Warrior Heart

by Laura Kaighn

  “Sneaked up is right,” Moxland Darby agreed joining them. “They came out of nowhere.” The communication’s officer was splattered in blood and sprinkled with sand grains. “Neesha didn’t even smell them coming.” The tiger Kin was by the fire snorting at a pile of steaming insect carapace. The big cat’s lips curled in distaste, and she quickly buried the remains with a scoop of one massive paw.

  Vesarius gestured with his chin at the woman’s soiled clothing. “Any of that yours?”

  Moxie frowned. “No. Peters shoved me out of the way of one of those bugs. I should be dead, not him.”

  Alvarez straightened her armor-clad spine and assured the slighter woman. “He was doing his job, Mox.” The security sergeant turned back to Vesarius. “You will of course inform Peters’ family of his bravery.”

  Vesarius nodded solemnly. “The corporal died a warrior’s death. I will convey his honor.” The Vesar braced his throbbing head to inform, “But we must withdraw in case there are somehow more Orthops to confound my scanner.” Gathering up their remaining supplies, Vesarius and his team boarded the Pom-3. All sat silently as Trevor Dickson piloted the transport off the stained Mytoki sand. Pivoting in midair, the Alliance vessel roared into the night sky toward the black silhouette of hills that was its destination.

  * * *

  Dorinda pouted from her seat at the dining table. Her gold-green eyes, however, were intent upon Capt. Coty’s darker lips as he retold the story of Vesarius’ dishonor and subsequent isolation. “When I first met him, a decade ago, Vesarius had just been granted captaincy of the Pvokx. He was arrogant yet at the same time naïve. In many ways an idealist,” Coty explained with an open palm. “He’d befriended the human Tanoki several years before that. Afterward, Sarius was intent on becoming the youngest fleet officer of Vesar’s Stellar Force. He craved the exploration of the stars. Much like my childhood self, I suppose. But Vesarius imagined only the wonder, not the heartache.” The captain sat back in his chair, his dinner as half-picked as hers, his voice low and full of regret. “Before his parents’ deaths, Vesarius knew of the glories of his warrior past. But he understood nothing of its penalties. Not firsthand. Not until then.” Coty sighed, steepling his fingers before his lips. “He’s been dishonored because he wasn’t home to protect them – to protect her – as was his duty,” Coty expounded. “Tanoki had seduced the young adventurer away from his people, his heritage. And it ultimately cost Vesarius everything. His very future.”

  The captain’s chin dipped to his chest as if debating what else to confide. “Vesar heal quickly on the outside, Dorinda. But I believe his heart was permanently scarred after their murders. There’s a darkness about him, more dangerous than any warrior Fury.”

  Dorinda swallowed, resting her elbows on the table. “But he tries so hard to be accepted. I’ve seen him joke over hardships.”

  Coty spread his hands. “Being accepted as Vesarius and being accepted as a Vesar warrior are two different agendas, Dorinda.” He shook his head. “No, beneath all his bravado, Vesarius is a haunted and guilt-ridden soul.”

  Then Dorinda recalled a troubling detail to the story. “But Vesarius’ parents couldn’t have sent him a message. Tanoki had them trapped within the zircontian mine. How did Sarius even know to return to the colony? You said they’d been dead only hours when he found them.”

  Coty’s lips twisted as if the answer was difficult to explain. Hesitantly he straightened to begin with gesturing hands. “A Vesar is closely tied to those he honors. It may be a genetic link. I’m not sure. It can almost be described as telepathy, though not nearly as strong.” Coty leaned into the table. “Vesarius knew his parents were in danger, even though he was light-years away on the Pvokx.” Now the captain sighed and paused as if collecting his various facts. “On Vesar, his mother was a powerful, respected matriarch. With her death, Vesarius has no family left. No home to go to, thanks to those pirates.”

  Dorinda blinked; her mind ached at the twisted and tragic scenario. “Were Tanoki and his men ever prosecuted? You said their reputation was well-known.”

  “No,” Coty answered sadly, the irony of it evident in his arching eyebrows. “And it was years before Vesarius again considered a human a friend. His trust had been utterly betrayed. He was stripped of his captaincy. His people cast him into the depths of space. Alone in the galaxy. Blamed for the crime, he’s unable ever to return.”

  “But you’ve helped Vesarius through this. Haven’t you, Michael?” Dorinda confirmed half-smiling. “You gave him a new home. A new purpose.”

  Coty nodded simply. “It took time, but I guess I did help him recapture some of that wonder. The responsibilities of his parents’ murders and his duty to them have confounded Sarius with shame. He trusts, grudgingly. But his friendship is unfailing when he gives it. So, be patient with him, Dorinda. Vesarius’s a hard casing to crack.”

  “But why should I even try, Michael?” Dori grimaced at her inadequacy and slumped against her chair. She jerked a hand at Coty. “I’m nothing more than a misplaced artifact myself. Someone for Dr. Waters to study. As far as Vesarius is concerned, his debt’s been paid.” She poked a thumb at her sternum. “He pulled me from the pool, remember?”

  Coty was shaking his head. “It’s more than that, Dorinda. You showed him acceptance without debt. To Vesarius, there’s no greater honor. You’ve touched him to where he’s critical of his own views, his own history. He’s looking hard into his soul and finding the prejudices there.

  “One man can’t define a race,” Coty assured deeply. “Tanoki was just one man, and a corrupt one at that. You’ve opened Vesarius’ eyes a little wider to the possibilities for true amnesty between our species. Don’t get me wrong. His feelings – his Fury- are genuine. But they’re also self-incriminating.”

  Both humans were silent for long moments. Then Dorinda slouched further into her seat. She cradled her elbows in opposing palms. “You believe it best that I befriend Vesarius. Because he needs to learn to trust others, to see the common good in everyone. Even to forgive himself?”

  Coty slanted toward her. There was an intensity to his jasper gaze that trapped Dorinda within the man’s passion. “Yes, but more than that.” The captain hesitated as if weighing his words against his own convictions. Coty’s hand became a fist atop the dining table between them. “Dorinda. Vesarius is a lonely man. He’s an excellent tracker, a loyal officer. A brother.” That fist relaxed, as did his tensed shoulders. “But Vesarius doesn’t know ... love.” The captain scowled. He slumped into his seat with a heavy exhale. “I can’t ask you to do more than try to understand him. I’ve done all I can to lower his defenses. I don’t pretend to be some great humanitarian, but Sarius is my friend. I see a great void in his heart. It’s been there since I’ve known him, since even before Sologin died.” Coty rose from the table, meal forgotten.

  “We must all find our purpose in life,” the captain concluded with a solemn nod. “You have a second chance to seek yours. Whatever you do in this time, Dorinda, continue to help people. Teachers have a great gift. They share themselves.” Coty slid in his chair and smirked. “I must return to the bridge now. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll say good evening.”

  “Good evening, Michael,” Dorinda mumbled sagging in her seat. Nibbling at a thumbnail, she was unaware of the time she slumped there reflecting upon the captain’s words. Finally Noah nudged her away from her private thoughts with an invitation. Placing his round head on Dorinda’s lap and with eyes glittering, the otter imaged the splashing of clear water. A slow grin spread across Dorinda’s cheeks. “Let’s go then.”

  * * *

  His head still aching from his collision with an Orthop foreclaw, Vesarius perched in the darkness atop a high rock. Infrared field glasses veiled his vision as the warrior cursed his stupidity. The binoculars had been in his backpack the whole time. Why had the Vesar trusted the modern technology of his palm scanner over the more ancient tradition of night-assisted vision? Vesarius
would not allow another mistake, and could clearly view both the Pompeii’s landing party and the transport from his post.

  The field glasses recorded the distances automatically. Vesarius was exactly thirty-six point five nine meters above the archeological team spread out at the bottom of his cliff-edge roost. At the moment, the field lights of the transport with the addition of pole lamps, made the camp below far too bright for the glasses’ infrared feature. Vesarius lowered the instrument from his ebony-eyed scrutiny to watch Sam Waters and his team scouring the sand-drenched pocket in the rocks. With scanners and sifting shovels they were trying to uncover any clues of Orthop habitation. At this rate they’d all be heading back to the Pompeii by morning, Vesarius estimated. Then he smiled as he received the image of his own back silhouetted against the brilliance below.

  “Tundra. I am glad you gave me warning. I would just as soon poke a hole through your hide with my plasma pistol.”

  The dog strolled over and imaged again. This time Vesarius saw his own face and the dark welt that swelled above his prominent brow. “Sad sight, eh?” Vesarius harrumphed without humor. “Could be worse. I am still trying to understand why that creature did not kill me. Orthops have no more love of the Vesar than they do of humans, especially since they have known us longer.” Vesarius shook his head and raised the field glasses again. “You and Neesha have finished your survey?” Huffing affirmation, Tundra plopped down beside him with a groan. “I know.” Vesarius sighed as well. “It is getting late, and my head is a hrotgig hive. But I will not shirk my responsibility.

  “Besides,” Vesarius countered pulling up his jacket sleeve to reveal the wrist communicator, “I must check in with Coty within the quarter hour. He will be troubled to hear about Cpl. Peters.” Finishing his scan of the dark horizon, the warrior ran through a mental calculation of thirty seconds before repeating his search through the glasses once more. “If any Orthops remain, I must have time to warn the crew.”

  “As you did when Peters was killed?” a wispy voice challenged from behind him.

  “I heard you scaling the rocks, Tlenck, even with your claws sheathed,” the Vesar assured. His eyes still surveyed the darkness surrounding the brightened camp below. “You endangered the entire group by splitting us. The dig could have waited until morning when an Orthop approach would not have gone unnoticed.”

  “Unnoticed?” Tlenck stammered from the darkness beyond the ridge edge. “Ms. Darby said you two and Neesha were in constant communication. How is it that creatures twice your size managed to evade all three of you?” When Vesarius declined to defend himself or Tundra, the Tloni continued his accusation. “You alone were within visual range of your bonfire and the rest of the crew. You alone had the sophisticated equipment to track any movements. Yet even you allowed those monsters to slip by. You are fortunate, indeed, to be alive. Why didn’t they kill you, I wonder?”

  Momentarily lowering his binoculars, the warrior echoed the ambassador’s puzzlement. “I face the same quandary. You would have me dwell on it and perhaps fail again to warn you of an Orthop approach?” Vesarius once more raised the glasses to survey their encampment.

  “I strongly doubt you’d do better. I’m considering an official reprimand,” Tlenck hissed through his incisors. “I didn’t want to embarrass you before your crew. That’s why I came up here to inform you of my intentions.” Vesarius sensed that part of the Tloni’s frustration was in reaction to his own inconsiderate back. The warrior refused to face the diplomat, however. The team below was far more important than any Tloni courtesy. “I will update the captain in thirteen minutes,” Tlenck insisted, again with a trace of challenge. “I would not want you to color the truth.”

  Vesarius pivoted at the waist to glare at the slender, frail-looking Tloni. His eyes searing, the Vesar rumbled, “Do as you wish, Ambassador. Coty will know the truth. Even from you.”

  “I’m pleased we are in agreement.” Stiffly Tlenck turned to descend the rocks to the camp below. Tundra’s threatening growl echoed after him.

  Vesarius swatted his Kin good-naturedly on the rump. “He is just doing his job, boy.” To himself the warrior added, “Better than I seem to be doing mine.” He set the field glasses once more against his somber eyes. Vesarius still had a job to do.

  Waiting until dawn to clamber down from his perch and give in to his pounding head, Vesarius boarded the squatting transport and promptly dozed off in a chair. A mere two hours later, he felt a smack at his arm.

  “Rise and shine, Sarius.” Sam Waters stood over him frowning. “Looks like we’ll need to haul up camp again.”

  As the Vesar straightened to blink at the mid-morning sun streaming in through the transport’s open hatch, the Pompeii’s historian plopped down his own stout frame across the aisle. “But I just retired,” Vesarius protested, yawning. “Must we move on now?” He stretched stiffly and felt his head pound anew.

  “Ambassador’s orders, young man,” Waters quipped. “You’ll need to find us another site to excavate. Nothing more than some fused crystal shards in that blasted sand out there.” Sam swallowed hard then sighed. His gravelly voice was tight when he added, “It’s my turn to saw some logs.”

  Vesarius watched Waters settle into his seat and shut his eyes. Something seemed amiss with the historian. The man’s jaw was taut, his closed lids shadowed. Was it just fatigue? Rising the Vesar dismissed his doubts. He stepped to the hatch to poke out his head. Several more of Water’s archeological team were heading his way to retreat from the growing heat of Mytok’s day. As one passed him into the transport, Vesarius asked, “Where is Tlenck?”

  “In his office,” the man answered and yawned.

  “Office?”

  “There’s a hollow in the rocks over there.” The junior archeologist pointed out to the right of the excavation site. “He and Lt. Darby have been working on some Orthop text she brought along. Still trying to interpret the syntax. Losing battle, I say.”

  Nodding his acknowledgement, Vesarius bounded to the sand. His chilled skin quickly warmed as the warrior’s dark jacket absorbed the ultraviolet rays from Mytok’s life-giving orb. He marched across the rock-strewn soil to the jagged, vermillion wall that corralled this box canyon. Inside a dark depression, Vesarius discovered the narrow pathway that led to a hollowed-out cave no larger than his cabin on the Pompeii. Instantly, Vesarius’ nostrils flared at the stench of Tloni sweat and musty decay.

  Tlenck was there, dozing atop a sleeping bag. Moxland sat slumped in a folding chair, her arms and crown resting on a makeshift table of stacked boxes. Surrounding her head were strewn crystal tablet remnants, each no thicker than one-fifth centimeter. A text converter with several storage rings was stacked at her elbow.

  Loudly, Vesarius cleared his throat. Moxland straightened with a start. Throwing her head back, she flung dark eyes open searching the room for the origin of the noise. “Vesarius,” she croaked noticing his broad silhouette in the cave’s entryway. Tlenck moved also. The Tloni uncurled from his bed and climbed onto his rear paws.

  “Just the warrior I want to see,” Tlenck announced dryly. Pulling up a second director’s chair, the Tloni sat alongside the improvised desk and regarded the towering mahogany figure. “Dr. Waters has been unsatisfied in his work. He did discover some insignificant crystal shards, however. It seems crystal may be native to Mytok after all ... in a variety of forms.” Tlenck tilted his head at the Vesar. “Does this constitute yet another error on your part? The initial survey team was under your command.”

  Vesarius strode forward out of the shadows. “Ambassador, are you this adversarial with all Vesar, or is this something personal?” Moxland visibly tensed in her chair and glanced from one alien to the other as if expecting violence.

  “Commander,” Tlenck reminded slowly. “Tloni are a non-aggressive species. We leave that role to you Vesar. I’m simply conscientious of detail. This mission is essential to the very survival of the Alliance. Your cooperation is all that I ask.”<
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  Bowing slightly in affirmation, Vesarius leaned closer. “You want me to track another site. Tundra, Tlant, and I will leave immediately.” Vesarius paused before stiffly inquiring, “Do I have your permission to update the captain?”

  Tlenck leaned forward in his chair, entwining his stubby digits in authority. “Leave that responsibility to me. You have much to do, Commander, but alone. Tlant stays in camp this time. I’ll not risk his tawny hide to hidden Orthops. The lieutenant doesn’t have the experience or the Kin to protect him.”

  Vesarius felt his skin flash fire. Why was trust in such jeopardy? His frown deepened, but the warrior only acknowledged the Tloni with a curt nod before marching from the stony hollow and into the glare of Mytok’s day.

  After gathering his pack and Tundra, Vesarius re-climbed the rocks to his previous lookout point. There he reset his binoculars for daylight use and again lifted them to his eyes. Out across the sand sprawled the charred ruins of the Mytoki Empire’s central city complex. The crumbling remains were all that was left of a once mighty race.

  How wise had the Mytoki been with their machine? Had the Arch been a tool used to change Mytoki history? Could it have provided the alien race refuge into the past upon their imminent demise? Was the Arch the weapon of their annihilation? So many possibilities, all of time to play with. “It is best in ruin,” Vesarius avowed. Lowering his field glasses, the commander retrieved his scanner and checked its readings for more crystal deposits or perhaps ... “Got it,” he confirmed. “Refined metal, perhaps a piece of Orthops’ copycat weaponry.” Vesarius adjusted the scanner, set the coordinates then spun to descend the rock face, Tundra in tow. “To work,” he instructed his malamute Kin.

  * * *

  Medical datapad in hand, Dr. Sheradon was scrutinizing Dorinda as she jogged along the path in the Pompeii’s arboretum. Dori was dressed in form-fitting tights and knew Yolonda was taking note of any irregularity in her stride, any favoring of weight. As Dorinda circled around the figure eight she again jogged past the physician.