by K R Sanford
“Clang, clang,” the rotunda sounded with the butt end of Balrug's staff. Balrug cleared his throat. “I have this note. It seems there is a prisoner. He is being held below ground by our Marillian friends. The governor might explain his knowledge in this matter.”
Governor Grantham stood, towering over Balrug. “I would be happy to explain this matter, but only after the prisoner has finished answering questions.”
Whispers and mumbles broke out amongst the Vallians.
“You must trust us,” pleaded Grantham. He held up his hands in surrender.
“He's quite right,” said Balrug.
Tildanfin and Saralil beamed with agreement. “Let's give his people a chance,” said Saralil.
“Well, if Saralil speaks for the womenfolk, we should listen,” said William.
“Hear, hear,” shouted the Vallians.
Tildanfin insisted, “When do you bring these criminals before the tribunal, Grantham?”
“We hold a great many prisoners,” replied Grantham. “For security, most of these will get sent to Earth with the assurances from their Ambassador.”
The Vallians appointed Gonquin to question their concerns. “Can your people keep the Earthmen locked in the cages and not escape?”
“I am positive, they will not escape,” said Grantham. “Dr. Stokes will be in charge of their welfare.”
Grantham motioned for Stokes to rise. When he did, he rose to a height of eight feet. He was hairless, pale and his eyes void of any spark of life. He posed with pride at wearing the white linen tunic like he was the diva of fashion. He did not project the confidence of Grantham's leadership.
The Vallians looked on with caution.
Chief Spierd sat with open mouth wondering what he was thinking.
The main chamber was settling. Those who were sitting began to leave the rotunda. The table held the power to send them on their way, each with a mission.
The crew of the Eagle sat in silence looking at the charts and the movements of the guests. Then, one by one, their eyes came to rest in each other's gaze.
“Are you feeling all right, Captain Miller?” said Dr. Stokes. “You look a little down.” A crooked grin stretched over Stokes' face.
“Yes, no, I mean, I'm as fit as a fiddle,” replied Marco.
“What's that?” Stokes took the seat next to Marco. He laid his long bony arm on the table. He made himself eyeball-to-eyeball with Marco.
“What is he fiddling with?” asked Queen Elsinor.
“The Queen wants to know what you're fiddling with, Captain Miller?” said King Devin, giving a serious look to the Captain.
“No, no. I'm as fit as a fiddle, I said.” Marco smiled. He was pleased with himself to be talking to the Vallian royalty.
“He's having a fit?” said the queen. “That will never do. We can't have that in here.”
“No, it's an expression,” said Marco.
The King and Queen debated the point. At length the King replied, “We don't quite follow, Captain. Could you rephrase?”
“Yes, do rephrase. Please rephrase, Captain Miller,” said the Queen.
The Captain's face twisted sour like he sucked a lemon. Then, giving his head a good quick shake he said, “Can I get a drink of water?”
Pawdell, the clockmaker's son, handed Marco his canteen. King Devin was smiling. He gestured to those standing to take a seat. He was looking to see which way the table would change. What star might appear? What star system might move and what position would they shift. What path might be drawn between which constellations on the Sea of Glass?
The table flashed from the center. It gave a pulse of white light that rolled to the outer edges of the table. The flash rolled like the epicenter of a gravity wave. It bathed the gem encrusted universe terrific speed.
Marco blinked. “I know what this is,” he whispered.
King Devin closed one eye as if calculating an enormous weight. He sat straight up. He adjusted the lapel on his royal cloak. He moved his hand over his jet black hair to check the perfect wave in the center of his forehead. “I’m going!” he proclaimed.
Marco was speechless. He gave the King a confused look.
The Queen balked as if the King lost his senses.
Hector, staring in the center of the table, said, “Yeah, I was afraid of that.”
Clorissa looked down her nose at Hector.
Grantham gazed at where the pulse of light erupted.
The Vallians grouped themselves in a huddle making calculations of their own.
“Captain,” said Balrug. “You might put in a call to the Ambassador. It's time.”
Marco sat quiet, taking in all that was happening. He was thinking why the Vallians huddled on their side of the table. He thought of Bradley in one of those iron cages. He studied the King and Queen exercising their rule. Then there were the subterranean monsters out on the surface. What was the Emperor doing? And, where was he?
“What do you have to say, Captain?” said Stokes.
Marco sat formulating his answer. “About what?” he replied.
“What's your answer?” Stokes' voice grew louder.
Marco woke from his dream-like state and saw Stokes staring at his face.
“What's your answer?” Stokes' head swaggered with arrogance.
“Ha, what?” replied Marco, trying to focus on Stokes' bald, pale platinum head.
“You have to answer,” Stokes insisted.
Marco finally turned and faced Stokes.
Stokes leaned into Marco. “You can't just sit there,” Stokes demanded.
Marco stared into Stokes. His blood curdled from the intimidation of the Marillian doctor, if he was a doctor. Marco checked Stokes' yellow cat-like eyes. “You might want to back off, Mister,” he said.
Stokes blinked and brought his arm off the table into Marco's face.
Marco slapped it down. In the same motion he backhanded Stokes in the nose. Red blood dripped over his green reptilian lips. The blood dripped onto his clean white tunic. Grantham started to make a stand.
Hector spun around and pointed his blaster in Grantham's face.
Clorissa screamed, “What happened!”
“Everyone, stay calm,” said Hector. “Don't anybody make a move that I don't like.”
Marco stood up from the table and walked over to his cross-caster. He picked it up. He walked back across the rotunda floor. He stepped into the passage where the torches hung on Arnockel's wall. He turned, “Let's go back to the ship,” he said and was gone out of the Shrine and down the steps. John followed. He left Hector with the cold frozen table. It lay lifeless and black as they found it.
C H A P T E R 9
_________________________________________
THE WORM HOLE
“Good morning, Marco.”
Captain Miller threw the covers off his head. He focused on the cup in Hector's hand. “What time is it?”
“Zero seven hundred hours,” replied Hector. “Here's some coffee, hot and black, just like you like it.”
Marco reached for the coffee.
“They wanted to know,” continued Hector. “What's with our Captain?”
Marco took a long sip and let the coffee cool in his mouth. “You mean, when I smacked that Marillian goony bird?”
Hector smiled. “Yeah, that would be it,” he replied.
“I don't know, I was in a fog. I was whacked-out from that table, I guess,” replied Marco, “I was thinking somebody had something coming. That arrogant Stokes put his beak where it didn't belong. He tried to take a poke at me, you saw that.”
“I saw it, Marco,” said Hector. “It looked like he was going to shove you or hit you orWell, I'm not quite sure myself. I would have reacted the same way. Still, you looked you looked like a thug. That was unfortunate because you were in front of all those guests and our new allies.”
Marco frowned. “Unfortunate? Yes and not a good way to start a friendship. We'll see how good an ally they all are
.”
Marco took another long sip and set the cup on the cabinet beside his bedchamber.
Hector helped himself to the red over-stuffed chair at the foot of the sleeping chamber.
Marco continued, “Why didn't Stokes fight back, answer me that? I tell you, he's dirty. He's a big ugly goon. I don't like bullies like him. I suppose, if it wasn't for the weird energy around that table, I don't know. I take full responsibility for whatever happens. Only, that creep had it coming, and now that I've said it, he still has it coming.”
“Well,” replied Hector. “Plenty may come of what happened down there, but this time you won't be alone.” Hector chuckled, “You're surprising me all to hell, Marco. You've done a bit of changing in the past few months. Not that that's bad or anything. In some ways, you've sort of come back to life. But I tell you what,” Hector pointed his finger at Marco, “it's a good thing you didn't pull that on Grantham. If you hit Grantham like that, he would have sat there and stared right back at you, or worse; you might hurt his feelings.”
“I’m not stupid,” replied Marco. “I'm a little confused about how much influence that table can have on someone's mind. Besides, Grantham's not an asshole.”
Hector smiled. “That's good you feel that way,” he said, “Because he's here, on board.”
Marco's eyes flashed. His mouth screwed up in a defiant pucker. “Good,” he said. “Then he can tell us where he's put Bradley. Or, he and Clorissa can shuttle home from here.” Marco looked at the stars floating past his porthole. “Where are we now?” he asked.
Hector scratched his chin. “We left the Corsi Star System and we're heading into deep space. And there's something else,” he said, still scratching his chin.
Marco sat up on the edge of his bed. He ran his hand across his forehead and looked around his quarters. The décor was an array of antique sailing memorabilia and ultra-modern contemporary. A polished brass wall clock and matching weather instruments hung on the bulkhead. On the far side of his stateroom, stars drifted past a large porthole. Facing the porthole were two plush burgundy observation chairs. They sat behind a spindly glass coffee table. A functional brass periscope suspended through the overhead bulkhead. Below, two combat chairs were mounted on a turret.
Finger-operated weapons and guidance controls extended from two robotic arms. In the center of an Omni-directional hologram viewer was a full-auto cross-caster.
The living compartment was steel blue and detailed in bright white trim. The trim extended from the soft lavender ceiling to the shiny teakwood deck. The array gave his quarters the appearance of an antiseptic interstellar yacht. A bold red overstuffed couch and chair were set to one side where Hector was sitting with a quizzical grin.
“Well, are you going to tell me what's on your mind,” said Marco. “Or did you come up here because you're bored and you don't have anything better to do?”
Hector laughed. “You know, I'm glad to see you're old cheerful self again.”
Marco shifted his head to the other side, looking at Hector, “That's all you got?”
Hector shrugged. “That's all,” he replied, looking sheepish. “Except
Marco frowned and tapped his fingers on his knee, “Except? What?”
“Except, it's going to be a challenge managing the new passengers,” replied Hector.
“That's your job,” said Marco. “I trust you for that. No one gets onboard without your approval.” Marco shook his head and continued, “Sometimes I wonder whose ship this is anymore.”
“The Eagle belongs to us, it's in the contract,” replied Hector.
“You know what I mean,” said Marco. “I trust you with new arrivals.”
“Well, that's good,” replied Hector.
Marco returned a sideways glance, “Except?”
Hector shook his head. “It doesn't matter, except we're perusing a battle-cruiser.”
“I know about the ship,” replied Marco. “Who else did you let on board?”
“No one special,” said Hector.
“Oh, nonsense,” replied Marco. “I know you, Hector. Who conned you this time and don't tell me no one.” Spittle was forming on Marco's lower lip.
“I said we would take them on one mission and one mission only,” replied Hector.
“Hector!” snarled Marco.
“King Devin and Queen Elsinor,” he said.
“Oh, hell no,” said Marco, rolling his eyes. “You didn't, tell me you didn't, Hector, not the King and the Queen.”
“You'll like Lady Lucia,” said Hector with a playful smirk. “I think she's your type.”
Marco gasped. “What? Another one?” he said, throwing his hands in the air. “Turn the ship around.” Marco stood to his feet in loose shorts. He stared into Hector's face.
Hector turned up a whimsical eyebrow.
Marco took another look around his stateroom. “Second thought, you know what, Hector? This time I'll have to agree with you. It doesn't matter.”
Marco put his hands on his hips. “Do you know why it doesn't matter, Mr. Blackstone?”
Hector shook his head.
“Well, I'll tell you. Because you have earned the official title of Cruise Director onboard this ship. And you can cruise your guests to your hearts’ content.” Marco shook his finger in Hector's face.
Hector still wearing the whimsical expression.
“You keep those people out of my way and off the bridge. I've got more important things to do. Bradley, no doubt is on that battle cruiser and he's going for reinforcements. The Amedans can take care of themselves. We are going after something different.”
Hector laughed. “Take it easy, old buddy. I’m sure you know what you're doing. But isn't there something back on Ameda, not that it’s any of my business, right? But haven't you left something behind, your daughter?”
“Hector,” replied Marco. “What kind of father can I be to a seven-year-old girl? I don't know anything about parenting. She's better off with Saralil and Tildanfin. Besides, we're not leaving forever, only a few days. Okay?”
“Alright,” replied Hector. “So, what's your plan?”
“I’m going after the Lord Legion's ship,” said Marco.
“And, we're doing that because we've lost all sense of reason, is that it?” replied Hector.
“Very funny,” said Marco. “No. We’re going because this is an opportunity to see a technology and a government far beyond what we have known before. Hector, the more I see what the Emperor has done, the more I understand this style of business, the more I am all-in.
Worlds have crossed over and are stable. Technology gets made for all to use. This is a functional star system. These are species that have interacted with the Emperor. They are advancing, not stagnating.
You should have been there. I was standing with intense yet stable intelligence watching the Emperor holding court. The sense of ease and control was for a far greater purpose. I don't have that feeling of a parasite sucking me dry, or getting taxed out of my home. To rule over civilizations like the Amedans and Marillians is a proud achievement. I wish you could have been there.”
Hector lifted his chin. “Okay, I guess I should have been there; but I wasn't, so you're going to have to fill me in on what's got you all fired up.”
“The way I see it,” replied Marco, “the Emperor's powers come from some type of celestial knowledge.”
Marco put on his green jump suit. He picked up the deck of cards from off the end table. “Look here, these are Egyptian intuition cards dating back four thousand years. I had them copied from our archeological data of Earth. This was around the time of the pharaohs.”
He reached for a palm-sized display and brought up the reference window. “The interpretation of the cards works like the Amedan's table in the Shrine, only simpler.” He pointed to the window in his hand.
Hector shifted in his chair to watch Marco explain his fascination with divination.
He fanned the cards out on the table and turned on
e up. “Four of wands, Aspiration,” he motioned to Hector. “Pick one.”
Hector reached down and picked one up. “Seven of wands,” he said then continued, “Courage.”
Marco adjusted the reference display and turned it toward Hector. Hector studied the page and said, “I see this as a warning. Gather the energy of the universe and strike forward into the darkness. Good thing to meditate on, Marco. I'll do that. One thing I've learned in my forty-two years is to go with the gutlive the mystery, so to speak.” Hector sat back in the chair and smiled with approval at Marco's brave new exploit.
“It's interesting you said that,” replied Marco. “The Ambassador said something like that. He said to ‘live the mystery’ when he was explaining the riddle.”
“Hmm,” said Hector. “Well, I hope that means I'm in good company.”
“You are,” replied Marco. “The Emperor is a powerful ally. And, he's a friend, at least that's what I intend to find out. So, if you're feeling up to it, I'll bet you'll get your chance with Legion soon. Now, do me a favor. If you would be so kind, assemble ship's company on the bridge. I want to field this idea so we're in agreement. I will meet with you after I complete my rounds.”
“Hold on, Marco,” said Hector. “This mission may take us far from your daughter and for more than a couple days. It's not a good idea to propose an exploration into the unknown with you having divided interests. This ship isn't going to hold together with leadership like that. You go on your rounds but ask yourself if you shouldn't be spending more time with the Vallians. Your concern for what family you have left will cloud your judgment at the first sign of trouble.”
“Point noted, Hector,” replied Marco. “And with all due respect, you let me worry about keeping my personal life separate from this command. I need you to keep those guests out of my way.”
Hector chuckled. “Okay, old buddy. I'm making sure you want to do this thing.” Hector pulled himself from his chair and walked to the door. The door hissed open. Hector turned around, “Cruise Director, huh?” Marco raised an eyebrow and gave a nod. “Well, I guess I better get dressed up,” replied Hector. He turned into the corridor and was gone.
