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

young assistant Lalinn — the blue-robed woman who kept his life organised — was letting herself out.   He tutted to himself; he shouldn't even call her that — 'young assistant' — when she was two centuries old.   But still, she was young to him.
    A stack of scrolls lay on his desk, each a tightly-wound coil of plastic sheeting.   Ontelis picked up the first and held it in his palm, allowing it to relax and unfurl as it recognised his hand.   He started to read.
    It was the monthly report from the governor of Eth Yesid, the fourth of the five Palani worlds.   More of the same, he thought, tossing the document onto his desk.   Eth Yesid had two billion people on it; last month there were fourteen new pregnancies.   All of them failed within two weeks.   Palani children took eleven months to come to term, and none had made it to the second month, not in over two hundred years.   And Eth Yesid was the most fertile of the Palani worlds.   Or, he thought to himself, the least sterile.
    The tall office doors opened again, and Lalinn entered, bearing more scrolls.   She was smart and talented, and had no trouble finding a partner among the temple staff.   Ontelis couldn't remember the man's name.   Nice young man, from a good family.   The two of them had tried for almost a century to have children.   Ontelis remembered her tears of frustration, her stress and anxiety, how days of hope were dashed when a suspected conception came back as a false positive.   Now she was too old, and they had given up.   So many youthful couples gave up.   It made him think of all that could have been.
    "Master Pentarch," said Lalinn, placing the scrolls down on his desk.
    "Lalinn.   Any response from the diplomatic office?"
    "They said that the human governments are still ignoring our messages."
    "I see," said Ontelis.   Of course the humans were upset.   They had every right to be upset; their people had been killed.   Now that the impatient Pentarch Threnia had acted on her own — ordering the fleet to destroy human colonies — Ontelis felt the opportunity for peaceful discussion sliding out of reach.   He sighed.
    "Master Pentarch," said Lalinn.   "There are excerpts from the human media."   She picked up one of the scrolls and handed it to him.
    He took it from her, holding it gently in one hand.   She seemed to sense his hesitation.   "Would you like a summary, Pentarch?" she asked.
    "Yes please, Lalinn."
    "The human governments unanimously condemn the destruction of the human colonies.   At the same time, they all take great care to disavow any connection with the colonists, and insist that they are unable to do anything about it."
    Ontelis saw weariness in the young woman's eyes.   The path from weariness to cynicism was a short one.   "You sound unconvinced, Lalinn"
    Her face went blank; all expression dropped from her features.   Another good heart, closing up against the world.   "Perhaps, Master Pentarch.   Can I help you with anything else?"
    "No," said Ontelis.   "Wait.   Yes."
    Lalinn had begun to turn away, but turned back.   "Master Pentarch?"
    He licked his lips.   Everything seemed so dry all of a sudden.   He searched his desk for a glass of water, even though he knew he was just avoiding looking her in the eye.   "Lalinn, was I unkind to the Elanasal?"
    "No, Master Pentarch," she said.   "You were firm, you set high standards, but you were never unkind."
    "Did I drive him away?"
    She thought about that for a moment.   He watched her; she had an expression on her face that he couldn't read.   "I think," she said slowly, "I think we all did, Master Pentarch."
    With a brief nod of her head, Lalinn turned and walked toward the office door, her robes swirling around her legs as she walked.
    Ontelis lowered himself into the chair behind his desk.   On his desktop, several gems were giving a soft glow, indicating more communications requests.   He chose to ignore them for now,