Warrior Spirit

by Laura Kaighn

  “Huh? Oh, in twenty minutes. Michael sent me -”

  “Then there is no time for breakfast or Tai Chi.”

  “Or anything else,” Dorinda countered watching him snug the pants up over his loins and tighten the lacings at his hip. He finished by fastening his tunic. Vesarius then leaned down to shove on his boots.

  “The ambassador will sign the treaty today,” he said. “And I will read the Mytoki history book to the populace.” Vesarius finished with his boots and stood with a huff. “A new beginning.”

  “No, Sarius,” Dorinda countered. “We’re leaving. We’re not signing the treaty. Not yet.”

  Vesarius’ face collapsed in an incredulous gawk. “Tolianksalya has said so himself?”

  “Yes, the ambassador admitted it to me last night.” When Vesarius moved to hurriedly braid his hair, Dorinda stepped forward. “I’ll do it.”

  He flopped down on the corner of the bed and slapped the rumpled sheets as she separated the thick, damp locks from behind him. “What of the Orthop delegation to Tlonnis? Will the ambassador not be staying behind with his diplomatic entourage?”

  “No, we’re all returning to the Pompeii. Orthop has its own problems to deal with.” Dorinda hesitated to add the knowledge of Tolianksalya’s retirement. How much of last night’s conversation had been for her ears only Dorinda was unclear, but she was almost certain the ambassador had no desire for his Grilcmzáe nephew to know what had transpired. What she was telling him now would be common knowledge in twenty minutes anyway.

  “Tolianksalya does not have the authority to withdraw negotiations,” Vesarius said hotly. “The Alliance must go through with the peace treaty.”

  “We will, Sarius. But you’ve got to admit, it’s hard to trust a written agreement in the middle of civil strife. The Orthop government can be trusted, but the rebels don’t want peace.”

  “They want our land and resources,” Vesarius corrected pivoting to look over his shoulder at her as she finished plaiting his hair.

  Dorinda stopped, braid poised in her entwined fingers. “They told you this?”

  “Yes,” he answered quietly turning back away from her. Dorinda resumed her work. “The rebels require space. They want several planets a few light-days from here.”

  “Do they just expect us to hand these planets over? Without any assurances for peace? Which planets, Sarius? If you know, you need to tell Coty.”

  “I ... I am not sure.” He hesitated handing her a leather cord with which to fasten the braid. “My memory is still fuzzy regarding that time.” Once she removed her hands from him, Vesarius stood and turned to regard her. “We must leave now.” Grabbing up his pack from beside his desk, he extracted his folded crossbow and snapped it open.

  “You expect trouble?” was all Dorinda could fathom as the Vesar braced the bow against his bent knee. With one strong hand, he cocked the string taut against the stock catch.

  “I expect a need to show our strength during a withdrawal. Orthops respect strength.”

  “Vesarius,” Dorinda insisted, “we aren’t giving up on the peace talks. We’re just postponing them. The Alliance’ll send another delegation when the Orthops have resolved their own conflicts. You make it sound like war.”

  Head snapping up, searing coals burning into her, Vesarius growled, “It is war. We will not be allowed to withdraw.”

  “The high chancellor will be reasonable,” Dorinda argued. An icy chill shot along her spine as Vesarius loaded his crossbow with a trio of lethal, explosive shafts. “The government will grant us leave.”

  “It is not the government’s place to say so,” Vesarius countered darkly. He flung his pack onto one shoulder. Without another word, Vesarius strode through the door, crossbow in palm, Tundra trotting behind him.

  “But ...” Dorinda stomped two steps after him then stalled. “This is supposed to be a peaceful withdrawal.” Her own voice sounded weak, like a frightened child’s alone in a storm. Suddenly Dorinda’s feet were moving, and she rushed to intercept her friend. His solid back was already at the magnelift, weapon pointed skyward, propped against his shoulder. When the door hummed open, Vesarius stepped in with his Kin. He was gone before she reached him.

  Her hackles prickled at his bluntness. Dorinda could only wait for the lift to return and pray there would be no bloodshed.

  The ambassador’s transport sat warming upon its retracted nacelles when Dorinda skidded to a stop outside the transport bay’s anteroom. Coty was there with Tundra. The captain’s multiphase rifle stood under his palm like a cane. “I was waiting for you.”

  “Michael, is Vesarius onboard already?” Dorinda panted, her eyes betraying her concern.

  “Yes, he’s piloting the Vragjok. Running diagnostics. What’s wrong?”

  “He’s expecting trouble, big trouble,” she explained catching her breath.

  Hefting the meter long plasma rifle onto his shoulder, Coty agreed, “Of course he is. That’s why you’re staying here.”

  Dorinda’s eyes widened. She shook her head. “But you sent me to wake him. I thought we -”

  “We’ll be back as soon as we can,” Coty emphasized. “You and the Kin aren’t needed.”

  Dorinda followed Coty’s glance to her feet. Noah had silently trotted up beside her and now mewed his discontent. “Michael,” she rationalized, staring into the captain’s jasper-hard glare. “I won’t be separated from you. If Vesarius goes down, so do I.”

  “You stay, Jade,” a deep voice commanded from behind. Dorinda spun on the ambassador, ready for a retort. His dark eyes softening slightly, Tolianksalya waved his security officer on then grasped Dorinda by the shoulders. “You are too wise ... and brave to risk, dear Jade. I promise to keep us safe. The commander will return to you. The weapons are for show only.”

  “I won’t stay here,” Dorinda insisted stamping one foot. “You’ve included me in your plans all along. You’re not going to leave me out of them now.”

  “The threat is real, Dori,” Coty asserted. “We don’t need you. Stay here with Tundra.”

  “No, Michael.” In the captain’s earthy gaze, Dorinda witnessed the stalwart strength that had helped his Lakota people resist assimilation by the Whites nearly three centuries ago. Now it flashed a final command, one she could not dispute. “Yes, Captain.” Reluctantly, Dorinda stepped into the anteroom to watch. Coty and the ambassador exchanged silent nods then pivoted together toward the bay. “Brahmanii Sule protect you,” she murmured as they left. The closing anteroom doors segregated her from their company. Stepping forward with a helpless dread, Dorinda splayed both palms upon that transparent barrier.

  “Prepare for depressurization,” Brend announced from the Tloni’s control alcove. The panel’s speaker answered him in Vesarius’ voice.

  “Roger, bay control. I am powering up the nacelles.”

  “Sarius, no,” Dorinda pleaded to the solidity between them. She slapped the plastiglass wall. “Don’t leave me behind!”

  Coty was last up the steps of the Vragjok. As he turned to close the hatch, their eyes connected across the distance. Dorinda saw Coty’s steady gaze crumble. For an instant the captain’s hand hesitated at the seal. Then, pivoting toward the pilot’s seat, Coty next returned to her urgent, waiting gaze. Again his bronze hand rose, but it did not palm the hatch close. Instead his wrist flicked fingers up to her.

  With a gasp of sudden realization, Dorinda pounded the door before her with insistent fists. “Open it, Brend!” Before the bay entry could fully retract, Dorinda was racing across the expanse toward Coty’s waiting arms. Though the engine nacelles had already been extended, Dorinda leaped to the topmost step of the vessel’s hatch. The captain snatched her outstretched arm and hauled her inside a lungful later.

  Dorinda clung to her friend. She mumbled her gratitude into his thick, raven locks. Next Coty was pulling her to a seat and ordering her to strap in. As she did so, Dorinda was only half conscious of the orders coming in through the transport
’s intercom. It was not until Vesarius answered Brend in his deep bass that Dorinda’s eyes flicked up to the dark-skinned figure seated at the pilot’s station.

  As if sensing her urgent gaze, Vesarius set two controls then spun his chair to regard her with steady, obsidian orbs. “Welcome aboard.”

  There were no words to express her feelings then. Not even a ‘thank you’ left her lips. Dorinda could only smile nervously and swallow hard as her heart threatened to bound up her throat like an escaping gazelle.

  Vesarius swiveled back to his controls and busied himself with raising the Vragjok from the deck. With launch clearance, they were out into the star-speckled darkness arching toward the stark world below.

  Sobriety kicked in moments later when a clicking, grinding voice echoed within the confines of the silver transport. “Greetings, Alliance delegates. The high chancellor wishes you bright morning,” the translator informed from the forward communication grid.

  “Do you want to answer him, Ambassador?” Vesarius asked glancing over his shoulder past Dorinda to the Vesar seated behind her.

  “Thank you, Commander.” Tolianksalya rose from his chair and strode forward. Dorinda watched him lean over his nephew’s seated frame to address the console’s communit. “Good morning, High Chancellor. We look forward to speaking with you, but we must make this a brief meeting today.”

  “Will not Storyteller read our wise history on this day?” One could imagine a hint of disappointment in that clicking Orthop voice.

  “Regretfully, no, High Chancellor. We have come to talk about the treaty only. Please wait for us in the plaza.”

  “Very well, Ambassador Tolianksalya,” came the steady reply. Vesarius switched off the communit, and the stoic ambassador returned to his seat.

  “This isn’t going to be easy, gentlemen,” Coty asserted to the foursome of Vesar delegates. Then he considered the woman beside him. “Do you have your pistol, Dori?”

  “Yes, Michael.” She pulled aside her light jacket to reveal the plasma weapon holstered beneath.

  Coty nodded approvingly. “I’m glad I taught you how to use it.”

  “Let us hold belief she will not need to,” Vesarius countered from the front.

  With a stifled sigh, Dorinda settled deeper into her seat. The shuttle soared through the crystal gateway to Kcluchtt City. Soon they were settling on the mosaic-tiled plaza. Vesarius landed the transport almost directly over the blackened scar where the Orthops’ time Arch had once stood.

  As he powered down the Vragjok’s engines, their pilot told his six passengers, “Last stop. Please exit with weapons in full advertising view.”

  Silently, Dorinda rose and followed Coty to the hatch. A warm, solid hand rested suddenly upon her shoulder. Dorinda raised hers to grasp it. “Stay close to Saliaktayla, Jade,” Tolianksalya advised. “He will protect you.”

  Dorinda’s answer froze in her throat. She had expected Vesarius’ hand. “Yes, Ambassador.” She side-stepped to allow the Vesar dignitary to pass her. Tolianksalya’s men filed out next, leaving Coty, Dorinda, and Vesarius to exit close behind.

  “I will guard the rear,” Vesarius affirmed, hefting his loaded crossbow onto his leather-clad shoulder. Following her better judgment, and her loyalty, Dorinda shadowed Vesarius. “Keep ahead of me,” the warrior advised once he had stepped away from the vessel. “I can protect you better there.”

  “All right.” Dorinda sped up two steps. Walking in a tight group, however, she found it difficult to see over the taller Vesar before her. When she tiptoed to spy over Saliaktayla’s shoulder, someone grasped her hand. Lowering herself, Dorinda regarded Coty’s reassuring but tense smile. “I’m all right,” she assured and squeezed his digits in mutual support.

  “Better keep that pistol handy. At least we’re close to the transport this time.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed. “It’s a good thing they let us land in the plaza.” A cold tingle clutched Dorinda’s hairline. This seemed somehow familiar.

  A group of Orthops met them near the speaking platform. Tiptoeing again, Dorinda quickly caught sight of the healer who had formerly offered his services to Vesarius. The tattooed glyph on his foreclaw was now half hidden by an ornate, draped sash.

  “Greetings, Ambassador, Storyteller, Alliance citizens,” her wrist translator stated in echo of the grinding clicks and pops of Orthop speech. “Let us approach the platform for all to see.” Before them, the high chancellor clamped his mandibles twice. Abruptly, the Alliance delegation was surrounded by Orthop escorts, each with foreclaws overlapped in respect. When they had stopped by the speaking dais, the chancellor was talking again, his grating speech incomprehensible to Dorinda’s ears. Instead she attempted to focus on the electronic translation at her wrist.

  Amidst the calm, sweet breezes, Dorinda was suddenly chilled with dread. Her eyes searched the circle of creatures around her. She had seen this before. She had been here before ... Her darting eyes settled on the speaker before them, seen clearly between Tolianksalya’s and Saliaktayla’s shoulders. Those mandibles clicked and ground out a muffled message to her unhearing ears. Something was different, she realized, her mind furiously searching for that intangible thread of evidence.

  A hot body was right behind her. Dorinda’s peripheral vision saw the lethal missile tips of Vesarius’ arrows jutting over the Orthops’ heads.

  The high chancellor was still conversing. But then Tolianksalya spoke, disagreeing.

  In response, the Orthop’s mandibles clamped shut, a fiery orange-splotched answer. Orange ... The high chancellor’s mandibles were blue-tinted, not orange...

  Dorinda had been here before. Her mind nearly shrieked; she knew how this ended. Blinking sudden realization, Dorinda gasped a breath to scream. Her warning never left her lips. A hard shove propelled her to the ground. A sudden gulp of lung and Dorinda heard the missiles of Vesarius’ crossbow whistle into the dry air, followed by three booming explosions.

  Breathless and dazed from the concussion, Dorinda pushed with her arms but was lifted into the air by a carapaced foreclaw. She was thrown back toward the transport. Landing roughly on her hands and knees, she finally croaked out her caution. “Sarius!” Plasma fire erupted around her. Digging her toes into the crystal-tiled plaza, Dorinda pedaled herself vertical.

  “Run, Dori!” she heard Vesarius call.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Dorinda witnessed a horrible melee of foreclaw and ochre-stained blood. “No!” She sprinted as if in a time-lapsed film. The transport drew no closer no matter how many frantic steps she took. Heaving in gulps of horrifically charged air, Dorinda tried to blink away that vision of bloody slaughter.

  They had charged in from the sides. Tolianksalya’s head had been sliced from his neck with one solid clamp of mantis foreclaw. Saliaktayla had raised his rifle only to have his arm amputated before he could aim. The bellows of agony echoed in Dorinda’s mind still.

  When someone caught at her arm, she shrieked and swung her pistol to bear. Dorinda could not even remember drawing it.

  “Dori!” Vesarius yelped, ducking away from the barrel just as it zapped off a shot.

  She could not speak, could not breathe through her revulsion. With Vesarius’ support, she was propelled to the transport. A forceful shove and Dorinda slammed into the vehicle’s sun-warmed nose. There she collapsed to the ground.

  “Go!” Vesarius hollered and snatched her weapon. “Back, back!” Dorinda could only scuttle along the transport’s hull to the sealed hatch. “Michael!” she finally gasped. Her vivid, bloody memory was devoid of that person. What had happened to Coty?

  Vesarius was firing her plasma pistol. Then he paused to reload his crossbow. Within seconds he was slinking to the hatch, crossbow ready to fire. “Take the pack,” he hollered, face grave as he tossed it back to her. “Get in the Vragjok.”

  “What ... about Coty?” Fumbling with the satchel, Dorinda kept her ground behind the Vesar.

  “I have my orders.” He
fired explosive bolts into the lumbering crowd. “We must leave.”

  “Not without Coty!” Dorinda insisted. “We can’t leave him here.” The Vesar’s face was pure mahogany fire as he shouldered her bodily against the hull. “No, Vesarius!” Ignoring Dorinda’s pleas, the warrior seized his pack from her and tossed it to the hatch. Sensing the flying object, the transport tugged the door aside, and the leather bag flumped in. As Vesarius next hefted Dorinda by the arm, she gasped. Her captain was being escorted toward them between two column-solid guards. “Michael!” Dorinda screamed, hoping frantically that Coty would make a run for them.

  “Get inside,” Vesarius bellowed hauling her roughly at the door. “Or I will leave you here with him.” The Vesar switched weapons again, firing the pistol at the closest Orthop.

  Dorinda scrambled in through the open hatch. Standing, she then braced to block the Vesar from entering. “Wait! Coty’s coming. You can’t leave. They’ll kill him.” Vesarius shouldered past her easily. Tossing aside his spent crossbow, he jammed the hatch close with his fist.

  “Sit down,” Vesarius snarled and strode to the pilot’s seat. “We are running out of time.”

  “What time? Michael!” Dorinda spun and reached for the hatch release button. She never made it. With a quick click, Vesarius reset the plasma pistol for wide beam and stunned her in mid-stride. Dorinda collapsed in a heap to the deck.

  Sometime later, Dorinda’s foggy brain registered a humming silence. It took her several moments to reorient her reality. When her eyelids finally cooperated, she groaned and rolled to get up. Something cool and hard pressed against her cheek. Forcing her blurry vision to focus on the obstruction, she yelped and quickly twisted from the clawed, shelled tarsus of an Orthop.

  “She is awake, Brother,” the insectoid clicked.

  “I heard,” Vesarius answered from the transport’s pilot seat. “Get up, Dorinda. And keep away from the hatch.” His dark eyes were pits over his shoulder. “You would not want to open it just now.”

  Straining to understand the Vesar’s warning, Dorinda blinked from the floor and gazed past the pilot’s station out the front viewport. Blackness speckled with stars. Then she heard the clicking of Orthop speech again and turned back to their insect passenger. Dorinda’s heart collapsed into her gut. No, she was not seeing double or triple. The ambassador’s transport was filled with Orthops, all crouching among the crushed seats and low ceiling.