Test of Magnitude (The Torian Reclamation)

by Kasch, Andy

  Now he saw Derek in the clearing beyond, kneeling on the ground and aiming the rifle again. Another sonic popping sound muffled Brandon’s ears, and then part of the cliff side up ahead came crumbling down, making another huge dust cloud.

  Brandon turned back to see if Mip7 was coming. He wasn’t, but the Azaarian who had been sprawled on the ground was now moving and beginning to get up. Apparently, he was only slightly wounded. A small gadget of some kind was lying on the ground next to him, probably one of the laser weapons that had been fired at the landing party. Brandon hurried towards him, aimed the device in his hand, and pressed the button with the green light. A dart fired from it, leaving a trail of red light in the air behind it. It entered the top of the Azaarian’s shoulder, right next to his huge neck, and buried itself there. The Azaarian dropped back down and stopped moving.

  At that moment, the bird whistle from the ship at the top of the cliff sounded—once.

  Brandon picked the Azaarian laser weapon up off the ground. It was foreign to him. He had no idea how to use it, or even which way it pointed. He looked around for someplace to hide it. There was a deep hole next to a rock that might have been home to a Milurian rodent. He dropped the weapon down the hole and then ran back to the bushes where he had last seen Derek from.

  Derek was still there in the next clearing, but standing this time, with the Reep-1 rifle leveled at his shoulder. For someone who supposedly hated guns, he sure didn’t seem to be having any difficulty striking all the classic poses with one. He fired it again as Brandon was assessing the situation. This time, however, Derek remained standing in place. He then slung the rifle over his shoulder and walked forward casually. Whoever he just shot at, he must have hit.

  Brandon jumped through the bushes and ran to the spot Derek had just been. When he got there, Derek was walking back towards him, nonchalantly, as if there were no longer any danger. Beyond him a ways on the ground looked to be pieces of a dismembered Azaarian. The look on Derek’s face was serious, but not one of great concern.

  “What’s that, brother?” Derek pointed at the device Brandon was holding.

  Brandon was taken aback. Was this the same Derek he left at Uden?

  “Um …a kind of a dart pistol. Derek, what are you doing? Are you nuts? We risked life and limb to come down here to rescue you, and then you run off like a crazed medieval warrior, right into enemy fire. Are you all right? You could have gotten yourself killed.”

  “It’s okay now, Brando. I got the guys who were shooting at us. Is that thing effective?” He pointed back to the dart pistol.

  “Yeah. I only fired it once, but the attacker dropped stiff. You have to be in close with it, though. It’s mainly for defense.”

  “Trade you,” Derek said.

  Brandon looked at the dart gun in his hand, then back at Perry’s Reep-1 rifle hanging on Derek’s back.

  “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Let’s get out of here before any more Azaarians are distracted from their games.”

  Derek handed Brandon the rifle. Then—and only then—did Brandon give Derek the dart pistol.

  “How’s it work, man?”

  “Point it that way and push the green-lit button, pretty much like the fishing poles at Uden. Hopefully, you won’t be anywhere near in position to use it. I’ll cover us with the rifle. Let’s go.”

  “Wait one minute, Brando. Be right with you. Gonna take care of something first. Then we can go.”

  “What are you—”

  Derek walked out straight out on to the flat canyon floor before Brandon could grab ahold of him. Once there, he began carefully stepping between the Azaarians who were sitting playing their games. Brandon took a few steps towards him, but then stopped and watched from the sideline.

  Now what? Why was Derek being so uncooperative?

  Brandon was standing only a few yards from the closest Azaarians. He couldn’t believe they were still so focused on what they were doing that they paid Brandon no attention whatsoever, and Derek could step between them like that without disturbing them.

  It looked like Derek was trying to get to a certain spot. Maybe he had some other possession he needed to grab. But then, he stopped next to two of the Azaarians and stood perpendicular to their game frame. To Brandon’s horror, he aimed the dart gun directly at one of them and fired. Brandon could see a red streak sink deep into the player’s chest. That player slumped down immediately and stopped moving, sitting in place like a statue with his head hung.

  The opposing player broke his focus from the game and looked up at Derek, who simply pointed the dart gun at him and fired again. This player began toppling sideways after the dart buried itself in his torso. Derek caught him and eased him back into a sitting position, to keep him from disrupting the game being played next to him. There he stayed, slumped.

  Brandon raised the Reep-1 rifle and pointed it to the area Derek was at, but he knew he couldn’t fire it at any targets who were close to Derek. Now he wished he had kept the Azaarian laser, and somehow figured out how to use it.

  But there was no reaction from any of the other Azaarians. Derek began picking his way through the crowd again, angling his way in the general direction of the trailhead. Brandon followed along on the sideline, keeping the rifle at his shoulder. He only went a little ways until he almost bumped into Mip7, who was also standing on the edge of the game field covering Derek with his rifle. Good, Mip7 was back. Together they followed along. Derek came gradually closer.

  Brandon and Mip7 then almost ran into Perry. He too was up along the edge with a rifle leveled towards Derek. He must have taken the extra rifle Brandon left at the trailhead. Things were looking better.

  The three of them covered Derek as he made his way back across the playing field. Derek, however, made another pit stop. It was a repeat performance, executed with the precision of a trained killer. He left two more Azaarians sitting slumped and lifeless in front of their unfinished game, and then tiptoed his way out of the enemy crowd and on to the sideline near the bluff.

  “I want to trade back!” Brandon said after Derek rejoined them.

  “You can have all your weapons back now, brother. I’m done.” He handed Brandon the dart gun. “Let’s get the arc and go.”

  They went back to the trailhead where the remainder of the company still stood with their rifles held up, sweeping them back and forth over the sea of Azaarian polwar players. Mip7, Brandon, Derek, and Perry grabbed hold of the arc again and began carrying it up the trail. The other crewmembers stayed behind and covered them, moving up the hill backwards until they cleared the first ridge. There was no additional trouble and they made it all the way back to the ship without further incident, other than the strange looks everyone kept giving Derek.

  Once back in the landing craft, Brandon felt a sense of relief. He wasn’t the only one. The halcyon arc turned from bright green to a dull yellow glow. Brandon was worried about Derek running off again right up until the door closed and the saucer was up in the air. When it was, the navigator sounded the bird whistle five consecutive times as a victory song. The crew all cheered in response. Mission accomplished with no casualties.

  “Derek, what was that all about down there?” Brandon asked. “That ‘business’ you attended to before you would leave, I mean? That was …odd behavior for a pacifist, don’t you think?”

  Derek thought for a moment before answering.

  “Well brother, I never had friends murdered in cold blood right front of me before. Innocent, friendly, regular people; good people who had only love in their hearts, you know? People who wouldn’t hurt anyone, even in self-defense. They only reacted naturally in running towards something they cherished that was being stolen. They had no weapons, and would not have put up a fight—it was just a reflex, you know? They were good guys. They were …my friends.” Derek’s voice started quivering at the end of his statement, and tears were now running down his cheeks.

  Brandon got it. He understood now. Nothing m
ore needed to be said. Derek obviously picked out the Azaarians responsible for killing the Sheen in the taking of the arc, and those poor Sheen were ones Derek had gotten close to. No one could blame him for his feelings or actions.

  Brandon wasn’t sure he agreed with the instant justice Derek had administered, but he would not question him on it further. How the murder of a defenseless being can ever be validated—even as retribution for a like crime—was suddenly becoming a questionable issue for Brandon. The old Earth adage two wrongs don’t make a right was something taught to young schoolchildren, but seemed to contain wisdom from a higher source. Brandon was certain the Erobs would agree with that, but he was also certain no one could really condemn Derek for his actions, not even the Erobs—whoever they really were.

  Perry was sitting on the other side of Derek in the landing craft cabin. He leaned forward and caught Brandon’s eye.

  “Pacifist?” he said.

  Derek wiped his eyes and looked Perry up and down. He turned back to Brandon.

  “Disco clothes, huh?”

  Brandon smiled and shrugged.

  * * *

  Tanel2’s crew was the last landing craft to return to Pulsar2, but they didn’t yet know if the ground forces from the other transport ships had all returned. Tanel2’s company remained on board the saucer as they sat in the hangar waiting for two of the conventional fighters to dock.

  During the flight, Brandon noticed from the landing craft window that the two enemy warships were looking about the same as when he last saw them, and that the attacks on them had ceased. The five remaining ITF1’s were simply guarding the fleet now.

  The two fighters finished docking, Pulsar2’s hangar doors closed, and the hangar re-pressurized. The landing craft opened and the crew exited along with their rescued hostages. Arkan9 and the six Chenel were among the first to de-board. Brandon and Mip7 were near last, followed by only Tanel2 and the flight crew.

  Pulsar2 commander Mulut8 stood at the corridor entrance that led from the flight hangar to the interior of the transport ship. He was accompanied by an Amulite official on one side and a Banorian on the other. All three wore red shoulder pads. They were bowing and shaking hands with the pilots and crew members as they passed by in single file.

  When Brandon passed, Mulut8 grabbed his hand with both of his and held it tight for a moment.

  “Superb job, once again. Thank you.”

  “How’s Jack?” Brandon asked.

  “No change, last I heard.”

  Brandon knew he was holding up the line so he stepped aside next to the Amulite official.

  “You’re Brandon, right?” the official said.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve been told all about you. I’m Bedlum5, commander of Base-3 on Amulen. I want to personally thank you for all you’ve done for us.”

  “You’re welcome,” Brandon said, “but I must admit I didn’t do it just for you. I have a personal agenda, to help others of my race. Is the rescue operation complete?”

  Bedlum5 shook his head. “We’re still waiting for one landing party to return on the other ground force carrier. I understand about your personal mission and would be happy to help you in any way I can.”

  “Thank you. We are in desperate need of all the help we can get, especially political influence.” Brandon pointed towards the closed hangar doors. “What happened with the battle out there, Commander, while we were on the ground?”

  Bedlum5 chuckled. “You didn’t miss a thing, son. The commander called the attack runs off after your damaged ship docked. What you saw out there when you came back with your ground crew is all that’s been happening since you left.”

  “He abandoned the attack because of a solitary laser fired by an enemy warship?”

  “That’s partially correct. The fact that only one laser was fired—in all of our initial attack runs—indicated a reluctance on the enemy’s part to offer any resistance to our operation. By that time, more than 70% of our known targets were already destroyed, including, thanks to you, the missile batteries which were by far the greatest threat. We all agreed the risk of continuing the attacks was too high in relationship to any further strengthening of our position we could hope to gain, so we adopted a defensive stance.”

  Brandon nodded. “Yes, when you explain it like that, it seems a wise decision. In any case, it worked.”

  “Yes. It worked.”

  The last of the procession went by. Brandon walked next to Mulut8 down the corridor and into the main cabin. The mood there was jubilant. Everyone was standing and walking about, smiling, laughing, and talking loud. Brandon wasn’t in the mood for a party.

  “I want to go see Jack, Commander, if that’s all right.”

  “Of course. No, wait…”

  Mulut8 was looking up at the main screen.

  “There she is.”

  The cabin erupted in cheers. There was the last landing craft. It was approaching the closest transport ship, escorted by fighters towards wide-open hangar doors looking ever-so-anxious to receive her. The ITF1 squadron was doing a fly-by beyond them, the ship that would close the diamond formation ominously missing.

  “Wait until we are in transit please,” Mulut8 said. “I need to get everyone settled down now, so we can get on our way home.”

  “Home!” Mulut8 shouted as he walked away from Brandon to the front of the cabin. More cheers followed him. The lights began flashing overhead, the signal for all passengers to be seated. Mulut8 stood in front under the main screen with his hands in the air. He slowly lowered them, and then told everyone to prepare for transit. A voice came over the speakers and instructed the same.

  Brandon found an open seat in a section where he didn’t know anyone and took it. He looked over and saw Derek and Mip7 two sections over. Derek was sitting calmly with his eyes closed. Mip7 was looking back at Brandon and cocking his head, as if he didn’t understand why Brandon didn’t sit by them. It wasn’t intentional. Brandon simply took the first open seat he saw. His only thought was going back to the medical room to see Jack. Arkan9 was seated with the six Chenel off in another section. Several of the Torians in Brandon’s section gave him a mini-nod, an obvious gesture of respect, when he happened to make eye contact.

  The ship began humming and everyone watched on the big screen for several long minutes while two fighters docked behind the last landing craft on the nearby transport ship. The hangar doors finally closed. The remaining fighters headed towards their own transport ships as the ITF’s circled. A short while later, the dag around the other ground force carrier lit up and the ship vanished from the screen. The cabin exploded in cheers again.

  Seconds later, Pulsar2 followed. The initial thrust of distorting space could be felt, and then the stars were zooming by on the main screen. More cheers.

  The ITF1’s would have wait for the fighter transports to be secured and then head back to DM51 for a dag recharging period. Brandon was supposed to be with them. He longed to be with them, along with Jack and the rest of his crew. They were supposed to be the last to go, waiting for the fighter transports to dag out before rejoining the squadron across the star system. That honor would probably fall to Vector now, or maybe to Joseph and Jol2. It should have been Brandon and Mip7. Damn it all.

  Brandon got up and exited the main cabin into the corridor. He followed it around through the first connecting hallway to the right, crossed to the other side of the ship, and then turned towards the bow. When he got to the doors of the medical room, he stopped and held his head in his hand for a moment. Please, please, please be awake and okay, Jack.

  Brandon felt a bony hand on his shoulder. He turned. It was Arkan9, alone. Brandon placed his hand on Arkan9’s and looked into his eyes, the way a lost kitten looks into the eyes of the first nice stranger it meets. The expression Arkan9 returned was one of pure compassion and sympathy.

  Brandon leaned his head on Arkan9’s chest and began sobbing. The stress had gotten the better of him, and his emotions
now flooded out. Brandon didn’t know how Arkan9 knew it, nor did he know how he knew Arkan9 knew it, but in that moment they both knew it. Jack was dead.

  Brandon regained his composure after a few minutes and saw that Mip7 was standing in the corridor with them. Just standing and waiting, frowning and looking downward. He must have surmised the situation. Together, the three of them entered the medical room. Half a dozen Torians were seated inside being treated for cuts and other minor conditions by the medical staff. In the back of the room was a table with a large covered lump. Brandon walked over to it and pulled the cover back to have one last look at Jack.

  Jack looked …peaceful. Not scared, not stressed, not unhappy at all. Just peaceful. Somehow, the way he appeared in death was comforting. Or maybe it was a sense of relief from Brandon just having wept uncontrollably. But the reality of Jack’s death was strangely easier to deal with than the last few hours of worrying about it. There was nothing left to worry about. Nothing left to do.

  Mip7 and Arkan9 stood beside Brandon on either side of him. One of the medical staff stepped over and spoke.

  “I’m sorry. He never regained consciousness. There was nothing to be done. Your being here would not have made any difference. His organs just shut down and we couldn’t stimulate them into working again.”

  Brandon nodded and covered Jack back up. He hoped when Jack woke up next time, it would be to a peaceful, homey place where there were no wars, no alien abductions, and lots of time to draw.

  The three of them went back to the main cabin. No one said a word. Brandon took a seat in Mip7’s section this time. Derek and Perry were there. Arkan9 sat down next to him in another empty seat, leaving the Chenel off to themselves.

  Derek was awake. He just sat there and studied Brandon and Mip7 quietly. After a short while, he got up, came over, and kneeled between their chairs.