by Laura Kaighn
Vesarius shut the folder he’d been reading and closed his strained eyes. Time was ticking inexorably toward an uncertain future. Sullenly, the warrior knew he should be doing something more than being ferried to a false trial. The Pompeii’s crew might die fighting for Alliance survival while he faced a disgraced demise at the public gallows. The Vesar needed to find the one piece of evidence which would irrefutably exonerate him.
A dishonored warrior, according to his people, was no warrior at all. He was no longer Vesar. Vesarius had survived his initial exile to disprove that notion. His eight years in isolation had trained him to be vigilant of others’ perceptions. This time was no different. This Vesar would not accept defeat. This battle was far from over.
Finally, exhaustion won out over his frustration. Laying back his head, Vesarius relaxed weary eyes. Once he had succumbed to sleep, however, the warrior’s dreams were troubled ones. His subconscious recalled the shadowy memory of a stone Arch and towering invaders intent on searching the city for information about their Mytoki ancestors.
How long had the Orthops been there? They’d been monitoring Alliance radio transmissions for years. The Pvokx had sent a message home ten years ago, describing their discovery. Had the Orthops intercepted that transmission, recognized the Arch’s purpose? No informant necessary ... I have thought this before ... done this before ... The circle is incomplete. Vesarius groaned against that revelation.
“Sarius?” Someone had called his name. Dorinda. Tingling with déja vu, the Vesar roused. He opened his eyes to see her angelic face creased with amused puzzlement. “I just had the most unusual dream.” She pressed her fingers into his arm and continued, “You and I were back on Earth, in the Adirondacks. You had left something behind, a lock of your hair. Casey had found it and buried it on the lakeshore, under the sand. Now we go back to find it still there, not even damaged after a century. It’s an improbability, of course, but it seemed so real ...”
“No, Green Eyes,” Vesarius countered instantly awake and straightening his spine. “No, it was real.”
“But-”
“My medallion, buried in the sand.” The Vesar launched from his seat his head almost brushing the cabin’s ceiling. He turned back to her. “Dori, I left it there. I left it there … in the past. It was not a dream, but a vision. A vision from the past. A parallel past. Why did I not realize it before? The translator must be Jonas’ prototype, the one he is probably programming right now.”
“Whoa, slow down.” Dorinda’s expression was of utter confusion. “You did help the Orthops?”
“No!” Vesarius waved her off and started to pace within the transport’s aisle. Zlenko yawned and sat up watching the exchange with interest. One hand still rested atop the grip of her gun. “I ... I used the Arch to go back in time, to stop the Orthops from learning about time machine mechanics. To prevent them from using it and building another Arch. But I was too late to destroy the Mytoki Arch. The Orthops were already there.”
“Wait a minute.” Dorinda leaned forward in her chair as he paced the short distance past her. “When did you use the Arch to do this? You found it ten years ago, but you didn’t know what it was, how to use it. It was just a rock archway, you said. I read the log reports, remember?”
Vesarius waggled his braid adamantly. “Do you not see? One fact has continued to trouble me regarding this imposter scenario. I never lost a medallion. I have but two of them – mine and my stillborn brother’s. I still have both. One is here,” he said placing his hand over the silver crest pinned to the center of his tunic. “The other ...” Vesarius paused, his frown deepening. “The other ...”
Dorinda’s eyes grew wide. “No, oh no. You did lose one, but not on Mytok.” Dorinda jumped to her feet to grab his arm. “Vesarius, you were wearing that same style shirt when I found you injured along the Uncas Road. Your head wasn’t clear. You couldn’t have remembered. The shirt was ruined, burned. And I remember thinking that the round piece of jewelry there had saved your life.” She touched the silver crest at the center of the Vesar’s torso. “It had melted from the heat. I didn’t know what it looked like, didn’t know it meant anything to you. Vesarius ...”
“These medallions are hand-forged by each family,” Vesarius explained pulling her hand away from his chest and squeezing it for emphasis. “Impossible to copy from memory. No two are exactly alike, and there are only two of the Tankawankanyi left. My mother did not burn the second one with my younger brother’s body. She had trusted to give it to another son, but Mother never saw that day. I have had both ever since.”
“I’m sorry, Vesarius. I didn’t know it was so important to you. I threw the clothes away. They were so torn and dirty.”
“It is all right, Green Eyes,” Vesarius softly explained. He squeezed her hand again. “I have the second one back now. Tlenck has it, along with the translator.”
“But if you haven’t used the Arch before, except to fall through by accident,” Dorinda insisted, “then how? When ...?”
“Not yet. But I must. In another time stream, another timeline, I must have left the medallion as a message to myself. To tell myself, I have to try again. To use the Arch to stop the Orthops.” Vesarius joggled a fist in emphasis. “I must have failed that first time, gotten there too late to prevent the Orthops from understanding Arch mechanics.” With sudden realization Vesarius scowled. “They have been there the whole time, uncovering a hidden history. They were already experimenting with the Arch when Toh and his archeological team got there. The caverns. The Orthops must have been lurking in underground tunnels. Waiting. They attacked when the Pompeii arrived. When I fell through to your time, Dorinda.”
“But Vesarius,” Dorinda argued. “The time machine was destroyed.”
“The Mytoki Arch, yes. I must use the Orthop’s Arch – the second time machine – to fix history this time.” Vesarius grasped his situation, eyes narrowing in grim determination. “I need to be on the Pompeii. Right now.” He pivoted to the pilot’s station. “Lt. Dickson, you must come about. Come about and increase ion propulsion to maximum.” With the command, Vesarius strode toward the transport’s bow.
“Disregard that order,” Tlenck blurted. He rose from his seat to block the warrior.
The commander could have easily run the shorter Tloni down. Instead, Vesarius stalled to consider the ambassador with forced calm. “Tlenck, I need to be aboard the Pompeii. Last time I was, but the medallion has changed that this time.” Vesarius explained, “We cannot just destroy the second Arch. We must stop the Orthops from ever learning how to make one.”
Trevor Dickson spun in his seat. “Commander, you are in no position to make decisions. You’re still under arrest for suspicion of treason.”
“Treason is a traffic citation compared to what the Orthops plan to do. While I just sit here!” Vesarius pumped his forearms. “I must be on the Pompeii when they reach Orthop. I have to prevent them from resurrecting the Mytoki Empire.”
“Vesarius,” Dorinda reasoned beside him again. Her hand gripped his steel arm. “You must realize. This all sounds like nonsense to us. I believe you, but Tlenck needs to understand before he’ll let you turn the ship around.”
“I will explain everything,” Vesarius insisted. His voice was as tense as a drumhead to his own ears. “But we cannot waste any more time traveling in the wrong direction.” He shrugged from Dorinda’s grasp to tower over the shorter Tloni. “Ambassador, I know things about Orthops that Coty does not. They want to bring back the knowledge of the Mytoki, the same knowledge that destroyed the Orthops’ ancestors. The Orthops were on Mytok to learn more, both about their ancestors and about the Arch.”
Tlenck took a step back, his violet, almond-shaped eyes shrinking to crescents. “How do you know what the Orthops intend?”
“The transcripts. Moxland wrote a note in a margin making a reference to a ‘Great Oneness’, and the text uses the word ‘resurrect’. At first I did not understand, but something Dr. Waters
told me about the Mytoki civilization has it all making sense now.”
Tlenck sat back down in his seat motioning with a forepaw for the Vesar to sit across the aisle from him. Dorinda sank into the chair behind the Tloni’s and swiveled it to face the mahogany warrior.
Reluctantly Vesarius lowered himself onto another chair. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. As he spoke, the Vesar’s hands gestured in emphasis. “Sam told me the Mytoki Empire collapsed suddenly as if from a great tragedy. He was certain the Arch had something to do with it, perhaps a power struggle. But,” Vesarius paused a forefinger upright. “Sam also mentioned the possibility of a plague. In Toh’s transcripts, there were references to a great malady that afflicted many.” Vesarius sucked in a deep breath and barged on in his sepulchral concern. “What if the Orthops bring the Mytoki back, wanting to learn from them, but instead re-infect themselves with this plague?”
Tlenck shook his head. “Not our problem. It shouldn’t be yours either, Commander. The way you talk, you want to save them.”
“But, Ambassador, I am starting to believe the Mytoki were not the ancestors of the Orthops. What if the Mytoki knew they were dying and so transplanted some of their kind on other worlds, in other times, using the Arch? They were trying to preserve their race. But, by not sending their children along with the same technology, instead with an edited history, the Mytoki prevented the Orthops – their very offspring – from making the same mistakes. The ones they are making now!” Vesarius leaped to his boots again unable to remain composed. “I must talk to them, Tlenck. Tell them what I know. The Orthops will listen to me.”
“Why you? This is all supposition, Commander,” the ambassador argued, his violet eyes puckered with suspicion. “I will not bow to hypothetical nonsense.”
Vesarius ignored the Tloni’s hurdle and barged on like a berserk racehorse. “Orthops and Vesar. We are both warrior races. And the Orthops are about to make the same mistake the Vesar avoided by joining the Alliance. They are about to self-destruct.”
“So?” Dickson spat from the pilot’s seat.
Vesarius grimaced at the man’s indifference. Dorinda stood to grab the Vesar’s stiffening bicep. “The point is, Lieutenant,” she interjected in a condescending tone. “They will take us with them. If Vesarius can reason with them, warrior to warrior, he may be able to stop the Orthops from altering time. Instead seek a peaceful resolution.”
“Yes, Green Eyes,” Vesarius said beaming. He grasped her shoulders with his long mahogany fingers. “A peaceful resolution.”
Dori glanced over her shoulder at Dickson and implored, “Please. You must turn the transport around and return us to the Pompeii. Vesarius has to tell Coty.”
Dickson scowled. “He can tell Tundra to tell Coty.”
“No, Lieutenant,” the Vesar objected. “This is too complicated to explain to Tundra. Besides I need to be there, on Orthop.”
“We could transmit a message,” Tlenck reasoned with a toothy grin. His twitching ears and quivering tail betrayed his heightened anxiety, however.
This time the pilot disagreed. Trevor Dickson shook his head. “Got orders not to break radio silence. The Pompeii’s in dangerous waters. We don’t need to send up a signal flare.”
“But I don’t want to go back!” Tlenck’s objection was shrill in his hysteria. “I have orders from Alliance headquarters to proceed to Tlonnis with the criminal.”
Before Vesarius’ advancing bulk, Dorinda groaned with the effort to block him from the smaller Tloni. “I am not a criminal.” The warrior balled his fists and ignored the pressure of Dorinda’s arms on his ribs.
“Stop it,” Dorinda grunted planting her feet against the deck. She spun toward the ambassador shoving her spine into the belligerent Vesar. “Tlenck, there’ll be no Tlonnis if you don’t let Vesarius reason with the Orthops. Are all you Tloni such cowards?”
“You are treading in deep zilmon, young lady,” Tlenck warned with a toothy snarl. “Remember. You are not a member of this crew but my hired aide. Do not insult those you do not understand.” The ambassador tried to rise, but Dorinda checked his path. “Security,” he ordered raising his paw to press Dorinda back. “Secure these two.”
Already on her feet, Roshana Zlenko tromped forward. She raised her firearm threateningly. “All right, Com -”
Instantly, Vesarius bent away from the officer. He struck her arm with a sideways blow of his leather boot. The plasma pistol zinged a shot into the cabin then twirled away. Dorinda yelped.
“Dori!” Vesarius turned to see Dorinda grab her left arm even as he was jarred by the impact of Zlenko’s heel in his side. Grunting, Vesarius spun back to his opponent, arms raised in defense. He warded off a palm jab to the head. Roshana then stomped her left leg to heel the Vesar hard in the calf. Vesarius’ knee buckled. Teetering sideways, he ducked to avoid another kick. From his crouched position, he next launched forward, toppling the security officer with his greater bulk.
The two hit the deck hard. Vesarius pinned the woman one mahogany forearm across her throat. He growled into her astonished face. “I feast on cadets before breakfast, Corporal.” Leaning back onto his knees, Vesarius freed his arm to block a vicious punch. He snatched the swinging appendage hauling Roshana’s head from the deck. In the same smooth motion, Vesarius squeezed the nerve points at the back of the woman’s neck with his free hand. Zlenko went limp. Vesarius let her head collapse with a soft thud into the aisle.
A micro-second later, the Vesar was on his feet again. He spun toward the bow. “Dickson, come about-” Vesarius stalled his marching advance. Dorinda was stooped over the pilot. “Dori, what ...” He rushed to tug the woman away. Her face was ice pale. Vesarius witnessed why. Trevor Dickson sat slumped against the navigation console a dark, oozing hole between his shoulder blades. The scent of singed flesh and fabric curdled the cabin’s atmosphere. “Huaj´im,” the Vesar cursed beneath his breath.
Dorinda whispered hoarsely the truth of their discovery. “He’s dead.” Her horrified gaze was still locked on the gaping wound to the pilot’s spine.
“Help me move him to the back,” Vesarius instructed levering the lieutenant upright in the chair. When Dorinda did not budge from the aisle to assist him, the Vesar twisted his scowl to regard her. “Help me.”
Sluggishly Dori complied bending over to gather the dead pilot’s ankles in her arms. Vesarius hoisted the body from the chair. He backed down the length of the transport carefully side-stepping around the unconscious Zlenko. As Dorinda followed his example, however, she bumped into a chair back. Hissing through clenched teeth, Dorinda promptly dropped her load. She clutched at her left arm just above the elbow. Her knees buckled under her.
Without delay Vesarius was before her. His steel grip propped Dorinda steady. He gazed intently into jade eyes rimmed with distress. “You have hurt yourself. Let me see.” He pulled her close, and Dorinda leaned in against his fiery frame. Gingerly Vesarius twisted her left arm toward him. He saw the burnt gash at her sleeve. “The plasma shot grazed your arm. The same shot that killed Dickson.” Peeking through the gray material, the Vesar inspected the damage. “This needs attention.” When next Vesarius gazed into Dorinda’s eyes, the warrior discerned a deep trust he had witnessed from only one other human. Smirking reassuringly, Vesarius steered her toward the front of the transport. There he settled her into the chair behind the pilot’s seat. “Stay here. I will get the medical kit.”
In response, Dorinda grasped his retreating forearm. “Wait.” Her gaze implored for more than her injury. “Turn the ship around first. You’re the pilot now.”
Vesarius’ heart thrummed at her sentiment. Dorinda cared more for their collective future than her own misery. Without a word, Vesarius knelt before her, his obsidian eyes round with compassion. Then, with an air of somber intimacy, the Vesar set his palm over her heart. He held it there for several seconds, then withdrew.
Standing, Vesarius pivoted to sit in the pilot’s seat. Wit
h long fingers playing the controls like a piano concerto, the Vesar arched the Pom-3 around at quarter speed. While setting the coordinates for Orthop space, the commander heard a nervous ambassador clear his throat.
“I will have you up on charges, Vesar. If we survive.”
“You do that, Tlenck,” Vesarius retorted over his shoulder. “I will gladly be your prisoner in court. For now, stay out of my way. And get the medical kit for Ms. Tanner.” Vesarius listened as the Tloni whispered to Glon before padding toward the rear of the transport. There the Tloni’s footpads halted.
“Kindly remove this deceased human from the aisle, Commander,” Tlenck demanded a moment later. “Tloni do not tread over spirits. It is sacrilegious.”
“Then sit down, Ambassador. I am hitting the accelerator.” Vesarius spun the chair slightly toward Dorinda to add softly, “Hold on, Green Eyes.” He punched a button. Having completed its U-turn, the Pom-3 flared from its twin ion drives and launched itself into maximum. The unconscious Roshana Zlenko slid farther along the trembling transport’s aisle until she was supine below Dickson’s crumpled form.
Setting the transport’s automatic pilot, Vesarius next double-checked his course heading before tapping the navigational lock button and entering his personal code. Finally, pivoting his seat, the commander rose to regard his domain. Dorinda sat calmly clutching her left arm to her chest. Her emerald gaze was constricted yet intent on the starglow beyond the starboard portal. Tlenck was rumpled in a chair near the back looking as if he’d been tossed there by the G-force of the engines. Glon slumped in his forward seat still wrapped in a blanket. The ambassadorial assistant’s bare eye patches glistened pale. “I am sorry, young Tloni, for your discomfort. Perhaps Dorinda could make you some hot jarrowroot tea.” Glon nodded in agreement then turned his eyes back out to the coldness of space. To everyone in the cabin, Vesarius announced, “At maximum propulsion, I estimate it will take six hours to reach Orthop space and an additional six to catch up to the Pompeii. We may rendezvous sooner if she has had to slow or divert her course to avoid Orthop patrols. With our smaller bulk, we should slip by any ourselves. I will keep instrumentation at bare minimum and rely on navigational charts.”
