Warrior Spirit

by Laura Kaighn

  “Wait! What’s the big secret?” He was gone before she could remind him with whom he would be confiding. If Vesarius couldn’t tell her, then Tolianksalya’s version must be true. Even Coty would never have been told.

  Had Vesarius’ actions been fueled by open rebellion? Surely he wasn’t feeling this much guilt from a lack of parental communication. Even though these breaches were common failings in human families, Vesar mores had already proven themselves far more rigid and consequential. It was that lack of forgiveness that had restricted her friend’s freedoms from the day he was born.

  “Overbearing society,” she grumbled and strode to the gym showers to purify her contempt. Once redressed, Dorinda went in search of her friend. Vesarius was teetering at the brink of a chasmal Vesar flaw.

  * * *

  Two Vesar stood, opposing pillars of mahogany, amid the backdrop of stars in the ship’s observation lounge. One bristled, barefooted and defiant, against the other. “Why did you reveal my confidence to Jade?”

  “I had every right, Commander,” Tolianksalya countered hotly. “She was ignorant of your immorality.”

  “My actions were motivated by rancor ... and vengeance, Vreels,” Vesarius argued. “To me, they seemed warranted at the time.”

  “Warranted?” Tolianksalya’s hands were on his hips again, legs apart in solid authority. Vesarius defied him with rigid stubbornness, white-wrapped judogi, fists at his side. “You were impertinent, in total disregard for the consequences. Your willful actions against Karn’s threat to denounce you as kin have caused this turmoil. In your rebellion, you murdered Dromalae as surely as Tanoki did.”

  “I made a mistake!” Vesarius bellowed. “I underestimated Tanoki’s ignorance and his greed. I have borne that curse in silence for nearly a decade.” Leaning forward, Vesarius was centimeters from swinging knuckles. “Why speak of it now?”

  “It is at the crux of your dishonor, Commander.” Tolianksalya sucked a deep breath and growled, “You have always been responsible – not Tanoki – for your mother’s death. Judgment was against you, a Vesar warrior in Vesar Council. If you deny this, you have lost all reason. You have become dokt́ai´, a crazed phantom to be hunted down. You are unworthy even of my sight of you.” Jostling an arm at him in dismissal, Tolianksalya spun and strode to stand just centimeters from the plastiglass portal and the dead cold beyond. “You should have died, Grilcmzáe.” His wrath fogged the transparent shield before that frigid void.

  Clenched in Fury, Vesarius tightened his fists, unaware of his nails digging flesh. So, Tolianksalya did want him dead. He haunted the man, reminding him of his past. Worse, Vesarius was the cause of that past. To Tolianksalya he was dokt́ai´, an evil curse on the Tankawankanyi name.

  How could he be allowed redemption? Vesarius had inflicted a decade’s grief on the ambassador. He was a devilish reminder of the man’s lost, loved sister. “I cannot return my mother to the living, Vreels,” Vesarius rumbled like charged thunder. “I can only repay her loss with my own deeds. If they are insufficient, Brahmanii Sule will curse me upon death. It is Her decision now. You have spared me execution once,” he resigned. “I cannot ask you for more.” With a life-draining exhale, Vesarius turned away from his uncle’s rigid back and plodded into the corridor, defeated.

  “Vesarius!” Dorinda called rushing to stand before him. “What happened in there?” He avoided her searching, crystallized concern. “The ambassador hates you that much?”

  With slack shoulders, Vesarius leaned against the corridor wall. He let his skull bang the steel bulkhead. “I should have been executed,” he mumbled his face drawn in futility. “I have caused much pain. My vengeful impulsiveness has resulted in years of suffering.” His chin lolled forward onto his chest.

  Dorinda braced his arms as if to physically support him. “Life’s more important, Sarius. I’ve told you this before.” She squeezed those muscular appendages. “If the ambassador wants to blame you for the next three lifetimes, you can’t give in and be like him. You’ve got to be better.”

  The Vesar’s strained mental synapses registered a slow reply. He tilted his chin to gaze into her creased emerald stare. “We must set the best example?”

  Her response was an encouraging grin. She shook his arms within her slender fingers. “Yes. No matter what others say ... or feel. Our life, together, is more important – more vital – than his is alone.”

  Vesarius nodded at her reasoning. Dorinda’s words made sense. Since his exile, Vesarius had defined his life through considerate action.

  “It’s always been his choice to be bitter, Sarius,” Dorinda continued. “If you’re angry, or happy … or remorseful, it’s always your choice.” She shook his arms again and smiled encouragingly. “To love someone, you’ve first got to make space in your heart to do so ... To let that other in, share your soul.”

  “And if I have no soul?” Vesarius replied. He lifted a tired, ironic brow.

  “No one, not even Brahmanii Sule, would steal what you were given at birth. Mistakes don’t warrant damnation, Sarius. You’re remorseful. You’ve paid your dues. In his bitterness, the ambassador’s become what evil he sees in you.”

  “A strong argument, Jade,” Tolianksalya confirmed from the open lounge doorway. “You believe no guilt exists in the deaths of the commander’s parents?”

  With a gasp, Dorinda took two steps back from her Vesar friend before replying. “No one is to blame, Ambassador. Not now. Vesarius’s lived long enough with this guilt. It’s time to leave it in the past ... where it belongs. You’re the one who can’t let it go.”

  “Perhaps I do not desire to release this bitterness you say I hold.”

  Dorinda simply shrugged at the man’s challenging brow. “As I said before, it’s your choice.” Then she squared her shoulders. “Just don’t drag Sarius down with you. He’s made the best of this life you’ve dealt him. He doesn’t deserve your hatred.”

  “Dorinda,” Vesarius interrupted his deep voice only a mild threat. “You are crossing the barrier between cultures. This is a Vesar matter.”

  “If it involves me, it’s also a Dorinda Jade matter,” she countered with a jut of her rounded chin. Then, in full view of the ambassador, Dorinda stepped to Vesarius. She laid her hand flat against his robe-enshrouded crest and leaned up to kiss him squarely on the lips. “United we stand,” she whispered. Dorinda then marched off leaving both of the Vesar breathless.

  “I believe the Vragjok awaits us, Ambassador,” Saliaktayla uttered from inside the lounge. The security officer broke the mood as surely as the silence.

  “Yes, Lieutenant. We will leave immediately.” Tolianksalya scowled once more at his nephew. “Cmdr. Tankawankanyi, you have fifteen minutes to prepare. I suggest you wear proper attire. The Orthop high chancellor will be greeting us, and he will no doubt request your public appearance.”

  “Yes, Vesarius,” the Pompeii’s first officer replied and shoved himself from the wall. With energy his weary body did not possess, the commander marched to his cabin.

  After a quick shower and dress, he tugged on the leather, flannel-lined jacket a young man had once given him to warm his chilled arms. Now Danny Hawthorne’s gift was slight consolation against his frigid heart. The Vesar needed sleep, but he also needed to save face before his uncle. A lifetime of sleeplessness could probably not accomplish that, Vesarius contended inwardly.

  Adjusting his pack atop his shoulder, he found the landing party waiting in the anteroom, plus one other: Dr. Yolonda Sheradon. “Excuse us, gentlemen,” she said and ushered Vesarius back out into the corridor.

  “You are going to advise me against falling asleep during descent,” he guessed dryly.

  “I’ll do one better than that.” From the medi-pouch at her waist, the physician extracted a mini dermic gun. Yolonda reached out to press the device against the Vesar’s collared neck. “This’ll perk you up for several hours. Make sure you’re back here before fourteen hundred though. You’ll need a
recharge if you’re going to last another day.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.” Vesarius pivoted back toward the transport bay’s main doors. From behind him, he heard Sheradon `tsk, tsk’ again and mumble something about sweet nothings and dragging cats. She knew the warrior was on his last legs. Why else had she been kind?

  Returning to the transport bay, Vesarius felt his muscles warm with new life. A surge of energy pulsed through his blood. Straightening his torso, Vesarius realized how slumped his spine had been.

  Coty stood beside the open transport hatch waiting for him with a look of grim helplessness. With a shrug, Vesarius asserted, “There is always tomorrow. I must be doing something until then.”

  “Don’t overtax yourself,” Coty whispered not wanting the sensitive Vesar ears inside the Vragjok to hear. “Dori’s waiting for you. She doesn’t look happy either.”

  “She will be easy to deal with. It is my adoring fan club which concerns me.”

  That got the proper response from his captain. Grinning, Coty slapped his friend’s leather-clad shoulder. “Just try to keep that swollen Vesar skull of yours from bursting, OK? I advised Tolianksalya to return in time for supper. Six hours max. Of course, it’s his prerogative. Negotiations with the central government are his baby, not mine. Good luck, Brother.”

  With a weary sigh, Vesarius nodded. “I will endeavor to drag the rope.”

  “That’s line, my friend. Tow the line.”

  “Yes, of course.” Vesarius launched himself up the three short steps into the transport.

  “You are eight minutes late, Commander,” Tolianksalya rumbled from the first seat. “We were to meet with the high chancellor in that time.”

  Not acknowledging the ambassador’s dark gaze, Vesarius stepped past him and plopped down in the seat beside the silent Dorinda two rows back. His pack slid before his boots with a dull thud. Then, as the pilot warmed the engines and lowered the nacelles for launching, Vesarius stifled a yawn and forced his body into a stiff, upright stance. He would not show his exhaustion to the ambassador.

  “You are angry with me,” he stated quietly as the Pompeii’s bay doors widened and the Vragjok floated forward.

  “No. I’m angry with both of you,” Dorinda clarified just as lowly, not raising her eyes to him. “I’m sick of your Vesar pigheadedness. You’re both acting like bullies, each insisting on the last word.”

  “Stubbornness you must accept,” Vesarius asserted. “It is a Vesar trait.”

  “Well, I don’t have to like it. You’re going to make me gray long before any children do.”

  Vesarius blinked, felt his heart jump within his shoulder. Children. They had not discussed any plans beyond the bonding since the morning after his father’s honor vision. Not since their early morning together, twisted among rumpled sheets, in the Adirondack cottage by the amber lake. It was the first time Vesarius had held her close ... the last time he had felt her warm body beside him. Vesarius wanted that time again. He leaned back to close his eyes and savor the memory.

  Dorinda elbowed him in the ribs. “Not now, Sarius,” she mumbled between drawn lips. “Don’t you dare fall asleep.”

  Smiling shyly, Vesarius wanted to express his thoughts. But they were not alone. There were other Vesar ears about, ready to pinpoint scandal and crucify.

  Soon the Alliance delegates were again among the tall, humped-backed creatures with their coiled foreclaws. Vesarius exchanged subdued greetings with the high chancellor amid a sea of concerned onlookers. After reassurances were made, Vesarius was asked to again read the wisdom stone sent just a month ago by the Mytoki. With Dorinda looking on, he complied then asked if he might speak to the voicer. Dorinda and he were granted audience and escorted off to speak with the queen’s spokesman.

  “All males, except for the queen, right?” Dorinda asked quietly as they followed their towering guide toward the Orthop’s domed administration building.

  “Yes, the queen is the only female, responsible for the young. She is isolated in a deep cavern somewhere, safe from us.”

  “She doesn’t trust us, does she?”

  Shrugging slightly beneath his weighted pack, Vesarius corrected, “She does not trust her own people. The rebels would want her to breed only warrior Orthops, not bureaucrats who talk peace.”

  “Would they try to kill her?” Dorinda’s wide eyes displayed her disbelief.

  “No, but ...” Vesarius stumbled on his words, hesitated in finishing. His skull pounded in protest. “No,” he repeated and shook off the discomfort.

  “Sarius?”

  Blinking back the fading thrums of his headache and wobbling slightly on trembling knees, the Vesar smiled at her concerned gaze. “It is nothing. I am tired.”

  “I know that,” Dorinda countered impatiently. “Your headache’s back, isn’t it?”

  Vesarius could not tell her that it had never left him, only faded and intensified. Throughout his recent, sleepless days, his throbbing skull had afforded him little peace. Now, as if in warning of impending danger, Vesarius’ temples pulsed in sirenous excitement.

  “I will be fine,” he reassured for her sake. “Dr. Sheradon administered a stimulant. Perhaps it was too large a dosage.”

  “Or too little,” Dorinda asserted as they entered the vaulted structure which was their destination. Inside, the two strode stopping just short of a lone, hunched creature whose shiny wing covers were turned toward them.

  Clearing his throat, Vesarius addressed the Orthop. “Voicer, may we speak with the queen? I have an urgent, private message for her.”

  Slowly rising from his folded crouch onto reverse-kneed legs, Voicer rotated to face them. He swiveled his eyestalks to regard the two smaller creatures with an intense, quadruple stare. “You have come to warn her of the rebels, Storyteller,” Voicer affirmed flatly.

  “Yes, Wise One. She is in great danger.”

  “What do you know of the rebels’ plans?”

  “I have been told nothing, Voicer,” Vesarius clarified, “But ... I... know there will ...” The tension pulsed in his ears, an incessant drumbeat. It hammered at his brain until he could no longer reason coherently. Someone was beside him, bracing his teetering spine, even as his head bowed and his hands rose to grasp it.

  “Vesarius, what’s wrong?”

  “Storyteller, please sit. Rest yourself,” Voicer said now before him also.

  Opening his eyes, Vesarius saw the Orthop’s eyestalks droop in distress. “I will recover,” he assured when the hammering in his head faded. “It was a momentary discomfort, now gone.”

  “I don’t like this, Sarius,” Dorinda warned her palm feeling the heat of his forehead. “We need to get you back to the ship.”

  “Storyteller is ill, Adviser?” Voicer asked.

  “No, he needs to sleep, to … hibernate. He’s been very ... busy lately,” Dorinda explained lowering her hand from her friend.

  Vesarius straightened and tried a reassuring smile. “It is gone. The stimulant the doctor provided was too potent.”

  “I don’t believe that, Sarius. I don’t think you do either.” Dorinda turned back to Voicer. “Please, Wise One. Warn your queen that she is in danger. The rebels may try to harm her or influence her while you’re all distracted by our presence.” Dorinda’s fretful eyes fell upon her friend again. “Let’s go, Mr. Warrior. A bed is calling you.”

  “It is not yet time,” Vesarius argued. Yolonda knew of his persistent headache, yet she had still expressed her concern about him sleeping before fourteen-hundred hours, tomorrow. “Perhaps if I could sit for a while ...” Vesarius suggested then quickly changed the subject. “Voicer,” he started as he dropped his pack then moved to the cool floor and crossed his legs. “How does the queen see the negotiations?”

  Folding powerful rear appendages to crouch across from him, Voicer answered, “She is satisfied with most proposals. However, our illustrious queen feels a need for immediate access to colony worlds. Our homeworld is overpopulat
ed. You have not visited our hive to witness the conditions.” The voicer’s eyestalks whirled in animated discontent. “We must expand our boundaries to survive.”

  “Perhaps, Voicer,” Vesarius suggested, “that is why the rebels want to take control. Their objective is to alleviate the severe overcrowding.”

  “We condemn the means by which they attempt to achieve this objective, Storyteller,” Voicer countered. “Peace is opposite of their goal. We have been violent too long.”

  Vesarius nodded. “Yes, it was so with the Vesar as well. Too long had we been in conflict. If we had continued, our destruction would have been at our own hands.”

  “We quarrel among ourselves,” Voicer admitted with a twist of his eyestalks, “as angry larvae do over food rations. But as hive leaders, we have still not learned to resolve our differences. It is a sad state we have brought ourselves to.”

  “But now, Voicer,” Dorinda encouraged leaning forward, “we talk of peace. Your queenkeepers are prepared to sign an agreement which would save your people from their violent past.”

  “It was not always so, Adviser,” Voicer clarified. “Our Great Oneness lived in peace. We have strayed from their original design. Their instructions for us were many times vague with gaps in the history.”

  Again Vesarius nodded. “The Mytoki did not want you to know of their technological achievements. Ultimately, their Arch killed them. Wisdom must grow with the hardware, Voicer. A time machine is far too powerful for any race to control wisely.”

  “Now we follow their wishes, Storyteller, and grow in the wisdom.”

  “Yes, Voicer. The Alliance is grateful for your ancestors’ vision of peace.” Vesarius sighed tiredly and rose from his seat. He guided Dorinda up with him then hooked his pack. “Please do warn the queen about the rebels. They will try to ...” Again the heavy pounding in his head. “... to influence her.”

  “Thank you, Storyteller, Adviser. We will talk again. Perhaps the queen too will speak.”

  “We wish you peace,” Dorinda said crossing her arms in farewell.