Rystani Warrior 02 - The Dare

by Susan Kearney

  Zical tried to concentrate on his speech and ignore the legalese. Instead, he spoke with passion of their mission, their quest to find the Sentinel guarding the galaxy, admitting that the sign of the Zin was aboard their ship, not because they were spies, but because their intention was to stop the Zin from returning. He pointed out in clear, concise language that the Zin and Zinatti might be the same enemy. Hoping to prey on their fears, he told the Kwadii that if they stopped his mission to protect not just the Federation, but the whole of the galaxy from an ancient menace, their people would suffer along with the Federation’s billions.

  The Kwadii audience listened to his words. He might not have been as eloquent as Deckar or as passionate as Avanti, but he was no less determined. He didn’t know the Kwadii as well as Avanti, but all sentient beings shared the common trait built into their DNA—a need to live long enough to procreate and ensure the survival of the species.

  Finally he spoke more about the Federation, a union of worlds that had much in common with the Kwadii. A political system that allowed freedom and differences in values and political beliefs. He spoke of his sorrow at leaving Rystan after the Endekian invasion, of his pride in settling on the new world of Mystique, and how their people were counting on them to complete their mission. Lastly he spoke of the millions of worlds within the Federation and its power and how if the Kwadii executed their citizens, the Federation would consider it an act of war. Finally he suggested a treaty of peace between their peoples, one that would allow them to focus their goals and unite their efforts to eliminate the Zin threat from the Andromeda Galaxy.

  Zical finished as he’d started. To the sound of silence. He suspected with gut-wrenching tension that his words hadn’t reached them. He returned to his seat, and Dora smiled at him. “You were brilliant.”

  He clenched his hands into fists, then forced his fingers to relax. When the vote came in, he steeled himself.

  Avanti and Deckar approached the podium, their faces shifting with emotions he couldn’t read. Together they read the verdict. “Death.”

  “Death,” the crowd chanted. “Death. Death. Death.”

  At the verdict, Zical kept his face stoic. Cyn wiped away one of the women’s tears. Vax clamped a steadying hand on Dr. Laduna’s shoulder, and Dora held on to the woman who’d fainted earlier. Brave to the end, they didn’t deserve their fate, and a lump formed in Zical’s throat.

  Deckar raised his arms and the audience calmed. Soldiers with weapons double-timed through a lowered force field that snapped up again immediately after their passing. Deckar’s voice remained smooth and charming, but threads of his power charged the area. “The prisoners will climb the dais.”

  The soldiers approached. Black helmets protected their faces, and armor guarded their bodies. Behind them the second force field crackled back into place. Weapons at the ready, they’d attached long sharp spears to their weapons, in case the prisoners needing prodding.

  Zical considered going down fighting. His warrior nature fought with his abhorrence of senseless death. Taking the lives of innocent Kwadii soldiers, men who followed orders and who neither set the laws nor made the decisions, seemed a senseless gesture of violence. Instead, he preferred to set an example for his people to die with honor and dignity.

  Determined to be the first to die, Zical stood. When Dora placed a hand on his shoulder, he swallowed the lump in his throat. Perhaps his death would give everyone else a few more moments of life to prepare, to say their goodbyes and whatever prayers would help ease the journey.

  Full of anger and sorrow, Zical took the stairs. When he reached the execution platform, two soldiers grabbed his arms while others kept weapons aimed at him. They led him to a machine, and forced him to kneel. As a man tied his hands behind his back, another offered him a hood. He shook his head, refusing the blindfold, and filled his gaze with the sight of Dora.

  Stars. Even with tears rolling down her cheeks, she was one beautiful woman. He wanted the sight of her to be his last view of this world.

  Music played. Deckar offered yet another prayer, but Zical didn’t listen. His mind was too full of what he’d failed to accomplish. Leaning forward, he placed his head into the contraption that would soon release a blade and lop off his head.

  Deckar’s prayer ended. The music changed. Deckar began to count backward from eight.

  Zical kept his gaze on Dora. She’d paled, and her eyes raised to the blade, her expression filled with horror and shock. Shoving past the others, she raced to the dais, shouting, but he couldn’t hear her words over the sudden roar of the crowd and lost sight of her when she moved out of his line of vision.

  “Seven.” Deckar counted, his voice amplified by a microphone.

  Zical glanced above him and saw that the blade didn’t fall and slice cleanly. It was coming slowly, sawing to and fro. He steeled himself for a painful death, knowing that physical pain couldn’t match the agony of failure in his heart.

  “Six.”

  A commotion in the crowd caught his gaze, and he watched the bubbling group of humanity to distract himself from the descending blade. He wished Dora had remained where he could see her. But despite an effort, he couldn’t turn his head, and she remained out of his sight.

  “Five.”

  A child stepped through the crowd and walked toward the force field. Stars. It was Kirek! He was heading toward the lethal shielding. Zical shouted for him to go back, but his voice couldn’t be heard above the noisy crowd. What did Kirek think he was doing? He should have stayed hidden. Even if he somehow navigated the field, the soldiers would shoot him down. Or he would suffer the same fate as the rest of them.

  “Four.”

  Kirek stepped through the force field. The shield sparked rays of green, shooting a bursting aura of color over the audience. The crowd went silent. Zical didn’t know what horrified him more, the child’s attempt to join them, which would result in his losing his head, or the soldiers’ aiming their weapons on the boy, about to fire.

  “Three.”

  Zical looked up at the blade and regretted that Kirek would witness such a grisly sight. He had only a few more seconds of life. He braced for pain.

  “He’s Tirips’ Oracle,” shouted someone from the crowd.

  In the center stage, the Risorians’ smooth expressions changed from astonishment to awe. Many faced Kirek and crossed their wrists over their hearts. Deckar ordered the soldiers to hold their fire.

  The shield trapping his people disappeared.

  At the same time, Risorians fought past the Selgrens to reach Zical on the dais; chairs crashed, people elbowed one another, and the entire arena erupted into shoving and pushing and fighting. Within seconds a riot ensued.

  Deckar finished his morbid countdown. Avanti shouted for the execution to stop.

  But the blade began to saw and descend, moving closer and closer to Zical’s exposed neck.

  Kirek strode through the second field, and another sunburst of gold and silver shot out in rings. The crowd oohed and ahhed. Many gazes rose toward the heavens. More Kwadii crossed their wrists over their hearts while Selgrens booed and yelled catcalls. Zical’s people shoved toward him. But they’d never arrive in time.

  “Tirips’ Oracle,” the crowd chanted. People screamed and fainted.

  Oracle? Cold metal sliced his neck. Zical clenched his jaws, determined not to scream in pain.

  But then the saw stopped. Blood dripped down his stinging neck. But he was very much alive.

  Suddenly Zical felt a woman’s hands freeing him. Dora’s hands. She untied him, and her tears of grief turned to joy. Then she was holding him, hugging him, kissing him.

  Zical tucked her under his chin. “I couldn’t see everything. Who turned off the force field?”

  “Kirek.” She hugged him. “I smashed the circuits of this machine.”

  He grinned. “Good thinking. Thanks.”

  She’d stopped his execution. During the chaos and confusion, she’d reached him
before any of his more experienced crew. Bravely, she’d fought through the crowd, and he owed her his life. Dora had saved him.

  But why hadn’t the Kwadii soldiers stopped her? When a hooded cleric grabbed the microphone and spoke a prayer from the podium, he finally understood. The Risorians believed Kirek was holy. According to the cleric, Kirek had exhibited godlike vigor, and therefore the Risorians believed the Federation people must be the Oracle’s disciples and would be spared.

  But the Selgrens disagreed that Kirek was Tirips’ Oracle—hence the rioting. Avanti hurried to him and Dora, her expressive eyes full of concern. “Nothing like this has ever happened. You’ve been spared, but as glad as I am to see that you will live, many Selgrens do not believe in Tirips.”

  “What are you saying?” Zical asked.

  Avanti bit her bottom lip. “On Kwadii it’s often difficult to tell who is a friend and who is an enemy. Be careful. Be wary. Trust no one.”

  While Avanti’s pleasure that their lives had been spared appeared genuine, she obviously didn’t believe Kirek was Tirips’ Oracle. As usual, people believed what they wanted to believe. The Risorians had deemed Kirek Tirips’ Oracle, yet after witnessing the same event, Avanti’s Selgrens wanted to destroy the boy, just like they wanted to destroy the Risorians’ beliefs that kept them in poverty.

  Zical didn’t know what to think. Kirek had walked through the force field that would have killed a normal person. Thanks to Kirek’s abilities, they weren’t going to die. They might even get the chance to finish their mission.

  The scientists and his crew had protectively surrounded Kirek, welcoming him back with great smiles of joy. Dora and Zical pushed their way past confused soldiers back to their people. Dora kept her arm around Zical’s waist as if she couldn’t bear to release him, and Zical picked up Kirek.

  “You were very brave, little man,” Zical told the boy.

  Kirek flung his arms over Zical’s shoulders, careful not to touch his wounded neck, and buried his face in his shoulder. “These Kwadii scare the pee out of me.”

  Dora laughed, her tone light.

  Zical shook his head and grinned. “Me, too. Thanks for showing up at exactly the right time.”

  “So now can I be a full member of the crew?”

  “Until we get back home.” Zical recalled Kirek’s insistence that the mission would fail if he didn’t join him. The kid had been right. He patted his back and tousled his hair. “You were brave and you did good.”

  Around the arena, the soldiers gained control over the violence. Many Risorians celebrated and prayed, yet, clearly many Selgrens remained disbelievers. Deckar ordered a cordon of soldiers around Zical, Dora, Kirek, their crew, and the scientists and escorted them from the arena.

  Although Zical’s relief that they’d lived to continue their mission was as great as his crew’s, he’d already begun to plan for the future. Zical wished to go directly to their ship and leave Kwadii before anyone discovered that Kirek was a brilliant boy with the power to remain unaffected by scanners and sensors due to his birth in hyperspace.

  But Zical didn’t have an opportunity to speak with Deckar for several hours. Their happy group had been bundled into a military transport vessel and whisked across the city. Many scientists who had been seemingly stoic about their upcoming deaths now cried with happiness. Others said little, the emotional burden and shock stunning them to silence. However, almost everyone had thanked and praised Kirek, and the kid was all smiles, but he appeared weary.

  They arrived at a military compound about an hour later. Soldiers made them comfortable in new quarters very similar to the ones they’d previously occupied.

  Supposedly the guards were now there to protect them against Selgrens who would wish them harm, Selgrens who didn’t want the Risorians to gain more political power due to new converts who’d witnessed the miracle of the Oracle. But when Zical had asked for weapons to defend themselves, the captain of the guard had refused, saying his men would protect them.

  Located outside the city, the compound was made up of several bunkers, a refueling stop for automated convoys. Zical banked his frustration that they were now ever farther from his ship than before.

  These quarters were perhaps more comfortable, but no less confining. The captain of the guard had requested they remain indoors for their safety. Zical wondered if they’d be shot if they tried to leave. At the moment, he wasn’t willing to test how far their new status would take them, especially since hiding in the open pasture and fields that surrounded the compound would be difficult.

  However, as they’d entered the fenced and shielded facility, he’d noted the coming and going of many vehicles. He memorized the entrances and exits, wondering if he and his people could escape on transports. If only Dora could contact Ranth, the computer could program a skimmer to take them back to the ship.

  He put the idea on hold until he’d gathered more information. Meanwhile, grateful to be alive, he tried not to believe that they’d become a new kind of prisoner. When Deckar invited his crew and scientists to dinner in a large conference room, Zical accepted, eager to find out if they were finally free to leave.

  “Welcome, my friends and most holy Oracle.” Deckar crossed his wrists over his heart as he acknowledged Kirek. “Please forgive our earlier misunderstanding. We did not hear your words until Tirips showed your power.”

  “Then you now agree to see us on our way?” Zical asked, finding it difficult to put aside the bitter taste in his mouth. Deckar had almost executed him. If not for Kirek’s stunt and Dora’s quick thinking, Zical would not be sipping a glass of wine or about to partake of the feast laid out on the table. That Deckar had switched sides was due to his religious beliefs, and Zical didn’t trust the man’s sudden about-face.

  This hour, Deckar believed Kirek was the Oracle. Who knew what he’d believe tomorrow?

  Deckar spoke, “According to the scrolls, Tirips’ Oracle must help the Risorians convert the nonbelievers. You cannot leave.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  KIREK LEANED FORWARD. “Converting the nonbelievers is your task. Not ours.”

  Dora appreciated how Kirek emphasized that they were all in this together. He’d saved them all, a child, a brave and valiant soul. She couldn’t seem to stop touching the boy. With her hand on his shoulder, she smiled down on him with proud affection, glad he’d done so well on his own. The nod of his head and the way he forced his eyes open indicated he was about to fall asleep on his feet, and she suspected he’d had little or no rest the previous nights. When she’d touched his shoulder, she’d found a scrape and bruises, and she wondered how much he’d suffered while alone.

  “Oracle, I plead to differ.” Deckar flipped a switch and several holoscreens revealed riots. “This is Baniken.” Deckar’s somber tone emphasized the images of the city.

  Selgrens had taken over the streets, looting shops in the local markets. Any unlucky Risorian they caught suffered in the ensuing violence. In one clip, a group of Selgrens surrounded a skimmer, overturned it with their bare hands, and beat the unlucky occupants with bloody fists as they tried to escape. In another image authorities moved into the unruly crowd, spraying the rioters with chemical deterrents that froze the rioters in place until another squad collected the bodies. Yet another screen showed a group of kids dancing on the property of a wealthy Risorian homeowner, who pulled out a weapon and fired, leaving three children dead and four others wounded.

  Apparently Kirek had set off a storm of religious controversy that was tearing the different factions apart. The Selgrens, nonbelievers in Tirips, worked hard and played hard. They resented the Risorians who owned the land and who in their opinions did little but better themselves in Tirips’ eyes and lived off Selgren labor. Kirek’s appearance on Kwadii was like setting fire to rocket fuel, igniting explosive undercurrents.

  “We need your help, holy Oracle,” Deckar pleaded, his voice commanding and grave.

  Dora stepped forward and tucked Kir
ek under her arm. Her every protective instinct was out in abounding force. Kirek had saved the Federation people this day, and the haughty Kwadii had no right to demand the boy’s help. “The Oracle is exhausted. He needs rest.”

  Deckar frowned. “But—”

  “He must rest,” Dora repeated, and not waiting for permission to leave, escorted Kirek from the conference room before anyone tried to stop her.

  “Thank you.” Kirek held her hand tightly, and once they were out of view, Dora picked him up and carried him to his new quarters down a long hallway. Although guards were posted at the exits, she suspected there might be hidden mechanical listening devices, but had seen no evidence of them. While she didn’t want to pester Kirek with questions when he so clearly needed sleep, one question nagged. After she reached his room, she decided a full shower could wait until morning and settled for washing his face with a soft cloth. She tucked covers around him, and sat by his side. Keeping her voice easy and gentle and low, she pried, “What were you thinking to accomplish when you walked through that force field?”

  “I’d heard about the Oracle earlier today. After I won credits at a local carnival, we had to run away from authorities.”

  “We?”

  “I joined a group of kids to avoid detection.”

  “That was smart.”

  “We hid in a Risorian place of worship, a lepach, the First House. A high cleric made us welcome, offered us water to drink and told us stories. One legend was how Tirips’ Oracle would walk through the field of death to prove his singularity.”

  “You could have been hurt, or worse,” she said, amazement filling her that he’d planned the effect he’d had on the audience.

  “I knew I could nullify the force field.”

  “I meant, what if you’d failed to convince the Kwadii that you were the Oracle?”