Chapter 8
Green Scorpion’s remaining trip back to occupied space was not long, but Smardwurst had enough on his mind that every hour seemed tedious. It was bad enough that their season of peace had been so short-lived; Smardwurst had lived through two wars now, and it seemed naïve to think that the period of military conflict would just end forever. But something about the Vortak made the situation extra-disturbing. Anacron’s inability to communicate with them was probably at the core of the matter, he supposed. If they could just sit down and talk, it seemed logical to suppose that some sort of treaty could be arranged. But then, that was assuming the Vortak could be reasoned with at all. Kjrvlnk certainly seemed like a rational being, but at the same time his description of his people was vague at best. And even Kjrvlnk was quite the enigma. And yet, despite the lone Vortak’s hesitance or inability to communicate, Smardwurst could not keep himself away for long. Something about the insectile alien just felt important, somehow. And so, a few minutes after breakfast, Smardwurst again found himself sounding at his guest’s door.
“Come,” came the response.
Smardwurst stepped past the security guard and into the dark quarters Kjrvlnk had been given and seemed content to remain in. “How are you?”
“I am well.”
Smardwurst waited, hoping against reason for an elaboration. Of course, none came. “Good, he said at last. “We have gone over the telemetry we recovered from your ship. We believe we have identified where you come from. Would you take a look at the chart and see if you can confirm our calculations?” He handed a data pad to Kjrvlnk, who glanced briefly at it.
“It is difficult to identify our space by your terms, but I believe this is right.”
“We have sent deep space probes there, but none have reported anything that our scientists considered a high enough priority to investigate. How far does your space reach?”
“Many planets.”
“Any that you could identify for us on this chart?”
“It is difficult. I am familiar mainly with my own.”
“Could you… explain to me what you did on your planet? It might help me to understand…” he trailed off, growing a little frustrated. He had tried many times to get Kjrvlnk to describe his daily life in even the most general terms, but each time his questions had met with polite but uselessly brief responses.
“I harvested food, built structures. We worked together.”
“I wonder if it would be useful to show you some of what Anacronians do, so you could compare.”
“Why?” It was the first question Kjrvlnk had asked him, and Smardwurst was taken aback.
“I want to understand you.” Smardwurst realized that even he was not entirely sure why he felt this compulsion to connect with his visitor. “I believe that much of the galaxy’s problems come from different groups being unwilling or unable to communicate. Like when the other Vortak refused to listen to your views. I want to avoid that happening here, if I can.”
“I am an outcast,” Kjrvlnk said, and once again Smardwurst found himself wishing desperately that he could read some inflection in the words. “It does not matter what I did before.”
“What you did is a part of who you are, no matter how far away your past may seem.” And there it was, the reason for Smardwurst’s odd drive. This Vortak reminded him of himself.
“That is true,” Kjrvlnk said, drawing Smardwurst’s attention back to the conversation that had somehow finally moved past simple statements of fact. “But that past has already determined the future. What we say now cannot change it.”
“And what future is that?”
“For you, war. Defeat, most likely, if you cannot repeat your defenses from before. For me…”
Smardwurst waited, suspecting that Kjrvlnk’s pause was more about whether he wanted to convey his thoughts verbally than about whether he could. But there was nothing more.
“Since you have asked,” Kjrvlnk said finally, “there is one thing you can do for me. I would like to rest. Until there is further word from the Vortak, I wish to avoid discussing them.”
“Them,” Smardwurst noted. Not “Us.” Already he has lost his identity. As he left the room, Smardwurst wondered how much of his own identity he had preserved from his younger years. He wondered whether Kjrvlnk would be encouraged if he knew the answer.
Güzhmäk looked up as Smardwurst strode onto the pricom, still lost in thought. “How did it go?” he asked.
Smardwurst sighed. “He vaguely confirmed that we are looking in the right place but could not provide further information. He… seems sensitive about the topic; he said he wishes not to discuss the Vortak until we have further news of them.
“He wishes not to? We saved his life, you’d think he could spare the energy to give us something.”
Smardwurst shrugged. “He is a farmer. He probably does not know anything we would consider useful.”
Güzhmäk simply grunted. “We’ll be back before too long. General Harvey has already issued deployment orders. We are to join the main defense force alongside Galactron, in case Kjrvlnk can offer information. I wonder how long the General will leave him here.
“He probably figures he’s secure enough, and keeping him off of Galactron limits the damage he could do if he somehow escaped. Assuming, of course, that he would want to cause trouble, which I seriously doubt.”
“It would be nice if we could pinpoint a central base of some kind,” Güzhmäk said wishfully. “A quick strike at the right target could put a stop to this before it gets started.”
“That is assuming the Vortak even have a central command base. I am not very certain about that, either.” Güzhmäk had a point though – having something to counterattack would almost certainly feel more productive than sitting around, waiting for an invasion. Then again, having a target was a long way from having a solution. Much less a victory.
“Be sure to stop at the closest space station, Smardwurst said to the crew in general. “We need to be at full capacity when they arrive.”
Smardwurst lay awake for a while that night, preoccupied by another matter. To him, an obvious precaution at this point would be to send someone to Earth to seek out Nedward Simmons. Mirana would probably be the best one to do that, given her ability to remain invisible, but then again she herself would probably be difficult to locate. Perhaps Marnax had already initiated contact, but Smardwurst wondered how much of a relationship those two had anymore. General Harvey would certainly appreciate the tactical advantage of having Plasma Masters on his side, but then again it was not entirely clear how willing he would be to work with Mirana Kelar. After all, her betrayal had resulted in the forced evacuation and bacterial bombing of his homeworld, Ergana Prime. The General had made no attempt to hide his contempt for Mirana, even though he was powerless to do anything to actually punish her – the pardon Marnax had given her as payment for Ned’s help had put her beyond the General’s reach. But, reluctant as he might be to seek out Mirana’s help, surely the General could see no harm in recruiting Ned. Smardwurst made it a point to talk to him – or to Marnax, if possible – about the idea as soon as he could. Smardwurst might feel a little guilty pulling his friend away from a peaceful life on Earth, but, as before, it was beginning to look like the Anacronian fleet was about to face a dangerous imbalance of power, and Smardwurst suspected that his invincible friend would be willing to lend his services again.
But, as urgently as he wanted to address the matter of brining Ned back, he found his thoughts drifting elsewhere as he drifted toward sleep. The memories stirred up by Kjrvlnk’s fragments of a story were surprisingly disturbing; although it had been many years now, Smardwurst had to admit that he was reluctant to think too hard about the circumstances that had forced him to leave Zalorus. Perhaps he could not really blame the Vortak for his silence; the burden of an outcast was not an easy one to bear.
The Plasma Shadow Page 9
