Torian Reclamation 3: Test of Fortitude

by Andy Kasch

  Or could they? Brandon strongly felt that something critical to all intelligent life in the galaxy was taking place on this picturesque orange and brown land mass. Something that wouldn’t allow itself to be ignored forever. He didn’t know what it was, but the longer Arkan9 took to return the closer he felt he was on the verge of discovering it.

  Arkan9 came back, glowing and smiling. The two of them had already sat, talked, eaten, and drank together for most of the day. Now it was nearing dusk. What a wonderful day. Not so much because of any particular spiritual enlightenment; that came purely from the setting itself. Arkan9 and Brandon had simply talked and joked the day away, as old friends are prone to do.

  “We’re ready for you,” Arkan9 said.

  Brandon stood and walked with Arkan9 around the back of the village and into the woods. It became darker, but the glow from Arkan9 helped illuminate the path. Brandon’s eyes soon adjusted. Ahead of them was a bright place—extremely bright. Brandon knew he was being led to it.

  As they approached the grove of white light, their pace slowed. They would take two steps forward, the light would grow brighter, they would stop for a moment, the light would dim some, and then they would take two more steps and repeat. In this manner they drew close to the brightly-lit clearing. When they were just outside of it, however, Brandon went completely blind. He found he had to close his eyes and cover them with his hand. Arkan9 led him by the other hand and sat him down.

  Brandon heard laughter. It wasn’t condescending. It was warm, welcoming, even loving. There were multiple voices in it.

  Arkan9 spoke. “Our friend here says he has lost his fear of the unknown, his fear of death, and even his fear of things too great for him to grasp. See how he comes to you now without trepidation, while suspecting your true identity.”

  One of the laughing voices then spoke. It was authoritative, yet friendly.

  “What do you yet fear, Brandon Foss?”

  Brandon took his hand away from his tightly-closed eyes, but had to quickly put it back before answering.

  “For the safety and welfare of my family and friends, I suppose.”

  “This is respectable,” the voice said. “Tell us, what can you do about that?”

  Brandon took a moment to think. He considered giving an answer involving intelligent-sounding solutions: Diligence in one’s thoughts as well as actions, invoking wisdom, and seeking direction in the Erob law. But he felt his thoughts were being perceived without voicing them. Finally, he verbalized an unanticipated one-word response.

  “Nothing.”

  The voices resumed their beautiful, comfortable laughter. Brandon then felt Arkan9’s bony fingers grasp his right arm in two places. The grip was painful and penetrating. It shocked Brandon in such a way that his hand fell away from his eyes and they involuntarily opened. He expected to go permanently blind.

  But he didn’t. All of a sudden he could see. The white light still enveloped them, but it no longer hurt his eyes. Arkan9 was beside him. Standing directly across from both of them were three humanoid figures. They were dark and surrounded by the brightest portion of the light source. Their features were not discernable. But they each had a head, torso, two arms and two legs.

  Erobs. Brandon was sitting in the presence of Erobs. Three of them, here with him and Arkan9 in their own special ball of light. Brandon could see them. Heck, he was conversing with them. And he found that he was filled with all the knowledge and wisdom of the universe in a moment, a perfect pinnacle of condensed time. But the moment fled.

  “What danger threatens your family and friends, Brandon?” the Erob on the left asked.

  “Evil. It is evil that threatens them.”

  “I see. What do you believe about evil?”

  Brandon hesitated.

  “I must believe evil will ultimately be defeated by the good in the universe.”

  “Must believe?”

  The fleeting moment of ultimate knowledge returned, flashing across Brandon’s mind for just a second. But it was there long enough for him to give the answer he sought.

  “I do believe this. In fact, I believe evil ultimately serves good. In the end, all things will be proven as good and necessary, when the linear viewpoint fades and full wisdom is revealed.”

  “Then what is left to fear?” the Erob in the middle asked.

  “My own failure,” Brandon replied. “Though I feel I won’t fail. I fear nothing at this moment. I have full faith in the goodness and wisdom that flows from Erob, and in its preservation, restoration, and ultimate triumph. But I will shortly leave this dome of light to go back to my linear existence. Doubts and fears will creep back in. Perhaps I will even forget this encounter. And I might fail. My faith might fail. I might fail to protect my family. Some of my friends are fools—”

  “You will not forget, and you won’t fail, Brandon Foss. It is no longer possible. But you will return to doubts, fears, and linear frustrations. This is physical life. That this brief struggle should test you has been judiciously ordained. Your foolish friends will answer for themselves, and, being as you have advised them with a pure heart, their fate is not on your account. Endure with understanding. Keep your faith in the wisdom we have provided you with. Never despair. Always muster the inner fortitude you are capable of. You have seen the truth. It is too great for your physical mind to capture, but you know it’s there. You can, therefore, trust your intuition—just as you always have—as long as you access it in purity of heart.”

  Brandon smiled. There were a thousand questions he wanted to ask the Erobs, but right now he could only think of one.

  “When will you return, and make your presence in the galaxy again known to all?”

  “You already know when,” the one on the right answered.

  Brandon chuckled to himself. It was true. He knew when. But he also knew he would not retain this knowledge after leaving the grove.

  *

  Mip7 was annoyed when the security guard detained him at the entrance to the REEP bunker. He was, after all, the governor of the space station. As such, he enjoyed full access to every part of it. This guy was obviously new, and taking Olut6’s orders a little too literally.

  “All right Governor,” he finally said. “You’re clear.”

  Mip7 pushed the flunky aside when he didn’t even apologize. Olut6 would certainly hear about this. Then again, the kid might be commended rather than reprimanded, knowing the High General—especially lately.

  There he was, pacing back and forth on the main floor and grumbling, exactly as Mip7 expected to find him. The situation outside Cardinal-5 was disturbing, to be sure. Mip7 wanted to know what was being done about it. He purposefully came and stood in the path of Olut6’s pacing, so that the next time the High General turned around he nearly bumped into him.

  “Extat, Governor! You’re getting in the way of my thinking. Why can’t you stay up in your office and leave defense matters to me? Or did you just want to watch us blow that thing to pieces?”

  “Is that what you’re going to do, General? That’s fine by me. But what’s it doing here? And where are all his friends?”

  “That’s what we don’t know. I’ve got half our home fleet scrambling from Banor, and the rest on stand-by. It makes no sense that one enemy fighter would show up here and just sit out in front of us like this. Unless…”

  “A suicide attack, maybe?” Mip7 stared at the main screen. The solitary dark enemy fighter—who they now knew to be the Ossurians—was simply drifting in the space not far from the station. Several squadrons of Torian fighters were now all around it, staying close enough to be in effective weapons range.

  “If it is, it’s a poorly executed one.” Olut6 shook his head. “They came up on local propulsion and slowed so methodically, it’s almost like they’re trying to be friendly.”

  “You’ve tried hailing them?”

  “Yes, Governor. We also received a transmission of static noise on a rare frequency that I suspect must have
come from them. I can’t be certain, unfortunately. But it sure seems to me like they wanted to communicate and couldn’t, possibly due to equipment failure. I can’t bank on that hunch, of course.”

  “General, they’re turning!” someone shouted from a work station.

  Mip7 and Olut6 looked back to the screen. The enemy fighter wasn’t actually turning—it was spinning. It made six or seven complete rotations and then came to rest upside down from the position of the station, still pointed sideways.

  “What in Erob are they doing?” Olut6 mumbled.

  The enemy fighter then fired its lasers straight ahead.

  “They’re firing, sir! Tell the boys to return fire?”

  “What are they shooting at, Lieutenant?”

  “Nothing, General. Just firing straight ahead of their position. Nobody’s there. The boys want permission to destroy it.”

  “That’s a negative, Lieutenant. They can fire warning shots only. As many as they want. But do not destroy it without my orders unless the vessel takes a hostile action!”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Hostile action?” Mip7 said. “They’re firing weapons now. How much more hostile do they have to be?”

  “We still haven’t captured one of these extat things to inspect,” Olut6 snapped. “Not even from the Dirg battle, from what I understand. And I don’t consider this action threatening. Something’s wrong. Look at it, there. Spinning around like a lost lightning hornet, hanging upside down and firing they’re lasers into nothing. And they’re keeping them on! This makes no sense.”

  Mip7 watched as the closest squadron of Torian fighters returned fire. Warning shots, as they had been told. But it was obvious they weren’t happy with the order, as the warning shots were extremely close. The enemy vessel was now surrounded by nine lasers crisscrossing themselves into a tight grid. It couldn’t move ten meters to one side or the other without being hit.

  “Their form of protest,” Olut6 said. “I can hardly blame them.” He then raised his voice. “But if one of those lasers damages that ship, the pilots will be grounded for a year, Lieutenant!”

  “Understood, General!” The lieutenant radioed something and then the warning beams moved to give the Ossurian fighter a little more breathing room. The enemy craft kept firing straight ahead.

  “If they keep that up they’ll deplete their charge,” Mip7 said half to himself.

  Olut6 heard him and cocked his head. “You think maybe they’re doing that intentionally?”

  Mip7 nodded. “Maybe. It’s what I would do if I wanted to demonstrate friendly intentions.”

  “In that case,” Olut6 said, “I suspect a trap.”

  The Ossurian fighter began firing missiles in addition to its laser weapon, in rapid order straight ahead. The Lieutenant shouted in response.

  “Missiles, General! They’re firing everything! Can we please destroy it?”

  Olut6 didn’t immediately answer, but he seemed more concerned now. At the same time, Mip7 flashed on something. It was a memory from long ago.

  “General, wait.” Mip7 placed his hand on Olut6’s shoulder and received a vicious glare in response, which he ignored.

  “Did they spin seven times before they started firing?”

  “I didn’t count the extat number of spins, Governor. How in Erob is that relevant?”

  “It’s something Brandon used to do on the simulator games, when he had conquered a level and destroyed all the enemy ships before the minimum time for the level expired. It was a program flaw, but he would get it to shut down and start the next level by shooting off the rest of his missiles and emptying his laser banks. He always spun around seven times like that before doing it, kind of his signature victory dance. I did it a few times myself when I played with him. I think he even taught Derek’s son to do it. Brandon still hasn’t returned from Dirg?”

  “No,” Olut6 answered slowly.

  “General, there’s no doubt in my mind that if Brandon somehow captured an enemy vessel and brought it here, particularly one with a damaged communications system, he would be doing exactly what you see out there now to try and tell us it’s him.”

  “Tell the boys to hold all fire,” Olut6 yelled at the Lieutenant.

  “Yes sir.”

  The Torian lasers abruptly stopped. Inside the REEP bunker, they continued to watch the Ossurian fighter shoot off the rest of its missiles. Shortly thereafter, the steady laser beams grew faint and finally flickered out.

  The vessel then began spinning again. This time, Mip7 and Olut6 counted. Seven spins exactly. The ship then straightened out.

  “Get a squadron around that ship,” Olut6 said. “Let’s see if it comes along peaceably. If it does, lead it to Amulen. Land in Belle-ub’s parking lot—he always likes visitors.”

  The Lieutenant relayed the order and the closest squadron then approached the enemy vessel. In another moment it was surrounded. Nine Torian fighters with their dark prize in the middle gradually moved off. The Ossurian fighter cooperated with the escort. Soon the procession reached Amulen and vanished into the atmosphere.

  “Looks like you finally got yourself an enemy fighter, General.”

  Olut6 only smiled back at Mip7.

  Two Months Later, Camp Store C4 Banor

  Epilogue

  For just a second, Alan anticipated that the second group of young Banorians was about to be ambushed. But then he remembered and looked down. Casanova was watching with them now, tragically reduced to a spectator. His leash stretched tight as he leaned forward on the observation platform, whining while the customers currently in view traversed the trench before the field of goliagrass. This was torture for him—but the customers carried nondestructive lasers, and Casanova didn’t know the difference. So Jumper and Kayla couldn’t risk letting him be a part of the games any longer, as Jumper predicted.

  “You need me to help you hold him?” Alan asked.

  “Actually, yes.” There was appreciation in Brandon’s voice.

  Alan grabbed the leash and helped shoulder the load. Casanova didn’t ease up until the three figures on the mercenary course crawled out of the trench and vanished in the tall grass. Finally he sat down and stopped pulling.

  “I wish I could have seen Kayla’s face when the Mparians brought her cat back to her,” Brandon said.

  “Yeah.” Alan chuckled. “I wasn’t here, either. We’ve been swamped at the shop trying to fill the military’s new float suit orders. But from what Jumper said, Shaldan and the Troden brothers were just as thrilled to find them here as Kayla was to see Casanova. They had no way of knowing what happened to us, and had stuck around Sulien—HD28, I mean—until the natives and the Bolkans were all rescued out of the Ossurian mines. They hoped to find us among them.”

  Brandon nodded. “I can only imagine. Sorry you and Derek are so buried in work now. I’d come and help, but I’m hoping to be busy myself the next few weeks.”

  “I know. We’re all pulling for you.”

  “Poor Derek,” Brandon said as he let go of the leash and stood. “I hope you haven’t told him anything about the offer Trodenjo made you.”

  “No.” Alan shook his head decisively. “Of course not.”

  “Have you thought much about it?”

  “Not seriously. I’m glad to be home, same as you. What makes you think I’d be interested in chasing across the galaxy, the only human on a huge spaceship, buying and selling goods with twenty different kinds of aliens?”

  “Gee, I don’t know—for the adventure of it? I guess now that Jumper’s married, I kind of see you as being left alone with nothing to do.”

  “He was married before he got married.” Alan stood up as well. They watched as the customers in the grass scored hits on the final targets. Jumper and Kayla’s return fire missed all three of them widely. Alan motioned towards the course.

  “I will say this. Jumper and Kayla seem to be going a little easy on their customers since the wedding. Maybe they figure it’s better
for business. I suspect Mparian influence there. Whether it’s for the better or worse, I can’t tell.”

  “I can sense the change in them, too,” Brandon said. “Tell me, what happened with you guys that made Jumper suddenly anxious to marry her?”

  Alan thought for a moment.

  “I see the point of your question. He’s had scary experiences in the past, and they never really did much to him. I think it was almost getting killed by our own people that seriously rattled him. When those Torian fighters fired so close to us next to Cardinal-5, it got pretty hot in the cockpit. Jumper just kept holding the lasers, though. Then as we were being escorted over to Amulen, he suddenly confessed to purposely losing that polwar game in the semi-finals the second year. Said it was because his opponent needed the prize, and he felt he ‘owed’ him. Martians, I think he said they were—another abductee race, like us, trapped on Amulen against their will. Not very social, apparently.”

  “Martians?” Brandon said. “That doesn’t sound right.”

  “Well it was something like that. The short guys that kind of look like us. Lots of hair. Jumper says they can move extremely fast when they want to.”

  “Oh yeah.” Brandon rubbed his chin. “I remember them. So that’s who they were. His opponent went on to win the tournament, didn’t he? I thought Jumper was behaving abnormally when we watched the final, cheering for the one who beat him so enthusiastically. Hmm. Strange to be talking about them today.”

  “Does learning that surprise you?” Alan asked.

  “No—unfortunately. I don’t know if I can ever truly be surprised again. Somebody gives me a piece of information now and it’s like jogging a memory instead of telling me something new. Pretty damned annoying, to be honest.”