Free Chosen (HMCS Borealis Book 2) by S.J. Madill Page B

  It's fine."
    "Aye, sir."
    Dillon turned to leave the bridge for the wardroom, but stopped when he saw Tremblay hadn't moved.   The young officer was clearly hesitant about something.   "Sub?" asked Dillon.   "Was there something else?"
    Tremblay leaned in toward Dillon, his voice much quieter.   "Sir, may I ask a hypothetical question?"
    "Ah," breathed Dillon.   "I see.   Yes, of course.   You may ask a hypothetical question.   But the answer will probably be hypothetical as well."
    "Aye, sir.   Well," began Tremblay haltingly.   He'd clearly been mulling something over.   "Suppose that a senior NCO was playing pranks on a junior officer.   What would happen if the junior officer tried to prank them back?"
    Dillon smiled with relief.   For a moment, he'd been afraid that the question was going to be about something thorny, like fraternisation, or misconduct, or the hockey pool.   "Well," he said quietly, "hypothetically, there would be a few rules.   First, no killing or maiming.   Second, don't do anything to the ship that can't be undone without a shipyard.   Third, don't end anyone's career.   And finally — this is the big one — whatever you do, don't be an asshole."
    He saw a small grin form on Tremblay's face; it had a mischievous curl to it Dillon hadn't seen before.
    The Sub-Lieutenant gave a brief nod of his head.   "Aye aye, sir.   Thank you, sir."
    "Also," said Dillon, taking his pen out of his mouth and pointing it at Tremblay.  "Remember that if your hypothetical NCO were the Chief, you'd be taking on one of the best."   He raised his mug in a toast.   "Godspeed to you, Sub."
    "Aye aye, sir."

    *     *     *

    Slender, pure white fingers danced on the desktop, keeping time with the woman's soft singing.   Her harmonic voice breezed through the octaves, singing the song she'd known since childhood.   A song her mother had sung, so long ago now, of the gentle young maiden who charmed the mountains with her song.
    Tassali Yenaara still remembered her mother's voice; could still see her face.   She could clearly recall the scent of her mother's perfume; it was hard to find now, as it was made from the crushed berries of the nearly-extinct valaan tree.   It all seemed so very long ago:   the rituals of family and kinship; the gatherings and meals of the High Holidays; the procession on Elinth's night.   All the long days spent learning about Palani religion, culture, and history.   The life she'd once known.
    Putting down her datapad, she looked around at the small cabin.   Even now, after a year and a half, she still found herself pausing to reflect on where she was and how it was she'd wound up here.   And how totally, completely unlikely it all seemed, sometimes.
    Being born with the inherited genes of the Tassali meant a life of service in the Temple.   Being elevated to the full status of the position brought with it some power and responsibility.   And travel, too. Twenty long, exciting years with her team of Artahel commandoes, patrolling the thousands of planets of the Burnt Worlds.  They were highly trained and endlessly vigilant, protecting the graveyard of the Palani people from artifact hunters and other opportunists.
    And, in so doing, through exploring ancient ruins on long-dead worlds, she came face to face with the past of the Palani people:   old knowledge, unknown truths, hidden crimes.   Crimes she could not reconcile with her faith; crimes which the Temple did not wish to discuss, which they sought to suppress.   But she wouldn't be silenced.   Then came the denunciations.   The house arrest.   The escape into exile, aboard a doomed ship. Days floating in an escape pod, alone, unsure if being found would mean rescue or execution.
    She blinked.   Here she was again, forgetting what she should be doing.   Instead, she was distracted, staring out the window at the blackness beyond.   The familiar tapestry of unknown stars against the darkness,