The only people I care about are gone! she thought. Why did Matsuri turn traitor? –Control yourself, Bulls. Right now, get to Edy before it’s too late.
This wasn’t the wisest plan, but it was the only one she had. Tired, sore, and scorched, Bullseye gathered her strength as she waited for the security drone to look away. When he did, she vanished from sight and slipped through the crack in the door.
Adrenaline racing, the accused Youth ran to the prison wing of the compound’s sublevel. Still dematerialized, she ignored the drone at the guard station, found onscreen where Edlyn was being held, and ran down the hall of prison cells. At last she found the correct cell, bypassed the bars to enter the cell, and returned to physical form. Here, Bullseye pulled to a halt.
Edlyn rocked and shook where she sat huddled on the floor of the empty cell. She was factoring. Fungus already grew from her pores, and her skin was a ghastly gray. Her veins were dark and bulging. Edlyn’s now red, bloodshot eyes were the only colored feature of her body. Her long, beautiful hair had fallen out in piles. When the infected woman saw Bullseye, she seemed to recognize her student.
“Edy.” Knowing she had the treatment in her own veins, Bullseye knelt beside her instructor.
“You’re…alive?” The look of relief on Edlyn’s face twisted into one of pain as a convulsion shook her. “Get…out.” She frothed at the mouth, but she struggled to speak. “He’ll…factor…you too.”
“I’m worth too much. He won’t factor me. There’s an investigation.” Bullseye felt uncertain, but she shook her head. “How could you join the rebels, Edy? You should’ve known it was suicide. The Dominion is safe, as long as you do what Cruelthor says.”
“There’s so much more…” Edlyn coughed and scratched fungus off her neck. “Your arm… Special Mark.”
Bullseye glanced at her shoulder. “My birthmark? What about it?”
“Prophecy on outside… You would destroy…”
That widened the Youth’s eyes. “What prophecy? What are you talking about?”
“If he thinks…you’re a traitor…he’ll be more afraid…of you…than ever. Your worth…won’t matter.” Edlyn let out a sob. “Kill me…please.”
Bullseye looked away in disgust at the suggestion. “I can’t.”
“Please… What’s one more…murder…to you?”
I can’t, Bullseye thought. I can’t! Why is this happening?
She stood and looked at the factoring woman. Then, she bent over and held Edlyn’s shaking head in her hands. The experienced killer began to cry for the first time since she could remember. Finally, she snapped her instructor’s neck. Edlyn went limp, and Bullseye saw that the factoring body had stopped shaking.
Bullseye turned and fled back to the medical room so her absence wouldn’t be noticed and reported to her unfeeling, tyrannical brother. For the first time, she was afraid of him.
11
“Return to Earth”
A gust of wind blew sand across Zaak Kandoya’s face. The thirteen-year-old boy was lean and fit, and his brown hair was long enough to hang over his forehead, covering his blue eyes. He was tan from exposure to the Phantasyan sun, but his teenage body was no worse for the wear. He was an attractive young man, but there was no one on Phantasya to pat his already sufficient ego. This ego, Uncle Trok had told him, was definitely inherited from his father.
Zaak sat up and stretched. He hadn’t meant to sleep outside, and he still wore his jeans and dark T-shirt from the day before.
Oh, well, he thought. Not the first time. Won’t be the last.
Looking around, he saw the familiar dunes, dunes, and dunes of Phantasya. This desert planet was all he’d ever called home, although he’d been born on a planet called Earth in a galaxy several billion light-years away. Trok had brought him from Earth to Phantasya when Zaak was a toddler, and Zaak detested the sand more every day.
This planet, thought Zaak, offers little entertainment.
He knew he wasn’t the only human living here. Trok had told him that, long ago, people from Earth traveled through the portals and settled the connecting worlds, including Phantasya. Zaak thought meeting these settlers could’ve contributed to his knowledge somehow, but Trok forbade him from interacting with the locals or interfering with their lives. Trok was big on leaving things the way they naturally were. Trok himself seldom visit the Phantasyans, but he often went to the Leks who lived on Rowen, the blue water moon hanging in the Phantasyan sky. Of course Zaak was never allowed to tag along. Trok assured him this was because of the dangerous raiders on Rowen who’d come from Earth only a short time ago and terrorized the Leks. Zaak personally thought Trok’s concerns unreasonable; Trok said this made him something like a typical teenager.
Zaak sensed Trok behind him before he heard his uncle’s voice call, “Ready for another day of training, kiddo?”
Zaak flexed his arms before shaking the sand out of his hair and rising to his feet. He saw that Trok looked no different this morning than he had any other morning. Literally. Trok hadn’t aged a day or needed a haircut since Zaak could remember, and he always wore the same dark coat. He didn’t even bother changing when they sparred in the heat of the day.
I’m sick of training, thought Zaak. The way I see it, I can’t get any fitter. I’ve mastered the martial art forms, boxing, kickboxing, randori, knife fighting, wrestling. Trok's trained me to use any weapon I get my hands on. I’ve mastered my training! Besides, my mutate-genes make my senses ten times stronger than a normal human’s. With all this talent and training, why is Trok wasting my time? Enough already! Let me get on with the Kota Warrior mission! I’m old enough.
“What are we doing today, Uncle?”
Trok smiled, evidently reading Zaak’s annoyance. “We’ll take another look at our history. I found a battle between the Dominion and the rebels that’ll be beneficial for you to observe. You need to learn more about strategy in combat. The soldiers of that day used weapons and tactics similar to what your enemies will use when you return to Earth.”
Zaak nodded his comprehension. Trok supplemented his physical training with history lessons so Zaak could gain a better understanding of Earth. The fact that Trok took Zaak into history was helpful. Somehow, Trok used the portals to jump around in past time. They’d popped in for wartime histories mostly, but Trok had also taken him to less stressful times. Zaak had visited the Renaissance, the English court, and America of Trok’s day. They’d sat in on gladiator games, basketball games, book clubs. They’d gone to tea parties and bar mitzvahs. Zaak had met Gandhi, Tolkien, and President Lincoln.
These history trips are a little overwhelming, thought Zaak. But I really want off Phantasya. Trok promises I can move to current-day Earth when I’m ready, and then I can finally work on the Kota Warrior mission. That’ll make all this training worth it.
Trok made a motion with his hand, and a portal opened before them on the sand. Zaak stepped into the red and yellow lights, and he felt their pulsing warmth as Trok closed the portal.
Past time
Another portal opened, and they stepped out onto a dirty street. Crumbling buildings lined the city blocks. It was quite different from the scenery they’d just left, but Zaak had traveled with his uncle enough times to adjust to any new environment. People ran everywhere Zaak looked, and gunfire erupted not far up the street. The sky was filled with smoke, and the evening sky glowed orange from fires farther downtown in the broken city.
We’re in Boston, thought Zaak. I recognize that skyline. We’ve visiting this city a couple of times.
Trok handed Zaak the electronic pager that would signal Trok’s armband if he got into trouble. “I want you to stay here and watch the soldier’s techniques. I’ll be right back. Remember, don’t-”
“I know,” Zaak yelled back over a burst of gunfire. “I won’t interfere. We’ll let whatever happens happen. You’ve told me a thousand times.”
“Just don’t do anything. You’d be amazed what can be changed d
uring these trips through history. Don’t interfere. Just observe.”
Making an ‘I know’ face, Zaak tucked the electronic pager into a back pocket of his jeans. Trok made sure his armband pager was on before he turned to walk up the street.
Zaak watched after his uncle with admiration. He was seeing more and more as he got older that he resembled Trok. Although Trok was old – probably in his forties – he was still in good shape. Working out with his pupil kept him fit, and no one would guess he was really something like five hundred and fifty-some years old. The way Trok moved as if he didn’t notice the environment made him like a ghost, and Zaak always watched his uncle’s saunter with awe.
He’s kinda awesome, thought Zaak. Trok’s told me stories of his days on Earth as an office worker, but it’s hard to imagine him as anything other than what he is now. He’s my own-
A boy’s cries brought Zaak’s attention back to the fighting up the street. A young boy stood in the middle of a boulevard beside a woman’s dead body. A squad of Dominion soldiers approached, but the boy was too terrified to move. Two soldiers broke away from the squad to take the boy captive.
Zaak made a face. Trok would be upset, but he couldn’t have meant for Zaak to stand by and do nothing if he could help. What would saving a little boy of the past change? It wouldn’t hurt anything, as far as Zaak could figure. Trok had taught him what could and couldn’t be tampered with, and he didn’t think this qualified as one of the things that couldn’t.
Besides, thought Zaak, Trok wants me to observe the soldier’s techniques, so I might as well give them a challenge to see how they react. Right?
Deciding to risk it, Zaak looked back just to make sure Trok was gone. He then ran up the street between crashed vehicles, using the wreckage as cover from stray gunfire. Finally, he snuck onto the boulevard as the two soldiers reached the boy.
“Hey, ass hats!”
Zaak leapt over the woman’s dead body and flew into the nearest soldier, tackling the man to the ground. The other soldier tried to pull Zaak off, but Zaak kicked out the man’s legs and knocked him to the ground. Then both soldiers wrestled him, and Zaak grunted as they swung at him. They stunk of sweat and blood to his overactive sense of smell, but he kicked one off while punching the other in the face.
The soldiers fell to the grimy pavement in pain, and Zaak took the opportunity to snatch up the boy. He swept the child into his arms and ran back across the cluttered road as more soldiers arrived on the scene. Zaak hurtled over debris in the street and made it safely to an alley. He put the boy on his feet, and the child ran away down the alley and around the corner of a building.
Guess that’s all I can do for him, thought Zaak. Good luck, kid.
Zaak’s mutate-genes alerted his sense of hearing, and the sound of rushing footsteps caught his ear. He looked for cover and opted to dive into a pile of trash. It smelled horrid, but Zaak crouched in the trash as soldiers entered the alley. They ran after the little boy in the wrong direction.
Ha! thought Zaak.
When the scene was clear, he emerged from his hiding place. Smiling to himself, he wiped grime off his shirt and walked out of the alley. He took a few steps and froze.
In front of an open portal, Trok stood with crossed arms. “I’ve told you what a thousand times?” He shook his head and smiled. “Let’s go.”
Zaak grinned sheepishly as he entered the portal after his uncle.
Real time
Immediately, they stood again on the sand of Phantasya. Zaak recognized the unending dunes with anything but love, and he turned to the small oasis where his tent was pitched.
The swaying palms overhead showed that today was as breezy as any other. The green foliage was a welcome relief from the sea of yellow behind him, and Zaak saw the blue moon of Rowen through the sunlit leaves. Zaak smiled to himself. The moon often kept him company whenever Trok was away. Trok was away quite often.
Zaak sighed as he picked his way over the harder dirt to where the tent was staked. The small shelter gave him enough room to sleep comfortably, but it wasn’t good for much else. It did have shade, though, so he headed inside with his uncle.
Inside, Zaak sat on his bed of palm leaves and linens to strip off his soiled shirt. Trok sat on a crate on the other side of the tent, and he tossed Zaak the water jug. Zaak caught it with one hand. It was then he noticed Trok preparing for a lecture.
Great, thought Zaak as he drank. Trok always gets that look on his face when he’s about to pontificate. This lecture’s topic: My interference with that little boy. Maybe if I apologize I won’t have to hear another scolding.
He wiped water from his lips. “Sorry, Uncle. You’ve told me repeatedly not to do anything during our trips through history. I should be more careful. You’ve said that the shirt I wear or the person I smile at on the street might change history. I shouldn’t have stepped in and fought for that boy. I-”
“It’s not about that. I’m actually very proud of you for saving the boy.” Trok folded his arms in his ordinary way.
How does he manage to look uptight and calm at the same time? thought Zaak.
“You remember the Kota prophecies about the children who’ll wipe evil from Earth?”
Zaak rolled his eyes.
Of course I know the prophecies, he thought. They’re the driving force behind my life, aren’t they?
“You mean the prophecies you’ve quoted more times than you’ve told me to let whatever happens happen?
’The Mark
By the Bearers brought into time,
fulfillment shall come in a Mark,
and hope in four children born.
Evil will flee Earth before the four Marked.
‘The Warriors
The marked children will fulfill
the work set out for them.
First the Leader and the Hunter, joined.
Second the Seer and the Fighter, compelled.’”
Trok smiled. “Those are the ones.”
“And I’m supposed to be the Hunter. My half-sister and I are from one family, and she’s the Leader. The Seer is the second born, but of a different family, and the Seer’s sibling is the Fighter. How am I doing so far?”
“Top of the class. I’ve been wondering lately if you’re ready to begin the next phase in preparation of hunting for the other Warriors. I think it’s time to take you to current-day Earth.”
Zaak let out a yelp of pure joy. “Sand, you mean I finally get to leave this… this wonderful planet?”
Chuckling, Trok insisted, “You need to know what you’re heading into, so we’re going to visit. I’m not sending you back permanently just yet.”
Still, thought Zaak, it’s a step in the right direction.
“You’ll love Earth. It’s a remarkable world, despite everything. For starters, their modern technology is advanced beyond what little you have here.”
Zaak looked over at his solar heater, which was the only piece of machinery he owned. “Imagine.”
Trok smiled. “You’ve learned enough from our travels through history. I’ve shown you what happened with the Euro Civil War, the DRK virus, and the Dominion’s global takeover. You understand everything that’s happened, correct?”
Zaak nodded.
“And I’ve trained you in every style of fighting under Earth’s sun. You’re comfortable with your physical training?”
Again, Zaak nodded.
“Good. Next, I’ll teach you how to function in Earth’s current society.” Trok sighed as he looked around the tent. “I’ve kept you isolated for a long time, Zaak. And I haven’t been around as often as I wanted. I’ve left you alone in this oasis many times, and I’m sorry for that. There’s so much else I-”
“I know the gig,” Zaak assured him. “I’ve also had the Interceder Prophecy drilled into my head, remember? You have a responsibility to scour time and find things to help us.”
“Yes, but even when I’m here I’m not really here.”
&nb
sp; “Yeah, I’ve noticed how you don’t seem to be all here… Not that I’m making a judgment on your mental status.”
Trok laughed. “Because I’m the only person you’ve learned how to be a man from, you act peculiar the way I do. I’ve trained you to study people, but not how to interact with them. I just don’t connect with people in any normal way, and I’ve passed that on to you. Really, I don’t remember how to relate to people. Honestly, I can barely remember what the sunshine feels like anymore. It was so long ago…” He shook his head in reverie, then moved on. “In any case, we need to work on your people skills. Besides learning to be a man on the individual level, you need to learn how to operate in Earth’s current society. It might take a few more years.”
Great, thought Zaak.
He tried not to glare out the tent at Phantasya. “So how are you going to teach me to be normal?”
“Same way I’ve taught you everything else.” Trok smiled and rose from his seat. He made the motion to open a portal, and a burst of swirling light opened just outside the tent. “After you.”
Zaak quickly grabbed a new shirt from his bag, threw it on, and stood with his uncle to face the portal. He always wished he could see what awaited him on the other side, but only Trok knew how these things worked. Instead trusting his uncle for the millionth time, Zaak stepped into the lights.
He emerged into a storage room. Trok stepped out of the portal right after him and made the motion that closed the swirl. Trok apparently knew his way around, and he stepped to the door and led Zaak out into a short hall.
They were in a restaurant. The sounds and smells of the place invaded Zaak’s hyperactive senses, but he followed Trok through the crowds of customers. The exit door stood between large sets of windows, and Trok pushed the door open to lead Zaak out to an even busier street.
Outside, Zaak’s senses flooded him, and he had to close his eyes. With focus, he dulled his senses the way he’d learned. Once he could handle the surrounding environment, he opened his eyes and looked around. Trok also was admiring the scene, although he couldn’t possibly appreciate the world around them as much as Zaak.
The Kota Page 14