AmerIndian 2192

by J. Scott Garibay

CHAPTER 36

  Wovoka's shuttle trip to meet Lige in orbit turned out to be premature. He now stood back on Naanac with the Elders, six body tank warriors (including Cavaho) next to him. Three thousand tribals surrounded Wovoka and the Elders at a distance of two hundred meters. The clearing was sufficient for Lige's shuttle to set down safely. Elder John had urged all tribals to stay away, not to gather. He had known his words rang hollow. He and Celetain were the voices that cried for this act of madness. Words of caution rolled off his tongue with the clear taste of hypocrisy and anticipatory guilt. Thanks to Keokuk’s efficiency, well over three quarters of the settling tribals were now dispersed across Naanac, out of range to see Lige personally.

  The Elders stared up as Lige's shuttle descended. Vibrantly colored blankets, intricately crafted, flared around Elder John as the shuttle’s boosters fired, slowing the vessel's approach. Lige’s shuttle came to a heavy rest twenty meters from the Elders. With a hiss it depressurized, venting spent air and taking in fresh. Lige made his way down the extended ramp as jets of air shot out and away from the ship. Jaret followed. A pair of UDA body tank troops brought Potlatch Weaver out in the grav chair. Lige approached carefully, stopping a few meters from the Elders. “The UDA is prepared to recognize the AmerIndian Confederacy’s sovereignty in governing Naanac if the Elders agree the AmerIndian Confederacy will comply with all UDA tax codes and trade regulations.”

  Stormseeker stepped forward, pointing at Lige. Celetain pushed him back physically and spoke, “Send Potlatch Weaver over as a measure of good faith. Then we will continue to speak.”

  Lige turned toward Potlatch Weaver. “Potlatch Weaver's release can be tied to the successful completion of our negotiations.” Lige walked forward offering a small container. “Weaver's fingers. The sooner we can wrap this up the sooner you can address his current difficulties.”

  Stormseeker growled, “Those terms are unacceptable and if you think you can hold a tribal bleeding in front of us for another minute without repercussions you are sorely mistaken.”

  “The UDA is reasonable. What concessions are you willing to make?”

  There was silence for a moment and Stormseeker said clearly, “None.”

  Silence resumed. A smile crept across Lige's lips. Instinctively, the AmerIndian Confederacy body tank warriors moved closer to each Elder and Wovoka.

  Lige whispered, “Now.”

  Every surface on the shuttle rippled, panels blowing off in every direction like shards from a shattered glass. UDA body tank troops shot from the sides and bottom of the shuttle, exploded out of the top and rained to the ground. Without hesitation, each AmerIndian Confederacy body tank warrior grabbed an Elder. Cavaho moved to snatch up Wovoka and carry him to safety. But Wovoka signaled Cavaho to belay his action. Body tank gauntlets were capable of crushing plasteel like Styrofoam and yet each body tank warrior gripped an Elder with the gentleness of a mother's touch. The body tank warriors darted, carrying each Elder away. They exposed the back of their armor to the sixty-four UDA body tank troops that now surrounded Lige's shuttle.

  In seconds, each Elder was well clear of Lige’s shuttle. Only Wovoka and Cavaho stood before the mayhem. Wovoka had seen the situation unfolding and had acted on instinct born through years as an Infiltrator. The UDA body tank troops on the ground were unleashing mini-rockets and rail guns on the tribals at the edge of the two hundred meter circle.

  Cavaho had positioned his body tank carefully to block fire from the UDA body tank troops. A mini-rocket struck his mobile armor and sent Cavaho hurtling ten meters away.

  Wovoka, now shieldless, flung himself to the safest point in the maelstrom, at Lige. A few steps built momentum and Wovoka hurled his feet forward. Lige went for his knife when saw the White Buffalo's intent. Wovoka's body passed by Lige's torso and caught Lige under the chin as he passed. His momentum carried him, crashing into Potlatch Weaver. The grav chair rose and toppled. Lige's shoulder hit at a hard angle and his face ground into the wet grass. Potlatch Weaver strained against the metal clamps on the grav chair, to no avail. Wovoka kicked at the nearest UDA body tank and toppled the troop onto himself, Weaver and Lige.

  Jaret's first impulse was to dive in and slice everything but Lige to ribbons with his diamond-coated katana. He resisted the impulse and scanned the scene. Six UDA body tank troops were focused on the human pretzel. Jaret figured that was enough. The rest of the UDA body tank troops were turning outward, moving toward the outer ring of tribals, firing with relish. Jaret watched as two-dozen tribals were cut down on the left. He heard the familiar streak of Jet Tigers approaching. To Jaret's right he saw four UDA body tank troops carrying opened body tanks for Jaret and Lige. He judged he had ten seconds. His blade flashed out.

  Jaret pounced forward, blade swinging back. He was forced to abort his attack, landing carefully, releasing the tension in his arms. Wovoka stood from the mass of bodies holding Lige's own knife to the Grand Admiral's stretched throat. A trickle of blood flowed down Lige's neck. Anyone of the six body tanks could have killed Wovoka from their angle. If Wovoka was not completely incapacitated, the slightest abrasion from the diamond-coated knife could kill Lige.

  Wovoka screamed. “A UDA body tank troop takes Weaver out or Lige dies. Now. I count to three. One, two, - “

  Jaret signaled one of the body tank troops. The body tank troop grabbed Weaver's grav chair, without righting it and released Weaver. Potlatch scrambled to his feet, then hesitated. Wovoka yelled, “Get out of here!” Potlatch hurried off in the direction the elders were taken. The four remaining body tank troops approached carrying Jaret and Lige's opened body tanks.

  As Jaret looked back to see how close the body tanks were he saw chaos erupting at the circle’s edge. The UDA body tank troops were moving out in a smooth and steady circle. Jaret could see dozens of tribals were dead. Tribals were running like cattle. Save one. Jaret could see one tribal in a large loose blanket flapping as the figure ran toward the UDA body tank troops. Jaret did not have time to continue to watch the tribal fall, as he surely would.

  Jaret stepped closer to Wovoka. “Get Back,” Wovoka pulled in closer to Lige to improve the Grand Admiral's use as a shield.

  Jaret circled and motioned for the body tank troops to back up. “I released Weaver. Now release Lige.”

  Wovoka looked around nervously, realizing the UDA body tank troops were backing up. When he released Lige the UDA body tank troops would riddle him so full of holes their would be little chance of identifying his corpse.

  Jaret saw the concern on Wovoka's face. “Release him, no man here will fire on you.” He shouted, “On my command, no man will fire on Wovoka.”

  Wovoka shoved Lige forward and stood defenseless. Wovoka waited for the first laser to burn his flesh, the first rail ammunition to pass cleanly through him. Lige rolled in the damp grass, came up fast. He stood and grabbed a rail gun from the nearest troop, leveling it at Wovoka. Jaret stepped in front of the barrel, “No, get in your body tank. I gave my word.” Lige glared at Jaret and hesitantly cast aside the rail gun. He turned to climb into his opened body tank.

  Jaret turned to Wovoka and leveled the katana. Wovoka shifted his grip on the diamond-coated knife and took a fighting stance. Jaret looked at the knife, his katana. Jaret gripped the katana, spun it and planted it cleanly in the ground. Wovoka circled, trying to read the move. Jaret then pulled his wakazashi and advanced. Wovoka understood Jaret was offering a fair fight but knew it would not matter. He sensed the lack of skill and confidence in himself compared to his opponent, the feeling he had when faced Cavaho in hand-to-hand. Wovoka, stiffened and remembered he was on a battlefield.

  Jaret advanced on him, slicing twice with his diamond-coated Wakazashi. Wovoka let go of his fear, turning it into adrenaline. He blocked both slashes with the knife and moved in toward Jaret. Wovoka bolted his elbow up and forward, crashing the bone into Jaret's mouth.

  Jaret bolted back, refusing to acknowledge the blood that
flowed from his mouth. Instantly he shifted the wakazashi and closed again. The two clashed together this time, Wovoka thrusting fast with the knife, a move Jaret was forced to counter. Once Wovoka's thrust was countered the two were close. Jaret vindictively slammed his elbow into Wovoka's mouth at the same time he shoved his right foot between Wovoka's legs. With a twist and throw he sent Wovoka to the ground. With speed and accuracy that humiliated Wovoka, Jaret plucked the knife from his hands as Wovoka gasped to bring air into his lungs and spastically blinked.

  Jaret flicked his wrist and raised his arm. The wakazashi flashed, poised to deliver the killing blow.

  Wovoka waited for his death as doubt flashed through his mind. “Celetain was wrong. I am not the White Buffalo, only a man born to die at the hands of a superior warrior,” he thought.

  The teams of UDA body tank troops continued forward, firing furiously. They had taken down more than a hundred tribals now. The deadly circle of body tank troops parted slightly and the approaching tribal Jaret had seen earlier was close enough to be seen and heard.

  “Jaret.” The voice was soft, but it carried to Jaret as though whispered in his ear. He turned to see Alexa. Her hair blew back with the camouflage cloth that had covered it. Jaret slowed, stopped.

  “This time I'm not asking you to come, but to stay.” Alexa extended her hand.

  Lige snapped the last clamp on his body tank. His helmet remained open but an uttered command would close and seal the body tank. Two UDA body tank troops held Jaret's open body tank close by.

  Jaret loomed above Wovoka, his wakazashi still poised. Lige walked close, glancing at Alexa. He saw the way Jaret was staring at her, considering, deciding.

  “The escape from Black Mariah,” Lige said slowly. “The way the soldier moved? It was you.”

  Jaret remained frozen, the blade held aloft like a question mark.

  “Forget Wovoka. Forget Alexa. Suit up.” Lige said it plainly, commanding his soldier, the way he had done countless times before.

  Alexa spoke softly. “ Please, Jaret. Lige is not you. He is not part of you. Stay.”

  Jaret turned from Alexa. He lowered the blade and started toward the troops holding his open body tank. “I am sorry, father.” In one clean cut with the wakazashi, Jaret severed his opened body tank shoulder to hip. It would not be able to seal. The automatic release of the virus could not be triggered. The roar of approaching Jet Tigers could be heard.

  “You are my greatest betrayal. You will be my greatest victory.” Lige grabbed Jaret's katana from the ground and plunged it deep into the chest of the body tank troop carrying the virus. The body tank troop staggered and dropped heavily to his knees. The sword had penetrated through his chest to the cylinder carried on the back of his armor. A thick bubble of liquid began to coagulate on the bottom of the cylinder. The UDA body tank troops knew further combat was superfluous. They pulled Lige with them as they bounded back to the shuttle. The signal was given and the circle of slaughtering UDA body tank troops was called back. Hatches were wide open across the shuttle and the UDA body tank troops packed in.

  Jaret saw the bubble of virulent liquid tremble before it dropped to the crushed moss below. He shouted, “Run, run.” He grabbed Alexa's hand. Wovoka rolled to his side, all he could manage before Cavaho, his body tank still smoking, lifted and carried him off like a child.

  “Anthra Sweet. It will spread like a ripple on a pond. Get shuttles down. Get your Elders away.” Jaret yelled to Alexa. She finger tapped the words to the nearest shuttle.

  There was no visible reaction for five seconds after the drop of Anthra Sweet hit the ground. Then quickly it spread. Every fleck of green moss on the ground turned white, dying instantly. The virus spread like dye across a clean cloth.

  Alexa, Jaret and Cavaho, carrying Wovoka, reached the edge of the open plain. They had to jump over dead tribals to get close to the shuttles that were busily being prepping for launch. Stormseeker ran to them with Celetain following and took Wovoka from Cavaho. He helped Wovoka stand on his own feet.

  Jaret spoke in a rush. “It is spreading at one half meter every few seconds. The virus will kill every tribal gathered here in a few minutes.”

  Stormseeker pulled Wovoka’s arm over his shoulder. “Get on the shuttle, all of you. Wovoka, stay with me long enough to give one command.” Celetain began to protest. Stormseeker interrupted her. “We are in battle, Elder Shaman. Heed my wisdom. Move.” Celetain raced away with Jaret and Alexa toward a ready shuttle.

  “Wovoka, it is time to fulfill prophecy. It is time to pay the real price for this planet. It was not the blood of the UDA fleet crews that paid for Naanac. You will make the payment now. We have to cauterize the wound. You have to command me to detonate a Nagasphere right here, right now. It will kill everyone here and anyone carrying the virus. You have about another thirty seconds to decide. If you don't make this command, the virus will turn Naanac into a wasteland. What do you command, White Buffalo?”

  Wovoka's head spun. He knew in his heart Stormseeker was right. The virus would kill every living thing on Naanac. One of the nine planets in existence that could support life would be snuffed out if he did not make the command. And yet Stormseeker was asking him to command the slaughter of at least three thousand tribals, his brothers and sisters. Wovoka looked at Stormseeker as he gave the command. “I command you to detonate a Nagasphere at this location.”

  Cavaho stood behind Wovoka and caught Stormseeker's subtle gesture. With blinding speed the old Elder Warrior slammed his fist into the already weary Wovoka's face, knocking him unconscious. Cavaho knew it was the only way they would get Wovoka onto a shuttle. Cavaho carried Wovoka away.

  Stormseeker holstered his Sledge Violator. “I need forbidden dropped at my feet, Razor Eight. Put the blossom on a Jet Tiger. Drop in 150 seconds. Get as many shuttles down on the ground as you can. The shuttles are only to pick up tribals on the outskirts of this field. They must cut off pick-ups when I give the command. Move fast, warriors.”

  Stormseeker dropped his head and finger tapped his god-code. His voice poured out of every speaker on every shuttle, in the air or on the ground. “Brother and sisters, we are infected. I must sever the hand or the body will die. Please grant me your trust and let me do what must be done. Everyone who can leave in the next few moments must go. I will remain with those who cannot leave. Please recognize my wisdom and my love and do not waste time or lives. What I do now, I do at the White Buffalo’s command.”

  Stormseeker looked back across the field and saw white death spreading only a hundred meters away. He ran farther out and climbed to the top of one of the grey leafed trees surrounding the field. The Elder Warrior settled on two branches near the top and watched the scene from his new vantage point. He saw shuttles boarding chiefs and tribals alike. He also watched as Lige's shuttle arced across the sky toward the chunnel. Stormseeker grimaced as he watched Lige's shuttle crew evade, attack and penetrate their way to escape.

  Stormseeker turned and concentrated on the task at hand. Out of the three thousand tribals on the ground only two thousand had reached shuttles in time to lift off safely. He watched the remaining thousand tribals run for their lives to the last four shuttles still on the ground. The white death spread constantly, evenly, getting closer to the tribals and shuttles. Stormseeker saw three Jet Tigers sail above the crowd, their bellies facing him. He fingered tapped a channel to all of the fighters in the sky and the grounded shuttles. “Attention: all grounded shuttles. Your passengers may be carriers of the virus. Do not lift off. Active Jet Tigers, all shuttles that are contamination free are in the air. All shuttles that lift off from this point on are to be shot down.”

  Stormseeker’s heart soared as he saw the engines of two of the shuttles flame out, their crews signing their own death warrants in exchange for the safety of their brother and sister tribals. One of the other two shuttles that he could see through his comp set optics closed its ramp and lifted off.
The other shuttle kept its engine hot.

  Stormseeker frowned. “Obsidian Buck, Lead Wing, descend and scrap Shuttles 608 and 409.”

  These were Nez Perce pilots. Their response to an order was usually immediate. “Those shuttles are carrying women and children, Elder Warrior.”

  Stormseeker blinked and swallowed. “I am aware of that, troop. I need you to carry out your order without delay.”

  There was silence for a moment.

  “Cut loose, Flow. I have this,” the pilot said. Stormseeker watched as the wingman reluctantly curved away. The lead Jet Tiger picked up speed. All of the fighter’s shields were down and all energy for the lifting shuttle was being poured into escape speed. All four of the Jet Tiger’s Cobra Strike missiles flared from the belly of the fighter and cruised to the engine-on shuttle on the ground. The shuttle exploded into thin fragments and rained to the white, dead ground below it.

  The lasers on the Jet Tiger would not take down escaping shuttle. The Jet Tiger’s lasers would penetrate the shuttle’s hull, but not down it. It appeared the lead fighter had no way to take the last shuttle down. Stormseeker cursed. The pilot had made a mistake. Stormseeker’s eyes widened, however, once he understood. The lead fighter accelerated and curved, slamming headlong into the shuttle’s side at top speed. The shuttle and Jet Tiger detonated brilliantly, spraying wreckage across the sky, at once a horrific and beautiful act.

  Tribals screamed as they were caught by the spreading virus and heaps of bodies calcified at the touch of the invisible killer. Tribals ran, in futility, trying to keep distance. It hurt Stormseeker to see this. His tribals, mad with fear, all intelligence and organization gone. They were his people. He had seen tribals face death individually with bravery and defiance. But he knew their reaction to death now was warranted. This time death came to them without a face, without any chance of escape. Worst of all, their sacrifice was not for all the tribes but for one man, Potlatch Weaver, who had pleaded wordlessly for his own death instead.

  Stormseeker shook his head. John and Celetain had made the wrong decision. Lige had defeated them utterly and over one thousand tribals would pay the price for their misplaced compassion. The Elder Warrior knew, however, if he hesitated, if he thought in the same soft, weak manner that created this situation, then the number of tribals lost would triple or quadruple and Naanac could be destroyed.

  Stormseeker gave the last command of his life. “Obsidian Rage Pack Alpha. Drop Forbidden at my feet.”

  There was a cold silence broken by the Nez Perce pilot. “I will meet you at the delta of the great river, Elder Warrior.” The pilot's Jet Tiger was already streaking toward its mark. The fighter reached the detonation point. The Nagasphere-turned-bomb mounted on the bottom of the Jet Tiger was not visible to Stormseeker, but he could feel its presence. “Now we pay the price that has always been demanded for land. We pay it in full.”

  The Nagasphere, designed to let the energy of a nuclear explosion seep out in trickles, released all of its fury. Eight kilometers in diameter of Naanac disappeared in an instant. A blue-white wave of energy vaporized everything in a perfect circle. For five seconds every molecule in the space was separated from those surrounding it and then wiped of all memory of its former being. A thousand tribals (including one Elder and two chiefs) died in that moment. The land that had contained the deadly virus was now the most pristine area on Naanac. There would be no corpses to bury. Nothing would grow there ever again.