Bartoc Secret

by Clara Woods

  Brons, his blue eyes not missing a detail, said, “I will take a step back. You are here, you must know about the Ninth?”

  Lenah shook her head.

  “In Bartoc society, they are the Masters. Their nature demands them to command. Such is their way. When we arrived in Saltoc many generations ago, we quickly had to learn that lesson. Even before, back on Thorlo, not all Strikers were the same. Some held bigger positions in the corporation, others were mostly working administrative jobs to support the family business.”

  Lenah nodded. She knew that model very well.

  “They used the same hierarchy to determine who would become a Sov and who would be a Wailing.”

  “The Ninth is purely paid by the Wailing,” Penelope angrily interrupted her father.

  “They won’t know what it is,” Brons said patiently, then turned to Lenah again. “Bartoc society is simple. They stand on top, and below them are all the different races they rule over. We are also grouped into a hierarchy. You’ve seen the Dhumah soldiers. While not a very intelligent species, they are the eyes and fists of the Bartoc and come second after them.”

  “Is that the knife-throwing monsters?” Martello inquired.

  Brons nodded. “You’ve met them.” He made a downward gesture with his arm. “Then there are the Jhima snakes, after them, us humans, and so forth. Different races have different jobs. We are engineers and mechanics.”

  Persia shook her head. “That’s just a cruel society, it doesn’t explain this Ninth.”

  Penelope and Jann frowned, but Brons smiled. “Ah, yes. It is important to first understand the big order to understand the hierarchy within the hierarchy. The bottom ninth of each race is what pays for the membership in society.” Brons explained. “Nine percent paid to keep the other ninety-one safe. A small price, or so the Masters think.” He looked at his children. “I was unlucky; both of my children were marked to belong to the Ninth. It was Jann’s turn one sun-cycle ago.”

  Jann scratched over the tattoo on his chin.

  “Your turn for what?” Lenah asked. “Of being made a slave?”

  Jann looked up with fire in his eyes. “A slave inside a Bartoc’s mind.” He touched his sister’s chin.

  “And that symbol, what does that mean?” Persia pointed at his tattoo.

  “It marks us as the Ninth.”

  Lenah shook her head. “I still don’t understand.”

  Brons sighed. “It means that those who are marked are given to the Bartoc. In the case of most sentient species, it means to be added to their minds. A practice of theirs that we call mind-splitting.” He held up a hand at Lenah when she was about to interrupt again. “Let us eat first. I have no mind to go deeper on an empty stomach.” He smiled weakly. “But you see why we would be waiting for someone to help us get back home.” He waved at a woman who was waiting in the doorway. She carried a large tablet of bowls, each filled with a steaming yellow substance.

  Despite the questionably sour smell, Lenah’s stomach grumbled.

  Brons lifted an eyebrow, received a bowl from the woman, and set it in front of Lenah. Penelope and Jann did the same for Persia, Uz, Cassius, and Martello.

  “We dedicate this meal to Corinna Cheung,” Brons said solemnly, “who died heroically in the attempt to help us.” He took a big spoonful from his plate.

  Lenah imitated him, quickly learning that she wasn’t a fan of the sour and slimy meal. But she ignored it, glad to be given something to eat. “Why are the Bartoc mind mages?” she asked after she’d swallowed her first bite.

  Someone dropped their spoon back into their bowl with a loud clank.

  Penelope exchanged a glance with her father. “They discovered a way to meld their mind with those of others. It has enabled them to survive the Judgment and ascended them to be Masters.”

  “Judgment. That’s the Cava Dara attack six thousand years ago?”

  Brons nodded.

  “It is also what permitted the original Strikers to stay here. Once the Bartoc added a human mind into their repertoire, they were able to perform mind magic just like us,” Jann said.

  Lenah looked from one of them to the next, grasping only a little of the meaning. “How do they do that?”

  “We do not know,” Penelope answered.

  “Nor do we want to know,” her father added. “It is an evil practice.” He fell silent.

  “What do you know of the Cava Dara?” Lenah asked.

  Brons twitched, his shoulders rising momentarily, but didn’t speak.

  “Do you know that they are back, this time targeting humanity? It doesn’t matter if you’re from the Bartoc or the Cassidian sector. They are coming for humanity because of mind mages. Because of us whose genes were mixed with an Elder from Cassidia.”

  A murmur went through the group, and several people were talking to each other in their clipped language. Lenah repeatedly heard their ancestral home, Thorlo, mentioned.

  She waited to let them build the excitement, meeting the eyes of several of the quieter people. She saw mixed emotions in the room, yet they seemed to range from skepticism to open excitement but not hostility. She continued speaking, feeling encouraged. “Now, we are the only force to save our race. All mind mages must unite.” Her voice echoed through the metal-clad room.

  Brons stirred next to her, his two children looked at her with shining eyes. Then he spoke. “We’ve been called to fight by our Masters already.” He said it almost without emotion, as if the fact was too obvious to even mention.

  “They are here?” Uz spoke for the first time.

  Brons nodded. “They are approaching Kalhhok, and the Wailing have been called forth to battle.”

  Lenah swallowed. “How far away are they?”

  Brons shrugged. “A few days. There was a battle on Jhiman, one swarm broke off, and the rest is coming our way.” He hesitated. “The Masters have called all remaining Wailing to congregate on Kalhhok.”

  “You don’t want to fight,” Cassius said.

  Brons tilted his head. “We do not want to fight alone.”

  “The Bartoc will not help? What about the Sovs?” Lenah felt encouraged.

  Penelope snorted, then, when Lenah looked at her, said, “They will not help with the dirty work. The Masters are…” she shrugged. “Well, they are the Masters.”

  “And the Sovs have the Wailing to fight,” her brother added.

  “Why wouldn’t they help?” Persia blurted out.

  Jann shrugged. “They rule us. Only if we are no more, will they fight.”

  “But they are humans and mind mages just like you.”

  “They rule us.”

  “But aren’t you still one and the same family?” Persia asked.

  Everyone looked uncomfortable.

  Finally, Penelope spoke. “We are no longer. Centuries ago, we may have been. But we’ve now lived apart for many generations.”

  “They are closer to the Masters now. And we are closer to the lesser races.

  “We can give no guarantees, but we will fight with our lives to get you into the Cassidian sector,” Lenah said. “You can start over again.” She let silence follow that statement. The room had grown very quiet, and she could hear her own breath ringing in her ears.

  Brons exchanged a long look with his children before breaking the silence. “Who would we serve?”

  Lenah considered her answer. Who would they serve indeed? They were no longer a corporate family. They would come back without privilege. But even as commoners, they could be free. They wouldn’t have to call anyone a Master. “You will serve only yourselves,” she finally said but lifted her palm when whispers of incredulity rose in the room. “You might not be rich. You will not be the same Strikers that left the sector a long time ago. But if we win this war, then you will be heroes.”

  “Could we go back to Thorlo?” someone asked from her left, his voice filled with awe.

  “I do not know,” Lenah said honestly, meeting Brons Striker’s eyes. His
intense stare was measuring her, and she wondered what he saw. A young woman with no possible authority, badly dressed and flying a battered spaceship? Or did he see some power in her? Someone who might be able to bring hope to his desperate people?

  He addressed the room. “Everyone will be given a free choice. But there is no place here for my family. We are doomed to be broken apart. We will come.”

  Jann nodded vigorously. “I knew it would happen. I won’t be mind-split.” He slammed his fist down on the table. “I will not be mind-split,” he said again, grinning widely at his sister. “And you won’t be either.”

  “We’re leaving,” she breathed. “We’ll survive.”

  “We might survive,” her father said in a warning voice as his gaze found Lenah’s again.

  He pointed at her bowl. “Eat up, friends. We still have a long night of discussion ahead of us.”

  * * *

  When they had finished their meal, Brons took them all on a tour of the compound. Lenah, holding Zyrakath in her arms, walked in front with him. A tour was the last thing she wanted, but she sensed that he needed to speak to the newcomers away from his people. So, she found herself walking the sparsely lit corridors of the Striker’s base. It wasn’t much; a barely livable area in the guts of the factory, but it was safe. Brons kept repeating that fact.

  “The Masters cannot follow us here,” he was saying. “Only humanoids can, and no one ever goes this far down.”

  “This was an old factory and the new one was built on top of it, you were saying?” Lenah asked, feeling tired.

  Brons nodded. “Yes, yes.” He opened a door and stepped through.

  Frowning at Cassius, who shrugged at her, Lenah followed.

  It was a room filled with junk that looked like broken control boards for the hovering trains the factory above their heads produced.

  Brons spun on his heel, facing Lenah with a smile. “Please excuse the inadequate surroundings.”

  “You wanted to speak somewhere in private?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

  He gave a curt nod. “There are things best not said in the company of my people. Pragmatic things that are very important to speak about.”

  Lenah gave a tired shrug. “Let’s not beat around the asteroid, Brons. We’re tired and just lost a friend.”

  “Of course.” He took a deep breath. It was the first sign of Brons Striker losing his cool. “All of us here are intimately familiar with loss. And all of us are fighters. We are the Wailing who decided to fight against the Ninth. The ones who have lost their children or who were destined for a mind-split themselves and decided to hide with us instead of stepping into that destiny.”

  Lenah shifted her tense shoulders but didn’t interrupt.

  “No one should be shouldering such risks without knowing that there is an end. Maybe not in sight, maybe not during your lifetime, but there is an ending.”

  “That is why you came up with this savior story?” Zyrakath asked, shifting in Lenah’s arm.

  “It is not a story, nor did I come up with it,” Brons answered. “It has been with us for many years.”

  “But you don’t believe in it,” Zyrakath said and it wasn’t a question.

  Brons sighed. “I am not gifted with the belief in destiny. I’m a pragmatist through and through. But I might be the exception.”

  “What are you saying?” Lenah asked, though she thought she already knew where this was leading.

  “I want you to play that role for my people. It will help,” Brons said. “More will come. They will fight harder.”

  Lenah sighed. Her guess had been right. But did she have a choice? Wouldn’t she do almost anything to bring Strikers back home with her? “What would it actually mean?” she asked Brons.

  He smiled. “I’m glad to find another pragmatist. I’m not asking you to pretend to be someone you are not. But I need a strong leader. I sense that in you. Make them believe you are the savior, and they will follow you. For myself, I would only ask that you give your best to bring us back home to Thorlo.”

  Lenah met his gaze and held it. “You have my word.”

  Brons didn’t break eye contact. “Good,” he said and finally looked away. He waved toward the door. “Let’s go and find you a place to rest. It hasn’t been an easy day for any of us, and I’m sure you don’t want to linger in a Bartoc closet all night.”

  32 Into the Fight

  Lenah slept badly that night. Despite her exhaustion, she tossed and turned, listening to her crew’s own tossing and turning in their shared quarters. Yet no one spoke, maybe everyone was trying to make sense of the last few hours.

  The evening had ended with Brons Striker showing them this room and promising to make a sector-wide call for the Wailing to come to the factory to escape instead of fighting.

  Lenah could barely believe how easy it had been to convince the Strikers in the room to come on this journey. It spoke to how difficult the situation here must be for the Wailing. What did it feel like to be mind-split? Did you keep your old memories? Lenah pulled her blanket up to her chin, shivering despite the hot and stale air in the small room.

  She was glad she hadn’t understood the Bartoc’s many minds during the battle, but she couldn’t stop seeing the image of the little red-haired girl that had tortured her in the Bartoc’s vision.

  Lenah turned once more, almost throwing off the scratchy blanket and getting up. Only the wish of not getting separated from her group again made her stay. She turned her head over to where Cassius was lying, wishing he hadn’t taken a spot so far away from her on the other side of the room.

  She thought of Corinna, the feeling of loss suddenly made breathing difficult. How was it possible Corinna would never again walk into a room, fully confident of what she wanted and trying to control the action? Lenah would miss that. Somehow, despite all their differences, Lenah had come to rely greatly on Corinna and her calm confidence, a confidence Lenah had always admired. Was it coincidence Lenah had chosen the only other mind mage in the Cassidian sector to admire since her teenage years? Maybe there had always been a pull toward the familiar.

  Lenah turned once more, her thoughts focusing on her father. She hadn’t heard from him since her escape from New Earth. Did he know where she was right now? Did he believe her dead?

  She swallowed. Everyone must think them dead. No one vanished inside the Saltoc sector to return later. Would they be the first ones to manage the task? One step at a time, she told herself.

  They had managed to find other mind mages. Suddenly, Lenah hated the Bartoc as much as she hated the Cava Dara. How did they control others, abuse them for their own power? Yes, they were known to be the most power-hungry intelligent race, destined to rule. But why be so cruel, eliminating nine percent of life inside their sector, spreading fear and breaking families apart? No wonder they had blocked off the escape route to the Cassidian sector.

  Lenah swallowed down her feelings, turning her mind to think back to the Cava Dara. They were her ultimate enemies. She thought of Cassandral and his arrogance, and she couldn’t be so angry with the Bartoc anymore. Her mind kept spinning on that idea until she finally fell into a restless sleep.

  She dreamt of the moment Corinna had been hit by that knife just when they had thought themselves safe and in control of the situation.

  In her dream, Lenah decided never to let her guard down. Sides turned quickly. On her last breath, she swore to Corinna to finish what they had both started.

  33 Change Coming

  A while later, a polite knock sounded on the door. Lenah rolled over, drained and sweaty, feeling like she’d slept a mere five minutes. Cassius opened the door.

  Penelope, fully dressed, stood outside. “Good morning. Breakfast is ready at the common table.”

  Cassius thanked her, then closed the door.

  Uz and Persia sat up. Dark circles rimmed their eyes as they blinked them open. They looked as tired as Lenah felt.

  “Ugh, this place is horribl
e,” Persia moaned. “No mattress, an eternity of metal over my head, and Bartoc swarming all over.” She shuddered.

  Uz frowned at her. “You are surrounded by only metal in the Star Rambler.” Her voice was hoarse and her eyes puffy as if she’d been crying during the night.

  “That’s just one layer of metal and beyond it, freedom, emptiness.” Persia jumped off the ground a few times, then bent to stretch her legs.

  Lenah stood up, facing them. “As much as possible, I want us to stay together while we’re here. Should we get separated and can’t get back together, we’ll try to return to the Star Rambler. This is enemy territory, and we don’t know the rules.” She swallowed. “Let’s never forget that.”

  Everyone nodded, suddenly looking awake and very serious. Persia and Uz exchanged a glance. Uz touched Lenah’s shoulder.

  Lenah acknowledged with a nod, then strode out of the room, squaring her shoulders. There would be a time to mourn. But today was a day for action.

  The others filed out behind her. They passed the burner room where they had held Corinna’s funeral. A shudder overwhelmed Lenah. Her friend would never leave Saltoc. But Lenah would give her all to make sure that the rest of them did. Including as many Strikers who wanted to come.

  When Lenah stepped into the room with the large table, it was mostly deserted. Only Jann and Penelope sat there. Penelope smiled, but Jann looked exhausted as if he’d had a bad night himself.

  “My father and I spent all night finding a way out of here and to your ship,” Jann said when Lenah sat down opposite him.

  “Did you come up with something?”

  He nodded. “There’s a new train that’s almost ready. We’re taking it to the central camp of the resistance.”

  “You have a central camp?” Persia asked.

  “Yes. It’s not very active. Most of us have jobs to do. The ones who work can’t leave the production facility. Only folks like me who have dropped out can stay there.”

  “Do you have people there right now?” Lenah asked. “Or weapons?”