by West, Shay
“Competition? Are you mad?” Feeror asked.
“These machines constitute a huge investment for my people. Destroying them isn’t an option,” the Head Maker said.
The Maker rolled his eyes and moved around his boss. “I don’t feel that way. If your friend says he knows what is happening on our world, I believe him. Besides,” he looked to the Head Maker. “How can you argue with what we’ve seen here? If we wait, it will be too late.”
“Perhaps we can try to find a way to stop them that doesn’t entail destroying them.” Lamnor cleared his throat under the scrutiny of Feeror. “Well, it seems as though weapons have been tried and have proven unsuccessful. Maybe now that we can examine the computer chips, it might give us an idea of how to stop them.”
Feeror looked with respect at Lamnor. “Perhaps you’re right. But whatever we do, we need to do it fast. We have to get back to our own time.”
“Perhaps the Kromin is the best one to examine the processor. It has advanced technology and it might be able to figure out how the processor works,” Moylir said.
--It seems rather simple at first glance--
“Great. Why don’t you work with one of the Makers and see what you guys can come up with? As for me, I’m tired and pained and hungry,” Feeror said.
--Affirmative-- The clone moved to the small table and took the ship in its furry hands, turning it this way and that.
“I will have food brought as well as something for that leg,” one of the telcor said.
Feeror was saved from engaging in any more idle chatter with the arrival of food. Several telcor females brought trays stacked with fruits and tubers. He sighed at the herbivorous fare. Though he was telcor in form, Feeror craved the taste of meat. Still, his body demanded sustenance, so he ate heartily.
--I have finished studying the processor--
“Did you find anything we can use to stop the machines?” Feeror asked around a mouthful of food.
--Negative--
“Would you care to elaborate?” he asked through clenched teeth.
--The processor yielded no information with regards to stopping the machines. Without being able to see a chip from a machine and compare it to this one, there is no way of telling what modifications have been made to it. Unless we can overcome the force field, we can’t remove one for examination--
Feeror wanted to throw his plate of food across the clearing and hit something. Hard. They had abandoned their friends knowing the Mekans were tearing up their world, and had come to this world hoping they would find the one thing they needed to stop the machines. But the trip looked to be a total waste of time.
“If that is all we should return to our craft and head home. I still think our engineers can stop them,” the head Maker said.
“I hope you’re right,” Moylir said, not believing a word of it.
“We should get to the portal. The sooner we return to our time the sooner we can tell our friends that we failed,” Feeror said.
We have failed.
ASTRA
FEEROR EXITED THE PORTAL, his stomach clenching and rolling from more than the trip. The thought of looking the others in the eye and telling them they had learned nothing helpful from their excursion shriveled his heart. Moylir, Lamnor and the clone exited soon after. Feeror glared at the clone, who stood on legs that didn’t wobble and sifted through the clothing to find what it had worn while on this planet last.
“Ummm...you don’t happen to have any extra clothing, do you?” Lamnor asked.
Feeror and the others pieced together enough clothing so that Lamnor wasn’t completely naked, but they would have to find him his own set of clothing while they traveled to their friends.
--Might I make a suggestion?--
“Suggest away,” Feeror said.
--Our ship is still with the others. My comrade can bring it and get us to the others much more quickly--
Feeror nodded. “Do it.” He glanced at the clone. “Can you tell how long we’ve been gone? I mean, did Lamnor bring us back to the Astra at the right time?”
--I will know as soon as I contact my comrade-- The clone stood silently for a moment. – It says we have only been gone a few weeks--
“Is everyone safe?” Feeror asked.
--The one called Jon Stone has run off with Fa’ Vel. The Earth Chosen and one of the clones have gone to Earth to try to move the people somewhere safe. The Astrans make for the Shadow Mountains--
His mind whirled. He had hoped that Lamnor would have brought them back closer to the time they had departed. It seemed a lot had happened in a few weeks.
Feeror glanced at Lamnor. “Are you sure you want to be here? This isn’t exactly the safest place to be.”
“If you’re right about the danger the Mekans pose, nowhere will be safe,” Lamnor said.
Feeror led the group out into the bright Astran sun. From here everything looked peaceful and serene. No sign of deadly machines.
All that will change.
--My comrade is on his way with the ship--
In a short time, Feeror saw the flat silver disk moving toward them at incredible speed. It amazed him that something that big could move that quickly and that silently. Unlike the Mekans. He shaded his eyes as the glare from the sun bouncing off the shiny craft nearly blinded him. It hovered a few feet from the ground before descending gently to land on four legs that emerged from the smooth belly of the craft.
The Kromin led the way up the steep ramp. Feeror came next, followed by Lamnor and Moylir.
The Kromin took a seat next to its comrade and punched the buttons that retracted the ramp. Feeror and the others took seats behind the Kromins. Lamnor gripped the arms of his chair when the ground dropped suddenly from sight on the viewscreen. Feeror and Moylir shared a grin.
The pod sped across the landscape, traveling distances in moments that would have taken them weeks to travel on foot. Feeror was grateful for the technology the Kromin Chosen possessed.
Suddenly, he spotted a Mekan flying in front and just to the left of the viewscreen. He stood and moved closer to the screen, hoping it would fly on and in the opposite direction of where they were heading.
The Mekan banked sharply and came right at the travel pod. A door opened on the side of the machine and an arm unfurled as it emerged, tipped in what looked like sharp claws.
“Do you have weapons on this thing?” Feeror asked.
--Negative--
“Then fly faster!”
--You should sit and fasten the chair latch over your laps--
Feeror sat back down and looked for the chair latch. “Where is the latch?” he yelled.
--Just touch the arm on the side--
Feeror moved to the side and peered at the lateral edge of the arm. He saw a raised area about the size of his thumb. He pushed it and a sheath of black plastic encircled his waist. He looked to Moylir and Lamnor. Both had noticed him activating the chair latch and had followed suit. Lamnor looked like he wanted to throw up everything he had ever eaten. Moylir had a glint in her eye that only a Volgon would have at the thought of a fight.
The Kromins punched buttons, communicating silently with one another. The travel pod shot straight up into the air. Feeror grunted as the movement threatened to fuse his internal organs with his spinal column. Lamnor mewled pitifully.
Feeror shook his head as he got a look at the viewscreen. It was split into four separate sections, each offering a view from the back and sides of the travel pod. He could see the Mekan craft coming from behind and gaining on them quickly.
“Unless this travel pod can go faster, that Mekan will be on us in a few seconds,” Feeror said.
The Kromins calmly tapped on the controls and the craft leveled off. They were moving away from the Shadow Mountains and toward the Sea of Solace, away from their friends. The travel pod slowly pulled away from the Mekan craft. The telepaths took the pod into a thick bank of clouds.
“We won’t lose them in this for long,”
Feeror said.
The viewscreen showed fluffy white clouds all around except for the Mekan that was still on their tail. The Kromins banked sharply to the left and each one hit several buttons simultaneously. The craft slowed considerably and sank below the level of the clouds. Feeror frowned. The view from the front of the craft looked strange, distorted.
“What did you do? Why are we slowing?” he asked.
--The cloaking device drains power--
“Cloaking device?” he asked, his jaw tensing. Getting the clones to offer extra information was worse than pulling teeth.
--It renders us invisible. However, while in place, the cloak drains power--
“That’s fine. If the Mekan can’t see us we won’t have to worry about outrunning it. I wonder why it came after us?”
--Our craft is made entirely of metal--
“So you think it was trying to bring us down so it could use the metal?”
--This was the reason they came to our home world. The alloy our buildings and craft are constructed of would be very useful to them--
“You act like you don’t care that the Mekans are destroying your people,” Moylir said.
--It is something that is happening--
Moylir looked at Feeror as though he could talk some sense into the Kromin.
“If you need to leave, we would understand,” Feeror said.
--We can’t help our people; why would we leave?--
Moylir grunted as though in pain. Feeror leaned in close. “They are not like us. It does no good to get angry.”
“Their entire race is on the verge if destruction and they act as though it’s only another day. How can they do that?”
“All of us Chosen come from very different worlds. We have had to learn to live with certain differences.” Sadness forced the air from his lungs. “This is one of those differences. You can’t make them feel something they just don’t feel.”
“It’s not natural. Everyone we’ve come into contact with thus far has had emotions. They are like the Mekans: cold and unfeeling.”
“There’s nothing we can do to change them.”
Though moving more slowly than before, the craft still made good time back toward Heart Stone. It was exhilarating to see the landscape speed by beneath them, rivers looking like small silver ribbons swirling across the green ground. Feeror spotted a herd of animals running along the ground, parting the tall grass as they ran from the strange vibrations of the travel pod.
“Perhaps we should make ourselves visible before we fly into the village,” Feeror suggested.
The scenery through the viewscreen cleared as the Kromins deactivated the cloaking device. They landed well away from the village in a small clearing, stirring up a little dust as they touched down. By the time the ramp was lowered, a crowd had gathered, eager to hear what those in the craft had to say about their future.
Feeror spotted Saemus and walked over to talk to the lad. There was much to discuss and he felt it necessary to speak to the Chosen before telling the rest of the villagers.
“Is there somewhere we can go to speak privately?” Feeror asked.
“Of course, but I’m sure whatever you have to say—”
“It’s better if only the Chosen hear first.”
Saemus nodded. “There are not many of us left. And I’m not sure Kaelin and Keera are up for it.”
“They must be there. We have some decisions to make as a group. Their voices should be heard.”
“I’ll try. I’ll take you somewhere where you can freshen up and where...” Saemus trailed off as he spotted Lamnor.
“I will explain later,” Feeror said, unwilling to start in on the discussion. Once the flood gates were opened, he feared they wouldn’t close easily.
Seamus led the newcomers to Master Brok’s old home. His family had been staying there since they arrived from Willow Haven just prior to the girls’ impromptu weddings.
“You should be able to find clothing enough for all of you. I’ll go find the girls and bring them.” If I can.
Feeror and Moylir rummaged through the various drawers and trunks until they found clean clothing for all of them. Feeror and Lamnor dressed in the room belonging to Hal and Dayne while Moylir dressed in Saemus’ room. There was tepid water in the washbasins, barely enough to wet a cloth, but it was enough for a quick wash.
Feeror helped Lamnor with his clothing. Watching the man struggle with the garments reminded him of the first time he and his Volgon comrades had tried to dress. The Astrans had been bent double with laughter when he and Voilor had come out of the farmer’s room dressed in the goodwife’s clothing.
“You don’t wear garments where you are from?” Feeror asked as he demonstrated how a belt worked.
“Not like these,” the man said, gazing at the buttons on his shirt with a frown.
“You’ll get used to them.”
By the time they were dressed, Saemus had returned with Keera and Kaelin, both looking as though they wanted to kill him. Their eyes were bloodshot and sunken in deep pits.
“Why don’t we get comfortable? There’s much to tell,” Feeror said.
Once everyone had taken a seat around the large table in the spacious dining room, Feeror spoke, haltingly at first, but soon the words were tumbling so quickly he had to slow down lest he forget some crucial bit of information. By the time he got to the part about Lamnor taking them back in time through the portals, they were staring in rapt attention, mouths open, eyes unblinking. He told them of his visions while on the mysterious dark planet of the telcor and their inability to find a way to stop the Mekans.
“Unless we can get those processing chips out...” Feeror shook his head.
“From what you’ve told us, that’s going to be impossible,” Saemus said.
“What about your power? You have already been able to do some pretty amazing things with it thus far,” Moylir said.
Saemus shrugged. “I suppose we can try. But we need to be close to the Mekans for that to work. And I don’t exactly fancy traveling to Faerow to meet them.”
“Jon’s already there,” Kaelin said.
Saemus turned to stare at Kaelin. She met his look without flinching. “What? He is, isn’t he? Why not see if he is willing to actually help us instead of mucking things up as usual?”
“That’s not fair, Kae—”
“Oh don’t you even stand up for him Saemus Andrew Barlow!” Kaelin faced her twin, face red and hands in tight fists. “He’s been nothing but trouble. He runs away, learns the Dark Arts, kills a few people with it, runs away again, and yet you tell me that I’m not being fair?”
Saemus wanted to argue, but her assessment was dead on. Jon had been the cause of a lot of trouble for them, put their lives at risk, even killed people while using his dark power.
But his dark power has helped us too.
“He is still Chosen, still one of us.”
Kaelin shook her head. “Not as far as I’m concerned. And as far as this whole ‘Chosen’ thing goes, I think I’m done with it.”
Saemus groaned. “Not this tired old argument again.”
“I mean it this time. You guys are on your own.”
“We’ve been over this a hundred times—”
“You guys have fun. I’m going back to the house I should be sharing with my husband.” Kaelin got up and marched out the door.
Saemus stared after her. In the past, he or someone else, had always been able to talk her out of her temper tantrums. He knew his twin, knew her better than she knew herself on most days. It was no secret that she hated the idea of destiny and the implication that she had no control over her life. When Brok had first told them about what they were to do, she had been nearly hysterical in her protests. Saemus knew that life hadn’t turned out the way she had wanted. Even her wedding to the man she loved wasn’t what she had been picturing since she was a girl.
Saemus turned to the clone. “I don’t care if Jon has turned his back on us. Sh
are with him what Feeror told us. Maybe he or Fa’ Vel can find some way to use the information to our advantage.”
“Kaelin’s right, you know.”
Saemus turned to look at Keera. Anger tightened the muscles of his face and jaw. He didn’t want to hear this from her too.
“How do you figure?”
“Look at us!” Keera flung her arms around the room. “We’re finished. The Mekans have won. Time to just accept that and move on.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Of course I do! There are only a handful of us left. Brad and Sloan left for home and they won’t be coming back. I only got to be married for a fortnight.” Her voice broke. Moylir moved next to the girl, trying to comfort her.
“We can’t just give up. We can’t,” Saemus finished in a whisper.
“Well, if you have any bright ideas, now’s the time to share them,” Keera sneered.
Saemus looked to Feeror, hoping the big warrior had a trick up his sleeve, or that a solution would present itself. When the big man looked away, Saemus’ shoulders sagged.
“So that’s it then?”
“I’m afraid so, lad. We will go with your people as they move deeper into the mountains. We have the plasma rifles. If we save the charge, we can maybe use them to buy some time,” Feeror said.
“We have been waiting for your return, and for any stragglers from outlying farms who might join us before we leave. But I don’t see any reason to stay any longer.” Saemus hung his head. “I’ll tell Rome that we can begin our move in the next few days.”
EARTH
FORKA WATCHED AS A YOUNG PROTECTOR SADDLED and bridled his horse. She pranced around while the Protector tried to toss the saddle onto her back. Once he’d managed that, he fought with her while pulling the rope bridle up over her ears. Forka caught her eye as she tossed her head. He chuckled at the mischievousness shining in her warm brown eyes.
