by Rose Estes
At length, Keri seemed to bring herself under control and her tears diminished; she gave Braldt a tremulous smile and hiccuped. Braldt helped her to her feet, knowing a decision must be made. Even if they could defeat the Scandis, their task would not be done. Somehow, they had to return everyone to their home planet and this could not be done without the Scandis’ cooperation. Furthermore, once all their mischief was undone, some way had to be found to ensure that it would not happen again.
Braldt was staring up at the tiers, watching the blue aliens advance on the hard ones, thinking that victory was within their grasp when something inexplicable happened. One blue alien after another stopped its rippling and stood slightly bowed as though listening. Then, in chain-like command, they lay down where they stood and rolled themselves into tight, motionless cylinders. The guards stared in astonishment, and after gaping at each other to see that they were not mistaken quickly retrieved their weapons.
The Scandis lost no time in directing the robots and the guards to gather up the now quiescent aliens like so many rolled rugs and take them away, back to whatever form of confinement they had shared before the outbreak. Only this time, Braldt had no doubt that the Scandis would find a way to keep them under control.
“Come on, we’ve got to get out of here,” Braldt said to Keri, grabbing her by the hands and dragging her deeper into the arch, knowing that they had to vanish before the guards and Scandis found them, wondering what had gone wrong, why the aliens had ceased their attack. Perhaps they would never know; Yantra seemed to be a difficult god to understand.
The corridors echoed with voices as they plunged deeper into the immense labyrinth that lay under the arena. Almost immediately they began meeting prisoners freed by Randi, Allo, and Septua, rampaging toward the arena in search of weapons and retribution.
Keri and Braldt joined a group already armed; several members wore silver uniforms similar to Randi’s. They were heavily bearded and their uniforms frayed and torn; it was obvious that they had been on Rototara longer than the others. One who appeared to be the leader sized Braldt up with a swift glance. “You Braldt?” he asked tersely. Braldt nodded. “Randi told me about you. Sent me to find you. Transmission station this way. Follow me.”
Braldt looked around, seeing the hordes of prisoners pouring past him into the arena; hatred and the need to inflict pain burning in their eyes and scored on their tortured flesh. Braldt realized he would never be able to stop them, to convince them that they could not win and for all he knew, perhaps they could. Randi’s friend had not stopped to see if Braldt was following him and was already a good distance away. Braldt made his decision, and pulling Keri by the wrist, hurried to catch up.
The flow of released prisoners increased as did clots of guards, bunched together, fighting desperately to stay alive and for the most part not succeeding. Braldt almost felt a moment’s pity for them, for most of the guards had had no choice in the role they played, their only decision being guard duty or death in the arena.
They pushed their way through the struggling masses and soon found themselves traveling empty corridors with doors gaping open on either side, mute testimony to the panic which had seized the inhabitants. There were numerous bodies strewn on the floors in grotesque postures of death, the blood still flowing across the stone floor and swirling in thick pools. A few Scandis had met their deaths as well, and these corpses all seemed to wear stunned looks of surprise in their staring, blue eyes as though they could not believe their fate.
There was yet another corpse sitting with its back against the wall, swaddled in ragged layers of coarse robes. Braldt leaped over the outstretched legs and when he heard the whisper of his name thought at first that he had been mistaken. He stopped with difficulty and turned to see who had called him. At first he saw no one, then his attention was drawn to the bundle of rags on the floor, for it seemed to move slightly. One hand raised and signaled weakly, then fell back to the ground.
Braldt’s heart sank and there was a leaden feeling in the pit of his stomach. There had been so much death already and there was no reason for this one to die. He was ashamed that he had forgotten about her. And Lomi—what of Lomi? “Saviq?” he said softly, dropping to one knee and gently pushing back the heavy folds of fabric that swathed her head.
He had half expected to see some horrendous wound, but there was nothing to be seen except the rheumy, filmed eye and the torment of ancient scarring that warped the old reptile’s muzzle.
“I—I am glad you came,” Saviq said quietly. “I do not know what is the matter with these old legs, they just refuse to go anymore. I sat down here to rest, but now I think it will be a longer rest than I had planned. But we did it, Lomi and I, we brought about the downfall. We have saved you, the two of us. Will you remember us, two old ones, after we have gone? No, that is too much to ask, you owe us nothing. Forget us, but do good things with your life and do not take the lives of others for granted.”
“What are you saying?” asked Braldt. “I will not forget either one of you, and I will not leave here without you, do not fear. But tell me what it is that you and Lomi have done.”
“It is too late for Lomi,” Saviq said with a sad smile. “She is freed from her pain and sorrow. I was with her until the end. She is happy now.”
“Lomi is dead?” Braldt asked numbly. “Why? How?”
Saviq shrugged. “She was old. We are both old. Our time has come. But we have done it, we have fixed the Scandis, she and I; their time here is over.”
“What have you done?” Braldt asked again, seeing that Saviq was fading quickly, needing to know what was going to happen.
“Sent a message to Brandtson, your grandfather. Asked for help. He will come. Took a message to Jorund, he will stop the robots if he has the courage. One thing remains. Must open outer doors for the true ones. No time left for me. You must do it for me.”
Then, even as Braldt bent over the ancient crone, trying to ease her labored breathing, her mouth twisted to one side and her single eye lit up as though it were receiving some private vision of joy. She was gone from them now; no one would ever be able to hurt her again.
Keri looked up at Braldt with a question in her eyes, wanting to know, but not daring to ask.
“A friend,” Braldt said quietly, looking down on Saviq who had perhaps given her life to help people she did not even know. There was nothing more he could do to help her. He would follow her instructions even though he did not understand them. His grandfather! His heart leapt at the thought and he pulled Keri to her feet after saying a silent prayer over Saviq’s still form.
Saviq was not aware of their departure, nor was she aware of the aches and pains of her weary body. Her flesh was still of the earth but her spirit was free. She was young and beautiful and her body lithe and graceful. She was not alone. She was lying atop a flat rock, reveling in the heat of the two suns beside her beloved. Soon the rains would come, the rains that would liberate her brethren from their dens, the dens where they had gone with the first of the great heat. The rains would free them and they would roam the land filled with a rage and madness, a blood lust that would only be satisfied when they had fought for the mate of their choice. She had already been won. She was beloved. She turned toward her lover, opened her arms wide, and gave herself up to his embrace.
25
Braldt pondered the meaning of Saviq’s directive as he and Keri continued on down the corridor. Open the outer doors for the true ones? What did that mean? Who were the true ones and what outer doors did she mean? Would Jorund be able to disarm the robots? Only time would tell.
“We saw outer doors, I’m sure, when we first came,” Keri said softly, scarcely daring to interrupt his thoughts. Braldt stopped abruptly. “Where?”
“I—I don’t know,” she said uncertainly, touching her throat with her hand. “Somewhere over there,” she replied, gesturing to the warren of outer corridors.
Braldt was undecided. What to do? Randi and the oth
ers were waiting for him at the transmission station. He could go back to his own world and tell them what he had learned, try to convince them of all that he had seen and of the danger they were in. He wondered if they would believe him.
Or, he could do as Saviq said and open the outer doors for “the true ones.” He yearned to return home. He wanted nothing more than to see the blue sky and the single sun of his own world as well as the faces of those he loved. But did he dare turn his back on so many of those who had given their lives to help them? His heart grew heavy and he knew what his choice must be.
“I must do as I was bid,” he told Keri. “You and Beast are free to go if you wish. Find Randi and the others. They will send you home.”
“I will not leave you,” Keri said stubbornly, her eyes growing bright and the old determined sound coming back into her voice. The tone she had used to defy him since their earliest days when she was a tiny nuisance trailing after him and Cam where she was not wanted. Braldt was filled with joy at the sound, for it was the first sign of the old Keri. He squeezed her hand and smiled. “Show me these outer doors.”
Leif Arndtson wondered at his good fortune and dared to hope that he might yet survive. Somehow, he had made himself understood by the furry savages who held him and the small remains of his command captive. He had been taken to their leader, an immense, grizzly, gray, furred creature with an angry, glowering countenance. Fortunately, he seemed to defer to an older, more gentle-natured Madrelli who appeared willing to listen to his story.
He was obviously disturbed at the news that the volcano was going to explode, but he did not seem to doubt Leif’s word, which was very reassuring. After a moment of deep thought, the old one murmured a set of orders to the large, gruff commander who frowned with displeasure but did as he was ordered. He queried him on all the details of how the charges had been set and where they had been placed. Then, he and two others left the party and trotted off the way they had come.
By this time, many of the others had become aware that something was wrong. Leif and his small party were so obviously frightened and by more than their capture, that it was hard not to realize that something was amiss. The old Madrelli quieted everyone with raised hands, then turned to Leif and urged him to his feet. “You want to return to your world, Scandi. Well, you may have your wish, but know that if you return, you will not go alone. None of us here have any reason to love your people; they have sought to rule our lives and actions for too many generations. If you go back, we go with you, and we will not arrive with peace in our hearts.”
Leif Arndtson could do nothing but bow his head at the old one’s condemnation, for even he knew enough to know that the other’s words were true. He had always accepted the domination of the Madrelli as rightful, for they were slaves and animals, were they not? But somehow, here in this place, they had an aura about them that made it impossible to think of them as either animals or slaves. But still, his allegiance had to be to his own people, didn’t it? If he stepped back into his own world bringing a savage enemy down upon them, he would be a traitor to his own people. Yet if he were to live, it was the only way. It wasn’t like he had a choice; the whole planet was going to explode any minute now. Surely they would understand!
The old Madrelli was speaking again. “I want you to explain what it is that is happening,” he said. “Tell them why you are here, what you have done, and what it is that you are suggesting.” Leif could do nothing but comply. He turned and faced the odd crowd, the furred Madrelli and the enraged, captive natives led by the one with the scarred face. He swallowed hard. If he had any hope of living, he would have to use all of his skills to convince them that transmitting to Rototara was their only chance for life. Speaking had never come easy. He gulped and began.
Much to his surprise, they had all been in favor of the plan, some of them openly enthusiastic, others merely stroking their weapons and smiling to themselves. It seemed that many of them had grievances to settle. The primitives had been hardest to convince, but in the end, it was the man with the burned face who had come to his aid. “Down with the false gods!” he had cried, waving his spear in the air. “Death to the priests!”
Leif Arndtson did not know what priests he was speaking of, but they could look out for themselves as far as he was concerned. He was too young to die and a part of him began to get angry that he had been sent to this place. Maybe they had not thought that he would return. Maybe he had a few debts of his own to settle!
He led the odd group of savages and primitives to the transmitter, and after a brief message of instruction, began to send them through two and three at a time, all of them gripping their weapons in eager anticipation of what was to come.
Braldt, Keri, and the lupebeast pup had wandered through the confusing labyrinth of corridors, searching for the outer doors as commanded by Saviq. It was the pup who found them, lifting his head and sniffing, then whimpering and hurrying off down a corridor on his own. Braldt and Keri had followed.
They were huge, double doors with no handles or method of opening, except for the silver plate set into the wall. There was an odd sound coming from the far side of the door, a scratching, scrabbling noise. Braldt stared at the door, undecided, wondering what he would find if he opened the door. What were the true ones? Only one way to find out. He gave Keri a hug of reassurance, then struck the silver door plate with his fist. The door hissed open and there on the other side were multitudes of reptiles, as tall as Braldt and broad, banded with sheaths of muscle, claws and fangs bared, ready for battle.
“Are you the true ones?” asked Braldt, backing up and raising his hands to show that he meant them no harm. Beast growled and showed his own fangs, but was wise enough to remain behind Braldt. Keri, oddly enough, seemed to feel no fear.
“We are the true ones,” the reptiles said in unison, bobbing and weaving their horny snouts, their eyes bright and shiny, fixed and unblinking on Braldt. Their scales were washed by the warm, crimson rain, slick and sleek and gleaming. They seemed to revel in its caress. With a start, Braldt realized that they were indeed the true ones, native Rototarans somehow brought forth by the rains, ready to reclaim their world.
“We are not your enemy,” Braldt said simply. “We were sent by one named Saviq who commanded us to admit you. We will not stand in your way, but know that there are many inside who were brought here against their will and wish for nothing other than the right to return to their own worlds. Grant them mercy.”
The true ones did not answer, but swept past Braldt, Keri, and Beast without a second glance. Their numbers were endless as they filed through the open doors, slithering and sliding on the wet, red earth, their heavy tails gummed with sediment. They plodded forward in a relentless wave and Braldt felt a moment of fear and pity for the unsuspecting Scandis. It soon passed.
Other doors were found and opened, and more and more masses of true ones trooped through, all fixated with a single-minded purpose, that of reclaiming their world.
There were no more doors left to open. The sounds of alarm and furious battle that had emanated from the center of the arena had diminished. Braldt and Keri wandered from corridor to corridor, searching for the transmission room, wondering if they were too late.
A door opened, one of the hundreds of thousands, all of which looked alike, and Randi appeared, a worried look on her narrow face. She saw Braldt and her eyes lit up. She smiled and gripped him hard, all but ignoring Keri.
“I was afraid I would miss you. Allo and I waited. Septua, he wanted to leave, so we sent him back.” Her mouth twisted in the familiar, wry grin that had brightened their darkest moments.
“No real loss,” Braldt replied with an answering grin, gripping Randi as well, knowing somehow that he would never see her again.
“I hope you find everything you search for in this life,” he said, feeling the warmth of her and knowing that her leaving would leave an empty place in his heart. Their eyes met. She raised her hand and held it to his face, t
hen nodded once. “You too,” she whispered. “Be happy.”
Then she was gone. She looked back at him once, then nodded to the Scandi who manned the controls of the transmitter. He adjusted a dial, punched in some numbers, then touched a single red button and Randi faded from sight and was gone.
Allo had waited as well. Their words were brief, the emotion high. It was hard knowing they would never meet again.
Allo was gone. Randi and Septua were gone. No one remained except the Scandi at the controls. Braldt cleared his throat and blinked back the tears that had suddenly filled his eyes. Now he was able to see that the one at the controls was none other than the man on the dais, the one who had tried to encourage him with silent messages of hope. Braldt opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say a word, there was a flash of light and a group of people, Scandis, Madrelli, and a man, horribly scarred and without hair, tumbled through the transmitter and fell into the room.
Braldt was speechless. He and Keri and the Scandi stared at the jumble of odd companions in astonishment. Keri was the first to recover. “Carn!” she cried, rushing to his side. Braldt realized with a shock the hideously deformed man was indeed Cam, his brother. And there, too, was Uba Mintch. Where had they come from? Before he could ask, there was another flash of light and a fully armed contingent of Scandis came through, all but falling over the Madrelli and Carn. They stumbled forward as another flash lit the small room and more Madrelli, three wounded Scandis and more of Braldt’s tribe fell into the room. Voices and weapons were raised in anger, and for a moment it looked as though fighting might break out among the three disparate groups.
Chaos and confusion reigned as more and more transmissions filled the room with seething, yelling, angry beings from different worlds, flinging them at each other’s feet, crowding them out of the small room, all of them jockeying for control and none succeeding.