Chosen

by West, Shay

  When Mirka had arrived on Kromin, she had had to pretend to be a newly awakened clone. She had tried to ask several other clones about their evolutionary past. They refused to answer any of her questions. There is something in their past they do not want to talk about. She often felt frustrated at the avoidance of communication about their ancient history, almost as if they believed if they pretended it did not exist, then it did not.

  Out of sight, out of mind. Mirka turned and walked to her travel pod. The rest of the clones had lost interest in the atmospheric anomalies and were making their way to their travel pods as well. She made her way to the front and slid into the grey vinyl pilot seat. She punched several buttons on the console, and the computer came to life in flashes of grey symbols and bleeps and blips. She keyed in her destination and the saucer-shaped travel pod shot out of the hangar door and into the now still Kromin atmosphere.

  The sky is magnificent! There was nothing to break the skyline, except the occasional cloud and the structures hanging in the dense sky like great, grey bulbs.

  She had never set eyes on the buildings of the floating cities until flying very close, almost in the hangar doors. The heavy winds churned up the clouds to such a degree that computers were necessary to navigate, as the buildings and other travel pods were invisible until one was almost upon them.

  Mirka punched a few buttons on the shiny metal console and the travel pod sped forward, and then banked to the west. As the craft turned, she looked down at the surface. It roiled and bubbled like a giant cauldron of thick yellowish-orange and pink mud. Eruptions sent up huge geysers of semi-solid material; it was magnificent and frightening.

  The Kromins could not possibly have evolved here unless their planet was quieter in its past. Metals and ores for constructing the buildings and travel pods were taken from nearby moons or other astral bodies. They possessed extraordinary technology allowing them to take an object, break it down to its basic atoms, and rearrange them into an item of need, like food, fluids for the birthing chambers, computer components, everything that the Kromins needed.

  I cannot imagine an alien race would travel here on purpose and choose to live in such an inhospitable place.

  As the travel pod neared the destination, the sun slid beneath the horizon. The sky turned a deep blood red before settling into black. Stars pebbled the night sky, shining like diamonds.

  Mirka purposely slowed her speed as the travel pod approached the storage building. She wished to stay in the pod and drink in the sight of the starry sky. As the buildings of the Kromins had no windows, she would be unable to gaze at the stars once inside. Duty calls, she thought disgustedly as she piloted the craft into the hangar door.

  She brightened as the full realization of what she was doing hit her. I am going home! Home. The word had so much more meaning now. Mirka never appreciated how very special her world was until coming here to this planet. She longed to let her guard down and feel and wear those emotions on her sleeve. The thought of a loving touch, a pat on the back, a hug, a kiss, was almost enough to make her lose control of the hold she kept on her feelings. Soon, I will not have to. Her pace quickened as she neared the door to the small storeroom housing the portal.

  --We have arrived.

  I do not know what to say to them!

  Panic was beginning to set in as the moment had finally arrived to tell the Chosen of their destiny. She broke into a cold sweat. She had rehearsed the speeches in her mind a thousand times since coming to Kromin. Now, the words escaped her. I have a little time. Clone 53279 won't be back for at least a little while.

  --Come to storeroom 9.

  Her heart dropped to her feet as she saw all five Chosen entering storeroom 9. Clone 53279 had arrived earlier than expected. Or perhaps I was so lost in thought I lost all track of time. The clones stood patiently.

  When the door was secure, she motioned them toward the far wall, partially blocked with grey metal crates and containers of varying shapes and sizes. She instructed them to move the boxes against the side walls.

  --What a curious thing.

  Clone 48951 pointed to the symbols appearing in a rectangular shape, outlining the portal. The others moved closer to the wall, curious but not afraid.

  --What manner of thing is this?

  --It is called a portal. These devices are capable of transporting one to another planet. They also change the molecular structure of the being passing through it, so that it resembles the sentient life on the new world.

  --Are we to use these to travel to other planets for our studies?

  --No. They are much more important than that.

  Mirka paused before continuing.

  --We must make a journey, the six of us. To the planet I call home.

  --But you are a clone, like us. I do not understand.

  Clone 48951 stared at Mirka with its large, black, almond-shaped eyes, not blinking.

  --I am not a Kromin. I came here from a planet called Gentra, through this portal.

  She indicated the wall behind her.

  --My form was changed to that which you see before you.

  --Why are you here?

  This came from clone 70786.

  --I have come here for you.

  Mirka stood in silence for a moment, letting her message sink in, before continuing.

  --A race of mechanical beings, the Mekans, is threatening the existence of life in this galaxy. Clone 9684 encountered them while on a mission to a planet located on the outer rim. They were most intriguing. The Mekans moved about the surface, driving over the indigenous life as it searched for ores and minerals.

  The clone's eyes widened.

  --Now I understand why you wanted me to leave the planet, instead of staying to study them.

  She was disturbed by the lack of emotion in the Chosen about the danger that these Mekans posed to life in the galaxy. They see this as some strange curiosity. They do not care that these machines devastate entire planets, kill every living thing that inhabits them. How can they be asked to face the danger if they do not truly comprehend its nature?

  Clone 53279 asked:

  --Why have you waited so long to tell us of who and what you are?

  --I could not tell you until the right time. The recent atmospheric anomalies were the signs I have long awaited. When the winds ceased to blow, I knew the time had come to bring you to the portal and tell you of your destiny. We must travel through this portal to my home planet. You and the other Chosen, will meet with the Gentran Masters, who will tell you more about the prophecy.

  Clone 8503 asked:

  --There are others?

  --Yes. There are other Chosen who live on three distant planets. Going through the portals changes the physical appearance but does not give the ability to speak the language. They will be able to make the necessary sounds but will not know the vocabulary. Your telepathic abilities will be needed for communication.

  Said Clone 70786:

  --This is why you had us communicating with alien species. And our abilities of communication across thousands of parsecs will be needed if we are to mount an attack against the Mekans.

  Mirka nodded to Clone 48951. She was pleased that they grasped the situation and could speak the truth of things. Perhaps it is not so bad a thing, being devoid of feelings. When the six turned up missing, six more clones would be awakened from the birthing chambers and the new clones would take over their jobs and domiciles. No one will even miss us. That last thought made her sad.

  Clone 70786 stepped forward, its supple limbs moving with delicate grace. Its long, slender fingers brushed the markings, moving over their form and shape.

  --What do the symbols represent?

  --They represent the planets on which other portals can be found. Some planets have one symbol, while others are represented by several symbols. Here is the symbol for your planet.

  Mirka pointed to a series of squares set one inside the other at 90° angles, growing smaller and smaller, into infi
nity.

  --I bear a mark much like that one, here on my leg.

  The Kromin Chosen each bore a mark on their bodies that resembled the symbol for their planet.

  She pointed to a triangle with a circle inside.

  --This is the symbol for Gentra, my home world, and our destination.

  --Traveling through the portal is…uncomfortable. I will go first. The rest of you must follow, allowing a few moments between. I will assist you in the assimilation process.

  The clones stood, silent and resolute. To them, this was simply another journey, much like any other. They felt no fear, apprehension, nor did they truly understand the importance of what they were about to do. Mirka turned and faced the wall. She mentally steeled herself. Though dreading the interminable pain, she was full of excitement at the prospect of emerging in the scorching water of her home.

  She turned and entered the portal.

  EARTH

  The fighting raged on the outskirts of the Jhinn encampment. The Cowboys, under the ruthless leadership of Wild Bill, had managed to ford the river without alerting the men in the watchtowers. A fleet-footed youngster practicing with his bow outran the enemy and breathlessly yelled a warning to the first adults he came across.

  The clanging of the warning bell, which had been silent the last three months, broke the early morning quiet. The Protectors had sprung into action as soon as the bell had sounded.. General Ted Smith wasted no time deploying men to the river. He heard the faint shouts and screams coming from the east. He saddled No Name and sprang onto her back. He jerked the reins to the right and gave her a swift kick with his heels. The spirited sorrel mare leapt forward and sped down the main thoroughfare. Ted could hear the pounding of hooves following closely behind as the Protectors raced after their General.

  “Lieutenant!” Ted shouted to Robert Marshall as he noticed the man racing alongside him on a jet black gelding. “Take your men and head downriver! We have to keep them away from the food stores!”

  His Lieutenant nodded, signaled to his squad of fourteen Protectors, and veered to the northeast, heading down river. The General signaled to the Protectors following him to stay with him. He headed due south, toward the watchtower. He sucked in a breath as he saw that the enemy was in among the buildings, setting fire to them with wooden torches.

  Townfolk ran screaming from their burning homes, only to be cut down by the Cowboys. Men, women, children, all died in a rush of heat and blood and fear. Ted drew his blackened iron blade complete with a hilt made from the antlers of an elk. He cut and slashed at the screaming enemy, killing them where they stood. No Name danced to the side, avoiding the blow from an enemy blade.

  Ted smiled grimly at his spirited, intelligent mare. They made a deadly team, dancing in and out of the reach of slashing knives, her killing with her hooves, him killing with his black blade. Soon he was lost in the feel of the blade as it cut through skin, sinew, and tendon to meet the bone underneath, the hot rush of blood as it flowed from the wounds he inflicted, the smell of the blood and offal from the dead, the sweat pouring off his brow, the tightness in his chest as he fought for breath, the steady ache in his arm and shoulder as he continued to hack the enemy to pieces.

  No Name suddenly reared and kicked at a man coming at them afoot, carrying a hatchet. The General yelled as he lost his grip and fell backwards, landing hard in the dirt. He stood quickly, trying to catch the breath that had been knocked from him. He heard a noise coming from behind and whirled to face the man with the hatchet. He raised his knife and swung at the man taking an offensive stance, testing his opponent. The man was small and quick, able to avoid Ted's blade. His hatchet did not give him the reach he needed to finish the General off. The man attempted to disarm Ted. The General was ready. He pretended to stumble as the enemy pressed the attack, reaching behind his back with his left hand to the small knife he had stuck in his belt.

  In one swift motion, his arm came up, throwing the knife at the man's exposed chest. It buried itself to the hilt. The man's blue eyes widened, a drop of spittle falling from his open mouth. He gave a gurgling growl as he staggered forward, hatchet tumbling from his hand. He fell to his knees, trying to pull the blade from his chest.

  The General whirled as he heard screaming. Two more Cowboys were coming for him, their eyes filled with manic hate. One carried two long knives. The other held a weapon made of deer antlers, sharpened to glossy points. The General noted absently that most of the points were covered with a crimson coating of fresh blood.

  General Smith faced his two opponents. He took a few deep, steadying breaths, icy-blue eyes hard. He glided toward the man with the two knives, black blade raised high. The second man moved to take the General, antler weapon held in his right hand, ready to stab the General in back the moment he turned to face the man with two knives.

  Ted roared and swung his weapon quickly at the man with the knives, blade moving in a blur of flashing strokes, pushing the man back step by step. He whirled and kicked the man's legs out from under him. Two Knives fell hard.

  Ted felt a sharp pain in his back and spun, blade flashing in the sun. The blow took the man's arm off at the elbow. The antler weapon, now lying useless in the dirt, shone with fresh blood, his blood. The injured man tried to run, blood flowing from his ruined arm. The General buried his blade in the man's back, severing his spine.

  General Smith heard the man with the blades approaching. He tried to pull his own blade from the dead man's back, but it was stuck fast. He turned to face Two Knives, weaponless.

  Suddenly a flash of silver appeared in the man's throat. Blood flooded his leather tunic. As he fell forward, the General spotted Valery, her arm still extended, a second knife in her left hand, and more yet stuck in a belt around her waist. Her expression was unreadable. She spun and ran off.

  He walked up to the man he had killed and clenched his teeth as he wrenched his blade from the man's back. The General noticed a large nick in the metal. This will have to be repaired. He walked toward the edge of town, where the fighting had been heaviest. Just then, the bell clanged the all clear. It was over.

  Smoke and ash filled the air, as did the screams and moans of the injured and dying. The enemy that remained were quickly dispatched. The Sawbones and a couple dozen from the encampment were seeing to the worst of the wounded. Several horses ran by, eyes wild, frothing at the mouth, being chased down by some of the older boys in the camp. The Jhinn could always use more horses. He wondered what happened to his own mount and went to head for the bunkhouse. A sharp pain stopped him. .He put his hand to the small of his back and it came away wet with blood.

  “You should have the Sawbones see to that, sir.”

  Tess Golden, blonde hair in disarray, stood behind the General, her brow furrowed with concern. She was covered in blood, dirt, and soot from the fires.

  “Sawbones has worse to contend with just now, Lieutenant. I will have one of the girls clean and dress the wound.”

  “Find Lieutenant Marshall, then report to me,” Ted said before she could argue.

  Tess nodded and walked away, soon disappearing in the swirling smoke from the still burning buildings.

  True to his word, General Smith found a girl who had some skill with a needle and thread. She followed him back to the bunkhouse. She washed the wound with boiling water. The General bit down on a piece of leather to stifle his screams of pain, though the heat of the water did not bother him as much as the stitching. The needle was meant for sewing clothing. But it did the job just fine on skin, as long as one did not mind a rather large scar. The girl placed a soft piece of cloth over the wound, tying it in place with a large piece of linen wrapped around the General's waist.

  “You wait here, General, and I will bring you something to eat.” Though the girl was young, she had the attitude of most women in the encampment; when they gave an order, they did so in a tone that clearly stated that they would be obeyed. Girls must take this skill in while still at the breast. Th
e girl turned and made her way to the hearth at the rear of the bunkhouse. She had a kettle of stew boiling over a roaring fire. The other hearth and stove were not lit. The weather was turning warmer with the promise of spring and it was not necessary to keep fires burning in both hearths.

  Tess Golden returned to the bunkhouse just as General Smith finished his stew and hard biscuit. “We lost fifty in the battle, sir. The Sawbones is sure the number will rise as the worst of the wounded succumb to their injuries. Forty eight of the Jhinn and two Protectors.”

  God, please don't let those be any of the Chosen!

  “What about our food stores?” he asked, wincing as he put his shirt back on.

  “We lost one grain silo and one seed barn. Considering the numbers of other buildings they burned, we are lucky that was all we lost.”

  “Luck had nothing to do with it, Lieutenant. It was you, and the other Protectors that kept the enemy from doing more damage.”

  Tess snorted in derision. “More like it was one speedy young man out by the river! If he hadn't been there, the enemy would have been among us before we even knew they were here.” She shook her head. “The Protectors can't take the credit for this win, sir. The boy saved us.”

  That statement is so typical of the Protectors. No matter the praise they received, they always brushed it aside. Like the young man who had sounded the first alarm, or the Jhinn who had lent a hand during the fighting, or the quick thinking of the General. They never took credit for the sacrifices and the hard work. This is the attitude the hosen need if they are to work with each other to fight the Mekans. Ted knew they would do what needs to be done, and they would do it not for the glory, or the praise, but because there was no one else to do it.

  The loss of the seed barn would hurt the Jhinn come planting time. There were several seed barns scattered throughout the encampment and were often on someone's property, looking like an ordinary barn. There was nothing to indicate that there was anything special about it. If the enemy ever managed to burn more than one seed barn or grain silo, the people of the encampment would be hurting come the spring planting.