by West, Shay
Ted couldn't let that happen.
Before exhaustion overcame him, he had already begun planning a daring rescue of his missing Chosen.
* * *
Ted awoke to the strangest sensation he had ever felt. It was warm, wet, and tickly. He opened one eye and laughed aloud as he saw No Name's nose just inches from his own. She opened her mouth and wiggled her lips as she touched his face with her soft, whiskered nose. He reached up to pat the sides of her nose. Her beautiful, liquid brown eyes closed as she enjoyed the scratch.
“Are you going to just lie about all day?”
She shook her head, whinnied, and rolled her eyes at him. To prove her point, she got to her feet, though a little unsteadily. She looked down at him and tossed her head as if to say, see, I told you I could do it!
Ted yawned and rubbed his eyes. He would need to sleep more than a few hours to regain his full strength. He stood and gave No Name a thorough examination. She was unhurt, but still weak and shaky. She grazed for a few moments on the sparse brown grass in the clearing around the fire before laying back down to rest.
“General.”
He turned and greeted 2nd Lieutenant Tess Golden. He wasn't surprised to see her. Of all his Chosen, Tess was usually the first to step up and offer aid, be it to carry messages, fill a gap in defenses, rebuilding after an attack. She put her heart and soul into her role as Protector.
Those traits will serve her well in the future.
“Lieutenant, how far to the encampment?”
“Not far, maybe fifteen miles to the east.” She handed him a water skin with ice-cold water.
He drank deeply. “How did you find me?”
“It was blind luck that we were even searching this area, sir.” Tess shook her head, her unruly braid swinging from side to side. “It's as if fate intervened.”
“Perhaps it did.” His lips twitched as he fought the urge to smile. Tess did not have much of a sense of humor and would be quite upset if she thought he was laughing at her. She believed wholeheartedly in fate and destiny. Little did she know the role that fate had in store for her.
“Spread the word that we'll be leaving within the hour,” Ted ordered.
“So soon? Shouldn't you rest another day or two?”
“We don't have time to rest if we're to plan a rescue, Lieutenant.”
Tess blinked slowly. “Rescue?”
“Yes, rescue. Has the cold damaged your hearing?”
Her face reddened. “I'll see to it. Sir.” She added the last as an afterthought.
Ted fought the urge to call her back, to explain his seemingly rash orders. When any of the Jhinn or the Protectors were taken, there was never a rescue. They were left to whatever horrible fate the Horde decided to inflict upon them. The Horde easily outnumbered the entire Jhinn camp, let alone the handful of men and women sworn to protect them. He had always refused rescue, knowing the futility of such an act.
And yet, he had no choice but to attempt the very thing he'd always ordered against.
He went in search of something to eat to break his fast. The morning was bitterly cold and he briefly regretted that his rumbling stomach was taking him away from the roaring fire. He heard voices coming from several different directions. He nodded in silent approval. The men had set up a perimeter with the General, No Name, and the large fire in the center.
He could see the crumbling ruins of several buildings behind the bare, skeletal branches of the trees. A strange curiosity overcame him and he turned to the left to explore one of them. He passed through a gaping hole in the wall and stepped into a small room. There were small piles of debris everywhere and he used the toe of his boot to move aside the top of one of the piles, which crumbled into dust. His foot hit something hard that fell down the debris pile and came to rest on the floor with a dull clunking sound.
The blue paint on the miniature automobile was chipped and faded. The wheels still spun. Forka pushed the tiny car across the floor. It didn't go far as the floor was covered in a thick layer of dust. He picked up the car and placed it in his pocket.
He examined the room more closely but found nothing else of interest. His stomach gave a loud rumble, and he exited the dwelling to complete his search for breakfast.
The sky was a leaden gray. The air had a bite to it that smelled of snow. The General regretted leaving the bearskin coat back at the bonfire. He sniffed the frigid air, caught a whiff of bacon, and followed the scent to a frying pan full of sizzling, thick slices of meat.
The men welcomed their General and gave him a plate heaping with eggs and several crispy pieces of bacon, edges burned black. Gentra had no food resembling bacon and he had come to love the succulent, greasy meat. Most food on Gentra was vegetarian in nature. The only meat consumed was scrago. The animals did not have to be killed to harvest their flesh. Scrago had dozens of fleshy appendages dangling from their long, sinuous bodies. Harvesters would cut off some of these appendages, which had no feeling, so cutting caused no pain.
“Eat fast. We leave within the hour,” Ted said around a mouthful of eggs.
Robert Marshall blinked slowly, pulling the fork out of his mouth slowly. “Staying another night would be—”
“We're leaving. Eat and gear up.” Ted marched off, nearly throwing his empty plate at one of the Protectors, eager to avoid a confrontation with his second in command.
I'll need to rely on my authority to keep them in line.
As he walked through the camp observing the men and women, he ignored the pointed stares and shouted questions. He checked on No Name, stroking her soft nose. Ted handed her reins to a Protector.
“Keep her at a slow pace. I'll be keeping a close eye on you,” Ted said gruffly.
He mounted a horse another Protector brought to him, ice blue eyes roaming across the camp, making sure the men were mounted and ready to ride. With a swift kick of his heels, he moved to the head of the group and made for the Jhinn encampment.
* * *
When the party arrived at the Jhinn encampment, Ted dismounted amidst a flurry of activity. The townfolk were hovering, hoping to hear news of what had transpired in the ruins of Denver. He swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat. The trip back had been exhausting and had given him the opportunity to push his missing Chosen to the back of his mind.
Here, among the Jhinn, he was reminded of the absence in their questioning eyes like a slap in the face.
Fighting down bile, Ted turned and made for the bathhouse.
When Widow Foster saw him enter, she nodded in greeting and shooed her four children to the back of the building, giving the General the privacy he usually desired.
Ted used a piece of thick leather to grab the hot handles of the buckets and poured scalding hot water into the center tub. He then used buckets of cold to temper the water. He preferred it on the hot side; it reminded him of swimming in the super-heated water back home.
He tested the temperature, and then stripped down. He stepped into the tub, hissing as he slowly sank into the luxurious warmth. He grabbed a cake of yucca soap off a wooden table and a soft piece of leather and scrubbed the grime and sweat from his body. He lathered up his hands and scrubbed his greasy, dirty hair.
Being dirty like this was unheard of on Gentra. The only thing one had to worry about was the occasional build-up of algae, though that did not feel as repugnant as sweat and dirt.
As he lay soaking, Sloan's face swam into focus in his mind. Ted tried to force the image away, unwilling to witness the bloody face of one of the Chosen, the possibility that he might be dead.
After rinsing the soap off, he stepped from the tub and dried off with a piece of supple, absorbent cloth. He dressed in clean clothes and called out for Widow Foster's oldest daughter, Jan. Her daughters often shaved the Protectors for free.
He took a seat in a wooden chair and Jan proceeded to trim his hair and beard. When she was finished, it still looked disheveled. He looked at his reflection in a small mirr
or and sighed. It is as good as it is like to get. Ted could never get his wiry hair to cooperate.
He gathered up his dingy clothes and ran back to the bunkhouse. He hadn't bothered with a coat and the temperature outside was below freezing.
“May I have a word?”
Ted groaned inwardly. He had hoped to escape to his area of the bunkhouse without encountering anyone. The last thing he wanted was to explain his seemingly rash plan to rescue those that had been taken by the Horde.
“Word's been getting around that you mean to go after the men that were taken,” Robert said.
“That's right, Lieutenant.” Ted met the man's eyes, bringing every bit of authority to bear.
“You've always argued against rescues.”
“Maybe I'm tired of letting the Horde steal our men, women, and children without a fight.”
Robert snorted. “That's bull and you know it. I've seen your face when you watch the mothers crying over their lost children. If it bothered you, you would have gone a lot sooner than now.”
Ted clenched and unclenched his jaw, trying to get a handle on his warring emotions. Should I tell him the truth of the Chosen? If I do that, everything will fall apart.
Everything has already fallen apart!
Ted growled as the voice of Gerok filled his head. Of all the Guardians, he had been the one to voice the loudest opposition to the Masters' plan to send them early to their worlds to watch over and train their Chosen.
Perhaps he was right after all.
“I make the decisions, and my orders are final. Is that clear?”
Robert narrowed his eyes and cleared his throat, the pulse at his temple beating in time with his heart. “What exactly are your orders?”
“We leave at first light for the Horde camp. We bring only Martha, Brad, Brent, Mark, and Tess. Tell no one else. I'd rather keep this as quiet as possible.”
“Yes, sir.” Robert turned on his heel and left, back ramrod straight.
Ted sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. The hurt was evident in the posture of his second in command, and he hated keeping the best of his men in the dark. But doubt silenced his voice before he could put sound to words that might have implications more far-reaching than just this one planet. As he lay in bed, he sent a silent prayer to the God of this world, then fell into a troubled sleep.
KROMIN
--Describe the planet to me.
Leader 70521 sat quietly in her domicile. She wrote down the details she was receiving from clone 9684. It had traveled far from Kromin, about 500,000 parsecs, yet the signals from its mind were coming in fairly well, though faint. Mirka had to fight a feeling of pride. This was the furthest any of the Chosen had been able to communicate.
It was important to document what each of the clones sent to her through the telepathic link. The other research leaders would want to know details about these planets. Some of them were gaseous in nature, with torrential storms even more powerful than the ones here on Kromin. Others spun strange orbits, heating as they came close to their sun, surfaces boiling, then freezing as they hurled away from the sun. One world orbited a neutron star. The clones that visited had to keep the ship cloaked in protective shields as the star hurled out huge amounts of deadly radiation with each pulse. Still other planets were lifeless spheres of rock.
Some of the planets visited by the Kromin Chosen had sentient life. The clones were careful not to be seen. Even though they were curious and did not intend harm, they knew the importance of non-interference. The life forms that had been brought back to Kromin for the telepathic experiments had had to have their memories erased to prevent them from telling others of their experience.
The telepathic communication with their leader back on Kromin did more than simply enable the clones to send information on the planets they explored. It allowed them to hone their skills at communicating over the lengthy distances through space. And it kept them in contact with their leader. On this emotionless planet, Mirka craved any contact, even if it was only mind-to-mind. This form of discourse was very personal and intimate. She found it strange that a race of beings taught from emergence to mask emotions, could have such an intimate and lovely form of communication. Despite this, Mirka longed for the loving touch of another and hoped that she would soon be on her way back home to Gentra.
She had been feeling anxious as of late and found it hard to mask her feelings from the others around her. She was on edge, waiting for the signs to appear. The Mekans, she knew, would be coming closer and closer. It was only a matter of time before they would begin to land on the planets on the outer rim of the galaxy.
--The life forms on this planet are most peculiar, Leader. They walk on all fours, and their back limbs are longer than their front. They have multiple smaller appendages on both front and back limbs. The front appendages are tipped with sharp claws, or something similar in nature.
--Are they solitary or do they move in groups?
--Groups, led by a male-female pair. The groups consist of about twenty.
Mirka continued her questioning, writing the responses on a small, flat grey screen with a stylus. Anything written on the tablet was transferred to the main computer in the Specimen room. It was an invaluable tool for archiving data. She often wondered if it was possible to communicate telepathically with a computer.
When they had first began communicating with alien races, her Chosen had had a difficult time trying to forge the link necessary for telepathic communication. But it hadn't taken them long to perfect the technique, making the connection with an alien species with ease. Mirka had only been able to successfully forge a link with those whose brain wave patterns more closely resembled those of the Kromins. If the alien life form was too different, her connection was sporadic at best. Her Chosen found it strange that their Leader could not communicate with aliens as well as they could. Mirka, of course, could not tell them that she was actually from another planet and therefore her brain was a curious mixture of two alien races. When her Chosen had begun to communicate over large distances, it had been difficult for Mirka to hold the link for long periods of time. But with practice, she found she could stay linked for hours.
Mirka's musings were interrupted by the sudden loss of contact with clone 9684.
--Clone 9684, can you hear me?
Mirka sat rigid, focusing all her mental energy on hearing the slightest contact.
--Yes, Leader, I can hear you. Something is approaching the planet.
--What is it?
--Unknown. It is approaching from the northeast, moving very slowly.
The contact was silent for a moment, then resumed.
--They appear to be massive machines.
Mirka felt the first stirrings of fear. She fought hard against the strong emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. Clone 9684 was on one of the planets near the outer rim of the galaxy. Don't panic, she told herself. It could be anything.
--They are approaching the area.
--You must get to your travel pod at once.
--Leader, I am sensing something strange in your contact.
--Clone 9684, get to your travel pod. You must leave!
--Do you know what these machines are, Leader?
--Yes.
--Should I not stay and observe their behavior? Others may want to know of these machines.
Damn this emotionless race! Mirka paced the room as she fought panic. She needed to get her Chosen off the planet. But how? She had to make the clone see the danger without giving away too much information.
--I came across a small bit of data. These machines are known to destroy entire planets.
--Leader, one of the larger machines has landed in the center of a forest. A hatchway is opening. A smaller one is exiting and heading towards me.
--It is as I feared. Can you reach the travel pod before they get to you?
--Unknown.
--You must hurry! You are too important to lose! The thought escaped before she could st
op it.
--Too important? I do not understand. I feel that strange sensation again, Leader. What is it?
Mirka's breath came in small gasps as she fought to maintain control of her emotions. She had to prevail or her Chosen would be lost. The desire to learn and study was so strong that the clone was willing to stay and risk being killed. I must get it off the planet.
--As your Leader, I order you to depart immediately.
There was an almost sullen quality to the contact as the clone reacted to the order.
--Understood.
Mirka breathed a small sigh of relief, yet she could not relax completely. Her clone was not safe until it was back on Kromin.
--I have reached the travel pod. The smaller machine has stopped short and seems to be taking readings of some sort.
Mirka's shoulders sagged. Her worst fears were confirmed. One of her Chosen was on a planet being raided by the Mekans.
--The machines delve and excavate planets for minerals and ores.
--Curious. Where do they originate?
--Unknown.
Mirka decided that she had told her Chosen enough. She was dangerously close to sharing what was not to be shared.
--Have you left the planet?
--Yes. I will ready for hyperspeed in a moment. I will contact you when I reach Kromin.
--Understood.
Mirka sighed as she felt the contact end. She had been sure one of her Chosen would be killed. The other Guardians are surely having an easier time than I. She decided that the excursions to alien planets were at an end. I intend to keep my Chosen on this planet.
VOLGON
Feeror glanced up from his work snarled in frustration as he saw the patrols returning to the colony empty-handed. Only one Gorkon prisoner remained. Feeror was sure he was close to perfecting the device but he needed more Gorkons on which to experiment.
He glanced at Seelyr, working on a schematic for a shield to help protect the Volgons from the sound weapon in the event that Feeror or the others could not make the weapon work only on Gorkons. She looked up from her drawings to stare at the wall. A single tear fell from her eye and slid down her cheek. She wiped at the tear absently and noticed Feeror's gaze, hurriedly gathered her drawings and walked out of the weapons room.