by Laura Kaighn
“No warning scanners?” Tlenck objected. “But Orthop space is barely charted. What if we encounter an asteroid or another ship?”
“There is a much greater chance of Orthop collision than asteroid,” Vesarius reasoned. With a decisive huff, he gripped his seatback. “Once in Orthop space, we use visual only. Our scanner signature will be large enough with our ion exhaust at maximum.” The warrior stepped toward the stern his eyes still on the Tloni ambassador. “If you become too stressed, I could have you drugged as you had me,” Vesarius suggested darkly.
With Tlenck’s simmering stare following him, Vesarius next gathered up Dickson’s flaccid limbs. He dragged the pilot’s body back to a stasis bed. There he hefted Dickson and laid him out on the platform. The warrior then set the stasis field to maximum and palmed the activation button. The machine would keep the body cold preventing decomposition and odor.
Next Vesarius retrieved the now groggy Zlenko. Helping the security officer to her feet, the Vesar escorted the woman to a chair. “Your enthusiasm has killed the pilot, Corporal,” he announced stoically. “And you have injured Ms. Tanner. Please refrain from further hostilities, or I will be forced to bind you to your seat.” To her quizzical frown, Vesarius explained further. “Your pistol was set at maximum. Had the shot not been intercepted by human flesh, we might all be dead. The cabin could have depressurized to space.” With those sobering words, Vesarius leaned down to recover the corporal’s plasma pistol from where it had slid under a seat. Straightening, Vesarius also scooped out the medical kit from an overhead shelf.
“Ambassador, to show my peaceful intentions,” the Vesar began, tucking the med kit under one arm, “I will hand this weapon over to your Tloni aide. He is loyal to you, but more docile than your choice of security.” Vesarius first popped out the firearm’s power pack. Then, leaning toward Glon, he relinquished the now impotent pistol butt first. “We trade, Glon,” the warrior asserted. His dark eyes were stone sober. “I want the translator and my medallion.”
“But that’s legal evidence, Commander,” Tlenck objected loudly titling forward in his seat. “You can’t have them.”
“On the contrary,” Vesarius countered. “I will need them when I travel through the Arch.” He considered the pricked ears of the Tloni diplomat. “Are you feeling stressed, Ambassador?”
“You intimidate again, Vesar.” The Tloni’s words were husky with forced authority. “It isn’t an appropriate method of communication.”
“I am not a diplomat, Tlenck.” Vesarius jumped his wide shoulders. “I find intimidation works well under certain circumstances. It may not be appropriate. Just effective.” The Vesar returned his gaze to the ambassador’s aide. “The translator and medallion please, Glon.” He offered his open hand.
“How did you know I had them?” Glon inquired hoarsely pulling the blanket from his slender, furred shoulders.
“When we first met, I noticed that you possessed a pouch. Not many Tloni still retain the vestigial anatomy. But it is not easy to hide in a youngster such as yourself, whose fur is still fine and pale. What better place to hide my things than under that heavy blanket within your stomach pouch?” Vesarius took the objects from Glon and nodded his thanks.
Kneeling then beside Dorinda, Vesarius placed the three items onto the deck at his bootside. He next opened the medical kit setting it down atop her lap. The Vesar locked eyes with her, noticed that calm trust again, and smiled slightly. “This may be painful. I will be as gentle as my big hands allow.”
Dorinda returned the smile. “Just as long as I don’t have to look.” She turned her head back toward the starboard viewport and watched the eternal night roll by. Dorinda winced and hissed when Vesarius cut the burned sleeve away from the injury then sprayed it with antiseptic.
“The plasma cauterizes as it cuts. You have lost little blood,” Vesarius explained. “But to aide in healing I will need to stitch the wound’s edges. I will inject an anesthetic first to numb your arm.”
“Do you have to stitch it?”
Nodding once Vesarius apologized. “The medical kit has but simple tools. Skin regenerator is suited to shallow wounds.” Then he tilted a smile. “It will be your first warrior blaze, something to display proudly. You and Dickson prevented the bulkhead from rupturing. The plasma beam’s trajectory would have cut through the plating above the navigation controls.” Vesarius’ chin jerked toward the pilot’s station. “It is relatively thin there.”
Dorinda smirked. “I saved your life again, then. Do I get another lock of your hair?”
Vesarius chuckled deeply and pressed the palm-sized dermic gun against her arm just above the plasma burn. “I will issue you an I.I.U. For now, try to relax. There will be a pulling sensation as I stitch.”
Dorinda sighed and corrected his error. “I.O.U.” Vesarius watched her lean back eyelids falling. “Tell me one of your stories, Sarius. Tell me about Sologin. I’ve always been fascinated with birds of prey.”
Vesarius frowned and measured a length of biothread. Cutting it with the sterile scissors provided in the kit, he then tried to thread the small U shaped needle. “This equipment was never meant for Vesar hands,” he complained.
Dorinda lifted her head to grin at him. “I guess my upholstery needle was better-suited.”
Vesarius grimaced at the memory of suturing his own leg. “Even warriors have their difficult moments.” He finished drawing the thread through the needle and snatched a breath before beginning. Carefully the Vesar squeezed the five centimeter horizontal gash closed and drew the first stitch.
“Sologin,” he started, “was presented to me during my manhood initiation at fifteen. She was my first Kin Companion, my friend. She was a young hawk, taken to mischief. I was just sixteen when she lured a young Vesar woman to my parent’s household. Sologin flashed her blue and green under-feathers, and the girl followed. She snuck up to the tree outside my window.
“I did not know the girl was there. Sologin, of course, did not warn me. In my bedroom, I was standing before the mirror bulging my muscles, trying to look as virile as my father and as stately as my mother.”
Dorinda chuckled. “Human boys go through the same stage.”
Vesarius tugged the first knot tight and saw Dorinda flinch. “Sorry.” He cut loose the thread then pushed the needle back into her skin a few millimeters over. “Sologin thought the situation so amusing that I sensed her laughter. When I inquired, she showed me an image of myself – bare crested and pumped with conceit. But when I turned to the window, I saw the young woman, giggling and copying my movements. I did not image to Sologin for an entire week after that.” Vesarius finished the second suture and shrugged. “I believe it was Sologin who allowed me to appreciate humor. She took practical jokes as well as she deployed them. Sologin made me laugh, even when the joke was on me.
“She was never cruel with her stunts,” he continued. “And she never put me in real danger.” Vesarius grinned at a memory, and at Dorinda’s rising brow elaborated, “Her most outrageous trick was when she flew up into a tree while we were tracking together. She pretended to be injured and refused to glide down to me. Sologin did such a convincing job of flapping her wing like it was broken – I swear she was double-jointed – that I climbed up after her.” With a pause for effect, Vesarius smirked crookedly. “She must have calculated just how much weight that branch would hold, because as soon as I was within reach of her, Sologin flew off.” Now he delivered the punch line. “I fell straight into the swamp, broken branch-in-arms.”
Dorinda laughed heartily. “You did have an interesting childhood. I would have thought warriors’ days were filled with strict training and long hours of mock combat.”
The Vesar completed his third suture, cut it clear then met her gaze with a genuine flush of embarrassment. “I was supposed to be tracking my father. When he found me soaked to the braid with swamp slime, he sent me home to clean up. Then Father had me stand at a tree while he practiced knife throws,
all the while lecturing me about discipline and taking chances.”
Vesarius started a new stitch. “Incidentally, that is how I grew proficient at throwing a blade myself. For a month afterward, I practiced on two tree stumps, pretending they were Sologin and my father. Those stumps still show the chips I took from them.” Tugging at the thread, he admitted, “The practice paid off. I met you.” Vesarius raised his eyes from his work to find Dorinda staring at him in emerald velvet.
“And because of you, I’m living a wondrous adventure where none of my people have come. Only their descendants. I’ve met Tloni, and Kin Companions, and Michael Bear Coty ...”
“You forget someone,” Vesarius interrupted skewing his eyes in mock hurt.
“Noah!” Dorinda said eyes glinting. “I miss him.”
“Try imaging to him. I think you are skilled enough. But I was not speaking of Noah.”
Dorinda continued to smile, teasing him with her silence. When he went back to work on the last two stitches, Dorinda closed her eyes and leaned her head back. After a few moments, she frowned then sighed.
“What is wrong?” Vesarius asked seeing her distress. He tugged a knot and clipped it free.
“I’m not sure,” Dori answered, eyes still shut. “Busy. I sense busyness. Noah’s worried about something, I think.”
“I will talk to Tundra.” Vesarius’ eyes focused on his distant Kin, the malamute’s square muzzle and gray eyes. As he conversed with his dog, the Vesar’s crested forehead creased with concern. “The Pompeii is nearing a populated area of Orthop space,” he told her. “They have identified several podships, both baseships and scouts. The Pompeii is on silent running, no scanners or illumination lights.”
“Are they in danger? Have they been spotted?”
With a related image, Vesarius silently posed the question to Tundra. “No, but Coty is being cautious.” He blinked and focused on Dorinda’s fretful face. “Comfort Noah. He is very excitable. Coty expected this. The Pompeii is, after all, in enemy territory.” Vesarius rose from her side and stepped forward to the navigation console. There he checked the transport’s progress before turning back to Dorinda’s wound. “I need Master Jonas’ enhanced ion drive,” he confided starting the sixth and last suture. “Even at maximum speed, the hours will be intolerable.”
“We can tell each other stories,” Dorinda suggested then winced as Vesarius pulled the last knot tight. “I think the anesthetic’s wearing off.”
“I will wrap this once I dress it with synthoskin.” Dorinda watched while he sprayed a combination antibiotic and skin sealer onto the wound. Then the Vesar’s long fingers unrolled the gauze. He worked silently, wrapping it around her arm just snug enough to stay.
When Vesarius moved to wrap the gauze around her neck to fashion an immobilizing sling, Dorinda caught his dark gaze again and smiled warmly. “Are all Vesar warriors such pendulums?”
Vesarius’ brows narrowed. “What do you mean?”
Dorinda blinked and nodded in indication. “A contradiction. Bold and hotheaded, but also quietly gentle?” Her emerald stare searched his obsidian eyes for the answer.
Breaking contact quickly, the man returned to his makeshift sling. After a moment he replied, “Boldness is admired, gentleness frowned upon. I ...” Vesarius stumbled on his words. “I am only trying not to hurt you further.” Avoiding her questioning look, he finished adjusting his work. Tying the end in a knot above her restrained appendage, Vesarius then patted her shoulder. “Rest the arm. And tell me if it bothers you or feels hot.” Vesarius next sidestepped to the aisle. He grabbed up the medical kit, then bent to retrieve the translator, his medallion and the power pack before placing them all on the seat across from her. Finally the Vesar slid into the pilot’s seat, his back to the woman.
* * *
Dorinda scrutinized the man’s leather clad frame and mahogany arms, but found no softness there. Instead Vesarius had slipped back behind his iron facade, full-blooded warrior once more.
For long minutes there was silence. Tlenck, tapping his tail against the chair arm, made the only noise beside the thrum of the Pom-3’s engines. Twelve hours. These would be the longest hours of Vesarius’ life. How much like Michael Tanner the warrior was. Dorinda recalled her husband’s inner drive. Michael had always been a man of action, outspoken and passionate for his woods, his birds. Dorinda hoped Vesarius would find his true calling.
Capt. Coty had been correct. Vesarius held an emptiness inside that needed filling. Dorinda pouted, suddenly downhearted at an uncomfortable parallel. A void existed in her as well, one she might never fill. Not now that she was so far from her home, her time.
Sighing, Dorinda tilted her crown against the headrest and tried to ignore the throbbing in her arm. Lowering lids, she found solace in contacting Noah. She focused on the otter’s round face and shiny button eyes. To his worried reply, Dorinda smiled imaging a more gentle future. She showed him her beautiful mountain home. She would take Noah there when this was all over. Dorinda promised the otter they would swim in the lake and munch wild blueberries until Noah’s whiskers dripped juice. She could almost hear Noah chitter in agreement, and he imaged an otter kiss: wet and whisker tickly.
Chapter 10: The Great Oneness
Hours dragged by. Dorinda dozed a little. Tlenck exchanged dreary conversation with Glon. Roshana Zlenko brooded in the back, her short nails tapping against the chair in front of her. Vesarius simply sat bolt stiff in the pilot’s seat, his dark eyes scanning the instrument panel and stars beyond. Dorinda noted how the warrior kept just as close an eye on his no doubt mutinous-minded passengers.
The warrior’s silence was so intense, Dorinda startled awake when he growled and beat the bulkhead beside him with one balled fist. “What?” she sputtered straightening from her drowsy slump.
“I need more time. More power, more speed,” Vesarius fumed. “The ‘what ifs’ are pounding my brain. I am chasing alternatives in circles. A warrior needs action. I cannot just sit here!”
Dorinda hauled herself from her seat and stepped beside the Vesar. She laid her free hand on his fiery shoulder. “We’ll make it in time, Vesarius,” she comforted. “Have Tundra tell Coty to wait for us.”
“I cannot,” Vesarius said sighing. His shoulder collapsed beneath her grasp. “Coty cannot. If I do not make it in time, Coty must stall them. Even destroy the second Arch to prevent them from altering the time continuum.”
“But you said it wouldn’t be that simple. The Orthops would just build another Arch.”
“Yes.” The warrior’s dreary answer was followed by the rubbing of his forehead. Mahogany lids drooped over sullen eyes. “Some Orthops share a consciousness with each other, much like Bondmates and Kin do,” he explained. Vesarius leaned back in his seat with a weighted exhale. “They are called queenkeepers or leader drones. The Mytoki’s ‘Great Oneness’ is a singular consciousness of knowledge. All a queenkeeper need do is share that knowledge, and every other queenkeeper will know how to construct an Arch.
“For all we know,” Vesarius continued with an ironic tilt of his chin. “The leader drones have already communicated that information between them. That is why I must go back, stop them before they arrive at Mytok, before they are able to understand Arch mechanics. Before they can share the knowledge that will kill them ... and us.” Vesarius’ voice trailed off. One hand massaging his brow, the Vesar seemed exhausted.
Dorinda studied his distressed profile. “Vesarius.” The warrior’s mahogany lids blinked slowly beneath his crumpled forehead. “How long has it been since you’ve slept?” When he didn’t look up at her nor answer, Dorinda cradled the Vesar’s square chin in her right hand and turned his head toward her. “Get some sleep. There’s an autopilot, right? The transport can fly itself whether you’re conscious or not.”
A diminutive smirk tugged at the corner of the Vesar’s wide mouth. “True.” Vesarius hooded his eyes then nodded. “Your wisdom is refreshing. I will set the autopilot
and leave you in charge.” He leaned forward, switched two toggles then set the chronometer. Rising from his seat, he pointed to the clock. “When this chimes, wake me. I will need to reset the controls for silent running before we enter Orthop space.”
Dorinda nodded her understanding. “All right.” She watched Vesarius trudge to the back of the transport where he flopped down in the last chair with scarcely a glance at the glaring Zlenko. The Vesar then tossed his booted feet up onto a supply crate and leaned back. Chin tilting forward onto his chest, he crossed his bare arms over his medallion and closed dark eyes to his company. Dorinda couldn’t help but smile when she discerned his cavernous snoring only minutes later.
Dorinda settled into the pilot’s seat. From there she surveyed the small domain of the Pom-3. Tlenck glared back at her but was otherwise silent. It was not an hour later, however, that the Tloni ambassador started yet another hushed conversation with his aide.
Tlenck tip-pawed to sit beside the younger Tloni. The two spoke for several minutes. Then the ambassador rose and padded to the transport’s rear to consult the security corporal. Dorinda watched the subdued pair with suspicion.
“I wouldn’t try anything, Ambassador,” Dori warned just above a whisper.
“Young lady, what exactly am I supposed to be trying?” Tlenck inquired innocently. “Your Vesar friend has made his case quite clear. We are to become victims of Orthop podfire.”
“You’re a pessimist, Sir,” Dori countered. She leaned forward in her chair to plant her good elbow atop her knee. “We’re going to save your Alliance. We might even strike a treaty with the Orthops.”