by J. E. Gurley
“Where are they headed?”
“Ataxa.”
Jazon felt a wave of premonition strike him. “Find out what you can. Monitor their communications.”
He waited fifteen minutes as Amissa swept the frequency bands searching for a clue. Finally, she announced, “The Council has recalled the battle fleet. Lord Hromhada has broken from the Council and has taken the new fleet of interstitial ships to Ataxa.”
“For what purpose?”
“It appears they risk a civil war over the future of the Dastoran people. Lord Hromhada does not want to abandon the Alliance.”
“I guess I had him wrong,” Jazon admitted.
“Perhaps we both did.”
He thought of Huumba. What would his reaction to the news be? “I must inform the others.”
“I will continue to monitor.”
Huumba was furious when Jazon relayed what Amissa had discovered. Jazon had never seen a Dastoran lose his composure to such a degree. “The Council has acted foolishly,” he burst out. “The Cha’aita are at their weakest, yet we remove our fleet. The corridor to Alliance space is undefended.”
“There are a few Terran and Mrumban ships there still,” Jazon reminded him.
“Too few. They will be destroyed uselessly.” He quit pacing and sat down. “I am ashamed of my people.”
“Lord Hromhada is attempting to do the right thing.”
“He broke with the Council. It is unheard of.”
“Where do you stand?” Jazon ventured.
Huumba shot him a deadly cold look. “Where do you think I stand? I am a Protector of the Tuss Enclave. I stand with my Lord Hromhada.”
Jazon nodded. “I see.” He rubbed his chin as he thought.
“You have a plan?” Huumba asked as he watched Jazon.
“Maybe. I don’t think they know if we are dead or alive. Amissa can detect no telepathic linkage to Lord Hromhada.”
“So?” Huumba urged Jazon to complete his train of thought.
Jazon raised his arms and shrugged. “So I don’t know. It’s an advantage, that’s all. Maybe the only one we have. We need to figure out how to best use it.”
“Lord Hor Tatha will not believe that Lord Hromhada will order his ships to fire upon other Dastoran ships. He knows Lord Hromhada is too honorable to initiate such an action. Lord Tatha does not suffer from the same restraint. He will attack.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“If the Council wins, the Dastorans will withdraw from the Alliance, and if they suspect we survived, they will hunt us down to reclaim Amissa.”
Huumba looked at Jazon. “Do you contemplate running?”
“I’m considering it,” he admitted.
“I must join my fleet,” Huumba protested.
“If they learn that you survived, they will know Occam’s Razor survived.”
“My duty to you and this ship has ended. I must join Lord Hromhada.”
They locked eyes. Jazon knew he couldn’t stop Huumba short of restraining him. He knew how the Dastoran Protector felt. He made his decision.
“Very well,” he said, breaking the tension. “We will join Lord Hromhada.”
Huumba said nothing for a moment, and then nodded. Jazon saw his shoulders relax.
“I may kick you out the air lock as we pass by and keep on going,” Jazon added, “but I’ll get you there.”
Huumba smiled, the first time Jazon had seen a smile on the Dastoran’s face. “With or without a suit?”
Jazon slapped Huumba on the shoulder. Huumba looked at him questioningly, and then slapped Jazon’s shoulder in return. “There is some significance in this ritual?” he asked.
“Yes. It means we’re friends.”
Huumba nodded. “Yes, I believe we are.”
Amissa interrupted their conversation. Over the comm so that the others could hear, she announced, “Jazon, I detect many Thistleships converging on Ataxa.”
“How many?”
“Several hundred.”
“Damn!” Jazon exclaimed. “Lord Hor Tatha plans to hit Lord Hromhada with everything he has.”
“Lord Hromhada’s fleet will be utterly destroyed,” Huumba observed.”
“Not if we Skip first,” Jazon exclaimed.
Small skirmishes had broken out as forces loyal to Lord Hromhada attempted to break through the Council’s tight blockade. Except for these scattered instances, little Dastoran blood had spilled. Lord Hromhada thanked the gods for that. He analyzed the deployment grid displayed in front of him, as if some great, universal truth would reveal itself among the curved lines that represented gravity wells and end the war he had started. For the first time in his life, he felt truly alone.
There was no one among his staff with whom he could confide his doubts. His concubines could care less of the turmoil that troubled him. Even his wife could not understand how torn he felt. He was alone, the leader of the Tuus Enclave. At a word from him, his people would go to war. He needed the calm, steadying influence of Protector Huumba. Most of all, he needed Amissa.
Odd, he thought, how alike Jazon Lightsinger and I are. We are both ensnared in a carefully woven Dastoran web, Jazon by his love for Amissa, and I by my reluctance to part with her. For her, I broke with the Council. Honor had been at the root of his decision, of course, but deep in Lord Hromhada’s mind, he knew the Terran was correct about Amissa. Even if she proved to be the Avatar that his people had hoped for, she would never be under Dastoran control. They could not separate her humanity from her precious gift. If she were lost to him, her blood would forever stain his hands.
Her blood would not be the last. Could he order his people to fire on their brethren? He knew Lord Hor Tatha was counting on his reluctance to do so. He also knew Lord Hor Tatha harbored no such qualms.
Lord Hor Tatha had always been power hungry and a constant thorn in Lord Hromhada’s side. He wanted control of the Avatar and would use the bulk of the Dastoran fleet to obtain it, even if it meant civil war.
Lord Hromhada was not sure if Occam’s Razor or any one on board had survived the explosion detected on the Phyein home world. His limited psychic ability detected only a dark void where the Phyein presence had been, but he clung to the possibility that Amissa was still alive. He had no proof, but there was no hollow place in his heart, and he suspected there would be one if she were dead. If the Avatar survived, then Lightsinger was alive also. He could use the Terran’s military prowess now.
“Lord Hromhada,” one of his Executive Officers called out. “Lord Tatha has issued a truce proposal. He asks you to meet with him to discuss terms.”
He knew it to be a trick and not a subtle one. “Lord Tatha wants no peace,” he growled. “He seeks only my death. Tell him if he wants my head to come and take it.”
A bold statement meant to bolster the troops’ moral and nothing more, he thought. He had already decided that before he would allow this rift to develop into a full civil war, he would offer his life. His hope was that many more would come to realize the truth of his cause and rally around him.
Word had reached him that many of the temples on the home world were calling for a return to the old ways where honor was above all save servitude to the Mahata Fey. Attempts by the Council to silence the priests had led to riots. That Lord Tatha had recalled the fleet from the Battle Zone declared his true intention to remove Lord Hromhada as a threat and to consolidate his power. If successful, he would never order the fleet back on station, and the Cha’aita would break through, overwhelming the Alliance worlds.
“The leading edge of Lord Tatha’s fleet is charging weapons,” his weapons officer called out, his voice filled with the certainty of death.
“Continue to hold your position. Do not charge weapons.” The young weapons officer looked at him with wide eyes.
In two minutes, they would be within range of Lord Tatha’s weapons. If the Council leader did not stop, he was leading his men to certain death.
<
br /> “The fleet is maneuvering to attack positions, my Lord.”
Lord Hromhada’s grip on his console tightened. “Hold steady.”
“I’ve picked up the signature of another ship Skipping between our two fleets.”
“Identify.”
“It is broadcasting a Tuus recognition signal. It is Occam’s Razor,” answered the bewildered officer.
A cheer went up through the bridge though the appearance of one ship would not sway the outcome of the battle. Even Lord Hromhada felt a heavy weight lift from his shoulders at the sight of Occam’s Razor.
“They survived,” he whispered. “Open a frequency.”
Before the communication’s officer could respond, Lord Hromhada felt a familiar presence inside his mind. He looked at his bridge officers and saw that they, too, were hearing it. The sheer power of Amissa’s mental message numbed him.
“Welcome home, Amissa my child,” he thought to her, conveying as much warmth as he could summon. He could feel another presence beside Amissa’s, lingering at the edge, listening, but ordering Occam’s Razor to prepare for battle. “Lightsinger?” he asked.
“Right here, Lord Hromhada. We’re a little busy right now. Talk to you later.”
Lord Tatha’s fleet swept forward toward Occam’s Razor, firing as they came. Lethal fingers of laser batteries lanced out. Occam’s Razor danced around them, a carefully choreographed ballet with Amissa’s prescient mind choosing the right steps.
“Lord Tatha,” Jazon called. “Stop this useless battle. We have a common enemy, the Cha’aita. Order your fleet back to the Battle Zone.”
It was too late. The leading edge of the two fleets made contact. In the first volley, eight of Lord Hromhada’s ships dissolved into a stream of atoms and energy.
“Charge weapons?” The weapons officer called to Lord Hromhada.
“Amissa, Skip us beside Lord Tatha’s ship. As close as possible.”
Lord Hromhada watched Occam’s Razor disappear and blink back into existence less than one hundred meters from the ship, too close for Lord Tatha’s weapons to bear on them even if their sensors had not been overwhelmed by the energy released by the close proximity Skip.
“Lord Tatha,” Jazon called. “Call a truce or I will destroy your ship. You can’t prevent it.”
For ten heartbeats, he heard nothing, and then, “Hold positions.”
Jazon mumbled a silent, “Thank you.”
It appeared that the civil war was over, or at least on hold.
21
“Life’s race well run, Life’s work well done,
Life’s victory won, Now cometh the rest.”
Funeral Ode on James A. Garfield Edward Hayes Park, MD
“Take us in slow, Amissa.”
Ever so slowly, they closed with Lord Hromhada’s ship.
“We are here,” Amissa announced over the comm. Through their link, he could feel the tension in her mind, fear at the outcome of this meeting.
Jazon waited for Amissa and Huumba at the main airlock. He turned to Huumba.
“We couldn’t have done this without your help. You are a brave warrior, Protector Huumba, and a credit to your race.”
Huumba looked at Jazon warily and offered his hand. “I truly did not wish to kill you, Jazon Lightsinger,” he admitted. “This was not so of the Trilock ambassador,” he said with a grin.
“Warriors do not make good politicians.”
“I suspect this is so.” He glanced at the fleet on the view screen. “I also suspect a small ship could disappear in the confusion of the aftermath of this battle.”
“Lord Hromhada is taking no chances with his ship.”
“I do not believe he was taking a chance at all.”
“Is that a compliment?” Jazon asked of the Drone.
Huumba bowed. “A reluctant admission.”
“Well, Lord Hromhada is waiting.”
He handed Huumba the stasis container filled with Amissa’s prescient material.
“Give this to Lord Hromhada. Tell him even Dastorans can become prescient. Tell him that if he asks nicely, Terrans would be willing to help.”
“You aren’t coming aboard?” Huumba asked.
Jazon laughed. “I think I’ll take my chances here.”
“You succeeded,” Huumba said quietly, nodding his head slowly. “Against all odds, you succeeded.”
“We succeeded.”
The Dastoran offered Jazon his hand. “Farewell, then, Terran. I do not believe Lord Hromhada will pursue you.”
Jazon shook Huumba’s hand. “We’ll see.”
The airlock sealed.
“Amissa, get us away from here.”
“Lord Hromhada is trying to contact you,” she replied.
Jazon sighed. He had hoped to break cleanly. “Put him on.”
“You are leaving?” Lord Hromhada asked.
“I thought it best. Our mission is accomplished.”
“The Phyein? You destroyed them?”
“No, they will be out there somewhere, waiting, when we find them again.”
“Perhaps it is just as well,” Lord Hromhada mused. “Balance has been achieved nevertheless. I can feel it. The Cha’aita?”
“Very weak. The Phyein destroyed fifteen of their ships. If you Dastorans manage not to kill one another, you could end the war now.”
“We need you …” Lord Hromhada began.
“No you don’t. You don’t need me, Amissa, or Occam’s Razor, and unless you intend to shoot us down, we’re leaving now.”
He felt the ship begin to move. The Dastoran Fleet twinkled; then vanished. Lord Hromhada had given in.
“Lord Hromhada sends one last message,” Amissa told him, as a data burst beamed from the bridge of the Thrallimar
struck Occam’s Razor.
“What is it?”
“A transfer for two million credits.”
Jazon smiled. “The bastard remembered.” He touched the lucky half-credit token in his pocket. You have some brothers now, little token. May you all be lucky.
“Where to, my love?” Amissa asked, wrapping him with warm thoughts of love and ecstasy.
“Earth.”
J.E. Gurley (James Edward Gurley) is a retired Atlanta chef from Corinth, Mississippi. He now resides with his wife, Kim, and two cats, Coco and Shoes, in the deserts outside Tucson, Arizona. When not writing, he enjoys reading, music, and hiking. He plays guitar and keyboards in local bands.
He is the author of 18 novels in both the horror and science fiction genres, including the Judgment Day zombie series, Ice Station Zombie, a Middle Grade horror titled Grave Dancer’s Club, and a YA science/fantasy, Oracle of Delphi.
You can contact him at [email protected]
Or check his website at Http://wwwjamesgurley.com
