by Laura Kaighn
Tlenck rose from his seat in front of Zlenko. He faced Dorinda, poking a stubby digit her way. “You have yet to meet one of those devils, Ms. Tanner. Face to eyestalks you would realize that peace is alien to them.” The ambassador stepped into the aisle, his furry paws now spread in clarification. “We thought it so with the Vesar at first. We have since been proven wrong.” Then Tlenck shot Dorinda a dour gape. “Orthops, my dear, eat us. They cocoon their victims then drain the fluid from our live bodies through a hole pierced in the skull.” When Dorinda grimaced, he added tauntingly, “They also eat fresh meat, torn off in chunks using their razored mandibles. Quite gruesome.”
“Now who is using intimidation?” a gruff voice inquired from the stern. Vesarius raised pitted eyes at the Tloni ambassador. “Shame on you, Tlenck, for taking advantage of an Earth woman’s frailties.” The Vesar straightened in his chair, dropped his boots and cleared his throat. “How long was I asleep?”
“Only about an hour,” Dorinda answered shrugging. “We’re still an hour from Orthop territory.”
“Good enough, I suppose.” Sighing, the Vesar pushed himself to his feet and strode past Zlenko’s chair. Suddenly the woman sprang to jab her hand into the Vesar’s back. Dorinda saw a flash of metal – the plasma pistol.
“Sarius, the gun!” she warned jolting erect.
“Don’t move, Commander,” Roshana threatened into the Vesar’s ear. “Or I’ll put a hole through your spine too.” For emphasis she shoved the pistol harder into his backbone until Vesarius visibly flinched. “You never checked for a second power pack, did you? It was in my boot.” Zlenko smiled. “Meanwhile, I’ve had time to think about your trajectory statement. I estimate a shot through your spinal column would prevent any damage to the transport’s environment.” Zlenko’s voice deepened venomously. “The shot would of course kill you.”
Dorinda stood frozen in indecision as Tlenck padded over and nodded his agreement. “I want to live, Commander. Please follow her suggestion and do not fight us.” With a dip into a chair, Tlenck’s paw rose to the Vesar’s arm.
There was a loud hiss. Vesarius’ coal eyes widened in fury. “Huaj´im, Tloni!” he bellowed spinning on the smaller sentient. Tlenck instantly skipped between seats, dermic gun in paw.
“No!” Dorinda cried as Vesarius’ knees buckled under him. “It’s not fair.” When the Vesar’s body toppled onto the deck, Dorinda gritted her teeth in rage. “Tlenck, you weasel. You’re going to destroy everything. Say goodbye to your precious Alliance!” Her legs were pumping forward as she spoke, fists clenched for battle. “I can’t believe you’re so stupid. Both of you!” Dorinda shoved Zlenko away from the crumpled Vesar then swung her arm at the ambassador. “You’re not a coward. You’re suicidal!”
“Hold her, Corporal,” Tlenck ordered. “It’s the Vesar who is suicidal.”
“No!” Dorinda tensed when Zlenko locked rigid arms about her torso. She wriggled to free herself. “Let me go!” There was a hiss as Tlenck pushed the dermic gun against her neck. Dorinda struggled for only a few seconds more. Her eyes fluttering, she moaned, “At least I’ll be back home,” and went limp in Zlenko’s grasp.
* * *
“He’s waking up,” Vesarius heard someone say. A woman’s voice deep with anxiety.
“Thank Wisdom. Now maybe we can turn this stlás-bitten ship around.” Tlenck sounded nearly hysterical.
Vesarius moved his head to find it swimming in fog. Drugged. That shpleep of a Tloni had attempted to retake control of the Pom-3. As his mind cleared, Vesarius had to chuckle at the futility of the effort.
“What’s so funny, Vesar?” A narrow, muzzled face swayed above his now open eyes.
“You.”
“I order you to pilot this vessel back out of Orthop space, to the nearest Tloni outpost. I just pray we have enough fuel.” The ambassador’s voice was shaky with dread.
Vesarius scowled and tried to focus his fuzzy sight. Violet eyes quavering wildly, Tlenck seemed completely frazzled. “Orthop space? For how long?” The Vesar grunted with the effort to sit up, but his arms were held useless at his sides. Cpl. Zlenko had bound his torso again in the security harness.
“Over two hours. We tried everything to disconnect your autopilot, but-”
“I encoded the commands and set the navigational lock button so that you could not pilot the transport without me.” Vesarius groaned, finally able to pull himself upright in the cramped space of the ship’s center aisle. “For Sule’s sake, Tlenck, unbind me. I need to switch to silent running. We are a blazing target out here!”
“Absolutely not,” Tlenck negated adamantly. “We are turning around. And you’re going to pilot this boat just where I want it.”
This time Vesarius’ disagreement was resolute. “Dorinda was right. You are a coward. And we are already committed to the Pompeii.” The Vesar’s obsidian eyes narrowed. “You will have to kill me.”
Tlenck blinked in surprise. “I ... You have to ...”
Vesarius shook his head, braid wagging. “I am the only one who can pilot this transport, and I am taking it to the Pompeii. Now, do you want the Orthops to find us or not?”
Tlenck’s tail pitched sideways. His foxlike ears flattened against his tawny skull. “There is no other way? No other alternatives?”
“Do you not think I have tried to discover some myself?” Vesarius fumed. “I did not want to bring Dorinda into this. Now she may be killed before we even reach the Pompeii.” Vesarius huffed angrily and stomped his boot in aggravation. “Huaj´im, Tlenck. Dehrgaht drophtráree. Gholm-nejht atsch! Untie me. Now!”
“All right!” the ambassador conceded with raised paws. “You win. Get us to the Pompeii, and keep us alive. Forgive me if I pace the deck until then.” Tlenck retreated to a seat.
As Zlenko unbuckled the nylon straps that secured him, Vesarius regarded the trembling Tloni with an ironic smirk. “You are a diplomat. Please leave the excitement to those who can handle it.” Once free, Vesarius vaulted to his boots and sprang to the front of the transport to reset the commands. He shut off the scanners and running lights then baffled the ship’s ion emissions to minimize exhaust.
Plopping into the pilot’s seat, Vesarius rechecked the transport’s course heading and star charts, made a few adjustments, rechecked those then spun to his hapless crew. “Dori, I need you to -” He blinked. “Where is she?”
Tlenck tugged at an ear tuft with one paw. “She ...” he started feebly. “She was being aggressive, nearly hysterical ...”
With menace, Vesarius rose to stalk back to the shorter alien. He bent over the recoiling Tloni with a venomous glare and bellowed, “Where?”
“I had to tranq her,” Tlenck stammered. “She’s back on a stasis bed.” The Tloni cringed beneath the Vesar’s greater bulk and flipped a paw toward aft.
“You tranked her? You clupsh́tak whelp ... I will have you up on charges.” Vesarius spat his next threat. “If I do not end you first.”
The ambassador skidded further between his row of seats. “You wouldn’t, Vesar. Alliance Command would have you exe ...”
“Seppatt worm. You think I care about my own skin?” Vesarius growled his frustration and shouldered past Zlenko to march to the second stasis bed. Dorinda lay supine on the platform, breathing slowly, her eyes closed. Vesarius punched the deactivation button shutting down the stasis field. “Dori?” The woman remained unresponsive even to his gentle rousing. “What is wrong? The sedative should last but a few hours.”
Tlenck’s eye patches were rimmed in terror. He kneaded his paws, ears pasted to his skull. “I … I gave her the same dose Dr. Sheradon prescribed for you.”
Vesarius’ cheeks flamed to a sweltering simmer, face darkening to burnished mahogany. “Zlenko, come see these vital signs. Are they normal for a human?” When the security corporal stepped past him to read the diagnostic readout above the bed, Vesarius twisted back to the cowering Tloni. “You saw nothing wrong in giving a person nearly half my
bulk and metabolism a Vesar-sized dose of sedative?” His clenched fists pumped the air. “Stick to diplomacy, stlás!”
“I am truly sorry, Commander, if I put Ms. Tanner in any danger,” Tlenck began humbly. “I panicked -” Vesarius silenced him with a vicious swipe of one arm.
“Her breathing and heart rate are slower than human norms, Commander,” Zlenko informed pointing to the indicators. “Look at this blood pressure.” She regarded him with a scowl of deep regret. “I’d say the drug is depressing her lifesigns.”
“What can we do to counteract its effect?” Vesarius’ own eyes were creased in deep shadow. “She needs something.”
“A stimulant,” Roshana suggested. “And a vigorous walk to help elevate her metabolism.”
“Commander,” Glon offered meekly from near the front of the transport. “You suggested earlier some jarrowroot tea.”
“Not now, Glon, this is ...” The Vesar paused in his dismissal to regard the furry sentient. “Yes, exactly! Thank you, young Tloni. That is just the sort of safe stimulant we have available onboard.” Vesarius glared at the ambassador. “Tlenck, you make the tea. Zlenko, feed it to her. Carefully. Varlendt? And make sure she is up and walking within the hour.” Vesarius exchanged a grave stare with the co-conspirators. “She is your responsibility. I, on the other hand, have all of you. I will be up front.” The commander marched to the pilot seat and dropped his solid frame. Dorinda, if conscious, would have noticed the steel tension in the Vesar’s shoulders. The journey would be perilous from here.
* * *
Tundra imaged a frantic message to the Vesar some hours later. The Pompeii was being attacked by a small squadron of scout podships which had been patrolling near the Orthop heartland. They were busy deflecting torpedo blasts. Arrival time at the homeworld would be delayed. Vesarius received the update with apprehension. “Djahna-dehn.”
Dorinda must have seen his spine stiffen then slump. “What’s wrong?”
Vesarius glanced over his shoulder at the woman still shaky from the sedative but observant enough to have noticed his distress. “The Pompeii has encountered an Orthop squadron. They are resisting, but have taken several hits.”
Brow crinkling, Dorinda leaned forward in her seat. “Will they be able to continue to the Orthop’s homeworld? What are the chances one of these attackers could communicate a warning to the rest?”
“Slight,” the Vesar conceded relaxing just a fraction. “Queenkeepers would be kept safely away from conflict. They are extremely valuable in Orthop society.
“Unless the Pompeii lets one podship slip by to inform the others of her exact location,” Vesarius explained, “she should be able to change course enough to avoid any further patrols. Tundra did not show me a baseship which would have full communications capabilities. These attackers must be coming from a nearby perimeter outpost,” he mused fingers drumming his console. “As long as the Pompeii does not sustain major damage to her engines, she can continue on to Orthop still relatively invisible.”
“Then let’s keep our fingers crossed,” Dorinda mumbled. Nodding to herself, she adjusted her sling and settled back into her seat.
“Crossed fingers?” Vesarius asked spinning his chair to regard her with a confused frown. “How would that help?” He twisted his brow. “It would make piloting rather difficult.”
Dorinda kinked a grin and waggled her chin at him. “You’ve never heard the expression? It’s a gesture for good luck. A superstition, really.”
“Ah.” The Vesar nodded. “An old Earth expression. I have never heard Coty use it.”
Now Dorinda sulked. “I would have thought such figures of speech would have survived to this century.” She sighed and looked away to the stars. Her green eyes seemed sentimental to the point of sullenness. “I suppose you’ve never heard of Shakespeare, Dickens, or Thoreau either.”
Vesarius tilted his head again and began to quote, “ ‘This whole earth which we inhabit is but a point in space. Why should I feel lonely? Is our planet not in the Milky Way?’ ”
Dorinda’s gaze widened and swept back to his waiting stare. He watched her force her mouth not to gape. “Walden by Henry David Thoreau. How could you know about -?”
“I am interested in human survival tactics.” Vesarius smirked then shrugged. “Your Mr. Thoreau lived a practical and independent life apart from the growing congestion of 19th century Boston. He rejected technology as a means of separation from nature.”
Dorinda beamed. “Yes. ‘Shall I not have intelligence with the earth? Am I not partly leaves and vegetable mould myself?’,” she quoted still visibly stunned. “I’m impressed, Commander. A warrior who is also well-read. Do you know any Whitman?” Unconsciously Dorinda scooted forward in her chair.
“Did he not make chocolate?” Vesarius retorted with a twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Chocolate? Vesarius,” Dorinda berated rolling her eyes. “You’re impossible.” Something flashed past the starboard viewport. Instinctively Dorinda ducked. “What was that?”
“An Orthop torpedo, Missss,” Glon answered in a voice filled with trepidation. “I saw it.”
Vesarius spun to his controls, literature forgotten. “Two scout pods directly aft. Djahna-dehn. Strap in, everyone. This far out, a baseship may be close. We cannot be seen, so hold on,” the Vesar warned. “I will try to evade them.” His fingers coursed over the navigational panel. In response, the transport swooped to starboard in a tight arch.
The swift maneuvering left little reaction time for the Pom-3’s T-grav compensator unit. “I thought you were licensed to fly this thing,” Tlenck groaned. Jostled, the ambassador clutched the seatback before him with white-knuckled digits.
Vesarius ignored Tlenck, too preoccupied on swinging the craft around behind the trailing podships. Flicking a red toggle upward, the Vesar armed the transport’s defenses then readied the pop-up joystick that controlled the onboard plasma canon. Quickly Vesarius checked his targeting scope. He estimated the distance to the invaders as they arched around in pursuit. Not wanting to draw any further attention from the baseship he surmised was nearby, Vesarius refused to reactivate the scanners. Instead he concentrated on the distant glints of the moving, crystalline crafts.
“If you shoot, won’t you draw attention to us?” Dorinda asked straining to remain seated with her one free hand as the transport bucked to dodge another torpedo blast.
“I will fire only if the podships get closer.” Vesarius returned his attention to the viewport when the twin pods glided past on either side some distance away. “Hold on!” Vesarius barked. He hit the reverse thrusters, slowing the transport to thirty percent velocity. The ship then dove nose down out of the plane of the podships. Next Vesarius played the controls to roll the ship. Finally he punched the accelerator to maximum.
“Whew!” Dorinda rooted, laughing within her safety harness. “I love rollercoasters.”
“Really, Ms. Tanner,” Tlenck reprimanded. “Be serious. We will soon be space dust.” The transport roared away from the two enemy ships. After several minutes of straight flight, Vesarius changed course again. He repeatedly altered their heading, completing the zigzag pattern.
In explanation he rotated back to his passengers. “A ziggurat trajectory should hold the pods at bay. They cannot follow any distance, and the baseship will need to be informed of our current course heading. By then our ion trail will have dispersed. Untraceable.” Sighing from the adrenaline drop Vesarius added, “We will be back on course for Orthop in ten minutes.”
Commander,” Tlenck started calmly. “I thank you for keeping your promise. We are still alive.”
“Yes,” Vesarius agreed flatly. “Let us keep it that way.” He twisted his seat around to check the transport’s speed, position, and chronometer. “We will catch up to the Pompeii in three hours, four minutes.”
* * *
Captain Michael Bear Coty regarded Vesarius’ Kin with puzzlement. “He’s coming? That’s wonderful, Tundr
a, but how did he manage that?” The malamute Kin sat down beside Coty’s command chair and stared out at the alien starfield. “Is there a reason he changed course for Orthop space?” Tundra could only answer with the image Vesarius gave in explanation, that of the Mytoki Arch. “He’s coming to use the time machine? We’re not here on a pleasure cruise, Tundra. As soon as we find it, it’s history. I doubt Vesarius believes the Orthops will just stand aside and allow us access to that monstrosity.”
* * *
Tundra imaged Coty’s irritated face to his Bondmate. “He does not understand,” Vesarius resigned from the Pom-3’s pilot seat. “Tundra cannot explain what I need to tell Coty.”
Beside him, Dorinda squeezed his wilting shoulder. “There’re limits to everything, Sarius. We’ll just have to tell Coty when we catch him up.” She craned her slender neck to see past the Vesar’s bulk to the chronometer. “How long before we reach the Orthop’s homeworld?”
Vesarius straightened from his slump, rubbed his eyes, and checked the chronometer himself. “The Pompeii is just two hours from Orthop. It will be close. She is back up to full power after their brush with the pods.”
“Are you going to be all right?” Dori asked obviously noticing his weary expression.
Vesarius blinked back his exhaustion to smile at her. “A warrior is ready for action at all times. I will play diplomat, then be back aboard before you can miss me.” He considered the implications to that last statement, saw her concerned gaze, and pivoted back to scrutinize the control panel as if finding dragons there. “We can squeeze a bit more speed out of the engines if I blow the ion bafflers.”
“Won’t that leave an ion trail the Orthops can follow?”
“Yes. However, this close to the homeworld, ion trails from podships will be common. And a ship our size will not draw any more attention than if we were one ourselves.” Vesarius toggled two switches near the top of the slanting panel then pulled down on a slender chrome handle. The engines popped and roared anew as if unharnessed from too heavy a load. The transport jerked forward and gathered momentum. Vesarius scrutinized his readouts and frowned. Time was a very complicated concept, he knew. It was not to be tampered with beyond Vesar understanding. The warrior estimated he had just cut travel time by twenty minutes.