Warrior Chronicles 6: Warrior's Glass

by Shawn Jones

  “I don’t know how to say this without hurting you, but he was a part of me. As much as you are. I don’t mean like my soul mate or anything—more like the bond of identical twins or something. Does that make sense?”

  “Yeah. You and he… healed each other. No. That’s not right. You balance each other.”

  Cort nodded, and Kim went on to add a significant piece of the puzzle Cort was facing, regarding the alien ship.

  “Listen Baby, there’s more. That ship we are chasing has five of Bazal’s people in captivity. They are used for communication.”

  Cort looked up at the ceiling. “This just gets better and better. Do our records say anything about them?” He looked back at Kim and added, “Wait. Where do Bazal’s people tie into this? If they are after me, why do they have them?”

  “I don’t know, and our records say very little,” Kim said. “I searched George’s memory. According to what Bazal had already told us, one of his species’ ships was lost to combat. The crew was linked for a short time then contact was lost. I think this is that ship.”

  “There is too much going on, here. They knew where and when we were going to arrive here, and they have the octopods. It’s too much. Do you still have any doubt about their intentions?”

  Kim felt ashamed for having doubted Cort’s instincts. “No, Baby. I don’t. Even if they aren’t after you specifically, we have to stop them. But what do we do?”

  Something changed inside Cort. He’d felt it a thousand times in his life. Like a switch being turned on, the warrior inside him found purchase, and began to climb out of the depths of his personal hell.

  He said, “Talk to Bazal again.”

  Cort told her to use George, and make a hologram of the enemy ship, inside and out. He wanted every detail George or the octopods could learn.

  Kim changed in response to his own transformation. Her voice cooled, and became focused. “Okay, Baby. Do you need anything specific?”

  “Everything. Every detail. I want George to be able to recreate that ship in his mind, so he can show us a hologram of it. Clem and I, or Tur, will watch Dalek while you work, Kim. Get me everything. I don’t know how you will convince Bazal to help, but you and George have to find a way.”

  Cort took Kim’s hands in his, and reminded her that if they could save Bazal’s people, it meant saving his entire species, and for once, Cort could look at the man in the mirror, not only with shame, but also with some degree of pride.

  Kim reached up and touched his cheek. He whispered, almost to himself, “Then Bazal wouldn’t be alone in our time.”

  Cort sensed her relief as she thought, He called our time home. Not her time. The future.

  Cort felt a sense of accomplishment that he had given her some relief, though his own would only come through his betrayal of time and the universe.

  —

  In a spartan room of Ceram’s office suite, the Jaifan was looking at a fresh scan of Cort’s brain. “You’re correct, Pledge Father. The changes are ongoing, and I cannot predict when, or even if, the changes will stop.”

  Unlike humans, the Jaifans didn’t need decorations to make a room their own. All that was needed to make any place home was a pitcher of water, and honey as a sweetener. The sweetwater was their preferred sustenance, and the honey that was harvested from their home planet, Heroc’s World, was the best in the known galaxy.

  Cort considered the Jaifan as Ceram mixed a glass of the concoction. Jaifans were tall, and could best be described as upright cockroaches. With two pair of arms, and either one or two pair of legs depending on their gender, and whether or not they were old brood, the species was at the least, menacing. They had razor-sharp wings that allowed them to both fly and fight ferociously, as well as external mandibles that literally oozed saliva. But their preferred food source was sweetwater. Ceram turned after making the first of what would be several glasses of it, and listened to Cort.

  The human said, “Sometimes I can barely feel someone’s emotion, but then seconds later, I hear every thought of every human in the room. I can even sense other people’s dreams sometimes. Thank gods I can’t hear George. I can’t begin to imagine where that rabbit hole would lead.”

  Being a fan of human literature, Ceram clicked, “A Lewis Carroll reference? I prefer the macabre, but I found some humor in Carroll’s work.”

  “Yeah,” Cort said. “Down the rabbit hole became a metaphor for going someplace unknown or disturbing.”

  “Why do you think going into George’s mind would be disturbing?” Ceram asked.

  “He has nearly a hundred million years of memories. The vast majority of them are from when he was alone. There is no way a human brain could process all of that.”

  Ceram made his usual clicking sound to respond. “Ah. I understand. I speak to him often about the time he was alone. He is very thankful that your camping trip led to his discovery.”

  “I’m thankful for that, too. I love him as if he were my own flesh and blood.”

  Ceram changed the subject. “My favorite honey is made from the poppies of your home planet. It has a slight nutty flavor, and it is a bit bitter because of the type of bee that produces it on Heroc’s World. Members of the old broods tell me that we have never produced such perfection. Some even think it is a blessing bestowed by our submission to you after the Cuplan war.”

  He put down the flexpad and mixed another glass of sweetwater. “On the matter at hand, I can inhibit the effect to some degree, but doing so would limit your effectiveness while conscious.”

  “What does that mean?” Cort asked.

  Ceram explained that the gadget he had in mind would help Cort to sleep, while producing a mild euphoric effect. Though it would minimize telepathy, it would not negate it completely, and its effect would be dependent on Cort’s mental state. Using it while conscious would inhibit reaction time, clarity, and judgement.

  Ceram added sarcastically. “I’d rather not have you running around with a railgun while mentally incapacitated. It’s bad enough when you are supposedly sane.”

  Cort opened a drawer in the sideboard of Ceram’s office, and pulled out a bottle of rye he kept for when they spent time together. It was next to a chess set. At least I can still play Ceram. Unless this shit keeps getting worse. “You are going to need to give this cabinet to George. Clear out what you need from it. We need everything we can put our hands on to print armament.”

  Before Ceram could protest, Cort offered more sweetwater and said, “Okay, build your gadget, and I’ll give it a shot. But if I need to clear my mind when I’m fighting, I may still use it. So give it an on/off switch.”

  Ceram’s mandibles flexed into a scowl. “Pledge Father, please make sure I am not around when you do that. But yes, I should be able to control the effects within a few seconds. However, it won’t be instant. The human brain doesn’t work that way.”

  Cort watched as Ceram’s antennae rose nearly erect as a thought formed. “But,” Ceram clicked, “If I were to implant a lead, I believe we could turn the effect on and off. You would not be able to leave it activated for very long, as your biosynthetics would try to repair the perceived damage immediately. Let me do some research. I will get back to you later in the day.”

  “Thanks, Ceram,” Cort said, “but I mean it. I’m sending someone around for any furniture you don’t absolutely have to have. We need all the printing materials we can get.”

  Ceram clicked something that passed for a sigh. “Very well, General. I will clear things out while I consider your situation.”

  “Thanks. What time do you want to see me back here?”

  “I never want to see you, Cortland, but I expect you here at 1900 ship time.”

  As he left the medical area, Cort mumbled, “Asshole,” knowing full well that Ceram’s sensitive hearing would make out the word.

  The medico clicked, “As your species used to say, it takes one to know one.”

  As he walked through the ship, Cort thought
about his friendship with Ceram. Since Dar Gaines’ death on Earth, Ceram had been his closest friend, save Bazal and Kim. The godsdamned cockroach was one of the few beings around him who would stand up to Cort.

  On his way to the galley, Cort met Clem at an intersecting corridor. He sensed the younger man, who was genetically his own great-grandfather, was happy to see him. Clem didn’t show it, but Cort felt excitement from the man as an almost palpable energy.

  “How are you, sir?” Clem asked.

  “I’m good, Clem. How ‘bout yourself?”

  “I’m fine. I’ve been reading a sight more than I ever have before. I’ve got a lot to catch up on, I reckon.”

  Not one to beat around the bush, Cort motioned Clem to walk with him and said, “Clem, you were in the balloon corps in World War I. From what I was told, most of the time, you were just getting shot at while you did your work. But have you ever killed? In combat or otherwise?”

  Cort felt Clem deflate. “Two Krauts. My balloon was shot up one time. It descended slowly enough that I was able to jump out, right into a Kraut trench below me. Two of ‘em saw me and I had to shoot ‘em. The little Colt I had was empty by the time I got outta that hole. I was shaking so bad I couldn’t shoot straight. It took the whole clip to finish them two. I mean I really couldn’t shoot straight. My grandpa told me once about the Injun wars he fought in the west. Had the same thing happen to him. I didn’t understand it then, because I’m a crack shot. After the day in that German trench though, I got it.”

  The smell of blooming spices hit them as they turned toward a galley. The ship’s cook made sure the refugees were well fed, that was for sure.

  “Well, you know my past,” Cort said. “I have a bit more blood on my hands than you do, and I’m sure I was much better trained than you were. Both in how to beat the shakes, and how to turn off your conscience when you pull the trigger. The key thing is, if you didn’t kill them, you can bet your ass they would have killed you.”

  “That’s not true. There was a Christmas truce in ‘14. Uh… 1914. They wouldn’t have shot me then. I don’t think I’d have a problem with it now, anyway. I’ve been used to rape a thousand women in the last year. Probly more. I had to turn off my guilt pretty quick after they took control of my tallywhacker from me.”

  Cort fought a smile when he heard the archaic term. Clem was hurting and needed reassurance right then, but there just wasn’t time. “I hope so, because I need you. I need people who can follow orders and are adaptable. The vast majority of the refugees can’t fight, and I need people who can.”

  Considering that there were so few Ares personnel aboard, and the lateness of the hour, the galley was empty. The refugees were fed from another mess on the ship, but all of the mess halls were needed to print and cook food for so many. Cort poured them both a cup of coffee, and then joined Clem at a table.

  “I’m not even willing to risk the Jaifans right now, because I don’t know how what I have in mind will affect the rest of the universe. If we get back to that future and they are gone, I need to be able to restore their species.”

  “How would what you do now on Earth affect what is happening to another species thousands of miles away?” Clem asked.

  Clem still didn’t grasp the distances they were dealing with, but it really didn’t matter. Especially with ability to jump across the galaxy in the blink of an eye.

  “I don’t know,” Cort said. “There’s all this scientific crap about paradox and commonality, theories that I’m not willing to wrap my head around right now. It’s too much to think about. Right now, right here, I have to do two things. One, I have to save my daughter. Two, I have to save Earth from that alien ship.”

  “I don’t begrudge you either of those. But isn’t Earth more important?”

  “Not to me,” Cort replied.

  Cort sensed Clem’s doubt, but ignored it. Only he understood that this was his sole chance to get back his daughter, who was once stolen from him by her mother Angela. Together with Kim and his sons, he would have a complete family, and the universe, the Ares Federation, and time itself could be damned. We could live our lives out on Solitude. I could build a whole society there, just with the people I have with me. Do I owe the rest of the universe more than that?

  “How would that affect your paradox stuff?” Clem asked.

  “I wish everyone would quit asking that,” Cort replied. “I don’t know. But I also don’t care. I told you, I’m going to save your great-great-granddaughter, my daughter, no matter how it affects the universe. Diane is not going to die again. Not on my watch.”

  “What about Kim and Dalek?”

  Cort sighed, and explained to Clem that no one who was with him right then would be affected, and as long as they didn’t interact with species they would know in the future, it wouldn’t affect the time stream.

  “So all that money, and all the planets and stuff, it could all be gone?”

  “Correct.”

  “How do you carry that?” Clem asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  Clem took a sip of his coffee and said, “That’s a load. It’s the kind of thing God himself carries around in his poke. How do you bear it?”

  “I don’t know,” Cort replied. “I just abide. It’s all I can do.”

  “I’ve heard some scuttlebutt about you, sir. Even the regular refugees have,” Clem said. “Are you really a god? Are you the god of war?”

  Cort’s initial anger at the question faded almost immediately because of his ability to read Clem’s thoughts. The young man was asking an innocent question. With his guard down, Cort answered as best he could.

  “So far, there doesn’t seem to be anyone in the galaxy that is more adept at waging war than I am.” Cort could see clearly in that moment, that Clem was both interested and sympathetic. He had seen enough to at least grasp Cort’s burden. “I’ve probably killed trillions. Entire species even. Maybe not by my own hands, but I gave the orders. And for some reason, I don’t die. Back on Gryll, the spike that got me was three times the strength of the ones that killed our scouts and snipers. But somehow, I lived.

  Cort told Clem about a dozen attempts on his life over the years, both in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, and in the twenty-fourth.

  “There was an attack on Earth that was meant to kill me. They got Dar, but I lived. His finger landed in my lap, and half my face was gone, but I lived.”

  Clem laughed then caught himself. “I’m sorry. I just saw the video of that press conference. That reporter who puked when you cut off your eye… Damn.”

  “I was seeing in two different directions. The ground was in front the bad eye, but I was looking at people with the other one. Anyway, before that, when the Tapon took Dalek, I got hit with some poison. It took months for me to recover, but I did. Before that, it was a nuclear bomb. Do you know what those are?”

  “I saw vids of them in the history files.”

  Cort told him about the war for independence on Mars. He used to land mines to kill the last piece of combat armor from Earth, and blew his own hands off in the process. But thanks to synthetics, he managed to grow them back.

  “All the while, the people I loved died all around me. I’m tired of burying my loved ones. I don’t want to be a god.”

  Clem hesitantly put his arm across Cort’s shoulders, comforting his descendent. “I can’t say as I blame you.”

  As they continued to walk in silence beside each other, Cort wondered if he could lead Clem into combat. It was one thing to lose a loved one. It was another to carry the burden of sending them to their death.

  --

  That afternoon, five of them—Kim, Cort, Clem, George, and Tur—gathered around a conference table to discuss the information that had been gathered so far, and to come up with a strategy as to how they would proceed. They still did not know a lot about the enemy ship, but George projected a partial holo-image of it on the table. It was shaped like a teardrop, and nearly a half-kilom
eter in diameter. Bazal’s people were working on reading the aliens and getting a layout of the ship, though that would take some time. As Bazal could no longer read George, it was decided that all comms between Bazal’s people and the Remington would have to go through Kim. As more information became available, they would add to the holo-image.

  “What about other fighters?” Cort asked. “For our side, I mean.”

  George’s avatar said, “There are thirty-four human candidates for combat roles, including the seventeen Ares humans. However, three of them should be considered vital to ship operation and kept here.”