Warrior Heart

by Laura Kaighn

  “Looking good, Dori, if still a little stiff.” Dorinda returned to the doctor, panting steadily to regain her wind and clutching her hips. The two exchanged grins. “I suggest you keep up the swimming with Noah. He has the right idea. Now, check your pulse, but don’t stand still.” With a flick of her wrist, Sheradon waved her away. “Walk it off.”

  Dorinda followed orders, holding fingertips to her throat and walking in large circles around the doctor. After a minute she announced her heart rate. “One-eighty-five.”

  Sheradon was shaking her head as she poked the information into her handheld computer. “Have you always had such a fast heartrate?”

  “Always,” Dorinda confirmed. “Never bothered me when I was young. I just got really red in the face when they made me run in gym class.” She was finally able to settle her elevated breaths. “Never did like running.”

  “Well,” Yolonda suggested handing Dorinda a towel, “you’ll probably have no issues with your heartrate as you age as long as you stay active and keep away from red meat.”

  Dorinda grinned again, eyes jade-colored crescents. “You won’t get any arguments there. I’d just as soon live off chicken, fish, spinach and fresh salad greens. Oh, and pumpernickel bread. My husband used to call it my ‘dirt’ bread.”

  Yolonda chuckled and squeezed Dorinda’s shoulder. “You’ll adjust fine. I think your sense of humor is delightful.” Together they headed for the medical center where Dorinda could change back into her jeans and tunic. Along the way Sheradon ventured to ask, “So, Dorinda. About all this. What do you miss most?”

  With a reminiscent grimace Dori answered immediately. “Green.” She spread her arms out to indicate the ship’s gray bulkheads. “I miss my mountains. It was late spring there. Almost summer.” With fervor Dorinda added, “There was always so much color in the Adirondacks, Lonnie. In the fall, the maples and birches would turn red and golden. With all the pine trees around, you just had to think of Christmas.”

  “Christmas. Now there’s a holiday I dearly recall from childhood.” Yolonda’s lips lifted in a wistful grin.

  “Childhood? You mean y’all don’t celebrate Christmas anymore?” Dorinda felt a stab of panic puncture her gut.

  “Oh, it’s still celebrated on Earth, but there’re many other traditions we share now with the Tloni and the Vesar.” Yolonda slowed their trek to explain. “Christmas is a bit old-fashioned in the way I’m sure you think of it. Christ’s birthday is still sacred. But the Vesar have their honor days, and the Tloni have their holy wisdom ceremonies. Besides, you really can’t expect the Vesar to accept the concept of a jolly fat man in a sleigh being pulled by flying reindeer, can you?” Yolonda and Dori shared a chuckle. “Anyway, I was asking you about home. I’m sure there’s more that you miss.”

  Dori nodded to watch her running shoes tramp along the corridor. “I miss the wild blueberries. They were just starting to flower when … when I left. And Casey, of course. I do hope Dan Hawthorne took her in. My mother’s allergic to pet hair. Besides, Casey would be miserable in North Carolina. Too hot.” Dori shook her hanging chin and slapped her thigh. “Listen to me. I’m still talking in the present tense.” Her voice quavered. Dorinda’s feet stalled within the corridor. “They’re all dead now. All of them.”

  With a guiding hand from Sheradon, the two soon arrived at the medical center. Dorinda was greeted by a jubilant Noah who pranced around her legs chittering. “I passed,” Dori explained with a touch of irony.

  Sheradon stroked Dorinda’s arm consolingly. “Go change out of those tights and meet me in my office.”

  When Dorinda walked through Sheradon’s doors dressed in her familiar blue jeans, Yolonda waved her to a seat. She then sank onto the front corner of her desk. “You know, Dori. When those trousers of yours wear out, you’ll have to replace them with something more modern.”

  Dorinda blinked. “Why? Can’t these be made anymore? They’re one hundred percent cotton, indigo dyed, all natural.” That twinge of panic was in her voice again. Must everything be so different? So alien?

  “What I mean is,” Sheradon explained calmingly, “you’ll like ours better. Our clothes are made from a hybrid cotton that holds the dye longer and is tougher yet lighter. Like wearing a second skin. And you can choose any color you like.”

  “Then I choose jade, to go with my eyes. My mother always said I looked best in jade.”

  Yolonda was nodding. “Do you miss your family, Dori? Your mother, father, your brother Frank?”

  Dorinda sulked and thought for a moment before answering. “I miss my mother’s voice,” she admitted. “She’d call me like clockwork every Friday night to talk about family matters. I could vent about the kids and staff at school. We could chat naturally, you know? I didn’t have to disguise my southern accent,” Dori added with an easy drawl. “Mom’d always ask me what was new in my life, if I’d met anyone.” Dorinda’s eyes glazed over slightly. Noah moved to rest his chin on her lap. One webbed forepaw rose to grip the edge of the chair.

  “Mom never cared for Michael. I guess he was too strong-willed for her liking. Plus he took me away from North Carolina.” Dori rubbed at her twitching nose. “But my father took to him easily. They both loved the outdoors. Dad and Michael would share birdwatching outings whenever we were together. They even fished on occasion,” Dorinda said with a reminiscent grin. “Mom and I would stay home and play catch-up.” With a wave of her arm Dori elaborated. “We used to bake together. Cookies, cakes, pecan pies. Sometimes we’d wonder what’d happened to our men. We’d joke about the `big one that got away’ unseen.” Her teasing voice had deepened to copy her father’s.

  “Later, after Michael’s death, I only visited them once a year, at Christmastime.” Dorinda shrugged. “I just had to be around family during winter holiday. The cottage was too empty without Michael.” Her voice cracked, and she stopped to compose herself. “I’m sorry, Doctor. It’s … just painful to think that I’ll never see them again. I feel so ... so alone. I used to like to be alone.” Suppressing a sob, Dorinda squeezed her eyes shut. She covered her mouth and mumbled her apology once more.

  “That’s quite all right, Dori,” Sheradon soothed. Her voice was calm with understanding. The doctor leaned to symbolically pat Dorinda’s hand. “Your husband’s been gone two years. That’s still not long enough to be without pain. And you feel isolated from your family. That’s normal too. If you don’t want to talk about this right now, we can change the subject.”

  “No, no,” Dori countered sniffling and rubbing her eyes. “It’s all right. I’m supposed to talk about this. That’s why you brought it up. I understand.” Dorinda chuckled without humor. “To be truthful, Dr. Sheradon, I like you much better than the shrink back in Old Forge. He wanted me to forget about Michael and start all over again in a new house, a new town.”

  Yolonda smirked. “Looks like you took his advice.”

  Dorinda giggled through pinched tears. “I did, didn’t I? The Pompeii seems like a nice little community of sorts, if lacking in fresh air and stars.”

  “Stars? You want stars?” Smiling, Yolonda hopped from her desk and slapped its smooth surface with a palm. “By God, we have more of them than you could ever see from Earth.” Sheradon grabbed Dorinda’s arm and steered her toward the exit. “Now you just follow me back to the arboretum. I’ll show you stars.” Sauntering along behind them, Noah chittered expectantly. “I know you realize you’re on a spaceship,” the doctor continued. “But I don’t think it’s really sunk in that you’re in space high above an alien planet.” Once the two women were outside the arboretum’s massive doors, Yolonda Sheradon held Dorinda steady. “Now stay here while I turn out the lights.” Sheradon disappeared inside, and the barrier shut behind her. A minute later Yolonda’s head poked back out into the corridor. “Close your eyes until I say ‘open’.”

  Nodding once, Dorinda acquiesced. She allowed Sheradon to guide her into the darkened room of trees and flowerbeds. Sheradon e
xplained as she led her along the greenery-strewn trail. “I opened the portside observation window.” The pair stalled just off the footpath on the soft grass. “You need to stand here for best effect.” After a positioning pause, Yolonda gave her permission. “Open.”

  Dorinda raised lids to a stand of delicate Japanese maples and large river rocks. Out past the silhouetted branches, her gaze fell upon a starscape of sparkling fire. Nestled in the lower left corner of the room-sized portal, blazed the burnt orange arc of Mytok. As if magnetically drawn, Dorinda was propelled forward. Her arms stretched out before the brilliant spectacle. She gasped. “It’s magical.” Sheradon followed her through the glen and out onto a clear patch of grass with blooming meadow flowers. Laying her palms on the dense plastiglass window, Dorinda gawked open-mouthed at the expanse of space. “I feel as if I could just take one more step and drift right out into it. Fly away, down to the planet then back again.” Her widened sight descended to the ball that was Mytok. She giggled. “Helloooh down there.”

  “I gather you like the view,” Sheradon asked behind her.

  “I’m like a kid on her first rollercoaster ride. Let’s go again, Mommy.” Dorinda’s voice was small, haloed in childlike wonder. She glanced over her shoulder at the doctor. The older woman’s eyes reflected Mytok’s bronzed brilliance. “Thank you for this. It’s wonderful.”

  “You’re quite welcome, Dori. Stay as long as you like. I need to get back to Medical. We can talk more later.” Yolonda turned away from the starfield. Dorinda was barely aware of the exit humming closed after the physician.

  Left standing before the expansive display, Dorinda’s struck stare wandered. “Oh, Michael.” She remembered her lost Cherokee husband. “Is this what you meant when you spoke of the Great Creator? Are you here somewhere, among these stars?” Grief slipped from her eyes as Dorinda sank to the grass before the transparency. “So beautiful. So big. So small.” Dorinda’s words were now but a whisper. “I can almost sense you watching.”

  Noah settled beside her and purred consolingly. Interspersed with Dorinda’s mental pictures of Michael Tanner and her mountain home, the otter imaged happier times with his former Bondmate, Jonathan Torch. For long minutes Dori sat swaying, her gaze soaking in the dazzling light show. Tiny, glistening stars cascaded along her cheeks in silent memorial.

  * * *

  Mytok was quickly cooking in the midst of late morning, and Vesarius had some time ago demoted his thermal jacket to his pack. Now, Tundra groaned in complaint of the heat and surveyed the surrounding desert before resuming his scent trail. In response, Vesarius scowled at his dog. “I know it has been some time since you had to sniff for lubricating oil. But if my readings are correct, there are transport fragments somewhere close, from an Alliance vessel. Which means Tlenck has sent us on a gundahg’s errand.”

  The Vesar knelt to lift a fistful of gritty soil. He ran the scanner over it. “Huaj´im. More plutonic crystalline traces.” Why had his scanner yesterday, and his crew’s instruments ten years prior, not recognized the planet’s unique volcanism? Mytok’s churned bedrock had been complicating Vesarius’ readings ever since the sun had risen sufficiently to heat the ground. This deserted world seemed abundant in both widely scattered and deep deposits of various, unrelated minerals. Below that, indications hinted at a vast, cavernous underground of quartzite tunnels, like massive lava tubes. The mere resonant properties of the plutonic rocks were deceiving the warrior’s palm-sized instrument. “Not good enough,” he growled.

  Grimacing at his contradictory findings, Vesarius flung the sand from his grasp. He then stood to gauge the distance to the next series of low, rugged hills. “About eight kilometers. Too far from the city. Orthops would seek shelter from these winds during the day. But where?” He considered the scoured desert for clues. “If there is one, the Orthop campsite must be here.” Vesarius checked his scanner again for the metallic trace he and Tundra were currently tracking. They were definitely drawing near to some large alloy deposit.

  “Tunnels,” he mused of the crystal structures his instrument continued to tease. “Perhaps I must think in three dimensions.” Could the encamped Orthops have secured their housing underground? If so, why had his palm scanner not noticed their emergence at their evening campfire? Unless Vesarius could discern this anomaly, Cpl. Peters had died in vain.

  A loose strand of braid masked his vision, and Vesarius cursed again. A grit-strewn breeze was brewing in the rising heat of Mytok’s afternoon. It whipped petite whirlwinds about the Vesar’s boots. “If this sand did not obscure everything, I would be able to follow a debris trail with my eyes closed.” Grumbling at his impotence, Vesarius continued to survey the landscape for the transport wreckage. He would prove Tlenck incompetent one way or the other.

  “The ambassador must be growing impatient by now,” he reflected, watching while Tundra zigzagged across the desert his nose just centimeters from the soil. Finally the malamute yipped and dug through to a buried rock. “What did you find, boy?” Vesarius trotted over to inspect his Kin’s discovery as the dog sneezed in distaste. “Oil, huh? What from?” Kneeling, the Vesar passed his scanner over the sandblasted stone. After a moment’s analysis he scowled. “Just as I thought. Common lubricant.” He stood and soberly pondered the unearthing. “Well, here is confirmation of human habitation.” No doubt the remainder of the wreckage would be scattered nearby. “Probably one of ours.”

  As a stronger breeze loosened more of his ebony braid, Vesarius shut the scanner from Mytok’s abrasive onslaught. “Tundra,” he said when the gust had abated. “Contact Neesha to tell Moxland we found evidence of one of the Pompeii’s transports. I am willing to wager a whole knairn this debris has been here less than a week.” Vesarius turned from the blasting gale and pointed the sensitive scanner toward the ground. “Confound this grit.” Sarius spat at a mouthful. “Just like my homeworld.”

  Tundra chuffed an alarm a moment later. He imaged the empty camp, the transport shielding the team from a violent wind.

  Vesarius grinned at the big malamute. “So they are getting it worse than we are, eh?” Then he frowned at the Kin’s next communication. “Why does he want us back? They can sit out the storm in the transport.” Vesarius’ brow rose in mock surprise. “Do not tell me Tlenck is concerned for our welfare.” Another heated gust whipped stinging granules into the Vesar’s face. Squinting at his Kinpanion through double-thick lashes, Vesarius grimaced at the assault. “Orders, huh? I have had enough of his orders.” Then Vesarius comprehended Tundra’s clarification. “Coty’s orders? Why did you not say so?” Vesarius replaced his scanner in the side pocket of his backpack. He then retrieved his protective jacket before following his dog back toward the hills where the Pom-3 squatted weathering the squall. Vesarius slipped on the outer garment even as he strode into the gathering wind.

  By the time the vessel was in sight, Mytok’s tempest was beating Vesarius into a hunch. The orangish sky darkened with great clouds of suspended debris. In the distance, Vesarius spied a dancing tornado’s murky pillar. He increased his pace to a jog then bolted the last few meters to the transport’s closed hatch.

  Vesarius pounded on the warm metal expecting an immediate response. The reply instead surprised him: “Stand back from the transport, Commander,” came Tlenck’s voice over the ship’s onboard speaker. “Remove your pack, jacket and the weapons from your belt.”

  Through the gale and the transport’s solidity, Vesarius hollered back, “What is going on, Tlenck? Let me inside. Lt. Darby, open the hatch.”

  “Follow my instructions, Commander, or you will be stranded here.”

  Who could argue with the one holding sanctuary’s keys? Vesarius stepped back onto the scouring sand and slid the rucksack from his shoulders. He slipped his jacket to the ground as well. Then, unbuckling his plasma pistol, the warrior tossed the weapon and holster into his pack. He sealed the gear in, safe from the sandblasting storm. Vesarius then squinted up to see both Tlenck’s
and Dickson’s faces in the vessel’s forward viewport. Straightening, the Vesar held his hands away from the pack, leaving it upright on the ground before him. “Now, may I come in before I no longer own a face?” Even now his cheeks felt sunburned and chafed. The dark, grit-laden clouds were descending on him from all directions.

  “Come to the door, Commander. Keep your hands up,” was his answer.

  Jerking forward into the gale, Vesarius trod closer to the safety of the Pom-3. He gave Tundra a mental image of carrying his pack for him. The warrior was not about to leave his equipment behind. He splayed his palms in clear sight of the watchful transport’s pilot. When the hatch slid open only partway, Vesarius waved his Kin in first. As he followed through, the Vesar demanded an explanation. “What is this all about, Ambassador? Tundra said Coty recalled the transport. But we are not done-” Cpl. Chauney stood ready with a plasma pistol aimed at the Vesar’s middle while Alvarez stepped forward to frisk him. “What is going on, Tlenck?”

  “We did find something here at the excavation site,” the ambassador admitted, standing a safe distance beyond the Vesar. “But we needed time to confirm the artifact’s identity. We’re leaving,” Tlenck announced in his next wheezy breath. “We have what we came for, and we’re returning to the Pompeii so you can face formal charges.”

  “Charges?” Vesarius returned the Tloni’s sober stare. He still held his hands wide. “Is all this necessary? I told you what happened to Cpl. Peters. His death was an accident.”

  “Oh, much more than that, Vesar. The pieces have all fallen together. Officers,” the ambassador said addressing the two security personnel. “Take him to the back of the transport. Manacle him, and keep him under guard. I don’t need to remind you that Vesar are cunning. He may try to hijack the transport and kill us all.” The Tloni was trembling with irritation; something Vesarius had rarely seen one do.