by K R Sanford
Commander Majors reached out his hand to Captain Clairy and said, “It's time we said good bye.”
Clairy smiled and took Ryan's hand. “Very well,” he replied. “We're on our way to the Middle Corridor to see what we can do about reopening negotiations. You have our haling frequency, if you have any trouble.”
The Commander nodded, “Thank you, I hope we'll be able to manage for a while at least.”
Clairy's penetrating eyes held steady and true. Commander Majors realized Clairy was no longer the boy he crewed with those many years ago. “You've come along way, Tomas, best of luck with your new assignment.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied Clairy with a smile. Before Ryan turned to leave, Clairy pointed across to the bridge. “Try the magnavator passed the life support console. You will find it runs smoother.”
Ryan saluted the Captain of the Exodus then signaled to his mates it was time to leave.
The gangway retracted and the Eagle drifted through bay doors of the Exodus. Clorissa locked in the coordinates for the Corsi Star System. Commander Majors gave the nod for the engines to start.
The whet-field crackled, a path of ion flux streaked a blue ribbon to the outer rim of the Milky Way. In a flash the Eagle followed, disappearing into the dark void.
In the days that followed, Captain Miller's mental state did not improve. He chose to work alone in the bowels of the ship. He scraped sledge off the ground plane girders. He knew the problems of any starship can trace to the super conductive framework.
The framework was the bone and marrow of any well-functioning vessel. By the time they reached the Corsi Star System, Captain Miller digressed even more. His appearance grew bleaker. His body stunk of dirt and sweat, and days of unchanged clothes.
Yet, the task of convincing him for time of retreat proved simple. Hector only had to mention the haunted forests. The former space explorer countered with the suggestion to investigate.
So, the crew loaded the shuttle with the essentials needed to survive a hostile mission. They taxied him to the exact location given by Ambassador Gaff.
C H A P T E R 2
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Master of Woodland Forest
It was winter over the northern hemisphere of Planet Ameda. Captain Marco W. Miller of the Starship Eagle came to the house of Balrug in Woodland Forest.
Balrug was a wise Vallian with an ancient spirit. He lived in Woodland Forest on a rocky hill.
His house was curious. The roof thatched and pitched leaned away from the hillside to aid the spring rain and melting snow. As the rains spilled over the stone porch it fed a small pool. The pool spilled over to cascade a hundred yards to Woodland Stream.
In the winter, icicles formed columns over the front of the porch. It made the house impenetrable to the harsh winds. The winds blew strong down the Shrine Lake Mountains.
There in the quiet of the woods, the embattled starship Captain stayed. He lived in the House of Balrug, Master of Woodland Forest.
It happened one morning in the middle of spring. The Captain decided to go out and collect wood for the fire.
The air was fresh and cool, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. He walked over Woodland Stream and went up the path through the foothills.
He passed through the Meadows Green beneath the hills of the forests. Here the wildflowers bloomed and boulders marked a lazy ascent over the mountains.
White and pink blossoms of cherry trees dotted the hillsides. Yellow mustard bloomed under the scrub oak and Manzanita. Soon, the Captain saw the branches of pine and fir. More, he saw the cedar and cypress, spruce, hemlock, juniper and redwood.
He walked deeper into the forest, dismissing his duty of collecting wood. He came to a place where the fragrance of moist leaves and fatted earth filled the air. There, the veils of sunlight fell on the green foliage.
The forest floor came alive with of the Boston fern, the violet, cinnamon and periwinkle. Still more was the shamrock, asparagus, lavender, and tulip. His senses overwhelmed him in the dense forest garden. A reminisces of his childhood passed through in his thoughts. Then, for the first time in over five years, a tear rolled down the face of Captain Marco W. Miller.
He looked to the sky. The sunlight pushed his gaze back to the landscape beneath the grove of redwood. His hand moved over his face and his eyes began to water. He took a deep breath of mountain air, and as his memories seeped through his veins, and his spirit came to him.
He looked at the thick haired bark of the redwood, he thought of the warm fireplace in Balrug's house. And he thought of his duty of collecting wood. Then, he got up and started his way back through the forest down the lazy hills. Along his way, he picked up wood beside the trail and when he returned to the house, he had a fair load for the fire.
As Marco went inside he sat at the table without a word of his experience deep in the forest. He sat and thought of the colonies in the Middle Corridor of the Milky Way. He thought about his crew orbiting daily at thirty thousand miles. When he looked up, he saw Balrug busy cooking on the stove. It was then he realized how he felt about the colonies and his own isolation.
The Captain was not a young man, but he was not as old as Balrug. Balrug was as old as the ancient of days, as were all the elder inhabitants of Ameda.
He watched Balrug drop ingredients in a pot for the afternoon meal. A pinch of this, a pinch of that and with each movement was the rhythm of a dance. The Captain's ear picked up the mumbling of a tune.
Balrug turned and set a hot steaming bowl of pottage on the table. He slid the bowl in front of the Marco then turned once again and fixed one for himself. The pottage had meat, potatoes, carrots and roots, and things the Captain did not know. It got seasoned with spices and herbs and cooked all to Balrug's tastes. Although the recipe was old, the smell was right for returning from a long walk deep in Woodland Forest.
Balrug sat down at the table. He took one look at the Captain and said, “You found the grove of redwood, Marco. It is enchanting this time of year, yes?” Balrug sat for a moment and stared across at Marco. Marco felt his gaze and looked up. Balrug picked up his spoon and said, “Do you agree?”
“Yes,” replied Marco. “It reminds me of the forests on Earth. The grove is like a place not far from where I was born.
“Oh,” said Balrug, “Now this is interesting.” Balrug pulled his long gray whiskers away from his mouth and continued. “I pegged you for a city dweller.”
Marco smiled. The solid features of his face softened and he said, “I grew up in San Francisco.”
Balrug did not know this place and said nothing.
“My family moved to the city when I was eight years old,” said Marco.
Balrug glanced at Marco. With a raise of his chin he acknowledged this confirmed what he had suspected. Then he went back to sipping the juice from his spoon. He paused halfway through his bowl. He tore a piece of bread from the loaf on the table. He said, “You should not go deeper into the forest than the meadow where you first saw the ferns.”
Marco raised an eyebrow.
“The scent is on you, Marco,” said Balrug, pointing his spoon at Marco's chest. “You smell of musk and nectar, and when you dropped the wood on the pile, I saw you carried branches from deep in the forest. The dirt on your trousers tells me you were in the Meadow of Ferns, kneeling on the mulch. Marco, you should not go farther without instruction.”
For a moment, Marco searched the face of Balrug then looked away. He had no desire to go farther into the forest, there was no reason, he thought. He could spend the rest of the season here, fishing in the pools of Woodland Stream, and he let the warning pass.
Balrug waited for a reply but heard only silence from his guest. Finally, he insisted. “The fragrance of the flowers in that old grove can lose your sense of time, Marco.” Marco shifted in his chair and looked up.
“The sunlight beams down from above,” continued Balrug. “One minute the light s
hines on one spot, the next minute the light moves and the scene changes with it. You begin to lose your sense of direction, so you turn to find your path and it looks different. You're not sure if you're on the same path, so you become anxious and breathe heavier. The nectars in the old grove make your head spin. You begin to think you're lost and you know what? You are, and you haven't even left the path. Marco, you must not go farther than you did today.”
Marco felt the urgency in Balrug's voice. He suspected more will get told about the old grove. Besides, he did not care to go back right away. His experience that morning was strange enough. He answered with a nod then soaked a clump of bread with the juices of his pottage. When he finished, he looked up and felt refreshed. He leaned back in the tall wooden chair and watched Balrug wolf down the last of his bowl.
“What are you doing?” asked the Marco.
“What?” replied Balrug with an open hand, “I’m finishing my meal? Did you want something, more pottage?” His deep furrowed brow and wide gray eyes sparkled of hospitality.
“No, no, that's fine,” said Marco. “Your cooking hit the right spot, thank you.”
“Well good, very good in fact,” said Balrug. “Today is a good day for you.”
Marco pulled his hair away from his face and said, “How's that again?”
“You look better,” offered Balrug. “And, I have a proposal for you. You can learn to check the traps today. We don't want to live on fish alone. And in the warmer months, fish do not keep well. So, we need our hide and we need our salted meat. The bones will be used in the garden. The teeth will get ground to powder. It makes good polish for the steel smiths. I can trade the hides for supplies. We can start as soon as you are ready.”
Marco did not have to think about Balrug's proposal. “Yes,” he replied. “Today is a good day for work.”
Balrug fetched his pack and when he returned they started out the passage. They turned under the spillway of melting snow and trekked down the stony path. They walked over the footbridge crossing Woodland Stream. Then, they hiked up the bank to check the traps set by Balrug in the low-lying hills.
By late afternoon their course was complete. The Captain and Balrug journeyed back across Woodland Stream. They carried a possum, two rabbits and a turkey. The job of cleaning and smoking the meat fell to Balrug. “I will be in the smoke house fixing the game,” he said. “See if you can scare something up on the stove.”
Marco went inside and prepared the evening meal. When dinner was complete they sat to relax on the front porch under the spillway.
With the close of twilight the sky darkened and a swath of stars blazed from horizon to horizon. The stars clustered at the outer rim of the Corsi Star System. They were the only lights in the night sky.
“Does the sky always fill with so many stars this time of year?” asked Marco.
“Pretty much so,” replied Balrug. “And that's good, because as you know, Ameda has no moon like Earth. The stars that shine now will light the surface of the planet enough to walk until the frost returns in autumn. In winter it's different. The clouds blanket the sky and sun sets low on the mountains. The air turns freezing and bites through a heavy-cloaked Vallian straight to the bone. Then it rains and snows and gets down-right bad.”
Balrug sat with a pinch of tobacco between his forefinger and thumb. He pushed the ground leaf to the bottom of the bowl. Then as he reached for another pinch to add to the first, Marco stood to his feet.
He leaped from the porch and sprang down the stony path to get clear of the noise of the spillway. He cupped his hand to his ear and strained to hear the noise in the sky. Just then, a screeching roar passed overhead. Marco could barely see the outline of a ship.
Balrug was on his feet, standing on the top of the steps. Marco ran over and turned his thumb up to the sky. “That's not the Eagle,” he announced.
Balrug started down steps to the small pool when a flash of light lit up the hills to the north. Then another lit the hills to the west. One by one the explosions came, two of them, following the timing of the flashes over the bills.
Balrug was beside Marco holding his pipe in his hand. “This is not good,” he said. “We better pack up supplies and investigate. I fear there is great trouble.” He turned and went off to the smoke hut. A moment later he came out with strips of dried meat.
Marco darted inside the house and knelt in the corner of his room. He pulled a pile of clothes off a bronze-colored case and dragged it from the wall. He opened the lid and set the contents of the case on his bunk. He fished through a pile of clothes and came up with a pair of socks and a heavy black shirt. He stuffed the clothes in a small backpack then threw it on the bunk.
Balrug walked through the passage and into the house. He draped a dark gray cape over his shoulders. With one hand, he shoved the dried meat into the side pocket of his pack. With the other, he stuffed in a bedroll and a coil of rope. He picked up the pack and started for Marco's room. When he stepped in front of his door, he watched him close the bronze case. He pushed it back against the wall and covered it with the blanket. Then he turned and stood.
Marco had a blaster on his left hip. A cross-caster was slung over his right shoulder. Across his chest were a dozen silver-plated pressed-tetra bombs primed with heat-seeking tips. Marco picked up two electronic devices from his bunk and handed one to Balrug.
“Captain to Eagle, respond.” Marco released the button from the communicator and shook his head. “The signal is being blocked. We can't call the Eagle until the enemy ship is out of range or their sensors will be able to locate our position. We need to confirm who's flying that ship.”
Balrug searching Marco's face said, “I see, this looks like dangerous business.”
Marco frowned. “I'm not encouraged, Balrug. If we get separated, push the silver button and I will be able to hear you. The gold button sends a signal to the Eagle but don't touch that until we know it's safe. Do you understand?”
“Completely, Marco,” replied Balrug. “But now, are we ready?”
“You're the man,” said Marco. “Lead on.”
A moment later, the house became deserted. The only signs of life in the house were a fire flickering in the fireplace. A small lantern was set on the table to burn a low flame. It would stay that way all night and day until the oil was gone.
Balrug led out from behind the spillway over the porch. They trotted down the steps to the stony path. They crossed over the footbridge of Woodland Stream. They worked their way up the bank to the other side and started up the path through the low-lying hills.
Behind them, they could see two thin columns of smoke. One column was rising from the fireplace in Balrug's house. The other column came from the hut that cured the possum, rabbits and turkey. That, too, would burn all night and day until the embers cooled.
Ahead were the two other columns of smoke in the northern hills. The smoke billowed into mushrooms that were almost touching.
“I don't like the looks of that,” said Marco.
“No,” replied Balrug. “It doesn't look good at all and we should waste no time talking.”
Balrug set a brisk pace. His legs stretched long and his foot touched light on the ground. They made good time through the hills. He moved up and over and around through the hills. He did not make one sound. Soon, he came to the Meadows Green where he stopped to take a rest. Not that he needed the rest but he thought Marco did.
When he turned to speak, he saw Marco was not there. Balrug leaned his ear back down the trail and listened. Then took off his pack and set it on a rock. A few minutes passed.
Finally Balrug saw Marco's head bobbing up the trail. His body grew larger and larger as he came closer and closer. With the stars, Balrug was able to make out the silhouette of the cross-caster. The projectiles lay strapped across Marco's chest.
“What a curious weapon,” thought Balrug. “And the blaster on his side: that would take the sport out of hunting.” He shook his head.
; Marco was out of breath when he reached Balrug. Balrug stood and offered his rock for him to sit.
“We covered six miles,” said Balrug. “If we keep up this pace, we will be at Shrine Lake Village within a few hours.”
The scent of pine swept the over the Meadows Green.
On the trail, Balrug stood with his arms folded. He was looking in the direction of the two glowing lights over the mountains. He stood tall, although he was a head shorter than the Marco. His long gray hair and beard gave him the regal look of an ancient warrior. At length, he said, “That's the difference between Vallian and man.”
“How's that again?” replied Marco.
“Our endurance, it's greater.” Balrug spoke with a sense of pride that alarmed Marco.
“Man walks heavier and wastes energy,” he continued. “They can't help it. It’s the difference. Another is war.”
“War,” replied Marco, cocking his head to one side.
“Yes, Vallians have lives to themselves. They don't feel incomplete.” Balrug kept his arms folded over his chest and without facing Marco, he continued. “We don't lose ourselves and want after things. It's because Vallians live longer. So, patience comes prized.”
Marco puzzled. He was not sure where Balrug was coming from. He returned Balrug a blank stare.
“It's the difference,” said Balrug.
Marco gazed across the meadow and tried to think of what he said. Balrug spoke again. “We try to live with things as they are.”
Marco was getting more and more confused each time Balrug spoke. Finally, he lifted his head and said, “What brought all this on?”
“I am the Vallian, you are the man. It's a matter of a little thought,” retorted Balrug.
Marco gazed across the meadow to jog day’s events in his mind. “Are you talking about when we left the house, I said, 'You're the man'?”
“As you can see, I am a Vallian,” replied Balrug.
“It's an expression. It means you’re the boss.” said Marco.
“Yes, but this is my home and now men have come to make war against the Vallians. So, be careful. Let's be off,” said Balrug in a huff. “We need to see what has happened. Stick close this time. We are going to enter the forest. At night the scent of the nectars are not as strong, but do not leave the trail for any reason. Cover your nose and mouth, Marco. It helps.”
