Chosen (HMCS Borealis Book 2) (4 page)

"Aye aye sir, thank you.
 
I'll get to it right away."
 
Tremblay snapped an excellent parade-ground salute, considering he was still wearing a bulky pressure suit.
 
"Carry on, Sub," said Dillon.

Tremblay turned on his heel and marched from the hangar, awkwardly bumping past the other crewmembers who were struggling out of their pressure suits.
 
Movement caught the corner of Dillon's eye.

With fluid grace, a taller woman stepped down off the shuttle.
 
Instead of a bulky pressure suit, she wore flowing blue robes over a form-fitting white body suit.
 
Where the robes gathered around her head the cloth was rigid, holding in its folds a blue tinted mask.

A slender white-gloved hand tapped at her belt and the robes over her head relaxed, resuming their silken fluidity and releasing the mask into the woman's other hand.
 
Waves of blue hair tumbled down to her shoulders, while eyes of the same vivid hue sparkled at Dillon from a chalk-white face.

"Tassali Amba Yenaara," said Dillon, smiling.
 
"Would you also like to review the mission logs?"

Her voice was always more musical in person.
 
"Captain, you should not make fun of the young man's enthusiasm."

Dillon jerked his chin toward the departing Tremblay.
 
"Was I ever that young?
 
That eager to please?"

Amba shook her head.
 
"Not with me, no."
 
She gave a faint smile.
 
"But I am willing to accept that you may have been young, once.
 
Perhaps even a child, long ago."

"Nonsense," laughed Dillon.
 
"I was born fully-formed, and in uniform."

One delicate blue eyebrow raised higher.
 
"Indeed?
 
Born in uniform?
 
I have never heard this before.
 
What other secrets do you keep from me?"
 
Her laugh was musical.
 
"I am only joking, Captain.
 
Tell me, when are you off duty?"

Dillon glanced down at his wrist display.
 
"Fifteen minutes ago.
 
I need to unsuit, then I need to contact my boss."
 
A frown crossed his face for a moment, and he knew that she'd seen it.

He saw Amba check around before she continued, her voice quieter.
 
"You do not like your new commanding officer?"

A quick scan of the deck showed no crewmembers within earshot.
 
"I don't mind her," he said with a shrug.
 
"She's a senior captain… the only way to get that rank is to be offered a flag-rank promotion, and to turn it down.
 
She's practically a legend.
 
Just a bit…hard to read, sometimes."

"You'll be fine.
 
When you're done, you're welcome to come by my cabin."

With a wink, Amba walked calmly from the hangar deck, smoothly threading her way past the other crew.
 
Dillon began unbuckling his pressure suit.

*
   
*
   
*

Dillon laid his hands on the desk and lowered himself into his chair.
 
His cabin's terminal sat in front of him, indicator lights blinking to remind him of the messages that needed his attention.
 
He sat in silence, staring at the screen, before turning his head toward the cabin's window.
 
Filling the view was the brown and blue globe of the planet they orbited.
 
Their survey had given it the romantic name '289-C'.

He rubbed at the back of his neck, before straightening up in his chair and poking a finger at the terminal.
 
A connection screen popped up, showing the crest of the Third Cruiser Squadron.
 
The holoprojector on his desk whirred to life, resolving itself into the image of a woman. Her grey hair was pulled back into a severe bun, and her arms were folded in front of her.
 
She was leaning forward in her chair, filling the display.
 
"Commander Dillon," she said, her voice rough and hoarse.
 
"I was starting to wonder if you'd got lost."

Great start
, thought Dillon.
 
"Senior Captain West, sir.
 
We just returned from the surface."

The woman didn't blink.
 
"Why are you personally going down to planets, Commander?
 
You have officers.
 
Send them."

"Yes, sir.
 
They've all been on surface missions, multiple times.
 
I was giving them a break."

"How many planets have you surveyed?"

"Seventeen so far, sir."

"How many are former Daltanin worlds?"

"All of them, sir.
 
I'm giving them priority.
 
Best chance of useful intel."

Captain West grunted.
 
"Good.
 
Find anything?"

"Yes, sir.
 
Some promising leads.
 
Just checked out a foundry where they made that exotic alloy of theirs.
 
I'll be sending full reports by the end of the day."

The holographic Captain glanced off-screen for a moment before returning her icy glare to him.
 
"Tomorrow will do."

"Yes, sir."
 
Dillon relaxed a little.
 
A one-day extension for the planetary surveys; that was the nicest thing she'd ever said to him.
 
According to other officers he'd talked to, it might be the nicest thing she'd ever said to anyone.

West leaned back in her chair, away from her terminal.
 
She kept her arms folded over her chest.
 
"Commander, the Palani just wiped out another wildcat colony in the Burnt Worlds."

Well, shit
.
 
"That's not going to help things, sir."

"No, it's not.
 
We keep telling those 'Earth First' idiots not to colonise there.
 
The Palani lost a trillion people on those worlds.
 
Seven hundred years is a long time, but that's not the sort of thing you tend to forget."

"No sir, it isn't.
 
Those worlds will always be Palani, as far as they're concerned."

"Which brings me to your Palani passenger, Commander.
 
You know I'm not happy with you having your girlfriend aboard—"

Dillon's face flushed.
 
"Sir," he interrupted, "I don't think that's—"

Captain West gave a dismissive wave of her hand.
 
"Don't want to hear it, Commander.
 
They can call her 'chaplain', 'cultural advisor', mascot, I don't care."
 
She pointed at her terminal, her finger aimed at Dillon.
 
"There aren't many secrets in the fleet.
 
Everyone knows you and her are so are so far into 'fraternisation land' that you'll need a map to get back out.
 
I don't like it."

Dillon silently ground his teeth together.
 
He couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't make things worse.

"However," said West, "you've got Admiral Clarke's blessing.
 
So there's nothing I can do about it.
 
But I still don't like it.
 
Do you know why I don't like it, Commander?"

His jaw was clenched tight, and he could only mutter between his teeth.
 
"No sir, I don't."

"Because I'm goddamned jealous, that's why.
 
I'd like nothing better than to have my husband waiting in my cabin on the
Bonaventure
.
 
For god's sake, at least tell me you're being discreet."

Dillon blinked.
 
Now he wasn't sure whether to be furious, or to break out laughing.
 
He had no idea what West was thinking.
 
"Totally discreet and professional, sir."

"Do you trust her, Commander?"

"Absolutely, sir."

Captain West leaned forward again.
 
She was close enough to her terminal that Dillon could see the lines in her holoprojected face.
 
Her eyes bored right through him; he wasn't sure if that was due to the projection or if that's how they really looked.
 
He realised she'd been studying him as well.

She nodded.
 
"Good, Commander, I'm glad you trust her.
 
Because you and the Tassani, er—"

"Tassali, sir.
 
Means something like 'bishop'."

"Right.
 
Tassali it is.
 
You and the Tassali are to come to New Halifax as soon as
Borealis
can make it here."

"Yes, sir.
 
We'll get underway at once.
 
May I ask the nature of our visit, sir?"

Holographic hands opened to the air as the squadron commander shrugged.
 
"Goddamned if I know.
 
The Palani ambassador wants to meet with you two.
 
Has to be in person."

"Something about the wildcat colonies, sir?
 
They want us to do something?"

"Could be.
 
They're still demanding we shut down the jump gate.
 
Maybe it's about that."

"The Palani don't usually tell us 'lesser races' what their reasons are."

"No, they don't.
 
So get
Borealis
back here, Commander.
 
Normal faster-than-light travel only.
 
Apart from the gate, all jump travel is still prohibited; that order comes from the top.
 
The science types are concerned that jumping has more risks than we thought."

"Aye, sir.
 
At maximum FTL, we should be there in eight days."

West nodded, then fell silent, pursing her lips.
 
"Between you and me, Commander?
 
Keep your jump drive in proper working order."
 
She shrugged.
 
"You never know."

"Aye aye, sir."

A holographic finger reached out of view at the display's bottom.
 
"All for now.
 
West out."

The projector went dark, its whine fading as it started winding down.
 
Before long, it was silent against the ship's normal mutter of background noises.
 
Dillon leaned back in his chair, staring out the window again.
 

His previous commanding officer, Commodore Sinclair, had been easier to read. Right now, she was assigned to a committee, deciding what to do with the new worlds they'd discovered here beyond the jump gate.
 
Not a cluster of uninhabited worlds — as the media said — but an entire universe; many of the new planets contained ruins of the Daltanin civilisation.
 
The Daltanin had been wiped out by the Horlan, the same species that attacked the Palani seven centuries ago.
 
Many of the Daltanin planets were still guarded by automated defences, eternally protecting their dead worlds.

The new boss, Captain West, was the commanding officer of the heavy cruiser
Bonaventure
.
 
But when the jump gate had opened, the robotic Daltanin ships flooded through, and
Bonaventure
had been damaged in the battle to stem the tide.
 
Dozens of other ships — Canadian, American, British, Indian, Dosh — were also damaged or destroyed, until the crew of the
Borealis
had landed on the Daltanin homeworld and deactivated the defences.

Captain West was right about Tassali Yenaara, of course.
 
Borealis
had rescued her, adrift and alone.
 
Amba — her first name — had come to trust Dillon, as he had grown to trust her.
 
Before long, it had become something more.
 
Apart from their Ambassador, Amba was the only Palani living in all of human space.
 
Her perspective on the Palani and their history were enough for Admiral Clarke to see her as a valuable asset.
 
Valuable enough to turn a blind eye to her presence on a warship.

Dillon poked at his terminal again.
 
After a few moments' pause, a woman's voice came from the speaker.
 
"Bridge.
 
Chief Black here."

He smiled.
 
"Chief?
 
When did you get up?"

"Chiefs never sleep, sir.
 
I've told you this before."

"It's still witchcraft.
 
Are we ready to get underway?"

"Aye, sir.
 
We are."

"Very well.
 
Set a course to the jump gate, then to New Halifax, and get us underway."

"Aye aye, sir."

Dillon paused a moment, his eyes wandering toward the window.
 
"Who's my relief?
 
Who's got next watch?"

"Kalla, sir.
 
Your watch should've ended thirty minutes ago."

"Thanks, Chief.
 
Captain out."

Taking one last glance out the window, Dillon pushed himself to his feet.
 
As soon as he handed off to Kalla, the next few hours would be his.
 
Time enough.
 
A smile spread across his face as he walked to his cabin door.

Pentarch Ontelis dismissed the servants, watching as the last of the young acolytes backed away from the bedchamber.
 
Once the door had closed, he turned around to face the room.

Gone
.
 
The Elanasal Palani.
 
The Chosen One from scripture, descendant of the Prophets, the hope of his people, had left of his own accord.
 
Ontelis sighed, surveying the bedchamber.
 
Once again he had to remind himself, the Elanasal was not just a collection of titles; he was a young man.
 
He had been carefully engineered, one DNA strand at a time, to a specific blueprint.
 
As near to a perfect Palani as their technology would permit, and even that was subject to some compromises.
 
Still, a young man.
 
A boy, in many ways.
 
Wise and intelligent, but uncertain and afraid.