by Laura Kaighn
“The Mytoki knew then that history was not to be manipulated.” Vesarius watched his audience and noted that two towering guards had again moved to flank him. Was this to protect him? Or were they there to silence the bringer of bad news at a single unspoken signal from the high chancellor? Vesarius had no choice but to continue his story.
Reassured that at least his pack and pistol were within reach – hanging from one guard’s secondary arm – the Vesar spoke with as forceful a voice as he could muster. “Their great city became a death trap when travelers from afar carried this sickness back to their homes. The Mytoki doctors searched for a cure but were stricken as well. Soon there were but a few Wise Ones left to save the Mytoki race. And a plan was devised to do so.” Vesarius noticed what he felt was agreement when a few of his audience exchanged glances, and foreclaws were crossed in solemn honor of a shared history.
“In a final effort to prevent extinction, the Wise Ones used their great Arch to send their children away to a sanctuary far from disease, to a time when all chance of reinfection was past. You,” Vesarius emphasized with a swing of an arm, “are those children, and you are about to commit a fatal error in reuniting with your forefathers.” This statement, translated through his wrist device, caused mandibles to clamp shut. For a long moment, Vesarius waited for some kind of verbal protest or physical assault. Nothing happened. Taking this as stunned realization, the Vesar elaborated, “The Mytoki wished you to honor their wisdom by surviving, not by repeating their mistake.”
Vesarius focused on the high chancellor. “Time, Wise One, was never meant to be used as a weapon. Your machine will destroy the Alliance, but you will also destroy yourselves.” Sweeping his dark arms across the cream-carapaced assembly, he argued, “You all risk re-infection. You gamble with extinction. You chance the reversal of all that the Mytoki attempted in their last hours. The Arch was their memorial, their gravestone, not the asset and gift you believe.” Vesarius was as a politician atop his crystalline soapbox. “This Arch killed your Great Oneness, and it will kill you. Peace with the Alliance, High Chancellor, is possible if we use the Mytoki Arch as an example of ancient wisdom, not conquest or folly.” Vesarius took a step forward his knees even with the closest Orthop’s eyestalks. “I speak to you as a fellow warrior who has learned that peace is not a weakness. My people were stricken by a civil war brought on by resource shortages. We soon learned that conquest did not bring new homes, food and safety, only dead brothers.”
Vesarius’ momentum slowed when he added sincerely, “We survived because in peace we found new brothers. Within the Alliance, we accepted those who shared our warrior heart but used it to adventure outward to new worlds.” Exchanging glances with his eye-stalked audience, the Vesar warrior concluded his overture. “This city proves that your people possess a majesty, an insight, the Alliance would welcome. Share the Mytoki wisdom with us. Teach us to survive and not to destroy. This, I believe, was the Mytoki’s desire when they spoke of a Great Oneness. Your destiny lies in the future, in peace. Not in the past.”
* * *
“That’s it, Sir,” Moxland Darby announced from the Pompeii’s communication console as Vesarius’ transmission fizzled out. “I can’t boost the signal anymore.”
“No,” Dorinda pleaded. “We have to know their reaction.” She turned to Coty her hands clenched. “Michael, call them. Talk to the high chancellor. You can reinforce Sarius’ argument. Tell them we do want peace.”
“Hold on,” Coty calmed patting the air with his outstretched hand. “Moxie, open a com-channel to the city. Request an update on our storyteller.”
“Yes, Sir.” After a few moments, Moxland addressed her captain, creased eyes foretelling the bad news. “Coty, they refuse to answer. I’m certain our onboard translator’s working. They just won’t respond.”
“Perhaps they’re too busy debating Sarius’ story,” Coty mused darkly. “Try again. I’ll talk to them.” The bridge grew silent again as the countdown to a reply began.
* * *
Reversely, Kcluchtt’s city square echoed with a cacophony of clicks and grinds. Vesarius’ wrist translator stumbled at its task, and the commander was only able to garner fragments of the ruckus. Drawing in gulps of sweet air, Vesarius attempted to calm his pounding heart as it battered his double shoulder blades. Fear edged into his psyche like a frigid ocean wave. They were going to kill the messenger just as Earth’s ancient Romans had. His bad news had sunk their plans. Even worse: had capsized their history books.
Finally, however, the chaos cooled and the high chancellor approached the platform where the Vesar stood between his column solid guards. When the Orthop leader spoke, the commander’s wrist device dutifully rendered the aliens’ reality. “Storyteller, you speak the truth of our forefathers, but they do not know of our achievement.” The creature’s mandibles clapped twice and his eyestalks twirled in uncontained excitement. “We have discovered a cure for the plague. Their crystal tablets have helped us use the time they did not have to solve the sickness. We are already immunized. We need only to use the Arch to do the same for our ancestors. Then the Great Oneness can spread its wisdom throughout the galaxy. It was meant to be.”
Vesarius’ mouth gaped. His argument had utterly failed. “But ... what about the Alliance? Are we to be your confederates or your servants?”
The high chancellor’s body shook with what Vesarius now recognized was laughter. “You are to serve the Great Oneness, of course. As you said yourself, their wisdom can teach many. And there will be peace. We will see to that.” The Orthop’s eyestalks pivoted toward another creature which had moved to stand behind the time machine’s control dais. “Engage the Arch,” the chancellor commanded then stared back at the Vesar. “Rejoice in the wisdom, Storyteller. Honor to the Mytoki who spawned us and will again rule the galaxy. This is their destiny and ours.”
“Not if I can help it,” Vesarius rumbled to himself. With trepidation he witnessed the Orthop’s Arch hum with virgin power. The now familiar blue haze of the time distortion field coalesced at the machine’s center.
* * *
Coty flinched when Zaneta yelped from the navigation center. “Captain! The Arch’s been activated. I have a positive I.D.”
“Lock torpedoes!” Coty snapped, lips a determined dart. “Sam, you have it?”
“Vesarius’s down there,” Dorinda reminded.
“I know.” Michael’s answer was thick with regret. “This is more important.”
Though Coty was sure she knew he was right, Dorinda’s body still clenched in anguish beside him. “Goodbye, Sarius,” she whispered and squeezed her eyes shut. It seemed Dorinda did not wish to witness the flash of the Vesar’s death.
“Fire,” Coty ordered. The Pompeii shuddered slightly as a duo of proton shells spit from her weapon’s bay. “Honors to you,” he submitted and watched the flaring beacons arch toward Orthop’s atmosphere. “Get us out of here, Zaneta,” Coty next commanded. He punched the communication button at his wrist. “Jonas, fire up your babies. Time to baptize those enhanced nacelles.”
“Aye, Bear. On your command,” came Botrocelli’s reply.
“Full impact of the torpedoes, Captain,” Sam informed. “Our job here’s done.” The historian spun in his chair to face his captain. Coty’s gaze, however, was glued to the pivoting view of the Orthop homeworld as the Pompeii banked to leave. “Memorial by fire. A fitting end, Bear,” Sam professed. “He died an honored warrior.”
“Yes,” Coty agreed flatly. “At my hands.” Sighing he leaned back in his chair.
“You had to,” Sam defended.
“They’ll just build another one. His death was a waste.”
“Hindsight is twenty-twenty,” Dorinda murmured. When Coty turned to consider her half-audible statement, she raised vacant orbs to him. “Excuse me, Michael.” She turned away from the captain’s seat. Stumbling up to the lift, she was shadowed by a silent Tundra whose shoulder muscles now sagged with shared despai
r.
The two were gone in an instant, and Coty pivoted back to his crew, bronze hands clutching his chair arms. To his waiting engineer he commanded, “Punch it, Jonesey.”
“Aye,” Botrocelli acknowledged. Suddenly the Pompeii was coursing through the squadron of podships which had surrounded them.
“They’re not firing,” Sam Waters observed from the science station.
“Odd,” the captain mused chin in hand. “I wonder why. Are they even moving?”
“No, Bear. Their ships are frozen in space. It’s like ... they’re mindless.”
“Perhaps they are,” Coty admitted. “Vesarius said that some Orthops can communicate telepathically. Perhaps those were the leaders we just annihilated along with the Arch. Their queenkeepers. The rest no longer have anyone giving them orders.” Coty smirked in sudden realization. “That’s why any Orthops the Alliance ever captured died. They’re all in shock.”
“Good news for us,” Sam said with a crooked smile. “It’ll give us a fighting chance to get home.”
“Yes. Home,” Coty murmured and settled into a brooding silence.
Chapter 12: Reflections Past
With the Arch’s activation, Vesarius instantly grasped his only chance at survival. He dove at the guard beside him and grabbed his pack. Tucking it to his chest, the Vesar rolled away from the deadly foreclaws that swung after him. Then, gaining his feet, Vesarius launched himself off the speaking platform. He landed hard but at a dead run for the crystal Arch.
The Vesar used his smaller size to good advantage. He ducked under another Orthop’s swipe, nearly tripping himself in the process. Legs pumping, Vesarius bounded forward, hurtling up the steps to the Arch. He leapt toward the mist. The Pompeii’s torpedoes were quick to follow.
With a pain-wracked grunt, Vesarius crashed against the stone surface of a desert plaza. He wheeled until his body ached, bruised and broken. All the Vesar could do was puff dusty air and thank Brahmanii Sule he was still alive.
After what seemed long minutes, a mechanical voice roused him from his daze. Vesarius opened his eyes to see several insectoids leaning over him. Instinctively his hands stiffened sweeping the rock plaza for his pack with its spare weapon inside.
“Calm yourself, friend,” one tan-colored creature assured through his translator. “We will not harm you.” Its foreclaws were folded without menace against its darker carapace. “You are a traveler also. Please, tell us your story.”
“I ... I am Tankawankanyi of the Vesar. I must speak to your Wise One.” Trying to rise, Vesarius groaned knowing his newly healed ribs had given way again under the concussion of his fall. He was helpless upon the sun-warmed plaza. “I ... I am wounded.”
“Greckt, get the healer. The traveler has damaged himself,” the first alien said. Another moved away, out of view, presumably to get assistance. The first continued its conversation. “Your landing was rather violent. Do you normally travel this way?”
Despite his discomfort, Vesarius had to grin. “No. I usually do not even use time as a vehicle. It is something I picked up only recently.”
“Then you are not an advocate of time travel.”
Vesarius held his twinging, broken ribs as he renewed his attempt to sit. “No,” he grunted. “I would have preferred such transportation not been invented.” With a growl he was seated on the stone tiles of the plaza’s street. Vesarius looked about. “I am on Mytok. What year is this?” Vesarius for the first time noticed a difference in the insectoid’s demeanor. It stared at him intently as if it had never seen a Vesar before.
“This is twenty-one of the red moon, in its fourth phase. Welcome to Mytoki Center.”
“Thank you, Wise One,” Vesarius acknowledged. The time reference was, of course, useless. He would ask another question. “Is your queen available? Or perhaps the Orthop high chancellor?”
The creature tilted its eyestalks at him. “What is an Orthop, Traveler?”
Vesarius grimaced at his mistake. “Apologies, Wise One. You are Mytoki, of course, the Orthop’s forefathers. I know of sentients such as yourself. They are your ... Sir, I must speak with your queen.” Vesarius winced as he bent to stand.
“Traveler, I am a healer. Do not move until I have examined you.” A tall, darker-shelled Mytoki strode up to Vesarius and knelt on massive, jointed legs.
“Please, I have a vital message to give your queen. Your people are in danger as are mine. I must speak with her.” Vesarius sat still as the healer’s auxiliary arms probed his torso with surprising delicateness. He grimaced again.
“Your endoskeleton has cracked. If you will remain here, I will bring a carapace knitter. It will heal you.”
“No,” Vesarius countered. He pressed the Mytoki’s probing foreclaws away. “No, thank you. My ribs will heal on their own.”
“You wished to speak with the high chancellor?” his wrist translator yapped.
Vesarius twisted his body stiffly to see another Mytoki approaching. This one wore a fabric drape of burgundy as fine as spider silk trimmed in golden starlight. The creature’s confident gait exuded authority. “Yes, Wise One. Thank you for seeing me.” Vesarius groaned when two Mytoki hooked claws under his knees and cradled him up off the ground. This brought the Vesar eye to eyestalks with the queenkeeper. “I have come, Sir, as a representative of a peaceful alliance between three nations. Our people are in danger of annihilation because of your advanced technology. In my time, your descendants have built their own Arch. They are planning to change history so that our alliance will fail, and your descendants will conquer us in your honor.” Vesarius watched the chancellor’s quadruple eyestalks blink simultaneously. “Please, Sir, I need to know. Have your people been dying of a mysterious sickness, a plague?”
“Traveler, if you will excuse me. I must speak with our illustrious queen.” The chancellor moved away from the growing assembly of insect onlookers. The Vesar’s living gurneys carried him to a low platform and set him down gently before lumbering away to converse quietly with the others.
Vesarius frowned; time was relevant. Yet why did a strident impatience hammer his heart? Why was he gripped with an urgency to return to his own time, his world? They probably thought he was dead. She thought he was dead. Vesarius’ hand absently reached for the velvet pouch inside his boot pocket. Yes, it was still there, wedged against his leg by the survival knife’s steel blade. One tug by the golden cord and the pouch was in his palm. Vesarius poked a mahogany forefinger into the opening to hook out the swatch of auburn braid.
Reflectively Vesarius pictured Dorinda’s face. Her emerald gaze was narrowed in despair, glazed with grief. He had witnessed the same expression at mention of her dead husband, Michael Tanner. It seemed like centuries ago, was actually a thousand years hence. Vesarius swallowed dryly. He had done all he could. He was too tired to do more.
“Her name is strange to us,” the high chancellor spoke through the translator. The Mytoki had returned to stand before the wilting Vesar. “You have come to save her and her people from a destruction that is our doing.” The diplomat’s eyestalks wavered. “We planned for the Arch to be permanently deactivated once our queen was dead.”
Vesarius raised weary eyes to focus on the creature before him. The chancellor’s eyestalks drooped as if in sorrow. “How do you know of Dorinda?”
“You believe her very beautiful and brave, Traveler. We must return you to her immediately.”
“Wait, Chancellor,” Vesarius urged, thrusting out a warning arm then grumbling at the instinctual movement. “What about the plague? The Orthop history books?”
“We understand, Tankawankanyi of the Vesar. Our queen has seen your thoughts. We regret the deaths your crew have endured, the displacement of your female. We will make it right.”
Vesarius blinked. “You will change history? Send Dorinda home again?” Upon the low wall, his spine sagged with waning strength.
“No, Traveler. We refuse to play with time. It has already killed half our peo
ple. We can only fix your future. Besides,” the chancellor countered, “you do not want her to go back.”
Vesarius avoided the Mytoki’s quadruple stare. “How do you know what I want?” His voice was tinged in heated anger. “She is human. She belongs in her past.”
“You are both future beings to us,” the Mytoki countered then lurched his mantis foreclaws. “No matter, Traveler. Your destiny has already been programmed by a power far greater than our Arch. We cannot change destiny.”
“What will you change?” Vesarius winced once more as he adjusted his seating on the hard, hot stone. He braced his stabbing left side with his opposite hand.
“We will not rewrite the time stream. We can only plant a new seed, an opportunity to show our children their misguided intentions. A wisdom stone will be found in their queen’s chamber. It will tell our children about our wishes for peace.”
Vesarius grinned crookedly at the implications. “Yes, High Chancellor. The Orthops are in need of peace. Their population is expanding outward as my people did fifty years ago. They are in the throes of the same resource depletion which forced the Vesar to take action against the Tloni and humans.”
The high chancellor bowed his eyestalks in agreement. “I thank you, Traveler, for showing us yet another oversight. I promise you. Our children will learn to respect us more and worship us less. They will be ... sobered?” With finality, the chancellor crossed his foreclaws at the visitor then stepped back to allow Vesarius’ Mytoki bearers to gather him up in their massive limbs. He was carried to the Arch which stood silently and solid in the Mytoki sun. The warrior noticed the stone smoothness of the gleaming machine. Age had yet to be cruel.
The high chancellor joined another, shorter Mytoki behind the now familiar control panel. To Vesarius’ surprise, the chancellor hacked noisily and hunched forward to wipe his eyestalks with one mantis claw. Why hadn’t he noticed it before? Despite his sash and demeanor, the Mytoki leader was darker than his tanned fellows. A watery secretion drizzled from his massive, razor maw. “You are ill, High Chancellor,” Vesarius observed with concern. “Is it the plague?”
