The Fourth Guardian

by Geoff Geauterre

The High Lama hummed softly as he listened to the satellite reports across the world. Then he turned, sensing someone on the balcony behind him. The shadow moved into the light, and he stepped back.

  "I thought never to see you again."

  Regis smiled warmly. “Why not? Weren't you the one who helped me when I was dropped into your world like some newborn lamb?"

  "Humph! I'd hardly label you a creature of innocence.” He gestured to the receiver. “Is that some of your work?"

  "Partly.” Then Regis looked around the High Lama's quarters and whistled in appreciation. Television monitors, shortwave sets, intercom communicator systems, and computer terminals. “You've been busy."

  "Only building upon what you gave us to begin with, you know."

  "So from the seed of an alien's gratitude, you built this.” He looked over his shoulder. “I trust you've not grown careless?"

  The High Lama shook his head. “No. The valleys below may be aware of added movement among our brethren, but not to what has happened in the temple itself. We have another part of this place built for the ignorant at heart, when they come to pray or just visit. But one day, it is hoped, that will change, and we shall reach down and lift those born into ignorance and misery into the light."

  "Not anytime soon.” Regis sighed.

  "What's the problem, my friend?"

  "Oh, nothing time will not mend. It's just that the overall plan I had for this world is being set back.” He looked up with weary eyes. “It appears the governments-that-be have decided to fight fire with fire."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Ever heard of competition?” He shook his head in self-mockery. “Now there was something I never gave them credit for. I come along promising freedom to all, and what do they do, but do it first. Right off the bat, they take away the need for passports. I promise medical technology they would not have seen for three hundred years, and what do they do? Free medical coverage for everyone. I free those unjustly imprisoned, and what do they do? They open all their prisons and free every non-violent individual they can get their hands on, and then give him a check for ten thousand pounds and a free trip to Hawaii."

  The High Lama chuckled. “I'm just now hearing of these events."

  "It has become a war of altruists. Yet I know, if I don't keep up the pressure, they'll be back twice as strong, and twice as vicious."

  Is that what it has become then? A war between altruists?"

  Regis laughed sourly. “Yes, I know. It is ironic."

  "So how is it going?"

  Regis shrugged and sat on top of a bunch of cushions. “In the long run, I'm winning, of course, but I must admit it's the stupidest war I've ever been in. Half the time I don't know whether to laugh or cry."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that the longer they hold out; the longer they stall folding in on themselves and giving it up. Their staff people have surmised that we have a base on this planet, and they're looking for us. They are getting closer. Our tactical people say once that's done, they'll use nuclear weapons to wipe us out."

  He shook his head in dismay. “They have no idea what I can do, but I have the uneasy feeling they're going to try it anyway."

  The High Lama did not like the vision he had. It was too awful.

  "Not that I'd do anything catastrophic,” Regis contradicted. “Although it had crossed my mind, it's the sheer waste of resources that galls me."

  "Have you come here for counseling?” asked the High One softly.

  Regis looked up from his brooding posture. “Don't worry, my friend, there isn't any danger of my cracking from all the pressure. I have plenty of help, you know. And when it's safer you'll meet them, but for now I've come for something else. Have you received any word from my people?"

  "My friend,” the High One said, wishing he could offer more comfort. “I am afraid there is nothing since last we spoke. Our monitors that you helped establish, along with several we've improved upon, have detected a thin stream of negative polarity particles, but it is still one way. Which means we are still unable to pierce, probe, communicate with, or even guess at what's happening on the other side."

  "You're sure?” Regis clenched his fists. “You're absolutely certain?"

  "My son, I am sorry. I know how you must miss them. But there has been nothing."

  "Ah, well,” he muttered. “It probably doesn't matter anyway."

  "What do you mean?” the High Lama asked.

  "I've been experimenting. Attempting to force a focus through the aperture, trying to influence someone—anyone—on the other side."

  The High Lama once imagined this man a god, when all he wanted was to return home. Who deserved permanent exile?

  The door to the chamber was flung open, and Oompal stood staring at them, and over her shoulder a collection of giant Yetis crowded close. Before either could say anything, there was a general stampede of glad tidings, thumping shoulders, whining high mountain Yeti whistles, and more of the robed creatures came thumping down the corridors. The star lord had returned.

  While he was shepherded about the place, monks and Yetis on every side proudly showed what they'd accomplished ... thanks to him.

  * * * *

  At almost the same moment, a group of a hundred people assembled at the back of a warehouse, the glassine ports were darkened, and at the table that stood for a podium, the august figure of the ex-chief counsel for justice stood. He banged his gavel and called for order.

  "As you know that baggage of filth and larceny, along with his cronies, cannot be put out of office legally,” he began. “I know. I've tried. The hold he has on the Senate is too binding. There's a fear that if they act against him their families could be harmed."

  "What can be done about it?” said a merchant from the third row. “He controls the police and a lot of the military. I know this because one of my sons is in service, and he has told me they're gearing up for a fight, only they won't be told with whom. He advised me to get the household off-planet."

  Ex-associate justice Braggan nodded. “That's good advice. Are you going to take it?"

  "No. I'm going to stand and fight."

  "You always were a hero. That's why you were one of my worst students, and why I could always trust you."

  "My son told me Amaron has spies everywhere. He could even have some here."

  Suspicious looks darted around.

  Braggan shook his head. “I've had everyone triple-checked and the building scanned several times. But you are right. The Imperials have been bought out, and a good deal of the military units are under their control. We have friends among them, though, and they'll keep a lookout for the traitors, but nevertheless, we questioners are forced to face a dismal fact. It's not improving. We've tried every way we could think of, short of bloodshed, and it's not working."

  "What are we going to do about it?” someone shouted from the back.

  A woman from the fifth row stood. “I have an idea."

  "What is it?"

  "Assassinate them all."

  Silence.

  "That would be treason."

  "You speak of getting rid of a tyrant ... one who threatens the peace of the entire human-held realm, and you're still looking for a peaceful means. No wonder you were called ‘softy’ behind your back. You're too nice to be mean!"

  Chuckles arose as Braggan gestured impatiently. “Listen, I don't mean to abuse my position among the questioners, but think. What does every tyrant fear most? Assassination. Why does he always guard himself? Assassination. What holds him back from creating atrocities? The threat of assassination. Once that threat is removed, once we assassinate some of them, they in turn will be free to respond with everything they've got."

  His daughter was visibly upset. “You know I love you, father. You are an ideal. A philosopher. A statesman and a diplomat. But now we're past the time for talk!"

  It became apparent that the neo-anarchists, who felt their constitution must be upheld regardless
of the consequences, were for killing Amaron and his associates quickly ... while some were for torturing them to death on the Block of Truth. Braggan's daughter, a conservative, was one of the latter.

  * * * *

  Far across the galaxy, a Galactic Lord wondered if the moment hadn't come to interfere in an escalating disaster in the human sector.

  Said individual hummed a few bars, and then off-handedly asked, what might happen were the human bearer of light abandoned?

  From several minds at once came the dictum that the humans would be warded—permanently!

  But wouldn't this be a sort of preemptive punishment?

  If a Bearer of Light were mishandled, came horrified responses, because of the stupidity of his own people, then so much the better!

  Hmm ... But what if some other factor was entered. Wasn't there a female mentioned earlier? Someone with a prior claim upon the Bearer?

  Minds cast themselves back upon the records. Yes. There was.

  What became of her?

  She and her people were lost in a magnetic void. Aldeberan Sector, quadrant twelve. The incident was given a level four status. Escape with their limited technology was impossible, but due to the void's static hibernation within its range, they should still be alive. Why?

  An intercession, at this time, could be helpful.

  The suggestion was considered carefully.

  "Are you sure,” someone asked vocally, timidly, “whether we should be involved?"

  "Enough of this twaddle. Intercede at once!"

  Thus had soft suggestions turned into commands.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Nine

  A certain Lady of a great house, on a planet once controlled by her tyrannical lord and master, began suffering horrible dreams. They caused her to wake on several occasions. But lately, the dreams were becoming sharper and more defined.

  Sensing she might lose her mind if she didn't unburden herself, she let loose to her family confessor. Perhaps she should have done something to avenge her mate, but wouldn't that have meant she should have done something to avenge her daughter? Having touched the mind of his killer and discovering said individual was the rarest of souls, she didn't know what she should do. Had she been in the wrong?

  Antennae quivered and brushed the curtain that separated them.

  Well, what did she do?

  Well, she expostulated, her own antennae at sixes and sevens, not knowing what to do didn't mean she was helpless. She allowed the miscreant to depart and sent an ambassador to follow him to his home world and to keep a faithful watch.

  Of course, said the confessor neutrally, this was the proper course to take if intransigence obscured duty, and vengeance had to wait for a more appropriate time. She'd know where to locate her prey. What happened after that?

  Nothing, she reported dutifully, or rather, nothing for a number of years, human time, but then something happened that was really disturbing.

  Exoskeletal shoulders crunched in a shrug. What was it?

  The avenger of her daughter's death was caught doing something similar elsewhere, and he was brought to trial.

  Wait a moment, he cautioned, getting a nasty feeling about this. Because it sounded like...

  Yes, she sighed, it was. The Block of Truth. Her avenger was the Fourth Guardian. And now, with his secret exile, all word had been lost.

  The family confessor rustled abnormally, his crustacea itched, and he made a violent movement with a claw that would have killed someone had they been in the path of that swing.

  "So,” he grated, “what have you done to correct this?"

  She gasped at the shifting demand, but responded as a daughter of the Golden Church.

  "I tried to get as much information as I could, confessor, but it was as water to the grasp. Nothing more would come of it!"

  "Is that all, daughter? Nothing more would come of it? A Bearer of the Light is lost, and you squat there and tell me you did nothing else?"

  "Well, I, er ... did ask for a report from the humans as an interested party."

  "What did they say?"

  Nervously, her tongue touched the top of her palate. “They told me everything was as expected, that as usual they were monitoring the progress of the Bearer, and as a lady of my house concerned with a human's progress, they were flattered."

  Antennae scratched, a hiss exploded on the other side of the curtain, and a handy vase made of indestructible chromalloy was bent into shapelessness.

  Uncertainly, the lady edged back a bit.

  "And after this lie, you made no further attempts?"

  Mandibles twitched helplessly, and froth formed at the cornering cups of her mouth. “I informed my people that they must have been mistaken."

  "Their reply?"

  She sniffed. “I was told that if I thought I could do better, maybe I should get off my two tons of fat and have a go myself. I thought it was ungracious of my niece to speak to me like that."

  From the other side of the confessional curtain came a sound of more items being demolished.

  "What else did you fail to do, daughter?"

  She expanded her chest a couple millimeters and sighed. “That's just it. These are humans I'm dealing with. I didn't know what else was appropriate!"

  "Let's see if I've got this right,” her confessor purred, which was similar to the sound of boulders scraping against one another. “This human kills your mate."

  "Yes,” she replied dolefully.

  "You go then to avenge yourself."

  "Yes."

  "You mind-touch with the humanoid."

  She shivered and declined to say anything, but her antennae nodded.

  "And you found that he was, indeed, the perpetrator, but that being a ‘re’ of high order, which I would have found inconceivable in a human, he was then immune to your revenge. You decide to let him live and follow his movements. The typical reaction of an undecided female. Am I correct in my assessment, daughter?"

  "Er, yes, inasmuch as—"

  "And when you heard of his trial and found out he was a Bearer of the Light, you bite your antennae to the nub and send out queries. When that gets you nowhere, you stoop to sending blood relatives as spies, and now, realizing that was purposeless, you have the effrontery to seek absolution from your family confessor. Is that a proper assessment?"

  She gulped and nodded.

  An explosive snort threatened to tear the curtains off its hooks. “You did nothing more?"

  "I told my people—"

  "You did nothing more?"

  There was a deadly silence, and she was only capable of quivering in fear and outrage.

  Finally, he responded. “Very well, daughter. You've done remarkably ill in failing to contact me sooner. You will suffer three time sections on a secluded beach within reach of water, but not touching except when need persists."

  "I understand, confessor. And I accept it gladly, but what's to be done?"

  "Daughter, the secret of knowing what to do is not something that comes easily. It is why we are so burdened with being confessors. We know what to do. And it pains us to do it when we must."

  "Well, what are you going to do then?"

  "We shall send word of this matter to the Great Circle the way it should have been done earlier!” he announced with a shrill.

  She jerked. “Oh, dear. I knew I should have done that, but what with what happened to my mate, cruel tyrant that he was, and my having mind-touched with the alien, I never—"

  "Cease your feminine prattling!"

  Dead silence.

  "What will your position on the Great Circle be?” she asked timidly.

  The silence stretched to the point where she imagined the confessor had gone to sleep, when he roused like a steam kettle toppling over.

  "There can be only one response for such a business,” said he in high dudgeon. “These conspirators against the Light must see the error of their ways."

  "And the mechanism?"r />
  The confessor cackled. “We shall administer Rrrummorr!"

  "Oh, dear!"

  "No species that exists can fight it. It will spread. And where it seeps it will rot. And where it rots, the rot will contaminate all who touch it. And those it touches will doubt what is said and demand proof. When that proof is not forthcoming—!” He stopped, the need to finish unnecessary.

  They knew what would follow such actions. It was what almost destroyed their world several centuries before they learned the dreadful secret of mind-touching and soul-speech.

  And what would happen to the humans themselves? She didn't know. But she certainly wished to ensure her human benefactor, the Light Bearer, was well. But was this the proper course? She hoped she was right. Confessors were apt to be terrible when on a roll, and this one, her orbs skittered nervously to the still huffing curtain, was on one.

  * * * *

  When riots happen, all manner of societal controls cease to function, and everything is up for grabs, even a society. Which was what was happening in the nine great cities, and the worst of it was in Central City, the “City of the Light Bearer,” which was an inappropriate name, given the damned rumor.

  "Are you telling me,” shouted Amaron at the seven high ranking officers before him, “that you can't quell these insurrections? What the hell are you policemen good for, escorting picnickers?"

  The general bristled. “It's all right for you sitting here bitching over what happens on the monitors, but for the local in the street it's a matter of tremendous importance."

  "What in hell does that mean?"

  "These riots aren't because they want further updates on the conditions of the Light Bearer, which we can't tell them. He eyed the other sourly. “Word of his whereabouts is mighty sparse. Every riot we've had to deal with had half as many aliens in them as not!"

  "What are saying, general?"

  The director of the planet's paramilitary guard weighed the odds and wondered if he had the guts to say what was on his mind, but he didn't.

  "We can't deal with riots of that nature without raising alarms amongst our outré associates."

  "Well, shoot the humans, then! Shoot the stupid fools down and maybe that will teach our non-human allies how we deal with clowns who don't know any better!"