“Sorry,” I said to Hollins. He nodded. I could tell he was disappointed, but he put on a brave face.
I looked at Kalac. My originator still stared at the empty screen where the dark general had appeared moments before; its expression was grim.
“We should have listened to you,” said Kalac. “We used the Q-sik, and it brought our enemies here. We should have listened to you. To both of you.”
I expected Hudka to pile on, to give Kalac the traditional I-told-you-so treatment, only times a hundred. But Hudka said nothing.
Kalac addressed everyone in the room. “I’m going to call another Grand Conclave. Ydar, can we get the live feeds from your telescopes down to Ryzz Plaza? Otherwise no one will believe that the Vorem are actually real. Honestly, I can barely believe it myself.”
“It can be done, Chief,” said Ydar. There was no whining or resistance in the High Observer’s voice now.
“Good. Bring whatever else is necessary for outgoing communication as well.”
Ydar nodded.
“Everyone, please gather in one hour,” said Kalac. “And spread the word.” Then it turned and abruptly left the Observatory.
Hudka, the humans, and I followed behind, down the endless spiral staircase that lead to the bottom of Dynusk’s Column. We soon lost sight of Kalac, though. My originator was practically running.
“You should give the Vorem general the stupid Q-sik,” said Becky as we walked. “I don’t want to die over some fight that you guys probably started in the first place.”
Had we started the fight with the Vorem? It turned out there was a lot we didn’t know about our own past.
No one else spoke during our long descent except Hudka, who occasionally complained about its aching fel’grazes. I believe this grumbling was for my benefit. My grand-originator was trying to enforce some sense of normalcy on a universe that suddenly seemed insane. But I could tell that old Hudka’s is’pog wasn’t in it.
By the time we reached Ryzz Plaza, it was nearly full. I guess news travels fast—when that news is that monsters are real and that they’ve come to destroy you.
Kalac stood quietly beneath the statue of Jalasu Jhuk, watching the crowd swell. One by one, my originator was joined by Glyac, Dyves, Loghoz, and, at last, Sheln.
Loghoz looked around. “By Great Jalasu Jhuk of the Stars,” it cried, “let this, the eight hundred eighteenth Grand Conclave of the Xotonian people, commence! The first to speak will be Kalac, the Chief of the Council!” I quietly translated the proceedings for the humans.
“By now you’ve probably heard the rumors,” said Kalac. “I am here to confirm that they are true. The Vorem are real. They are here. And they want the Q-sik.”
Total silence descended on the plaza. There was no whispering or murmuring now. Six thousand Xotonians stared back at Kalac, utterly lost. They wanted someone to protect them. To save them from a waking nightmare.
“All right. As usual, I guess it’s up to me to inject a little common sense into the proceedings,” said Sheln. “We know what those Observers say they think they may have seen. But I guess I need to remind everyone that we still face a clear and present danger. An immediate threat that we know is real. Folks, it’s called the hoo-mins. They’re coming back!”
Becky scowled as I translated this part.
“In fact, I, for one,” continued Sheln, “have to object to the fact that there are four hoo-mins here, right now, spying on this Grand Con—”
“Quiet, Sheln!” screamed someone from the crowd.
“Shut your fat gul’orp, you moron!” cried someone else.
“The Idiot Conclave is one block over!” yelled a third.
Surprisingly, none of these outbursts came from Hudka.
“I understand your skepticism,” said Kalac. “High Observer Ydar, please show them.”
Ydar, standing nearby, nodded and wheeled forward a large rolling view-screen (the very same one that Kalac had used to make the asteroid-quake presentation). Ydar punched a button, and the display switched to a live feed from the surface telescopes. The menacing bulk of the Vorem battle crusier now filled the screen.
Somewhere, a Xotonian child shrieked. In an instant, there was complete pandemonium in the plaza. Many began to convulse with uncontrollable fear. Others fainted where they stood. Several fights broke out. A few Xotonians simply ran off. The sight of their deepest fears made real was too much to bear.
“Please try to remain calm,” yelled Kalac over the sound of the crowd’s anguish. “I want all of you to know that I accept full responsibility for this situation. The Vorem leader, General Ridian, revealed that they were able to locate the Q-sik when we fired it a few days ago. As you know, this was part of the plan—my plan—to rid Gelo of the human miners. You placed your trust in me as a leader, and I failed you. For that, I am truly sorry.”
At this, many paused uneasily. Despite what Kalac had said, they must have known that they bore a share of the responsibility as well. After all, they had voted for it.
“Ridian has given us an ultimatum,” Kalac continued. “He says that if we give him the Q-sik, we will be spared. If not, he will destroy Gelo. I don’t have a reason to doubt that he has the power. We need to make a decision.”
“Well, I, for one, find this to be an incredibly easy choice,” shrieked Dyves, its four thol’grazes flapping wildly. “We should give Ridian what he wants, and then go on with our lives. I fail to see how this solution isn’t completely obvious.”
“Agreed!” moaned Loghoz. “Looking at that battle cruiser, I see an enemy that is far, far more advanced than the humans of Eo. Realistically, how can we hope to resist a species that can travel faster than the speed of light?”
“If the Vorem are real,” said Dyves, “then who knows what else from the old stories is true? Maybe they can raise the dead and breathe fire too!”
The crowd seemed to be persuaded. Raw hysteria had given way to hushed terror. Fear always has its appeal for crowds of Xotonians.
“Are you two kidding me?” someone cried out. “The more you talk, the more I think Sheln might not actually be the dumbest member of the Council.” This time, of course, it was Hudka.
Loghoz sighed. “Surprise, surprise: Hudka wants to talk,” it said. “If the Council agrees, Hudka may address the Grand—”
Hudka didn’t wait for a vote. “We cannot give up the Q-sik to the Vorem! That Ridian is meaner than a thyss-cat, but he knows a thing or two that we don’t. Sure, it’s always been our musty old tradition to guard the Vault. But did we ever think about why? I now believe it’s the whole reason we’re here. Gelo was Jalasu Jhuk’s hiding place for the Q-sik. It’s why we exist!”
“What do you mean ‘why we exist’?” said Dyves. “We don’t exist for a particular reason any more than—than nosts do.” Dyves pointed to a clump of the small white mushrooms growing nearby.
“No,” said Hudka. “I mean that it’s why we exist on Gelo. All those legends about the evil Vorem chasing Jalasu Jhuk all over space before it came here, why, I think they’re true too! Jalasu Jhuk stole the Q-sik and then found the perfect hiding spot for it: an insignificant asteroid in the middle of nowhere. Astronomically speaking, that is. Then wily ol’ Jhuk left some Xotonians here to guard it: our ancestors.”
“Pardon me,” said Glyac, who had remained calm (or perhaps asleep) so far. “But wouldn’t that imply that there could be other Xotonians out there in the universe?”
Hudka shrugged. “I don’t know about that. I suppose it’s possible. But I do know that our Great Progenitor’s top priority was keeping the Q-sik from the Vorem. I’m starting to suspect that it’s more powerful than we ever imagined.”
“Speaking as one who has fired the Q-sik,” said Kalac, “I can attest to that. We used the minimum power setting on the device, yet it still vaporized kilometers of solid rock in an insta
nt. And where we fired, it created a—a rip in space. A tiny wormhole, no bigger than the tip of my brip. This wormhole sealed itself almost immediately in a burst of dark energy, but the effect was . . . incredible. Terrifying.”
“Exactly why we can’t let them have it!” said Hudka. “If we give it over to them, then who knows how much destruction they will cause?”
“Pardon me, but who cares?” cried Loghoz. “If we don’t give up the Q-sik, it doesn’t matter. We’ll all be dead! If I understand your argument, you’re asking us to concern ourselves with some hypothetical future danger instead of our own immediate and certain destruction! How does that make any sense at all?”
At this, the crowd began to mumble. There was a certain logic to Loghoz’s position.
“Look, everybody knows I’m no fan of the Vorem,” said Sheln, “but these are extraordinary times. I say we contact this Ridian and propose an alliance against the hoo-mins. We can fight those two-eyed freaks together!”
The crowd erupted in disdain at Sheln’s obvious overreach.
“Uh, excuse me,” said Hollins quietly. I translated his words into Xotonian.
“Can I have, er, permission to address the, uh, Conclave?” asked Hollins, speaking more loudly now. The Xotonian populace grew quiet.
“Absolutely not!” cried Sheln. “Now the hoo-mins want to dictate our domestic policy? Out of the question!”
“We should listen to the boy,” said Hudka.
“He’s a real oog-baller! Let him talk!” cried someone from the crowd.
“If the Council agrees,” said Kalac, “the human Hollins may address the Conclave. All in favor?”
A quick vote was held. The result was three to two in favor, with Sheln and Loghoz voting against.
Hollins cleared his throat. “Cer’em,” he said. He was still pronouncing it wrong, but the crowd gave a light acknowledgment of his effort. Hollins certainly had gotten a lot of use out of that one word.
“With all due respect,” he continued, “Ridian isn’t going to destroy Gelo. Not yet, anyway.”
“Oh, so hoo-mins can read minds now?” said Sheln.
“They can?” said Dvyes, clapping its thol’grazes over its head for telepathic protection.
“Hey, hoo-min,” said Sheln, “I’m thinking of a color right now. What color could it be?”
“Stupid isn’t a color! Cram it, you shaved cave-ape!” This time it was me yelling at Sheln, in a clear departure from my role as translator.
Hollins was surprised by my outburst, but he continued. “Look, Ridian won’t destroy Gelo before he gets what he wants. Because doing that would mean destroying the Q-sik itself.”
“So? Who knows what these Vorem are capable of?” asked Dyves.
“What we do know is that they’ve apparently been looking for this thing for a long, long time. That means they want it really badly. Ridian won’t risk losing it. On the other hand, once you give it up, then Ridian has no reason not to destroy Gelo. The Q-sik is the only leverage you have over him. Turning it over is a bad move, strategically.”
“He’s right,” said Kalac.
“That means they’ll need to come down here and get it,” said Hollins. “If they invade, you can at least fight back.”
“How?” cried Loghoz, bursting into tears. “At least we have better weapons than the humans, but how can we possibly fight . . . that?” It pointed to the battle cruiser in despair. The jagged black ship, thick with guns, looked like death incarnate.
“Permission to address the Council?” I said. “Not as a translator, I mean.”
“Oh, great,” said Sheln. “Let’s all hear what the littlest hoo-min lover has to say.”
“I think there is a way for us to fight,” I said. What I was about to say next was a risk, but I had no choice. “In the Unclaimed Tunnels, there are ruins—a place we once called Flowing-Stone—and there we found ships—three armed starfighters. I think we can get them up and running.”
Once more the crowd lost control. The idea of actual starfighters existing on Gelo was incredible. It changed everything. Those who had fainted before fainted again. And a few new fights even erupted.
“Ridian doesn’t know that we have them,” I yelled over the uproar. “We can surprise him.”
“Our tunnels are defensible,” said Hudka. “We know them like the back of our thol’grazes, but the Vorem will be stumbling around in the dark. With the starfighters—”
“Look, if these starfighters actually exist—which I severely doubt,” said Sheln, “then we should use them to attack the humans!” More booing from the crowd.
“Aha! So you do know how to say the word correctly!” I yelled.
“I meant ‘hoo-mins’! Whatever! Shut up!”
“But speaking of the humans,” said Dyves, its eyes moist, “doesn’t Kalac’s previous point about fighting a war hold true here too? Even if, by some miracle, we were able to fight off this awful Vorem attack, now they know where to find us. What’s to stop them from coming back until they win? What’s the use?”
“I’m not so sure that the rest of the Vorem do know where we are,” said Kalac. “Ridian seemed awfully proud of having found Gelo all by himself. Something tells me he hasn’t shared the location with others of his kind, lest someone else steal the credit.”
“Hmm,” said Hudka. “If the old stories are true, then the little ships—the triremes—don’t have faster-than-light capability. Only the battle cruiser can generate a hyperdrive field. So if we could just take out the battle cruiser quickly enough—its hyperdrive and communications systems, at least—then word would never get back to the ol’ Vorem imperator on the other side of the galaxy. The location of Gelo would remain a secret!”
More noise from the crowd, approving now. They were warming to the idea.
“The point is, we have a chance,” I said. And with that, I explained to the gathered crowd the rest of my plan.
When I was done, Kalac addressed the Conclave. “The time has come for us as a people to make a decision,” said Kalac. “Do we give up the Q-sik and hope to be spared, or do we fight the Vorem knowing full well . . . that we may not prevail?”
And so the Xotonian people chose, by a vote of 5,872 to 217, to fight.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“What happened?” asked Nicki as the Conclave began to disperse.
“We’re going to war,” I said.
The crowd in the plaza was thinning. All able-bodied adult Xotonians were to report back in one hour to begin training and preparation for the defense of our tunnels. There was much work to do.
“Though it’s impossible to know, I believe we’ve made the right decision,” said Kalac, walking toward us. “Chorkle, I want to thank you and Hollins for speaking up.”
“You’re welcome,” I said.
“You know, I think one day you’ll be a better Chief of the Council than I am,” said Kalac. I was shocked. Kalac thought I was capable of leading the Xotonian people?
“But right now, we have our work cut out for us,” said Kalac. “I can’t believe we actually have starships—a secret you should not have kept from me, by the way. But I’m not so sure how we’ll use them. It’s been many ages since the time of Jalasu Jhuk. None of us knows how to fly the things.”
“No,” I said, “but they do.” I pointed to the young humans.
“Are you sure that they want to help us?” asked Kalac. “They’d be risking their lives, and, honestly, we haven’t done much to earn their goodwill.”
I sighed. Kalac spoke the truth.
“I can ask,” I said. And I did.
“Chorkle, speaking for myself, I just want to go home,” said Nicki. “Our parents are going to be here so soon.”
“Not soon enough,” said Hollins. “If Ridian keeps his word, the Vorem invasion of Gelo will already be underway by the
time they return. The Vorem will attack here, and then they’ll move on to Earth.”
“But . . . we’re just kids,” said Nicki.
“Yeah,” said Hollins. “And right now we’re also the best chance the human race—and the Xotonian race—have got. ‘Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.’ That was T.R.’s motto.” He turned to me. “You can count me in, Chorkle. The Vorem need to be stopped.”
“I’m in too,” said Nicki. “I’m ninety percent sure I can bring those ships back online but . . . I’m no great pilot. I don’t think I can fly a starfighter.”
“Each ship will need a gunner too,” I said. “And nobody is better than you at shooting down alien spaceships.”
“Chorkle, Xenostryfe III is a video game!” she said.
“Exactly,” I said. “Reality won’t stand a chance.”
Nicki sighed and then nodded.
“Well, I, for one, am an excellent pilot,” said Little Gus, attempting to balance Hudka’s cane on his outstretched finger as Hudka struggled in vain to get it back. “I’d be happy to fly a super dangerous and technically difficult combat mission.”
Immediately, I thought back to Little Gus wedging his rocket-bike between the two boulders of Jehe Canyon, his 22 percent pilot test score, his uncanny ability to shoot his own teammates in Xenostryfe III.
I said, “Well, maybe you, er—”
“Gus . . . I can’t let you go into a war,” Hollins said, placing a hand on Little Gus’s shoulder.
“What?” cried Little Gus, shrugging off Hollins’s hand. “What are you talking about, dude?”
“I’m sorry,” said Hollins. “But you’re only ten years old. If you got hurt, your dad and my mom would fight each other to see who gets to kill me first.”
“But you’re just thirteen! Nicki’s twelve! Are you telling me twelve is somehow the magic space war cutoff age? I want to help!”
“If we’re being honest, there’s a big chance that this plan won’t work. If the worst happens,” said Hollins, “we can’t all be aboard those starfighters. At least one of us needs to survive this for the sake of all our parents and the people watching back on Earth. You have to stay back here, where it’s safer. I’m sorry.” Little Gus growled and swung Hudka’s cane hard, knocking a stone across the plaza. He looked more dejected than I’d ever seen him.
Space Rocks! Page 18