Infinity's End: Books 4-6, page 5
Mil’less’s face filled the screen. Like Zenfor’s it was a blue velvet in color with dark hair, though her face was fuller than Zenfor’s. Her ridges weren’t as pronounced either, but that was common of her caste. Behind her were a couple of humans and a species Zenfor didn’t recognize, all of them scurrying about to different areas. “It’s good to see you, Consol.”
“And you. Progress?”
“Little to no progress thus far. The humans show little aptitude for innovation or resiliency. I don’t expect to make much headway here. I assume you are having similar issues.”
Zenfor grimaced inwardly. She hadn’t informed her colleague about how they’d managed to escape the creature, and the fact she’d used some of their technology on the ship’s engines. She’d made a private request to the captain not to reveal the information yet and it seemed he had kept his word. They may not be the smartest beings this side of space, but they could be trusted. At least some of them.
“Things are proceeding slowly. What are your thoughts on moving things forward…at an accelerated rate?”
Mil’less’s face twisted. “Are you suggesting we help them with our own technology? Consul, you can’t be serious.”
She’d known Mil’less a long time. Ever since back at the training grounds. She’d always been a level-headed and competent worker. Bred for scientific research, specifically interstellar combat. Her breed had been the entire reason Zenfor had brought her with her instead of Kayfor, who had wanted to come instead. However, he was too sympathetic to the Coalition. It was his misjudgment that could have cost them everything had the human been an actual threat. No one escaped the judgment room, ever.
Still, she was glad they hadn’t executed Caspian. He was competent and fair. As was Commander Diazal. Zenfor understood what made them a good team, even if they were at each other’s throats half the time. And in them she saw something she didn’t often feel: envy. Beyond Kayfor there was no one on board the Renglas who would interact with her the way they did with each other. While that wasn’t uncommon, it did make her long for the days with her close ones, to experience that commonality again. Though Caspian had opened up to her. And she to him, much to her surprise. Few Sil knew about Zakria and what had happened to her at the training camps. It was not something Zenfor shared easily.
“Mil’less, I’m not suggesting we give them the key to the Vault. What I am suggesting is we move this mission forward faster. If all of these people are about to be destroyed anyway, what does it matter what we share with them?”
“How can you be so sure this threat is hostile? We know nothing yet. The evidence is inconclusive at best.”
Zenfor pushed air through her nose in frustration. Sometimes she hated these biological functions. If she could just be connected to her ship again—
“Yes, the evidence,” she repeated. “Have you been in contact with the Sanctuary?”
“They do not approve or disapprove of your decision. I believe they are still in a deadlock.”
Those people. They would be in a deadlock until the end of time if it were practical. She was glad she hadn’t been born a politician. “Then we proceed as agreed. Do not assist the Coalition species, do not give them anything other than support as they work. Suggest new ideas, but do not show them how to implement them.”
Mil’less stiffened. “Of course, Consul. I would never do anything but.”
“Report to me as soon as you make any progress. We’ll be moving out of instantaneous communications range in a few days. My replies will be limited.”
Mil’less drew her dark eyebrows together. “You’ve traveled that far already? I didn’t think the Coalition had the capability—”
“This is their fastest ship. And that they did develop on their own. If you get the opportunity, interact with a Claxian. They are a fascinating species.” Her only hope was that information from Tempest to Mil’less was being filtered. As long as Zenfor didn’t speak in any specifics, the lie would hold. She would deal with the fallout when they returned. If the Sanctuary eventually disagreed with her actions she would be forced to retire and allow another consul to take control of Renglas. They wouldn’t send her to the recyclers, not over this.
“I understand, Consul. Mil’less out.” The screen went blank, then was replaced by the Sil glyphs again.
It had been an interesting week. First the event with the creature, which, if Zenfor was honest with herself, was alarming. It had been a multi-dimensional creature, much like her species, and she’d never encountered anything like it before. Her only explanation had been it had come from a different adjacent dimension than the one the Sil co-habited with their ships. The space beneath was an empty place, a place devoid of everything except what the Sil and their ships had built together. But this creature had come from a place where it seemed life was abundant. Something like that didn’t evolve without a robust environment in which it could survive. Unless that environment was an adjacent universe. This universe.
No matter, she had plenty of scans to send back to the Sil once they returned. It would be studied and cataloged all in good time. And if the Coalition ended up not surviving the encounter with this alien threat, the Sil would send ships to investigate the creature in another twenty-seven of their years.
But in addition, she’d had the opportunity to witness three Coalition funerals. All in a row. At first, she’d thought the first one was a fluke, or perhaps a show of ceremony for her benefit. But it seemed they made a large production every time one of their own died. It was a lengthy and solemn occasion, very unlike her own people’s ways. Perhaps it was because for many of the Coalition species, life was short. And therefore more precious. They grieved because they didn’t have enough time in this world before it was all over. Rarely did Sil feel that way, though Zenfor couldn’t help but think back to Zakria, who had helped her become the consul she was now. And she had been unceremoniously hauled away and recycled without another word. Had she been ready? Had she accomplished all she’d meant to in her life? It was impossible to know, but something about that had never sat right with Zenfor. And seeing the funeral rites for each human lost, and the way their fellow crewmembers honored and revered them even in death was…refreshing. What did other Coalition species do for funerals? All those lost had been human, was it different for the other species?
Zenfor left the weapons lab, making her way to the adjacent Engineering sections until she entered main Engineering. As usual, the place was humming with activity.
Consul, it is always a pleasure. Sesster’s voice appeared automatically in her mind. It was unsettling at first to have him communicate in this way, but considering his species was without verbal communication it only made sense. It reminded Zenfor of being back on Renglas, where she could feel the ship through her biosuit. It wasn’t a telepathic connection like Sesster, but it was more attached to feelings and emotions than thoughts. It was always easy to tell when the ship was upset.
Thank you, Commander. It is a pleasure to speak with you again, Zenfor thought. The less she verbalized among the other species the better.
You have come with a question. Please ask.
How do Claxians handle death? Do you have funeral proceedings?
He was silent a moment before responding. Claxians have long and complex mourning periods for our dead. On the day of their passing we commune with each other and all activity is halted for a specified period of time. The body is taken to a facility which separates it into its component elements. Each element is then given to a family member, representing the ties that bound them together.
If no family members are present, they are given to friends, or even strangers. When a Claxian dies, we are all affected, and it stays with us. We keep the elements and use them in various ways, when we create something important to us. In this way, our loved ones live on in our efforts. If you meet a Claxian there is a good chance they are in mourning for someone they have lost. We do not dwell on them, but we do not forget them either. In the most important way, our dead never leave us. Our ceremonies allow us to never forget who we have lost. And they do not allow us to forget to honor them.
Again, elaborate ceremonies for people who were no longer alive. Though what was it Commander Diazal said at the funeral? It wasn’t for those who had passed but those who were left with the pain? Something about it seemed very appropriate; more so than tossing a body into a recycler, leaving nothing behind. In fact, the Coalition had used extra resources for their funerals. There hadn’t even been any bodies and yet they had received boxes which represented them. It was all very fascinating.
Something on your mind, Consul?
Zenfor shook her head. Just thinking. I appreciate your input. Enjoy the rest of your day.
You too, Sesster said. If you have the chance, I suggest visiting the planet. Cypaxia is one of the jewels of the Coalition, at least by human standards.
Zenfor caught the eye of Ensign Tyler and a few of the other Engineering personnel, no doubt wondering what she needed. She still wasn’t fully onboard with Tyler but for the time being she could stand to be around him without wanting to tear his tiny head from his body. I may do that, she responded. Thank you.
She returned to the weapons lab with her thoughts full of all the strange Coalition rituals. They weren’t efficient by any means, and yet they had a certain appeal. She made a mental note to do further research once she’d tackled the next issue plaguing the ship: her offensive weapons. She buckled down and got to work.
Chapter Eight
Cas followed Evie along the walkway until they reached the doorway into the large facility. There was a soft breeze on the air prompting Cas to recall the last time he’d had anything other than recycled air. For seasons he’d been jumping from ship to station to ship and back again, and to feel real gravity and the smell of salt in the air was invigorating. No wonder people came here to relax and feel better. He had to pause a moment to take it all in, the last thing on his mind had been the environment. It was as if just being in this place could remove all the stress from him. He glanced out over the ocean, where Rrethal hung high in the sky, though he could still see the faint outline of three of Cypaxia’s moons; shades of crescent white against the blue sky. It was remarkable how much it was like Earth. Even many of the trees and plants looked familiar.
Evie cleared her throat. Cas glanced over to see her waiting by the door, her mouth in a thin line. Okay, this place didn’t relax everyone. But that didn’t mean he still couldn’t appreciate it. “Sorry. It’s been a while since—” He came up beside her.
“I figured,” she cut in. “C’mon.”
They entered what seemed to be the main lobby of…what was this, a retirement community? Cas couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was just another hotel, like the towering skyscrapers they’d seen on the way in. Though why anyone would want those things impeding the natural beauty of this place was beyond him.
Evie strolled up to one of the desks off to the right of the main entrance. The ceiling was at least twenty meters above them, covered in muted beige colors with faint highlights, designed to create a calming atmosphere he supposed. Near the ceiling were a series of windows allowing an abundance of light in from either side, which then filled the rest of the large space easily. In front of them was a gigantic atrium window which looked out on the ocean, the view completely unimpeded. The lobby held an abundance of chairs, couches, and tables where people sat or milled about. It was easily one of the most extravagant things Cas had ever seen. Did these people ever see a day of work in their lives? Did they know what the officers and crew of the Coalition were out there doing for them right now? Probably not. No, they were more concerned with relaxing here, in a virtual paradise and couldn’t be bothered with the minutiae of the rest of Coalition life.
“Had to check in,” Evie said, trotting over. “Policy. Come on, he’s down this way.”
Cas nodded and followed her to the right where she entered a smaller corridor, though it was still tall enough for a Derandar to walk through comfortably. “When we get there,” Evie continued, “I don’t need you to go in. Just wait outside for me. I’ll call you if I need you.”
“Then what did I come for?” Cas asked.
“Because if you weren’t here there’s a good chance I’d still be sitting in that shuttle, debating whether to get out or go back to Tempest.” She took a measured breath.
This was a big deal; she was taking a big leap bringing him along. He was going to do everything he could not to disappoint her. “Is there anything else I should know before we get there?”
“No, if all goes well you won’t even meet him. In fact, I’d prefer you don’t,” she said, her pace picking up. Cas couldn’t argue with that. He wouldn’t want anyone to meet his father either, not after the bastard had left him to rot without even an ounce of support after his court-martial. As far as Maxcence Robeaux knew, his son was still serving out his term on Dren. And if Cas had anything to say about it, it would stay that way.
He picked up his own pace to keep up with Evie. Cas couldn’t help but notice the art hanging on the walls in the hallway. Each one was of the same style, though they all showed different landscapes, some with figures and some without. One seemed to be the view from the atrium they’d just left, but the colors used to represent it were, for lack of a better word, stunning. The painting was awash in hundreds of different shades, almost as if the artist had captured the essence of light itself. The next one in the hallway was no less impressive. It was a pasture from a distance, with small animals at the edge of the landscape. Beyond were ranges of mountains like Cas had never seen before, jutting out from the ground at forty-five degree angles, their tops were capped by snow. It was as if Kor himself had nailed the mountains into the ground at their strange angle and forgotten to right them.
An the third painting Cas stopped to gawk. This one was a portrait of a young woman overlooking a grave. She had long, blonde hair done up in an elaborate ponytail that yanked him back to thoughts of Suzanna, who had done her hair in much the same way. Her face was shrouded from view, but her posture gave the impression whosever grave she watched over had been someone important to her. Again, Cas was struck by the vibrance of the painting, the little details like the shadows in the woman’s clothing and the wear on the gravestone. His heart had picked up pace and he had to take deep breaths to steady himself. The longer he stared at it, the more it reminded him of her.
“Hey,” Evie said, breaking him from his thoughts. “You okay?”
“These are amazing,” Cas said, not taking his eyes off the painting.
“They’re his. They hang them here for the other residents to admire.”
Cas turned to her; his eyes wide. “They’re your father’s? He painted these?”
“And no doubt many more since I’ve been gone. I haven’t seen this one before, but the others I’m familiar with.” She glanced around the hallway and Cas now saw paintings lined both sides of the corridor, each unique from the others. For the first time in Cas’s life, a door opened in his mind that had always adamantly remained closed. Upon this door was written the word fair and when it opened, he considered for the first time that perhaps the Coalition wasn’t wrong in allowing some people to pursue their talents for the good of the whole. Not just anyone could have painted these pictures, but most people could be soldiers or officers with the right training. But to create something like this required a talent Cas knew did not come easily. Was it worth it? To add art like this to the collective consciousness? Was it worth a society where not everyone got to do this?
As he’d explained to Box many times, yes, you could live a life of leisure in the Coalition if you chose. But the cost was someone else would have to pick up the slack. Cas had always believed on some level there was a system in place which maintained the balance. He’d never figured out who got to pick and who didn’t, but the Coalition had been going strong for over two thousand years so they must be doing something right. But when he’d found out about the corruption underlying the entire organization, it had only deepened his belief the selection system was rigged in some way. But now he questioned if that was actually a bad thing.
“I thought you said your dad was a scientist,” he said.
Evie shrugged. “He was. But he was also an artist.”
“But if he could create these, why—?”
“Why risk his life on a starship exploring the galaxy?” She sighed. “I’ve been told it was because he didn’t like the idea of not giving back. His art is beautiful and highly prized, but he felt he needed to do more. At least that’s what I’ve been told. I never met that man, by the time I came along he was different. He’d changed, and not for the better.” She stared at the painting. “But he’s still an amazing artist.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Cas was having a difficult time squaring this in his mind. The man could have led a life of leisure, here, in this paradise and yet he chose to serve the Coalition further by becoming a scientist. Cas wasn’t so sure he would have made the same choice, had he any other talents. Back in his youth he’d wanted to be an actor, but it just hadn’t been in the cards. He’d studied acting, attempting acting, and failed at acting enough times, to the point where even he had to admit it was a losing proposition. Joining the Coalition Navy had been more of a last resort, despite the fact he’d taken to it easily. He would even say he’d found what he was supposed to do, until Rutledge fucked him over. Had that never happened, Cas would probably be commanding his own ship at the moment.
“Can we please just get this over with?” Evie asked, her eyes pleading. “That man in there is not someone you want to admire. He’s sick in the mind and I think he has been for a long time. And it is taking every bit of willpower I have not to walk out of here.”
Cas nodded. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
