Blade Dancer

by K. M. Tolan

  Judging from the amount of stonework piled near the shop, Mikial guessed she had all but removed the top off of her target. The city echoed with a rising crescendo of explosions and rifle fire, punctuated by two terrific blasts that shattered more windows around her. That would be the palace gates going down, she surmised. Yora's Strikes were already landing in the avenue. Mikial waved over to Ryan. “Hurry!"

  She led him up the street to the right along the city's outer wall, hoping that neither of them would run into another Datha. The crack of rifles and Qurl cannon pierced a constant ring in her ears. The fog took on bright orange hues from a boiling column of fire that erupted to their left, over the wall. The barracks, she guessed. Mikial slowed as they approached a small brick warehouse that jutted out from the wall. It was easy to recognize their objective. Rifles poked out from each window facing the street.

  “You ready?” Ryan whispered as Mikial crouched down with her cannon.

  “Get back,” Mikial warned, fighting off a new wave of dizziness as she charged the cannon with every ounce of energy she could gather. Her body crackled from the effort. Nor was her electrical display lost on her target. A fusillade of shots tore the ground around them. Her answer was a ball of violence that erased the entire front facade.

  * * * *

  She regained consciousness with the bitter taste of vomit in her mouth, and Ryan half dragging her inside the destroyed building. “You back?” he gasped. “Anyone tell you that you're heavy?"

  Mikial steadied herself against the wall of a cement corridor that sloped sharply downwards. The tunnel. She angrily slapped Ryan's hand away from her forehead.

  “Lady, you're burning up. Are you getting sick?"

  “Obviously,” she spat out, unable to deny an unbelievable case of bad timing. The gunfire was getting closer. Yora's Strike may have met with success earlier than expected. Mikial wiped at her chin. “Let's finish this while my stomach is still on the inside."

  The tunnel transformed from cement to a hardened gray foam of human design. Their objective was a metallic blue glint at the far end of the tunnel, the wide hatch illuminated under a string of gaslights. Undefended. At least that much was going right. Mikial all but collapsed against the wonderfully cool surface of the hull when they reached it. She gave a start and looked back up the tunnel, feeling as if half the Minneran army poured down it. Nothing. Clutching her reeling head, Mikial forced back that all too familiar sensation of gathered thousands upon thousands. Watching her.

  Ryan worked at the controls next to the large rectangular door. It gave a mechanical shush, and opened. “We're in!"

  “You're not!” came Paleen's venom-filled voice behind them.

  Mikial spun around. Her friend raised a Minneran rifle that she had picked up. It was one of the new ones, and its barrel aimed directly at Ryan.

  “His life isn't worth watching you destroy yours,” Paleen said, her expression as lethal as any Dathia. “This is one debt you can't afford to pay, Mikial!"

  Crying out in anguish, Mikial fired her cannon first. The residue energy from the depleted battery blasted the ground before Paleen's feet, hurling her backwards. Mikial rushed forward. It had only been a small discharge; nothing that could do any real damage. She cradled the Ipper's bloody head. “Paleen! No!"

  “Let's go!” Ryan urged.

  Mikial looked up at him through the horrific roar of pain in her own skull. “Look what you made me do.” Screaming, she whirled on him with claws drawn. “Look at what you made me do!"

  “Shut up and bring her! We have medical facilities on board.” Ryan showed his own teeth. “Now!"

  Crying softly, Mikial scooped up her friend's limp form and ran behind him into a large hold. Ryan turned right and headed up a narrow passage. Metal grating reverberated beneath their footsteps as he led Mikial and her burden up a set of stairs and into a cramped room. White light panels flickered from the ceiling as Mikial laid Paleen out on one of two padded gray tables."

  “You'd better get on the other one,” Ryan advised, catching Mikial as she sagged against the bulkhead. He pulled back a corner chair from its niche, tapping quickly at a flat tablet until it filled with obscure glowing patterns. Ryan began to talk quickly to it in his own language.

  “What are you doing?” Mikial asked, fumbling a medicine pack from her left leg pocket.

  “Making sure your friends get into the hold, and no place else.” The tablet became like a Cothra recorder, displaying a picture of the hatch they first entered. Unlike a picture, this one acted more like a window that showed a vanguard of Datha bursting through the door. “Here they come."

  Mikial hurriedly shook out medicines over Paleen's face. The Ipper breathed, but she was unconscious. Mikial gave a gasp, unable to fight off yet another bout of weakness. Her knees buckled. Ryan looked down at her. “I don't know what's wrong with me,” Mikial said with a shudder.

  Muttering in his language, Ryan tried unsuccessfully to get her onto the adjacent table. The best he could do was prop her back up against the wall next to it. He turned back to the display in front of him that showed a crowded mix of Qurls and anxious humans in the open bay. At his word, Mikial saw the wide hatch slam shut behind them.

  “This is Ryan Donald, commander of this vessel. I have just sealed you inside the hold. There is another hatch across from you, with sea-water on the other side. If I open it, and you all drown.” Ryan glanced back at her with a nod of assurance. “I want to talk to your commander. I have two of her people up here in need of immediate medical attention. It's time to deal, folks."

  Yora's voice shot back, though Mikial could not see her. “Ryan! Surrender, or I'll cut your crew down in front of you!"

  “First things first. I want that fellow behind you in the green shirt to come up, along with the lady next to him. Oh, and two of your healers, since you were so nice to bring them aboard. I'm sure you don't want your precious Shandi harmed, do you, Strike Commander?” Ryan gave more commands in his language. “I'll given you access as far as the medical bay. I'll also give you some incentive."

  Mikial saw yellow lights flash along the ceiling over the Datha. A siren hooted, but it was slowly engulfed by the thunder in her own head. Unable to move, Mikial watched Ryan leave without fulfilling his promise to kill her.

  * * * *

  Arms pulled her away from the wall to face Yora's bared teeth. “You let him in ahead of us,” the officer said, with a hiss. “Why?"

  “To stop you. I had to save the humans,” Mikial managed, realizing that she had passed out again. She looked over to where Paleen lay, thankful to see two Shandi over the Ipper.

  Stone-faced, Yora reached out with her hands. “I will tell your father that you died in the fighting, Mikial. He deserves that much."

  “Please,” Mikial whispered, grateful for that small mercy.

  Shaking her head, Yora put her palms against Mikial's temples, but stopped short. She withdrew her grip with a surprised look. “Immediate Team!"

  “Yora!” Mikial pleaded as blackness fell upon her again.

  * * * *

  She floated. Mikial drifted lazily across the Keep's Public Hall, admiring a lobby that she knew should not be there anymore. This was, of course, a dream. Or Yora killing her. What else would have her suspended several spans off the ground? Mikial found herself staring at the statue of Suria Corias Charrid.

  Corias regarded her with those almost crystal-clear eyes. "We are so much alike, little sister."

  "Indeed, Great Suria,” Mikial laughed, sharing their private little amusement. “We're both dead."

  "Are we?" Corias answered. Her lips puckered in a secretive smile.

  Mikial gave a sharp cry as cold chills raced sharply down her neck. Whirling, she glared in accusation at the statue of Great Tasur Gile Tassomon behind her.

  * * * *

  “Heart's stabilizing nicely."

  “She's responding. Her temperature's dropping."

  A swirl of lights for
med over her head. Blobs and forms became images as conversations continued around her. Many of the voices were Qurl, but not all.

  “Her thoughts have become cohesive,” came the smooth analysis of someone whose hands clasped her head with a Shandi's firmness. “Her mind may have escaped injury."

  “Just keep doing whatever it is you're doing,” a female's flat human voice encouraged in tones of disbelief. “Lose her and we're all dead."

  Mikial realized that she lay naked on the table adjacent to Paleen. Her eyes focused first on the mounds of ice heaped upon her. She gave an involuntary shiver, ice rattling as her limbs came up tight against some straps.

  One of three gray-suited human females bent over her, momentarily blotting out harsh overhead lights. “Looks like she's pulled out of it."

  Another face joined the first, framed within the olive helmet of an Immediate Team member. “Mikial? Mikial Haran, can you hear me?"

  Mikial's tongue seemed made of lead. “Co ... cold,” she barely croaked out.

  The Healer nodded. “Good. That's what I want to hear."

  “What's wrong?"

  “Change, Mikial. You're undergoing Change. A very hard one."

  “Impossible."

  The Healer grimaced. “One of many impossibilities to deal with at the moment."

  Mikial twisted her head in the ice to see the other patient. Paleen lay motionless on the padded table, her eyes staring sightlessly as another Shandi worked beside her.

  “She'll live,” Mikial's Shandi said, “She has a serious concussion to deal with, but nothing we can't fix."

  “Is Mikial awake yet?” It was Yora's voice. Her grim-faced Strike Commander stared down at her."

  Mikial gave a dry swallow. “Just let me die. My father ... don't want him more ashamed than he..."

  “I'm no longer sure I can oblige you,” Yora replied, fixing her eyes intently on the Shandi next to her. “Healer, are you certain?"

  “Absolutely, Commander. Unmistakably Change, Dathia or not."

  “Which possibly makes what she did right, and us wrong,” Yora snarled as she pulled off her helmet. Her teeth bared in frustration. “This whole mission has left a bad taste in my mouth.” Her voice rose. “Did that other Signaler make it in before Ryan shut the door?"

  “No, Commander,” another Datha answered from outside Mikial's view.

  “And ours is barely alive,” Yora said with disgust. She pulled what Mikial realized was a detonator from her leg pocket. “Ryan! You say you can see us.” She held the unit up over her head. “See this? I have explosives enough to disintegrate this ship, rather than wait for you to flood it."

  “The deal still stands,” Ryan's voice said from a speaker. “You let us go, we let you go. It's that simple."

  Yora's response was to spit on the floor. “I'll allow you to live as prisoners of the Datha Qurl! That's the only deal you have right now."

  “And kill your new Suria? I've done my studying while in your Holding, Dathia. I know what Change is."

  Mikial heard the set tone in Yora's voice, even if Ryan had not. Whether or not he knew it, negotiations were over. It was a firm reminder to Mikial that she was still Dathia too. “She has my permission to fire, Ryan."

  “She won't dare, Mikial,” his voice retorted.

  Mikial closed her eyes to the truth behind her words. “Better to die, then."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Nineteen

  Mikial slowly turned her head. The softness of a pillow was pressed against her angular cheek. Her skull felt like a reliquary for every ache known. Birds chattered through an open window. Someone was near her. Mikial unsealed one amber eye.

  Sitting beside the bed in an overstuffed beige chair was her mother, Yeneen, her yellow surgeon's uniform rumpled, her fine brunette hair in curled tangles. The look in her gray eyes warmed Mikial like a winter hearth.

  “Mother.” She struggled to rise.

  Yeneen quickly left the chair to support her. “Careful. You are still deep in Change, loved one."

  “Change,” Mikial muttered. She sagged against her mother's arms. “Dathia can't be Suria...” She gingerly flexed her hands. A deep ache ran up her arms and through her whole body beneath the pale blue sleeping gown she wore. “My palms hurt ... everything hurts."

  “Everything will for the next week or so. Your body's very busy rearranging itself. It will be some months before your new glands are mature enough for use, so don't expect anything too soon."

  Mikial stared across the small hospital room. Instead of tile, the floor was covered by a thick gold carpet. The light green walls exhibited slightly darker hues that outlined what looked like missing bookshelves. This had been someone's office until recently. “Mother, I can't be Suria!"

  “Quite a few people thought so, too,” Yeneen agreed. Her voice took on a brittle edge that was quickly hidden behind a kiss. “You have a habit of becoming an exception, daughter. Hungry?"

  “Hungry,” Mikial repeated in agreement, glancing about the room. An expanse of morning sunlight swept in from an outdoor balcony over the gardens behind Healer's Ridge. From her perspective, Mikial guessed herself to be in or near the Mental Studies wing. The raid on Keper seemed as remote as a dream. “What happened with Ryan, with the humans?"

  “You saved them, if that's what you want to hear. Your father can tell you more when he comes with your breakfast."

  “What of Paleen?” Mikial had to force the question past the remorse that rose in her throat.

  Her mother stroked Mikial's head. “It's all right, Mikial. Paleen's recovering nicely, which is all you need concern yourself with for now. Concentrate on your own health. More than anything else, you will need rest.” A twitch of nervousness flicked Yeneen's ears. “Things will get busy enough when you've recovered."

  Mikial curled a hand around her mother's wrist. “If I'm in Change ... a Suria...” Her eyes welled with tears. “Dalen. Mother, I gave him First Promise!"

  Her mother paused in her caresses. “You never told me that."

  “I'm sorry,” she said, trying to keep her voice from breaking. “You were so busy..."

  "Shh." Yeneen held her close and wiped at Mikial's tears. “One step at a time, now."

  Mikial's ears picked up the roll of a cart. Her hunting eyes reached out with a twinge of protest along her temples. It was her father.

  Yeneen rose as Jakar's knuckles wrapped softly on the door. “I think your father wants a few words alone with you.” She paused on her way out. “The creation of a Suria is an act of vindication, Mikial. Remember that."

  Will he? Mikial wondered as her mother left the room.

  Jakar came in without the cart. Unlike her mother's work clothes, his dress uniform was immaculately pressed. The crimson battle patterns webbed down the side-skirts of the black jacket without so much as a wrinkle to disturb them. Jakar's brown hair was combed back, his mustache freshly trimmed. Just like when he has a conference with the Tasur, Mikial realized. Was all this for her, then?

  He stood before her bed, as if waiting permission, his timber brown eyes staring across the space between them. It was too much for her aching thoughts to deal with. Mikial gave a groan and slipped back down in the sheets, covering her head in the hope that he would just go away.

  For a moment he did. Then she heard the cart being rolled up next to her bed, followed by the clink of a removed lid and dinnerware being set. What drifted to her nostrils beneath the sheets was an irresistible mix of spiced meat and delicate pastry. Torses? Mikial hazarded a peek. Silver tongs carefully deposited one of the fluffy delicacies on a plate next to a spread of cheeses and translucent green juice berries. Jakar's large hands removed the cover from a mug, releasing the savory aroma of fresh murr. Sighing, she pulled away the sheet.

  “Better?” her father's deep voice rumbled as he smeared butter over the pile of torses.

  Mikial glanced to where his dress jacket had been thrown into a corner
. Even the high collar of his black shirt had been unbuttoned. “I remember when you once wore an old sweater."

  “And you've made me remember the reason why,” he said, his eyes lowering for a moment. “I suppose I can't change as much as I'd like, daughter."

  Mikial slowly eased herself back up to a sitting position with her father's help. “I think I'm changing enough for both of us.” Mikial let out a breath. “If not for the pain, I wouldn't believe any of this.” She looked up at him, trying to gauge the depth of his thoughts for the emotional foothold she needed. “They told you what I did at Keper?"

  Jakar gave her fingers a squeeze before he set the plate on her lap. “They told me. We're still analyzing the implications, daughter."

  Mikial's laugh broke under bitter irony. “Implications?” She put a hand to the answering pound in her head. Her voice dropped to a mutter. “Just have them Judge me and be done with it."

  “You think it that simple?"

  Her voice hardened. “You don't need to teach me about simplicity, Father. Ask Paleen to tell you how simple my choices have been as of late."

  Jakar fished a letter from his coat pocket and handed it to her. “Read your answers here."

  Ignoring the sting in her eyes, Mikial did as he asked. The letter was from Principal Jia, addressed to her father. It was a brief message that encouraged him to have faith in a seemingly wayward daughter. It spoke of the direction the Holding needed to go, and how she was to help discover that path. The note ended with congratulations for her transformation into a Suria. “A bit late,” Mikial grumbled, returning it.

  He shook his head. “Not exactly. It was the second letter I mentioned to you."

  “Mentioned to me when? Wait—you mean the one she gave you before I left for Keper?"

  Her father took the envelope back. “I opened it only today."

  “How could they...” Mikial shook her head in confusion.

  Giving a sympathetic nod, Jakar put a hand on her shoulder. “A Datha Principal cannot pass judgment on what he can't explain. Nor will a father."

  “What of the humans, then?"