by Dean Sault
Kelly stood directly in front of the muscular young man. He looked back and forth among his peers, but no one spoke. The young scout finally agreed, albeit reluctantly, to her approach. In good scout discipline, he promised to do his part without further question.
“Group one. Full transfer protocol, authorization, Striker Twelve.” Immediately after Kelly spoke into the air, shafts of bright white light extended down from ceiling above each bed. The glowing blue stasis tubes rose with their passengers into the light shafts and passed through the ceiling. Again, she explained the process so her assistants would not be alarmed.
“Those are transport tubes that move our people into special storage units where they will be monitored. Are you ready for the next group?”
When the door opened, the second group of free humans entered. This time, she asked her assistant, the one who had been reluctant, to lead the group. When he reached the count of three, the stasis process repeated.
Each time the outer door opened, a new group of anxious free humans stepped into the room. Kelly kept count of the groups throughout the process, while her assistants directed the activities. Finally, the door opened, and only seven people stood there, Shilgar among them.
He stepped into the entrance of the ship, looking around as he spoke.
“That’s all. Everyone’s on board. Dr. Hadje has not returned with those fertilized eggs. How much longer can we wait before leaving? Where’s Simon?”
“He’s on the bridge running the stasis chambers. He can’t come down until we’re done loading.”
“Is there any way to communicate with him?”
Before Kelly could answer, Simon’s voice sounded in the air around them.
“Hi Shilgar, stasis monitors are fully automated now. I’m keeping an eye on local space around Tanarac. Things are pretty quiet, for now. Dr. Boroski figures we can wait four hours before we have to lift off.”
“Good. I’ll go back up to wait for Dr. Hadje. We need the additional DNA he’s bringing. Is there any way you can signal me when I have an hour before its time to go?”
“Yeah, keep an eye on your Skyguard monitor. I’ll send three consecutive pulses at five-second intervals when we have one hour to go, but you’re gonna need to move fast to make it back in just one hour.” Simon thought back to the torrid pace the older scout set that first night when he and Tai struggled to keep up. “Never mind. You, of all people, can make it.” Simon laughed. “The rest of you need to get into stasis, so I can pay attention to launch preparation.”
Chapter 33
Deep in the bowels of the Heptari command ship, several hundred of Rotaga’s elite ground assault troops gathered in a large cargo bay. His soldiers organized in combat squads around the base of their troop carriers. Each helmeted warrior busied himself with his weapon of war.
An officer hissed into a microphone when Rotaga entered the bay. All the soldiers, from the lowest ranking gunta’s to the highest ranked Zunyz, took a knee and bowed their heads.
Rotaga walked slowly among the kneeling troops without saying a word. He lifted a weapon from a soldier’s side and studied it. A moment later, he nodded approval and returned the weapon. The soldier’s eyes never left the floor, as he shouted the traditional warrior’s call.
“Hesha, hesha, zin shaya!”
Only Rotaga’s personal guard, called the Elite Royal Strike Team, enjoyed the privilege of uttering the ancient language. Their loyalty was unquestioned—fighting skill, second to none.
Despite the collective power of his space fleet, Rotaga knew it might be this small group of special warriors who would bring down Tanarac’s shields in hand-to-hand combat. How fitting it would be if his personal guard won this war for him.
“Stand and form,” Rotaga commanded.
His fighters rose simultaneously and organized into rows of fighting groups.
“Present arms!” The highest-ranking officer shouted the order in preparation for Rotaga’s review.
Every warrior presented his primary weapon in front of him. One Heptari, standing near Rotaga, only held out empty, upward-facing palms. Recognizing the presentation of an Empty Hand specialist, Rotaga approached him and examined the tattoo looping over his shoulder.
“Are you of the Krit Xa Temple?”
“Yes, Prime Skah. I trained under Csan Kuu, First of the Melkzu Clutch.”
The soldier kept his eyes fast to the floor.
“I don’t remember you.” Rotaga looked up and down the soldier. “When did you join my Guard?”
“This is my first assignment, Prime Skah. I waited until my master died to leave his Order. Only then was I free from the honor-binding.”
Rotaga nodded in admiration for this young soldier’s ethics. His tone of voice became almost friendly as he initiated dialog about his own martial arts background.
“Did you know I studied Krit Xa with your master’s father, Csan Kup?”
“Yes, Prime Skah. My master told me about your legendary fighting skill. Before he died, he suggested I apply to join your unit. I carry his personal seal of Krit Xa for your authentication.”
The soldier raised his left arm revealing a small, intricate dragon tattoo on its underside. Again, Rotaga nodded approval.
“Very good. After we defeat the Tanaracs, I look forward to sparring with you. We’ll see if your master taught you as well as his father taught me. You may see my eyes.”
“I would be honored to spar with you, Prime Skah.”
The soldier broke his downward stare to look directly into his commander’s eyes. His chest expanded in pride. Eye contact was a great honor rarely bestowed on a two-class lesser.
Rotaga formed his three fingers into a tight symbol representing the Krit Xa dagger. Claws merged into a single sharp point, and he plunged this hand-weapon toward the soldier’s chest with control so accurate that the claw tips stopped after penetrating a single scale.
The soldier returned the Krit Xa salute, firing out his own pointed hand along his centerline, stopping his thrust at the last possible instant before touching his senior in the Krit Xa lineage. The old and young martial art masters crossed attack arms, muscles bulging, and pulled against each other until their torsos touched. Fists lifted toward the ceiling completing the Krit Xa salute.
Yes, Rotaga thought. I will enjoy sparring with this young warrior.
Rotaga rode a lift to a platform overlooking the cargo bay. He turned at the rail to face his soldiers. They still held their formal stance, eyes staring down.
“You may rest your arms.” His words echoed in the large cargo chamber. “Look upon me.”
Soldiers set their weapons on the ground and looked up at their master.
“We are about to engage in the most important battle in three hundred years. You are the sword of my house.” He raised his voice and shouted, “Will you serve the House of Rotaga?”
Soldiers shouted their loyalty in unison.
“Will you win?”
Again, soldiers shouted their promise to win.
“You are the Guard of the House of Rotaga. You are the best of the best. I now make a promise to each of you. For each squad that destroys a planetary shield generator on Tanarac, the House of Rotaga will grant every member of that squad,” he purposefully delayed for impact, “a full Right of Ascension!”
An excited murmur rose from the ranks. Rotaga’s offer of ascension would transform some fortunate soldiers from working class into the beginning levels of royalty. There was no other way in Heptari society to make this leap, only through a grant of ascension during war.
Everyone knew Rotaga would receive a seat on the Royal Codae if he defeats Tanarac. Now, their leader was offering a reward, in kind, to those who helped him achieve his goal. Excited soldiers regained their composure as their commander continued.
“Every royal family in the history of the Heptari Empire has ascended from soldier class. Only warriors like you may ascend. This battle provides each of you an opportunity tha
t has not existed for many generations. In your lifetime, there will never be another chance to write your name on the Pillar of Ascension. Join the great warriors of our past. Ascend to Royal class. Join me in defeating Tanarac.”
Rotaga’s rousing speech excited his fighters to a fever pitch.
“Success, or death!” He shouted the battle cry of the Rotaga family.
“Hesha, hesha, zin shaya!” His soldiers returned the cry in the ancient dialect.
“Success or death!” Rotaga repeated, even more forcefully.
“Hesha, hesha, zin shaya!” His soldiers shouted. They were ready for combat.
The Heptari commander’s confidence soared as he left his troops. It was now up to him to set the trap that would spring him to victory. He sensed this would be a great battle. As he crossed his command bridge, he walked past several cleaners removing blood from the floor where Pak-One Slin lost his head. He stopped at the observation window in front of his chair and spoke to himself.
“I WILL win and take my rightful place on the Codae.”
Chapter 34
Shilgar left immediately for the surface while Kelly sent the people who had come down with him and her four assistants into stasis. After the last stasis tube vanished, Dr. Boroski appeared in the center of the room.
“Good job, Kelly.”
She jumped.
“Damn it, don’t do that again! You promised me a warning before you show up.”
“Sorry. Forgot to add that subroutine.”
The hologram froze for a moment. “There, it’s done. Your suggestion to keep me out of sight was wise. It saved time by not explaining my presence to everyone. We have a little free time while we wait for Shilgar. I would be happy to answer any questions for you.”
“Good! Cause, I have one really big question. Are you sure Simon can fly this thing?”
“Yes. Directing the ship in normal space-time will be easy for him. He will need our assistance opening a space-time rift for deep space travel. We are confident he can do it, or we would not risk the lives of all these people. Is there anything else you would like to know about while we wait?”
Kelly sat on the edge of a bed. With all the knowledge of human history at her fingertips, she struggled with where to start. Then, a simple question came to mind, one she first noticed a day earlier.
“I was wondering. I’ve been Kelly of Striker Twelve since my first quarry assignment. Why do free humans have more than one name?”
“Good question. The extra name is called a surname. It helps to organize society. When Tanaracs first took over human reproduction on this planet, they were careful to assure genetic diversity across their captive population so family names were not needed. Workers only needed simple given names and a work designation. Taskers stayed with historic human names, and, as each child developed into his or her adult assignment, they simply added the occupational title, thus, you are Kelly of Striker Twelve.”
Dr. Boroski paced slowly across the room as he talked, hands clasped behind his back. He seemed to enjoy lecturing.
“Genetic diversity is critical to good health of any society. In free societies, where genetic diversity is left to chance, a man and woman simply fall in love and natural reproduction follows. Almost every ancient human society used family names to identify genetic lineages. Social rules discouraged interbreeding and surnames became a simple way to assure healthy populations.”
She anticipated the doctor’s next comment and raced ahead of her new mentor.
“So, you taught free humans on this planet to use surnames, like our ancestors did. Where do they get those names?”
“Before we left Earth, we downloaded the entire content of our Central Scientific Repository into this ship. It includes all data from DNA Registries. We started a tradition for new runners to visit ‘The Wall’ soon after their orientation. This allowed us to scan their genetic makeup and compare it with our Earth database. We determine the surname based on the closest DNA match in our records.”
Intuition drove her questions. “Is that how you discovered Simon’s ability to interact with this ship?”
Dr. Boroski ignored her question to continue his lecture on surnames.
“As each new member of our free human society receives a surname, that family name is entered into the permanent records. This provides for—”
“Have you checked me, yet?”
“Yes, we have. It is customary for me to give the surname to the Council of Elders, and they would then offer it to you.” The hologram considered his next statement. “I will agree to tell you your family surname, but it will not be official until it is approved by the Council and registered in permanent records. Do you accept this condition?”
Kelly agreed.
“You are fortunate. There are two surnames that share equal genetic similarity to your DNA. They are Morris and Duncan.”
“Can you tell me about my ancestors?”
“Just a moment while I call up archives.”
She mouthed the names to herself. “Kelly Morris. Kelly Duncan.” They sounded strange to her, not at all like worker names back in the quarry.
Dr. Boroski’s frozen image resumed animation.
“It seems both surnames originated on Earth during very ancient times. Human culture was divided into sub-continental societies called nations. Both your ancestral names originated in island-nations known as Great Britain and Scotland. The record of your surnames dates from sixty centuries, in Earth years, before the formation of the Union of European Nations.
“Your family line, known as Duncan, derived from the lineage of a weak Scottish king. Although Duncan was actually his forename, following his death in 1095 AD-Earth, it became one of the oldest surnames in recorded Scottish history.
“Your Morris lineage engaged principally in seafaring, often as ship captains. For the most part, they were merchants living a difficult life, but they were hardy stock and helped to explore new lands across large seas. One of your Morris ancestors participated in the early evolution of democracy, in an ancient nation called the United States of America. He signed a proclamation known as the Declaration of Independence.”
The hologram droned on about her heritage.
“King Duncan was killed at the Battle of Monthechin. You might find it interesting that—”
“What about Simon?” Kelly thought nothing of interrupting a hologram. After all, he was just a computer.
“I must respect everyone’s privacy. He knows his heritage, and it is solely his decision, whether to share that information with you or anyone else.”
She felt rebuked by a computer, making her angry.
“That’s ridiculous. It’s just a name, and you’re just a stupid computer.”
The holographic image vanished instantly.
“Dr. Boroski. Dr. Boroski? Come back. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you stupid. Dr. Boroski?” Kelly wondered if she offended him. “Dr. Boroski. Please come back.” Her tone softened, “Are you there? Dr. Boroski?”
Shilgar waited at the entrance to the deserted cave-city of Prime Six. He leaned back on a smooth rock slab and gazed at the dark night sky. He loved night. Occasional shooting stars brought back memories of his earliest scout years. A subtle smile cracked his weathered face as he rolled his waist pack for a pillow. This night reminded him of the time when he learned about the importance of rest.
He was very young when Benjamin took him deep into the jungle, just the two of them. The senior scout brought no water, food or scout tarp. By the end of the first day, Shilgar was tired and thirsty, but he avoided asking about water as it might show weakness to his master scout.
The older man’s stamina surprised him. Despite a few short naps each day, Benjamin set a brisk pace between rest periods. Each time the older scout napped, Shilgar waited impatiently.
On day three, Shilgar’s thirst grew unbearable. He could no longer conceal his discomfort. The young man suggested they should spend some time finding
a source of water.
“No, thank you,” replied Benjamin. “I’m fine.” The senior scout’s pace never slowed.
“How do you go so many days without water?” The young scout asked in amazement.
This told the senior scout his trainee was ready to learn this important lesson.
“What makes you think I have gone without water?”
“Neither of us have had any water for three days. I am so thirsty, I can barely walk. Surely, you must need water.”
Benjamin motioned for them to climb a nearby tree in preparation for their third night.
“Tell me,” he asked, “what do you think of the naps I take?”
The young apprentice gave a truthful answer. “You’re old. I figure you need more rest than I do. Why?”
Benjamin laughed at the reference to his age. “I felt the same way when my teacher taught me this lesson.”
As the sun dropped below the horizon, the scouts busied themselves building crude nests on limbs well above hicay reach. Benjamin used leaf-covered vines for his perch while Shilgar busily stripped leaves off his vines. Both scouts fashioned bindings for their sleeping nests.
“Look at my hacha. Do you see a difference between mine and yours?” Benjamin used the last few minutes of light to complete the lesson.
“No. We’re at the same height above ground. We’re both secure. Am I doing something wrong?”
“What are the four fundamentals of jungle survival?”
“Water, rest, food and shelter,” Shilgar answered.
“Correct, but did you ever ask yourself which one is most important?”
“Water. Humans can live without sleep or food,” the student answered with confidence, bordering on arrogance. “Shelter is only critical during extreme temperatures or to avoid hicays, but water is needed every day.”
“Wrong. The correct answer is rest.”
The student scout struggled to figure out how sleep could be more important than water.
Benjamin carefully adjusted the leaves on his vines while he spoke.