Warrior Spirit

by Laura Kaighn

  “Gee, there’s even a rainbow,” Sheradon observed pointing to Coty’s place-setting.

  “Then there should be a pot of gold here somewhere,” Dorinda attested, her cheerful eyes searching the space around them.

  “Here it is,” someone announced. Coty had not noticed Dr. Waters’ exit, but he could not dismiss the historian’s return as Sam guided a rolling cartload of gifts, all wrapped in shiny gold paper. Following him, Julian Sanjiers carted in a four-tiered wedding cake decorated with gold coins and blue icing flowers.

  “There’s a tradition among my people,” Julian said, “about gold coins and happy marriages. Best wishes Commander and Jade.”

  The bride and groom echoed their gratitude as Coty absorbed the scene. “Quick, cut the cake, Julian,” he said with a contorted smirk. “I think the amount adds up to my age.”

  Beside him, Vesarius pointed toward a third dolly being pushed in by one of Julian’s assistant cooks. “We forgot a gift.” The arriving box stood well over a meter tall and was nearly a meter wide and deep. Hanging from one gold-wrapped corner dangled a glittery tag marked ‘Aztec’.

  “Aztec, huh?” Coty pondered. “Well, the Aztecs were known for their beautiful gold work.” He turned to his historian. “Sam, did you splurge on some ancient artifact?”

  When Dr. Waters only shook his head, Dorinda leaned over to kiss Coty’s cheek. “Actually, it’s only a few decades old. My budget couldn’t swing extravagant.”

  Coty’s brow rose in intensified wonder. “This big one’s from you, Dori?”

  “Both of us,” Vesarius clarified leaning forward to peer around his bride. With an expectant smirk the Vesar requested, “We would be gratified if you would open it last.”

  “Since you two were the guests of honor before me, I won’t refuse you.” The captain’s brow tilted skyward. “But, I must admit, my curiosity’s piqued.” Coty was suddenly uncomfortable with his earlier feelings of isolation. Now he was the center of attention. And both Vesarius and Dorinda were eager to have it so, in fact had been planning this as was evident by the earlier shower.

  And so it proceeded as Coty first had to present a brief acceptance speech, deny his advanced age, then sit at the now cleared table before the cart piled high with birthday presents. Coty started on the mountain reluctantly, but was soon good-humoredly ripping the golden paper to investigate each gift and thank its presenter. Within the hour, Coty was the proud owner of two new outfits of his favorite navy hybrid cotton, three bound volumes of Hemingway and Melville, and an assortment of fresh foods, candy, and specialty items including a bottle of very old 2050 Jack Daniels whiskey.

  “Thank you, Jonesey. It’s nice to know there’re some things which age more gracefully than we, and that this whiskey,” Coty acknowledged holding the bottle up for everyone to see, “is closer to your age than mine.”

  A few chuckles bantered about the room. Jonas Botrocelli leaned forward from his end of the semicircular table and gestured across to Lt. Cmdr. Talyabo. “Zan was unaware there was any J.D. older than you aboard. I’ve got another bottle that’s fifty-two.”

  Coty grimaced. “Thanks, Jonesey.”

  “One last package, Michael,” Dorinda reminded. Her ivory complexion glowed a rosy flush. Her eyes glistened like fiery gems.

  Coty’s breath was suspended for a moment because of those sparkling emeralds. He did still love her. “Yes, well, I guess I better open it. Then at least we can finally cut that cake.”

  Vesarius stood to his full height of six-seven and reached across the table to heft the large package from the cart to Coty’s empty place-setting. The gold-wrapped box blocked everyone’s view of their captain, so Coty kicked his chair back to stand. “I suggest,” Vesarius said beside him, “you pull the tag off first.” Yolonda stood and backed away as did the bride and groom.

  Coty glared at his first officer. “Is something going to pop out at me? I’ve already been humiliated once today.” The captain thought of the confetti storm. “I don’t trust you, Sarius.”

  “Please do, Michael,” Dorinda countered. “There’s a nice surprise inside.” She was breathlessly expectant. Perhaps Coty should trust them. Dorinda would never lie.

  Reaching to the package, the captain fingered the metallic tag marked ‘Aztec’. He tugged it from the box. As if by magic, the glittering paper fluttered aside revealing a transparent plastiglass container complete with evenly spaced ventilation holes. Eyes expanding to incredulous plates, Coty glared at the carton’s contents.

  “Happy birthday, Bear Coty,” the hyacinth macaw announced in its deep, throaty voice. The parrot stood perched on a horizontal rod and tilted its cobalt head. “I am Aztec.”

  Finally Coty found his voice. “A Kin Companion?” Eyes puckering in disbelief, the captain flashed searing flames at the bird within the box. “I don’t want a Kin.”

  “Wanting and needing,” Yolonda Sheradon affirmed stoically, “are two different things, Bear.”

  Coty threw his steaming stare her way. “I knew you’d be behind this, Doctor.”

  “Actually,” Sheradon countered, her shoulders squared for attack, “it was Vesarius’ idea. He and Dori were stuck for a gift. They knew you wouldn’t refuse them.”

  “I can refuse,” Bear retorted with a chin jerk and a step back.

  “No, Michael.” Dorinda quietly took his arm. “Aztec’s here to make sure you’re not alone. He needs someone too,” she explained. “He’s been alone for three years now, derelict. Just look at him, Michael. He needs you.”

  “Why me?” Bear countered, but his heated gaze had swerved to regard the psittacine within the transparent carton. Those gold-rimmed, walnut eyes were round with a sudden desperation that made Coty’s mind falter. “What ... Why was he alone for so long? Why didn’t he die?”

  Vesarius stepped forward to explain solemnly. “Aztec’s Bondmate was an elderly ship’s captain who died of an exotic virus three years ago. A virus Aztec blames himself for bringing aboard. He has refused a Bondmate for the same reasons you have refused Kin, Bear. It was mere fortune that Aztec was assigned to Rhani Station. He reluctantly agreed to come here, to be your companion. He is willing to risk. Are you?”

  “No ... Sarius, I’ve told you before ...” Coty started, but the deep brown eyes of the encased macaw were hauntingly familiar to the captain. He had viewed that same lonely stare in the mirror each morning. His own empathic sense caught the macaw’s desperation ... his hope for a new, happier future. Capt. Coty dropped his defenses. In that instant, Aztec ruffled his violet-blue plumage, lowered his golden rimmed gaze and murmured, “Thank you, Bear.”

  Reflexively, Michael Bear Coty reached forward to unlatch the front panel. Aztec extended one gray, scaly foot and stepped calmly onto Coty’s forearm. Their dark eyes met. For a moment transfixed, the captain relived the loss of Achilles. The anguish rushed along his nerve endings like a crashing Baltic wave. Then his remorse subsided and there was a calm, majestic presence in his mind, an avian angel of peace and hope. “It’s good to be whole again,” Coty solemnly agreed.

  The meter long macaw bobbed upon his arm. “Now we eat cake?” Cheerily Aztec tilted his head replete with its massive scimitar beak.

  Coty harrumphed in good humor. “Yes, Aztec. We eat cake.” Together the pair sat in the captain’s chair. Julian removed the cargo-cab from Coty’s place, and the newlyweds stepped to cut the four-tiered confection his helpers rolled to the center of the horseshoe-shaped table. Soon everyone was enjoying the chef’s wonderful carrot cake with yogurt icing and macadamia nut filling.

  “Very good,” Aztec commented a utensil clasped in one four-toed foot. He was sharing the dessert from Coty’s own plate. “Have more,” the macaw added dryly and sidled over to Dorinda’s still half-eaten slice. “May I?”

  “Go right ahead.” Dorinda chuckled as Aztec dipped his squat-handled fork into her serving. “I’m glad to see your appetite’s improved since yesterday.”

  “I am
at peace, Jade,” Aztec avowed. “Plus, this is good cake.” The macaw ruffled his cobalt head feathers again in contentment.

  After dessert there was dancing and music from several worlds including Vesar symphonies and Earth oldies for Dorinda’s enjoyment. Vesarius, however, refused to dance, mumbling something about warrior’s toes. Dorinda remedied the situation by first dancing with Jonas, then with a joyful Aztec, before asking her captain for a stroll. Bear Coty could not refuse, and the two were soon waltzing across the lounge where before rows of chairs had held the guests for the wedding ceremony.

  All was going well until a second call came in for Coty, this time from the bridge. Dropping Dorinda’s hands with a mumbled apology, the captain strode to the wall intercom beside the lounge’s exit. “Sir, I have an ambassadorial shuttle requesting docking.” Ferris Magiconi’s voice was tense from his station at tactical.

  “Who’s aboard, Magic?” Coty asked the secondary navigator.

  “Special envoy from Vesar,” Magiconi replied. “He gave the correct Alliance clearance code.”

  “No name?” the captain inquired. Vesarius had now strode to his side, and Coty shot him a perplexed brow.

  “None provided, Captain. I can ask.”

  “Do that, Ensign, then call me back.” Coty swiped the intercom off and confronted his silent first officer. “Curious. We were never notified of a rendezvous with any Alliance transport.”

  “I have a bad feeling about this, Bear,” Vesarius rumbled.

  Coty smiled slightly and patted the groom’s arm. “Come now, my mahogany friend. Just because the transport’s from Vesar?” The captain shrugged affably. “Maybe someone wants to break up the gaiety. If so, they’re too late.”

  “It is because of me that they are here. My actions on Orthop ... the death of Tolianksalya.”

  Coty’s smirk fell. “You may be right,” he conceded grimly. After a moment of silent contemplation, the captain nodded. “Stay here with Dorinda. I’ll find out what’s going on.” From across the room, a feathered flurry flew to expertly land on Coty’s outstretched arm. “On second thought, we’ll see what’s going on.” He marched from the room, Aztec mumbling his shared apprehension.

  “This is bad,” the parrot uttered aloud, brown eyes regarding the creased and emotion-worn features of his new Bondmate.

  “You’re just sensing my apprehension, Aztec,” Coty assured. He raised his arm for the hyacinth macaw to step onto his broad shoulder. Striding through the corridor, the pair was soon before the Pompeii’s transport bay entrance. He met Brend in the control alcove. The Tloni officer stepped aside to allow his captain access to the communication linkup. Poking two buttons, Coty spoke into the suspended microphone before him. “Magic, this is Coty at bay control. Have they identified themselves?”

  “They refuse to disclose their I.D. past registry, Sir,” came Ferris Magiconi’s apologetic reply.

  “Then I’ll talk to them. Patch me in.”

  “Yes, Sir.” After a moment ... “Clear.”

  Coty leaned toward the mike and spoke with as much dignity and calm as he could muster. “Alliance transport, this is Captain Michael Bear Coty of the Pompeii. I request your identification before boarding my ship.” On his shoulder, Aztec ruffled feathers and hunched wing coverts in anxious anticipation of the reply.

  “Our orders are confirmed through Alliance Central Command, Capt. Coty,” said a gruff voice through the communit. “You cannot deny us docking clearance.”

  Why did that voice sound familiar? There were, of course, anatomical similarities between all Vesar males. “You’re refusing my request?”

  “You will know everything within minutes, Captain,” was the tense reply. “You are wasting our time and delaying our orders from Central.”

  “I suppose that’s also a secret until you board?” Coty didn’t really expect an answer. Aztec was grooming his black locks consolingly.

  “All in its own time, Captain,” the voice retorted.

  “Very well, Transport. Clearance granted. I’ll meet you in the bay upon re-pressurization.”

  Within minutes a sleek, vibrantly painted shuttle was kneeling on the Pompeii’s deck plates. Striding forward, Coty slowed his pace then halted when the leader of the entourage stepped to the vessel’s yawning hatch. The Vesar leaped out with a steaming sneer. So, there had been another survivor from the rebel attack on Orthop.

  Chapter 18: Challenged Honor

  Vesarius leaned his shoulder against the wall beside the lounge’s intercom and exit. Brooding, he crossed his arms. It could only be bad news, he knew. Someone was here to scandalize the wedding and haul him back to Vesar Prime for the murders of his uncle and the Vesar delegation. And they would be absolutely correct to blame him. Vesarius was guilty, had allowed their deaths. Now he would be executed for his inability to resist the Orthop programming. Despite what Dr. Sheradon had assured, Vesarius should have been stronger, fought the command chip, and killed Gluctg with his crossbow.

  Someone stepped to clasp his rock-solid bicep with a silken hand. “What’s wrong?” Dorinda’s emerald gaze was wrinkled in concern. “I saw Michael leave in a rush. He got a call to the bridge?”

  “Yes,” Vesarius began uncrossing his arms and straightening. “A transport has arrived ... from Vesar.”

  “Vesar? What do your people want? If they’re here to stop the wedding, they’re a bit late.”

  Frowning, Vesarius clutched Dorinda’s sky-silken shoulders to gaze into trusting eyes. “It is not because of the wedding that they are here.”

  “Tolianksalya,” Dorinda voiced for him. Her shoulders slumped beneath his steel fingers.

  “Yes.” Vesarius dropped his arms and spun as the lounge doors slipped open.

  The captain trod in, macaw at his shoulder, his face shadowed by a dark scowl. The assembled guests noticed his entrance as well. They froze in mid-dance to observe what followed. With a raucous squawk, Aztec took flight alighting on a hanging chandelier. “Vesarius, I’m powerless to stop them,” Coty warned stepping aside.

  A battered Vesar, his left hand absent and arm strapped in a sling, strode into the lounge behind Coty. The warrior’s face and identity were half-shrouded in bandages. He brandished an even deeper scowl and hooded ebony eye. Vesarius, however, recognized the tattered magenta cape still stained in ochre-shaded blood.

  “You are under arrest, Tankawankanyi,” Domenazreli growled, “for the murder of Ambassador Tolianksalya and his party.” Two Vesar security officers marched forward, body armor bristling, their plasma pistols leveled on the commander’s gut. “You will be bound and taken to Vesar to stand trial.”

  “I will not protest,” Vesarius rumbled.

  “Wait!” Dorinda uttered. She stepped between her bridegroom and the advancing guards. “Give us a few minutes to pack, change our clothes, say goodbye ...”

  “Us?” Tolianksalya’s former recorder splayed his heated eye. “We do not take you. Only the Grilcmzáe. And there is no time to pack,” he spat. Domenazreli turned to his guards. “Bind him.”

  Vesarius stood column-solid as the security detail shouldered Dorinda aside to strap her mate’s arms against his ribs. They tightened the nylon-like bands before again raising weapons at their prisoner.

  “I’m coming with you.” Dorinda considered the darker-skinned complement and Domenazreli’s lifted, challenging brow. “He’s my husband.”

  That singular dark eye contorted to a slit. “Khumahn marriage?” Domenazreli swung his rigid chin to glare at the Pompeii’s first officer. “You grovel with Khumahn custom?”

  “It is a prelude to bonding,” Vesarius explained flatly. He did not even flinch when Domenazreli punched him full in the cheek. Dorinda gasped; Vesarius grimaced as a trickle of blood pooled in his mouth.

  “Tolianksalya was right,” Domenazreli fumed. “You are without honor. An immoral outlaw.” His dark face centimeters from Vesarius’ swelling cheek, Domenazreli avowed, “You will die for this, Grilc
mzáe. I will push you gladly from the scaffolding myself.”

  So, it was to be death after all. To Vesarius’ utter dismay, it seemed Brahmanii Sule had been toying with him all along.

  * * *

  A charged silence hung in the observation lounge, festivities forgotten. Dorinda and the attending crew simply gawked in horror as Domenazreli reached forward to yank the ceremonial sword from its beaded sheath – still slung across Vesarius’ shoulder.

  “No!” Dorinda yelped. She jammed herself in between the mahogany figures. “This isn’t justice!”

  “Dorinda!” Vesarius barked. “It is tradition.” He shouldered her aside roughly.

  Tottering off balance, Dorinda could only scream as Domenazreli raised her husband’s weapon and smashed it flatly against Vesarius’ right shoulder. With a terrible crack, the broadsword snapped in two. Vesarius collapsed to his knees. One agonizing grunt and the Pompeii’s first officer toppled. He thumped to the deck, head bouncing. The dismembered sword’s hilt followed.

  “No!” Dorinda wailed. Dropping to the floor beside her husband, she cradled his slack and bleeding jaw in her hands. “Sarius?”

  “Take him,” Domenazreli ordered. Dorinda was shoved aside again. The insentient Vesar was hauled from the deck.

  “Please let me come with you,” Dorinda pleaded scrambling to her feet and clutching Domenazreli’s hot bare arm. “I want to stand trial with him.”

  The Vesar recorder glared down at her, surveyed the ochre stained splotches on her silken sleeve, and considered the silver and turquoise cuff at her wrist. “Perhaps that is what is needed, Khumahn.” Domenazreli snatched her forearm in his singular hand. “If both are dead, this abomination will die with you.”

  Coty stepped to block their path. “No, Dori.” Vesarius and his security escorts were already in the hallway. “What good would it do to die with him?” The captain’s jasper eyes were rimmed in sorrow as his officer’s bride stood alone against the tempest.