Chosen (HMCS Borealis Book 2) (17 page)

"Yes?" said Ontelis.
 
"I am curious to hear your thoughts, Pentarch Ivenna."

Ivenna's wide eyes turned to each of them in turn, her unblinking gaze lingering a while on Ontelis.
 
She was the youngest of the Pentarch, being one of the last Palani to be born.
 
As with all of the last generation, there had been… irregularities.
 
Personality issues.
 
Things not spoken of.

"The Most Holy Elanasal Palani has not been seen in public for some time now."
 
Her voice sang with an awkward lilt.
 
"Some of the faithful are asking questions.
 
I am telling them the Most Holy is in spiritual seclusion."
 
She stared at Ontelis again, her eyes not seeming to entirely focus.
 
"It is not a lie."

"It is not," said Ontelis.
 
Not entirely a lie, anyway.
 
But not the truth, either.
 
Thank the Divines, he thought, for moral grey areas.

"Do we know why he has gone to Earth?"

Ontelis found it difficult — unsettling, somehow — to keep eye contact with Ivenna.
 
"We do," he said.
 
"The Elanasal left a note.
 
He does not understand why he needs to sanction a holy war against the humans when he knows so little about them.
 
He expressed a desire to meet them, and learn their religious ideas."

"So he is indeed wise," said Ivenna, her voice distant and dreamlike.
 
"More so than you."

"It seems."  In the quest to create an ever-wiser prophet, he had succeeded.
 
"I suppose so, yes."

"Then you have done well, Ontelis," said Ivenna.
 
She had a glassiness that came and went from her eyes.
 
Ontelis wondered again if she had been the best choice to become a Pentarch, but the High Church had insisted.
 
With the defection of the Exile, the Church was putting its hopes less in the traditional 'right' families and bloodlines.  Instead, they were promoting those who showed the greatest commitment to their faith.
 
The most zeal.

Ivenna began to speak to the room as a whole, as if directing her words to the murals on the chapel ceiling.
 
"The Most Holy is wise beyond measure.
 
As he spends time among the humans, and learns of their faiths, so too will they learn of his.
 
Through his devotion, the humans will come to see the truth of the Divines."
 
She smiled back at Ontelis, a look of blissful certainty on her face.
 
"In time, the humans will happily submit.
 
Imagine it:
 
our crusade, realised without violence.
 
What a miracle the Divines have given us."

Ontelis held his shoulders where they were, though he wanted to slump.
 
He forced a smile to his face, though he wanted to cry.
 
Even now, a tightness in his chest was making him pause before he spoke.
 
Here, in this room, he was watching the decline of his people.
 
"I have great faith," he said carefully, though his voice cracked once, "In the wisdom of the Prophet."

Early morning had a way of filling the senses.
 
The smell of the damp in the air, the hiss of water on the road and the drumming of raindrops on the umbrella.
 
Lights were blurred in the haze, and puddles were filled with the mesmerising patterns of ever-changing ripples.

Elan stepped sideways around a puddle.
 
It was time to go, he had decided.
 
Thanks to the makeup on his face, he could now move freely around Earth without risk of being recognised.
 
It was time to explore, to find the answers he sought.

Once again, Elan found himself thinking of Heather. Only a few hours ago he'd untangled himself from her snoring embrace, and returned to the dark silence of his own room.
 
Moving quietly in the light of the full moon, he'd put on his coldsuit and got dressed, packing the few extra clothes Blaine had lent him.
 
He'd taken the time to double-check his coldsuit; even if he didn't activate it, he figured he should have it on.
 
While the morning was raining and blessedly cool, he didn't know where he would be by day's end.  He might not have the opportunity to put on the suit discreetly, if the need arose.
 

The hardest part had been trying to decide if he should leave a note for Heather.
 
A few words, to let her know that he meant everything he'd said.
 
To let her know that he intended to come back and, if circumstances and the universe permitted it, he would.

But being in charge of his own life wasn't something he was used to, and he doubted it would last.
 
He would have to return to the homeworld, to Palani Yaal La.
 
The Pentarchs would only tolerate his disappearance for so long.
 
Eventually they would have to produce him to their people, or explain his absence.
 
There were, after all, three billion Palani looking to him for salvation.

With a loud hiss of tires on pavement, a car went by in the road next to him.
 
Water leapt up from a puddle, splashing down upon the sidewalk and his feet.
 
It made him stop, and jolted him from his daydreaming.

Was this really about leaving?
 
About going out and seeing the world of the humans, as he'd originally planned?
 
Because the starport was five minutes from the apartment, and instead he'd wandered downtown, a half hour's walk in the opposite direction.

No, he decided, it wasn't just about leaving.
 
It was also about leaving
her
.
 
He'd met four humans in his time here, and they were completely unlike what he'd been led to believe.
 
He'd seen videos, recorded by Palani scouts on previous visits to Earth — back before the Horlan, before the Burning — when the Palani could travel the galaxy at will.
 
In the old videos, the humans lived in primitive conditions.
 
The powerful ruled from stone fortresses, their brutal will enforced by steel swords.
 
The poor lived in something akin to slavery, with the constant fear of hunger, disease, and violence.
 
The religions of the day provided little relief, and instead focused on providing legitimacy for the ruling elite.
 
It all seemed so barbaric, compared to the Palani's soaring cities, elegant starships, and rich, peaceful culture.

But these four humans seemed more akin to Palani than to their own barbaric ancestors.
 
Not saints by any means, but still capable of intelligence, imagination, caring, and a host of strong emotions.
 
And one of them, with her incandescent passion, her sputtering frustration and stubborn hope, was so completely, furiously
human
.
 
Disarming and compelling; she was a woman who would fight to the bitter end for something — or someone — she believed in.
 
It was unlike anything he'd experienced before in his soft, insulated years in the Temple, and it was something he wanted in his life.
 

In the end, he'd decided to leave a note.
 
Heather so longed for certainty and commitment in her life.
 
He had left four simple words, in his careful calligraphy's best approximation of English characters.
 
Four words, to tell her how he felt.
 
He hoped it translated well.

That had given him a thought.
 
It was probably a bad idea, but one that had taken root in his mind and wouldn't let go.
 
He looked up at the blocky entrance of the building next to him.
 
Its bland, concrete sides were darkened with rain, the letters of its sign glistening and wet:
 
Ottawa Public Library
.
 
A smaller sign in the window said,
Free Net Access
.
 
Elan approached the doors and they opened for him, as he tried to figure out how to close his umbrella.

*
   
*
   
*

Heather stood on a street corner, rain streaming down her face.
 
She'd pulled a cap over her hair and put on a raincoat before heading out into the rain.  The cap was now soaked, and the raincoat was leaking.
 

She wanted to scream.
 
When she'd woken up, Elan had been gone.
 
His gentle, cool form was missing from the bed and from the apartment.
 
All he'd left was a note:
 
I will come back
.
 
What bullshit was that?
 
Every man in her life had promised to come back, or to be faithful, or any one of a thousand other things to keep her waiting for them.
 
Like leaving a book on the shelf, in case they felt like looking at it for a moment, some day in the future.
 
But none of them did; none of them had kept their word.

Heather looked up into the falling rain, letting it patter against her face and run down her cheeks and neck.
 
At least no one could see the tears trickling from her eyes.
 
She could just stay here, in the rain, until all of her problems washed away.

For over an hour, she'd been out looking for him.
 
The makeup and clothes were gone — as well as Blaine's favourite umbrella — so she knew it wasn't just a stroll in the rain.
 
He really was leaving.
 
He'd be going by ship, she figured, to somewhere else on Earth or on another human planet.
 
She'd walked all the way around the perimeter of Rockcliffe Spaceport, peering through the fence, hoping to catch a glimpse of him sneaking aboard a ship.
 
But all she'd managed to do was look suspicious.
 
The police officer who pulled up had been sympathetic, but what could she tell him?
 
That she was looking for an alien, wearing makeup, who was trying to stow away on a ship?
 
No, she'd just told the officer about her friend — with his hair dyed blue — who had a fondness for ships.
 
The cop had taken down her name and offered to keep an eye out for her 'friend', but she knew he didn't believe her.
 
She was probably on a list now, of suspected troublemakers and/or lunatics.

And wasn't she?
 
Standing on a street corner in the pouring rain, staring up at the sky and dying to shout profanities at the universe.
 
She'd done the same stupid thing she always did with men, and somehow expected it to have a different outcome.
 
Wasn't that one of the definitions of insanity?
 
She should probably get herself locked up, for her own good.

Her hands were sore, and she realised she'd been clenching her fists.
 
Painfully opening them, she reached up with cramped arms and dragged her soaking wet cap, dribbling with water, off her head.

Turning her gaze down to the sidewalk, she started walking.
 
The rain poured down on her head, running in rivulets through her tangled mess of hair.  It trickled down her shoulders to her back, where it soaked through the ineffective raincoat.

She'd wanted him to be different.
 
He was the most unique guy she'd ever met.
 
Always so calm, so kind, so gentle.
 
He had a serenity about him that she admired and craved.
 
And last night together, she'd poured all her frustrations, anxieties and desperation out to him, expecting him — defying him — to push her away.
 
But through it all he'd stayed the same, his coolness embracing her as she'd exhausted all her energy and tension.
 
She'd been so drained she could barely think, and had drifted easily into a deep sleep.
 
And then she woke up and found him gone.

Heather needed to believe he was different.
 
She shook her head;
he had better be
, she thought,
or I'll kill the little white bastard myself
.
 
She started walking faster, turning in the direction of home.

Dillon slowly cracked his eyes open.
 
He had no idea what time it was, but the ceiling above his head wasn't the ceiling of his cabin.
 
His mind groaned to life, trying to remember the previous day.

There was the meeting with Admiral Clarke and the Palani ambassador.
 
The Palani prophet had gone missing, and was believed to be on Earth.
 
Borealis
was being sent to find him and take him home safely.
 
But the sudden change in
Borealis'
mission had to appear mundane, so they'd invented a maintenance issue.
 
That meant a 48-hour leave at New Halifax, for the entire crew, and there wasn't a single hotel room available planetside, so here he was…

The room's entire end wall was a vast window, and light spilled in as the planet of New Halifax slid into view.
 
As Borden Station rotated, the planet continued to fill the window, its blue seas and swirling white clouds stark and beautiful against the star-studded backdrop of space.
 
Reflected light from the planet washed across the ceiling, chasing away the dark shadows that fled into the corners.

Cool, smooth skin shifted against his own, and he lifted his head from the pillow, peering down toward his chest.
 
Long, cobalt-blue hair spilled over his chest like a silken cloth, and slow curves of white skin were curled up alongside his own.
 
One arm was curled over him, the hand laying possessively on his chest.
 
Now he remembered the rest of the evening, and a smile spread across his face.
 
If only he could keep the world away, and stay here a while longer:
 
only a while, like, say, the rest of his life.
 
He had a feeling it would be a very long time before they would have days like this again; for now, they would have to make do with a few hours.