Chosen (HMCS Borealis Book 2) (42 page)

"Captain," said the Tassali at the back of the bridge.

"Yes?"

"I expect their scanners are shutting off when they detect the Elanasal Palani.
 
It would be a sin to know his DNA, so scanners would be configured to avoid scanning him."

"What?" said Dillon.
 
A sin to scan someone — that was new.
 
He shook his head.
 
Fine, he thought, at least now they knew that their prophet was aboard.
 

The ships out the window were now close enough to make out with the naked eye:
 
two groups of three dagger-like frigates, and beyond, the approaching menace of Palani dreadnoughts.

"Anyone hailing us?" he asked.

"No sir," said the comms technician.

"Anyone responding to our hails?"

"No, sir."

Dillon kept watching as the massive ships drew nearer.
 
Each was a kilometre long or more, and narrow like a vast sword blade pointed at them.
 
The bridge crew continued with their duties, but raised heads stole occasional glances at the approaching ships.
 
Dillon understood:
 
the Palani were deliberately messing with them, trying to intimidate the hell out of them before actually making contact.
 

Outside the window, the centre dreadnought was now close enough to fill the windows, almost completely blocking the view of the planet.
 
Fair enough, thought Dillon: if they're trying to intimidate us, they're going about it the right way.
 
The Palani would assume that the
Borealis
was in contact with headquarters, so their little performance was also for the benefit of any Earth leaders that might be watching.

Dillon thought again about the inactive Palani ships they'd glimpsed.
 
A dozen dreadnoughts, sitting idle?
 
Even with the threat of war?
 
It was as if the Palani were ready to go into a fight with one hand tied behind their back.
 
What if they had no choice, but were
unable
to activate the rest of their fleet?
 
Perhaps they had technical issues, or problems with fuel, or ammunition, or personnel.
 
When headquarters found out, they would get into a froth trying to figure it out.

The lead dreadnought was less than a hundred metres from the
Borealis
when it finally glided to a halt.
 
The sharp bow filled their view, weapons ports and emitters all very much visible, and the view of the planet totally blocked by the dreadnought's hull.
 
Dillon tried to remain patient, affecting a relaxed lean against the side of his chair.
 
If the Palani were going to kill them, they could have easily done so already; there was no need to be so close.
 
From here, an exploding cruiser could destroy their own ships.
 
No, he decided, this was just posturing, and the Palani would likely let the
Borealis
sit for a while before making contact.
 
He found himself tempted to go get a coffee.

"Captain," said the comms technician.
 
"Hail from the centre dreadnought.
 
It identifies itself as the
Kaha Devada
, flagship of the Palani Home Fleet."

Dillon glanced at Amba, who was shaking her head.
 
"It means 'Sword of the Prophet', Captain."

"Subtle," said Dillon, trying to keep from rolling his eyes.
 
"Just what we need:
 
a goddamned comedian running the Palani fleet.
 
Comms, please acknowledge their hail.
 
Identify ourselves, and state that we are unarmed."

"Aye aye, sir."

Dillon reached over his chair, pulling his pen from its holder.
 
He popped the end in his mouth, chewing as the ship filling the window began to move, the bow slowly pivoting away from the
Borealis
.
 
"Comms?"

"Sir, they acknowledge that the Elanasal Palani is aboard, and that we are unarmed.
 
We are being instructed to proceed in formation with them to a designated location, where we will receive instructions for landing a shuttle on their homeworld."

The Chief nodded.
 
"Co-ordinates received, sir," she said.
 
"Sent to helm."

"Aye Chief," said Pakinova.
 
"Helm ready."

"Very well," said Dillon.
 
"Manoeuvre as requested.
 
Let's behave ourselves and not piss off the big cranky dreadnoughts.
 
Chief?
 
Tell the shuttle bay to get a shuttle ready.
 
The nice one, with the doors that actually close."

Dillon leaned forward, watching out the shuttle's window as they descended through the clouds.
 
Three Palani fighters flew beside them in a tight formation, leaving trails of vapour that swirled in their wakes.

Below them, Palani Yaal La rose nearer.
 
Gleaming white icecaps stretched almost to the equator, leaving a narrow band of blue oceans and snow-dusted brown continents.
 
Thin lines were drawn across the landscape, connecting cities on the coasts with the interior.
 
From this height, it didn't seem all that different from Earth.
 
An ice age Earth, Dillon thought.
 
He adjusted his grip on the overhead rail, pausing to brush a speck from his dress overcoat.
 

Another hand gripped the handrail next to his, and someone leaned into view beside him.
 
A head of neatly-brushed blonde hair appeared.
 
"May I see, Captain?"

"Of course," he said, leaning back to give her room.

Heather seemed hesitant to get too close to the window, but ventured a peek at the white landscape below.

Past Heather, Dillon saw Amba and the prophet sitting together on the shuttle's bench.
 
Amba's own homeworld was too cold for her now that she'd increased her body temperature, and there wasn't time to lower it again.
 
Her bright blue and white robes were worn over a body-fitting insulated suit, replacing the coldsuit she used to wear.
 
The prophet had come from the chilled medical lab straight to the shuttle, and wore only an officer's dress shirt and pants, without any insignia.
 
Tremblay had been a close match to the prophet in body size, and had insisted that the Palani who was 'almost a pope' should at least dress like an officer.

There had been a lot of good humour aboard
Borealis
, once the Palani had given them permission to land, but Dillon felt it masked a deep apprehension.
 
While they'd done what they set out to do — find the Palani and bring him home — they had no way of knowing what came next.
 
The prophet himself didn't know, and had mentioned a few times that the Pentarch 'wouldn't be pleased' with what he'd done.
 
Dillon wasn't sure if that referred to leaving Palani Yaal La in the first place, or bringing someone home with him, or something else.
 
Probably all of it.

Dillon turned back to Heather, who was now leaning into the window.
 
"How are you doing?" he asked.

She stared up at him.
 
She clearly hadn't expected to be asked something like that.
 
He was surprised how she seemed to grab onto the question and think about it for a few moments.
 
"Have you ever had a day," she ventured, "when you did something on the spur of the moment, and then one thing led to another, and you lost control of it all?"

"Hell yes."

"I feel like that, Captain."

He thought he saw some uncertainty in her eyes.
 
This didn't seem like a good time for that.
 
"Any regrets, Heather?"

She didn't hesitate, shaking her head right away.
 
"No.
 
But yes.
 
I mean, people got hurt because of me.
 
But I don't regret my choices."

"Of course.
 
But the things that happened, they weren't your fault."

Heather seemed to be ignoring him, and was gazing back out the window.
 
"I mean, if you'd asked me about my life a month ago, I'd have said I was content.
 
Not thrilled, maybe not even all that happy, but content."

"And now?"

"Now?
 
I want to be with Elan, Captain.
 
I'm happy and excited when I'm with him.
 
And I want this, all of this.
 
God," she said, shaking her head.
 
"This is the weirdest thing.
 
A month ago, the idea of becoming a mother was the furthest thing from my mind.
 
Now, I want it to work."

"I'm not a doctor," said Dillon, "but I'm pretty sure you're not out of the woods yet."

"I know," she said, looking through the distant clouds.
 
"I know.
 
What are they going to do, Captain?
 
They want Elan back, but they don't want me.
 
Or the rest of you."

"I don't know," said Dillon.

The passenger compartment's speakers crackled with the pilot's voice.
 
"First Class passengers, this is Dove.
 
We're being directed to a landing pad near the temple.
 
Contact in two minutes.
 
Out."

The shuttle banked, bringing a coastline into view far below.
 
Transport lines converged on a city, a tight cluster of towering spires that huddled against the coast, surrounded by wide open plazas and fields.

"I've seen pictures of this place," said Dillon, pointing toward the city.
 
"It's called Resana.
 
It's not really the political capital of the Palani, but it's the religious capital, and that's much the same thing.
 
Over those hills is the temple."

Beyond the city's spires, to the south, a line of hills separated the city from a peninsula with a delicate outcropping of land that curled around to form its own small bay.
 
From this height, the carefully-tended landscape was visible under a layer of snow.
 
Neatly-arranged groups of tall, spiked trees filled ornamental gardens, and paved plazas stretched to the cliff edge, with the sea below.

Dominating the peninsula was the Temple of the Divines.
 
A massive cathedral half a kilometre long, it was a vision in gleaming white marble.
 
There were gold-inlaid sculptures at every corner, and its massive round dome, with blue tiles and large open panels, glittered in the sunlight.
 
Even the way the snow had fallen seemed carefully designed: sculpted drifts accentuated the building's angles and created cleared walkways.

To the east of the massive Temple, a broad plaza stretched toward the edge of the cliff, where the ocean's waves crashed against the rocks below.
 
Salt-laden spray misted the air as the shuttle slowly descended toward the plaza, under the shadow of the dome high above.

In the courtyard below, a group of figures awaited.
 
Heather's face was near the glass of the shuttle's window, as she turned her head one way and the other, trying to see.
 
"Did they bring their kids?"

"No," said Dillon.
 
"The shorter people are normal size.
 
The taller ones are Ensannon: a sub-race of Palani they bred as warriors, ages ago."

"Holy hell," breathed Heather.
 
"They're huge."

Snow swirled up from the courtyard, sweeping around the landing area as the shuttle neared the ground.
 
The robed Palani who awaited them, plus the dozen armed giants, stood perfectly still amid the blowing snow, watching as the shuttle touched down.

While the engines began to slow, Dillon leaned away from the window, checking his overcoat one last time and looking at the other passengers.
 
Everyone seemed to be satisfied with their appearance, so with a last glance at Amba, he reached for the handle of the shuttle's side hatch.

"Commander," said a harmonic young voice.
 
Dillon turned toward Elan, who had taken a step nearer to the door.
 
"Yes?" he asked.

The Palani stood next to Heather.
 
"However this turns out, Commander, thank you.
 
And I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused."

Dillon nodded.
 
If bringing Elan back home was going to prevent a war, it was worth a hell of a lot more trouble than this.
 
"It's alright," he said, heaving on the hatch handle.

A gust of winter air pushed into the shuttle, bringing snow and the salty smell of the ocean.
 
The tails of Dillon's overcoat flapped around his legs as he stepped down onto the courtyard's stones, blowing snow sticking to his overcoat and stinging his eyes.

Ten paces away, five elegantly-robed Palani stood in a half-circle, facing them.
 
The one in the middle was old and slightly stooped; next to him was an Ensannon giant in similar robes. There was a round man and a stern-faced woman, and a bald-headed woman at the end.
 
All wore loose robes that shifted around them with the dwindling gusts of wind from the shuttle's engines.
 
Behind the Pentarchs, a row of giants in ceremonial uniforms, bearing gold-tipped spears, stood like statues.
 
Dillon briefly nodded to the robed Palani, then turned back toward the shuttle.