sort of thing."

"Aye aye, sir," said Dillon.

The three of them entered the headquarters building.
 
As the door closed behind them, the noise of the landing pad was abruptly replaced by the silence of the corridor.
 
Their boots echoed as they walked past the paintings, flags and artifacts of the navy's past.

"You know," said West after a while, "I may have just failed at cultural sensitivity."
 
She turned her head toward Amba.
 
"I apologise, ma'am.
 
Making a smartass remark about war with your people was in bad taste."

Tassali Yenaara gave a tilt of her head.
 
"I had not thought of it, Senior Captain West.
 
I am an exile.
 
My homeworld's government does a lot of things I don't agree with." She paused a moment.
 
"As the saying goes, 'don't worry about it'."

"Huh," said West.
 
"Alright."
 
Dillon noticed a grin tugging at the edge of West's mouth.

They rounded a corner, to see two armed sailors flanking a meeting room door.
 
A third person was with them, a captain, dressed like Dillon but with a fourth stripe on his sleeves, and around his shoulder the braided gold rope of an aide-de-camp.
 
He glanced up as they approached, his eyes widening as he stared at the Tassali before looking away.

The three officers exchanged salutes.
 
"Admiral Clarke is inside," said the aide-de-camp, without introduction.
 
"You're on time, Commander.
 
Go right in."
 
He nodded to Amba.
 
"Your Grace."

Captain West took a step back.
 
"This is as far as I go, Dillon.
 
Whatever the big boss is up to, it's for you and the Tassali only.
 
Come see me when you're done, if your orders permit."
 
Another brief exchange of salutes, and West turned on the heel of her boot, marching back the way they'd come.

"Commander.
 
Tassali," said the aide.
 
The door to the room slid open, and he gestured toward it.
 
"If you would, please.
 
The Admiral is waiting."

Dillon walked between the two sailors at attention and into the room, with Amba close behind him.

There was a familiar voice as the door closed.
 
"Tassali, Commander, come in.
 
Right on time.
 
Please join us."

Admiral Clarke, the Chief of the Naval Staff, was still fit and trim, but his coarse, short hair now had more grey, and the lines around his eyes seemed deeper.
 
Next to him stood a Palani man:
 
Dillon knew him too.
 
"Admiral," said Dillon.
 
"Ambassador." Off to his right, Dillon heard the soft rustle of Amba's robes.
 
"Greetings to you, Admiral.
 
Aasal
, Ambassador Estelia," she said.

The two men were at the far end of the meeting room, away from the tables and chairs.
 
Admiral Clarke leaned against a counter at the side of the room.  The Palani ambassador, his blue hair run through with white, stood straight and still, his tired eyes watching Dillon.
 
"
Aasal
, revered Tassali.
 
Greetings, Commander.
 
I am pleased — personally — to see you are both well."

"Thank you," said Dillon.

The Admiral pushed away from the counter, taking a weary step forward.
 
"Commander, you've probably figured out by now that there's something going on that involves the Palani."

"Aye, sir."

"Just so we're clear, Commander:
 
what we're going to be discussing is not to leave this room.
 
Not Captain West, not your executive officer, not your chief, not your crew; nobody. The only other person in all of human space who knows about this is the Prime Minister.
 
Not even the Defence Minister or the Cabinet know about this, and frankly they'd be furious if they did. If anyone else wants to know, refer them to me.  Are we clear?"

"Aye sir," said Dillon.
 
Amba nodded in agreement.

"Good."
 
Admiral Clarke turned to the ambassador.
 
"Your Excellency, go ahead."

Ambassador Estelia gave a deferential nod.
 
"Thank you, Admiral Clarke."
 
He bowed toward Dillon and Amba, and paused before he spoke, as if collecting his thoughts.
 
"I have learned in my time in this post that some humans are capable of considerable discretion.
 
You two have learned some dangerous truths about the Palani people.
 
How the genetic weapon we created to defeat the Horlan was successful, but accidentally infected and killed a second civilisation, that we now call the Daltanin.
 
A great crime that, if known, would cause permanent damage to Palani society."

The ambassador paused a moment, and Dillon watched him staring at the far wall, his mouth moving as he built an English sentence in his head before continuing.
 
"You two have shown a considerable and respectful degree of discretion, in not sharing what you have learned.
 
Whatever other differences my government may have with you—" he acknowledged Amba, "—please know that this discretion has been noticed, and is appreciated."
 
Estelia studied the far wall again.  Dillon found himself tempted to turn around and look for himself, curious as to the source of diplomatic inspiration the ambassador was finding there.

"Revered Tassali," continued Estelia, "you are the only Palani living in human space.
 
Commander Dillon, you and the Tassali are the only people my government is willing to approach, along with the Admiral here, and your Prime Minister."
 
His eyes met Dillon's.
 
"I have been instructed to make clear to you all, that coming to you was
my
idea, and I am responsible for the outcome."
 
He moved his shoulders up and down, which Dillon interpreted as a Palani attempt at a very human shrug.

"I understand, Ambassador," said Dillon.
 
"Whatever you tell us will be held in the strictest confidence."

"Thank you, Commander," said the ambassador, the hint of a smile flashing across his white face.
 
"The problem is this:
 
a young Palani man has gone missing, and we believe he is in human space."

Dillon frowned.
 
"I appreciate your concern for your citizen, Ambassador, but wouldn't this be a job for the police?"
 
He knew, even as he said it, what the answer would likely be.
 
There was something more to this.
 
There was always something more.

"Ah," said the ambassador, pausing to push a wisp of long hair back over his ear;
 
his coldsuit creaked as he moved.
 
"My government is unwilling to let the human intelligence agencies become involved, and your government is unwilling to let Palani agents come to Earth."

"Earth?" said Dillon.
 
"Is that where the young man has gone?"

"We believe so, yes.
 
When he walked out of the Temple, he surreptitiously boarded a transport, then transferred to a Dosh ship, then another ship which landed in Ottawa.
 
His current whereabouts are unknown."

Amba made a small gesture with one hand.
 
"From the Temple?" she asked.
 
"Is he an acolyte?"

"Wait," said Dillon.
 
"How did he get on a Dosh ship?
 
How did you know this?"

"After his absence was detected, we conducted interviews.
 
It appears he merely asked to be let aboard.
 
He used
Iyurele
; as you say it, the 'Calming Voice'."

"I'm familiar with it," said Dillon, glancing at Amba before turning back to the ambassador.
 
"But," he said, "I was told the Dosh are immune to the Calming Voice."

"Usually, yes," said the ambassador.
 
He had a pained expression on his face.
 
"But this is a… special case."

A lump began to form in the bottom of Dillon's stomach.
 
He didn't like where this was going.
 
"Ambassador… how special is this boy?"

Amba's voice came from Dillon's right.
 
It sounded brittle, its normal harmonics somehow discordant.
 
"By the Divines, Estelia.
 
Did they finally create the
Elanasal Palani
?"

Ambassador Estelia looked her in the eyes; Dillon knew the answer before it was spoken.
 
"Yes."

Dillon held up one hand.
 
"Non-Palani here.
 
Could someone please…?"

"Feda," said Amba.
 
That surprised Dillon, and he quickly turned toward her.
 
She never slipped like that; she never used her given name for him, not with anyone else present.
 
The moment he saw her eyes, and the tension in her face, he was filled with a sense of dread.
 
Things were about to spin out of control.  He knew it: this was one of those moments where you get a glimpse of your future, and see nothing but turmoil and mayhem.

"Feda," she repeated, and he realised it had been deliberate.
 
"The Palani have been altering their genetics for thousands of years.
 
They are also highly religious; you know this."
 
She glanced at the ambassador, then back to Dillon.
 
"The Temple hierarchy are the custodians of relics: they hold the remains and artifacts from Palani saints, prophets and heroes going back ten millennia.
 
From these relics, they have fragments of the DNA of the saints themselves."