Purity “Over ten thousand, ma’am.” The constant hum of insects and tall grass whispering played on, but in the comfortable bunker-like tent, the silence following that report may as well have been a deadweight on conversation. Captain Rhiain O’Connell studied the xaser rifle that sat across her lap for a long moment, as the men around her shifted while absorbing the news. “Which camp, Cstaeka?” she asked quietly. Her executive officer for this mission leveled a grimy fingertip at the center of the map spread across the table that occupied most of the precious tent space. “Main one, Cap’n. Durang just reported in, said he’s staking the perimeter with his team.” Captain Cstaeka looked directly into O’Connell’s eyes. “He wants permission to intervene before they kill more people.” Rhiain set the rifle on the table and stood to pace. Her men watched her walk to the tent entrance and stand to see the sunlight play tricks with the dappled ferns that hung over the pond which bordered their small campground. They exchanged grim glances, then looked at Cstaeka. He shook his head at them, then went to Rhiain's side. “Ma’am, you can’t blame yerself for what went on,” he said softly. “That bastard Kulis lied to us about what was happenin’ on this shitball.” “It’s not so much that I believed him, Cstaeka.” Rhiain turned to look at her XO, her expression stony. “It’s that I waited too long to act. The evidence was right there in those camps, with those refugees. Shit – the existence of those refugee camps should’ve told me something.” I was too distracted with Jerith’s death, she thought, her mouth tightening into a thin line. Cstaeka studied her face. “Durang’s there now.” Rhiain nodded and squared her shoulders back. It didn’t help much – that knot of tension ringing its way around the nape made bending her neck at any angle seem like trying to move a titanium 900-meter monument with one’s bare hands. “Tell Durang to send scouts to the three neighboring camps and see if Kulis’s people are executing refugees there, as well. Give them two hours to recon the area. We’ll be joining him shortly.” She thought she saw a ghost of a smile cross her XO’s face. “To what end, Cap’n?” “To deal with Kulis the way we should’ve when we first landed here.” The other men of Cstaeka’s team murmured and hefted their weapons. Cstaeka just grinned broadly, as if he’d been expecting her to give that order all along. “Yes, ma’am.” Two Hours Later The Helis refugee camp now seemed barren to Rhiain’s eyes as she, Cstaeka and five other team members from the Black Spec 6 squad stealthily crept towards an opening in the makeshift fence. Curls of smoke rose from the scattered campfires within to tantalize the sky before slowly dissipating. And yet no children shouted or squalled. No adults laughed or chattered. The abrupt absence of such sounds made her hunch both shoulders. Cstaeka had sent his second-in-command and the rest of the squad to the opposite side of the camp. The plan for now was split up and find Kulis or any other Z’lian, and ensure that the remaining refugees were safeguarded until their Interstellar Armed Forces (IAF) reinforcements arrived. The second team that had landed on Z’lia with them, Black Spec 14 led by Captain Durang, had reported after investigating the other three refugee camps that no Z’lians had been present, nor had any evidence of executions or harassment of the refugees existed. Neither observation indicated, however, that the Z’lians did not plan to systematically cleanse those camps once they were done at Helis. Rhiain had ordered Durang to leave one man at each of the three camps to act as observers, just in case. The seven of them crouched behind a cover of fragrant-smelling Kawali flowers that stood near the camp fence. Rhiain inhaled the sweet scent and watched for any activity beyond the patched, threadworn tents set up several weeks ago by the refugees. A little girl named Leelis had approached her when she had first visited Helis, offering a necklace of Kawali flowers to Rhiain with a shy smile. Rhiain wondered if that little girl was still alive. Cstaeka tapped another member of his team on the shoulder, Jon Taylor who was serving as lookout. All clear? he signaled. Taylor nodded. Rhiain witnessed this and jerked her chin at a small hole in the flimsy fence a foot away from their hiding spot. “Let’s go.” Cstaeka waved at her to go first. Silently, slowly, she inched through the hole, feeling the broken wires above rake through her silvery hair and dig into her tunic. Shoulders, hips, legs, and then she was in. She pulled herself to her feet, ignoring the dirt stains on her uniform but brushing off the few bugs that had attached themselves to her arms and legs with one hand. Her other hand brought up the xaser rifle from its resting place on her left hip, index finger resting lightly on the trigger guard. By then, Taylor, who was bringing up the rear of their motley group was through the fence, and they were ready to move on. Rhiain warily eyed the tents that surrounded them before glancing at Cstaeka and the others. She tapped her rifle, pointed to the teammembers and drew a finger across her throat. If anyone shoots at you, kill them. Then she changed her rifle setting to "Stun" and held up a hand. If anyone tries to surrender, knock them out. Rhiain pointed to a tent and tapped the "Stun" setting again. Same goes for any refugee who shoots. Six heads nodded in affirmative. Soft earth muffled their booted feet as they crept past tents, smoldering campfires and abandoned belongings: clothes, furnishings, obsolete-model airjets, carts, food left out in the open. Spice mingled with smoke and the putrid smell of piss from an occasional “latrine” left uncovered. Rhiain’s throat tightened. No bodies yet, but the hope of finding anyone alive was quickly fading. Twenty-five thousand refugees had occupied this camp; surely the Z’lians couldn’t have killed all of them in the space of five hours. Her com buzzed under her collar. “O’Connell here.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “Durang, Captain.” The other squad commander answered in the same tone. “Where are you, Durang?” “Northeast sector of Helis. We’ve found the Z’lians.” “And the Cilese refugees?” Durang paused. “Lots of bodies, Cap’n. No live natives.” “We’re on our way.” Rhiain nodded curtly to Cstaeka, started walking faster, ignoring the thump, thump of her boots impacting the ground as she first walked, then sprinted— Out of the corner of her left eye, a plasma bolt sliced through the air with a dull whine and buried itself into Taylor’s shoulder. He toppled back with a grunt. Sergeant Hallan Yorross swerved to level his rifle in the direction the plasma emission had come from and fired. A scream was the reply he got. More plasma bolts lanced out from more than six different directions. Rhiain ducked low behind a wood wagon, listening to Cstaeka issueing orders over the rifle fire from his position several . “Omar, tend to Taylor! Yorross, cover ‘em. Hravawitz, Joens, return fire! Do not remain stationary!” She lifted the tiny com mic to her lips then. “I count nine enemy positions, excluding our friend that Yorross just shot, Cstaeka.” “Got ‘em, Cap’n,” he replied grimly. “Go on, meet up with Durang. We’ll send these sonsobitches packin’ to hellfire.” She turned her head slightly to catch his eye. “I’m staying.” “Git,” he retorted. “We’ll be fine. Just watch your ass.” Rhiain nodded back, then took a deep breath before lunging up into a sprint again. Gradually, her gasps drowned out the plasma fire exchange still reverberating in her ears. She could only hope that Cstaeka and his men would pull out of that firefight alive. Somebody had to emerge from this world unscathed. Durang and his team were nowhere in sight when she arrived at the unoffical entrance of the northeast section of the Helis camp. A strange smell hung over this part of the camp, spoiled goods mingled with burned flesh. Bodies lay nearby. And someone else had been expecting her. Kulis Oolina smiled at her, hands clasped together behind him, feet planted at least a decimeter apart to give him balance. “Hello, Captain O’Connell,” he said, his expression genial. Behind him ranged a dozen of his men, all of them with xaser rifles trained on her. Rhiain’s gaze flickered to them momentarily before returning to Kulis’s face. She relaxed her grip on her own weapon and rested one hand on her hip. “Kulis.” “This meeting was inevitable, Captain,” Kulis said. “Of course,” she nodded. “Ten thousand was the last count.” “Specifically, ten thousand, two hundred and fifty-four.” He actually smiled, as if slaughtering unarmed people was an enjoyable pasttime. Rhiain inclined her head to one side, as if in thought. “I was not supposed to be here originally.” Kulis shrugged amicably. “That is unfortunate, Captain. If it had not been for Councillor Holis, neither the Galactic Directorate nor the Interstellar Armed Forces would have been alerted about the situation here.” Rhiain smiled. “I’m very thankful for Councillor Holis.” “Captain,” Kulis said softly, looking directly into her eyes, “you don’t seem to understand.” “Then perhaps you can enlighten me,” she suggested. “Very well.” Kulis turned slightly so he could pace, tracing a 4-meter line in the ground between her and his men. “The Cile were allowed to settle on Z’lia because they were a group of wanderers who wished to find a permanent home on a world where they could live undisturbed. Our forefathers granted them refuge here because they saw that the Cile were peaceful and friendly towards our people. We could co-exist on the same world without trouble. “However, there are several Cilese, regarded as great leaders among their own kind, who suggest that it is of no consequence when they begin to encroach upon land that is sacred to us.” Kulis stopped pacing to look at her once more. “We have been gracious towards the Cilese for two hundred years since they arrived on Z’lia, Captain. But we will not allow them to settle on the ancient grounds that those who have Been deem forbidden towards foreigners. Those who have Been are angry now and are causing our crops to die as punishment.” Rhiain shook her head. “That explanation rings too simplistic to me, Kulis. You showed me those sacred grounds the first time my men and I arrived here. You didn’t protest when I stepped on a patch of dirt across that boundary.” “You also are a foreigner, Captain. How can you possibly understand our rites and traditions?” “And yet you regard the Cilese as foreigners still when they’ve lived on Z’lia for two hundred years.” Rhiain stared at him. “That’s no reason to commit genocide.” “Captain—” “Over ten thousand people, Kulis.” The hand at her waist formed a fist. ”Men, women, children? The only difference between you and them is that you came to this world first.” “Yes, we did,” he said quietly. “We are Pure, Captain O’Connell. They are not. And neither are you.” Rhiain smiled tightly. “Then if I’m impure in your eyes, I’ll strive to remain so.” Kulis’s expression hardened, and behind him his men powered up their weapons. “So be it.” Durang’s voice pinged her ear like a breath: “Down—” She let herself fall backward, as plasma once again turned the leaves of the nearby trees red and pink in staccato flashes. In the flurry of screams and fire that followed, Rhiain saw the estimable leader of the massacre crawling away behind some of the tents to evade capture or death, whichever seemed more lenient. She skittered after him, on hands and knees, across the leaf-covered ground behind the tents, spied him picking himself up a mere two meters away, and closed the distance between them with a lunge. Kulis yelped and twisted as she caught him around the knees and brought him once again to the ground on his back. He stared at her through the barrel of her rifle, panting, arms raised above his head, his spotless tunic and neatly-combed hair now in a disarray, elegant clothing covered in grime. They watched each other for a second or two of silence, before he relaxed and smiled. “You can’t kill me, Captain.” “Oh?” She pressed the rifle barrel against his throat and raised a silvery eyebrow. “Why not?” “The laws of your Galactic Directorate forbid it.” He laughed. “I will be arrested by your marines and taken into custody, shuttled to the jewel of the Interstellar Council and put on trial for genocide.” Kulis grinned, his eyes glittering. “And then your statesmen will spend the next six months deliberating in council, seeking to condemn me to some some mining camp for prisoners in a farflung sector of the Quadrant, and I will never be seen again. But I will remain alive. Pure.” Rhiain chuckled. The pad of her index finger lay softly upon the trigger, slowly increased preasure. “Don’t think you’re the only one capable of murdering a fellow sentient being in the name of ‘purity,’ Kulis.” His smile faded. “You will have blood on your hands if you kill me, Captain O’Connell.” “The blood of the innocent Cilese you’ve murdered will be more than enough to justify me. Goodbye, Kulis.” His eyes widened in horror. “Captain—” The xaser rifle squalled, and Kulis’s body convulsed, raised arms twitching, legs quivering before he lay still. Rhiain rose to her feet and stared down at him, lips pursing. His lifeless eyes retained that look of triumph still, it seemed. “So much for your damned purity,” she muttered before turning away. Four Days Later Twelve thousand Cilese refugees from the Helis camp had escaped the planned slaughter that Kulis and his followers instigated, and in the clean-up period that followed, it was enough to hear many of those same refugees express their gratitude to their redeemers for Rhiain to sleep without nightmares – when she had time to sleep. She, Cstaeka, Durang and their teams were there to search for the refugees in the surrounding areas bordering the camp, were there to assess the number of dead and wounded, were there to initiate contact between the Z’lian Ambassador to the Interstellar Council and remnants of both the Cilese and Z’lian parties to resolve the “Purity” conflict. They were also there to greet Fleet Admiral Stephen Erickson of the IAF First Fleet and fill the new arrivals in on everything that had occurred in-system. Once the IAF forces had assumed complete control of the situation, Rhiain quietly led her GD task force away from Z’lia. “You never mentioned the beau,” Durang said during the Jump back to base. Rhiain was sitting at the table in the break room; the tiny, holographic face of Jerith smiled at her. “I would have if he was still alive,” she answered. Durang eyed her as he cracked open a portable of water. “What happened to him?” he asked finally. Rhiain did not look away from Jerith’s picture. “A rogue spec killed him and his crewmembers because he knew too much about his illegal activities.” “Get the rogue?” She nodded. “Recently?” She tried to smile. “Three weeks ago.” “Still miss him?” Durang’s voice was gentle now. Rhiain lifted her head. “Still love him,” she said softly. “But I never had the chance to tell him that.” Durang grabbed the chair next to hers, turned it around and straddled it as he sat down. “Maybe you didn’t have to.” She flicked off the chip-sized holograph emitter and pocketed it. The silence between them stretched on, comfortably, for another minute. “I let my grief get in the way at Z’lia,” she ventured. “If I’d focused on the mission…” “Whoa!” He raised a hand to stop her. “Whoa. What the hell gives you that idea?” “What idea?” “That you failed on Z’lia. You couldn’t have known Kulis was going to stir up a fucking rebellion down there and go on a killing spree.” “Durang, I’m familiar enough with my own habits and little quirks in mission mode to know that I wasn’t concentrating on what was important.” He shrugged and downed some more water. “Well, I ain’t going to interrupt ya if this is a pity party.” Rhiain sighed and pulled him back down when he started to stand. “Cstaeka told me the same thing.” “Cstaeka’s right, you know.” He continued to watch her for another minute, sipping slowly from the portable. “Find your little friend?” “Yes.” Rhiain had to smile. Leelis, the little girl who had given her the Kawali flower necklace, and her family escaped into the nearby woods with many others when the Z’lians had begun executing people. Durang nudged her shoulder with a finger. “There you go, O’Connell.” She raised an eyebrow at him in question. “You saved her life, didn’t you?” “What constitutes saving a life to you, Durang?” He thought about it a moment, then said, “Stopping the bastards who’re killing innocent folks before they kill you.” Rhiain slowly nodded. “That’ll work.” “You’re not convinced,” he observed. She thought about Kieran Lawson, the man who had killed Jerith and everyone else aboard the Libre. Thought about what he had said to her right before she had killed him. Mercy is a two-edged sword. What is mercy to one being is unnecessary slaughter to another. Unnecessary slaughter to her had been mercy to Kulis. For Purity’s sake. “Give me some time,” she answered, trying to smile again. “I might.” This time he squeezed her shoulder, hard, and stood. “You will.” She waited until he left the room then reached up to her right shoulder to strip off her captain’s insignia. Maybe someday, Rhiain thought. But not today.