Star Bridge (Chaterre Trilogy Book 1)

by Jeanne Foguth

  Movement caught his attention. He peered out the transparent section of the window. Nimri slashed at the ground with a long-handled stick.

  Why?

  Larwin turned to go outside then spotted the basket of wonderful black bread that Nimri’s red-haired friend had given them. He took a long, thin loaf and munched as he ambled out. He chose a dry grassy spot, and sat down to watch Nimri.

  What was she doing?

  Now that he was closer, he could see that a flat object had been fastened to the end of the stick that Nimri sliced the dirt with. Odd. Then, she cut the roots of one of the plants, reached down and yanked it out of the ground. Larwin choked on the bread.

  Sacrilege.

  No, he told himself. You need to be open-minded. He sat for a moment, trying to think of why anyone would kill a perfectly good plant, then recalled when he’d tried to taste the digitalis leaf and she’d pantomimed that eating it meant death because it tore out a person’s heart, so they died in agony. Unheard of as it was, killing some plants might be a good thing.

  Nimri finished the area she was assaulting, straightened and stretched her back. Though it was cool, sweat beaded her brow and the puffs under her eyes made her look exhausted. He smiled and waved. She laid down her stick and walked toward him.

  “I wish you would choose to speak to me,” she said quietly, as she settled near him. “The few words of greeting are nice, but I wish you’d tell me why you chose to come—to be here.” Red colored her cheeks and she looked down. “Did you come to return Tansy’s myst to her?” She stole a quick peek at him. “Have you come to help me?” Larwin stared at her. She took a deep breath, sat up straight and turned to him. “Is the future good or terrible, as my dreams predict?”

  He shrugged, reluctant to test the subliminal program after having given such an impromptu chat to the cat.

  “Am I too weak to know?” Nimri sighed, closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun. “I wish I had your healing power,” she said. “You never told me you were such a powerful healer that you could raise the dead. You’re the most powerful myst-mender I’ve ever seen, yet my dreams tell me you can’t save our world, but I can and must.”

  “I am not myst-mender,” Larwin said. He wondered if she’d gotten this notion from the rudimentary resuscitation and decided that if she had, the planet was even more backward than he’d realized. “I am a Shadow Pilot—a Warrior.” Since GEA-4 hadn’t given him a translation, he added the last in his own tongue.

  Nimri turned to him, surprise and delight in her glowing green eyes. “You saved Tansy’s life. She was dead, yet you breathed your essence into her and brought her back. Only a powerful mystic can do that. Until yesterday, I thought GEA-4 was the myst-mender, but then I guess anyone can repair simple bones.” She patted her broken arm.

  “GEA-4 is not myst-mender. She is Pilot.”

  “Are pilot and warrior special types of healers?”

  Larwin felt frustrated at the language gaps. “Pilots and warriors only know basic healing skills—things needed in battle to survive.” He frowned in concentration. “True healers go to cellular level to cancel pain and disease.” He smiled, pleased that he’d found the Chatterren words to accurately describe what he wanted to say.

  Nimri stared at him. “I know you just told me something very important. I wish I understood you.”

  Larwin noticed that tears welled in Nimri’s eyes. His own eyes felt damp, too. He hoped he didn’t cry. Warriors never cried.

  “I guess that’s why you haven’t spoken to me before—I’m too ignorant to understand. I thought I was a good healer, but I can’t even understand your methods of healing,” Nimri said.

  Nimri looked down at her broken arm, then squinted at GEA-4, who was recharging on the other side of the garden.

  “GEA-4 only reset the bone, and secured it,” Larwin said. “That is the duty of battleship medic.”

  “Your use of the language is strange.” She blushed. “And I don’t understand what a battleship is.” A tear teetered at the corner of her eye. If she moved so much as a lash, he feared she’d start crying uncontrollably. He bit the insides of his cheeks and wondered how he could make her feel better. “And even if she’s only a doll, I don’t understand why your GEA-4 worships the sun, either. Unless it is because you are the Son of Light and it is her duty,” Nimri said.

  Larwin had never had such a confusing conversation or such conflicting emotions.

  “GEA-4 is not worshiping sun, she is recharging her systems.” Seeing her look of confusion, he mumbled, “She is sopping the sun.”

  Nimri’s jaw sagged as she turned to GEA-4 and stared. A moment later, she blinked and clamped her mouth closed. When she turned back to him, she looked as radiant as if she’d swallowed daylight. Then, to Larwin’s astonishment, Nimri sprang to her feet and mimicked GEA-4’s centered stance—her feet a foot apart with hands at the sides. She took a deep breath, then exhaled, lifted her chin and with eyes wide open, looked at the sun.

  Larwin jumped to his feet. “What are you doing? Your cellular structure is humanoid, not android.” He unconsciously slipped into Guerreterre. “You’ll burn your eyes and end up blind.”

  “I’m gaining power.” Nimri’s lips barely moved, and she held her position. “I’m recharging my systems.”

  “You are not an android.” He realized she couldn’t understand and paused to think of the Chatterre words. “Why do you need collect sun energy?”

  “You were sitting in the sun. Weren’t you gaining power?”

  “I sit here because sun dried mist,” Larwin said.

  She smiled. Her lashes trembled. A tear fell and rolled over her cheekbone. More tears welled. Her facial muscles tensed and he suspected that for some unknown, self-destructive reason she was fighting the need to close her eyes. “I’m never going to figure out how to capture myst in time to save us, am I?” As she spoke, more tears rushed downward.

  Larwin fought the urge to grab her and shield her beautiful eyes. “Would you please try explain what you talk about and why you think you need save us?”

  “When I was little, Bryta told me stories about our old world.” A tiny cloud passed overhead, giving her a temporary respite. With relief, Larwin watched the delicate muscles relax. He wished the sky were totally overcast. “Our old world burned when demon dragons attacked the sun,” Nimri said. “Bryta believed that the sun exploded, sending flames across the sky—some scorched our world.”

  “It is only story,” Larwin said. But a vaguely familiar one. “My mother tell me twin story before I turn three and move into military academy.”

  “You lost your family early, too? I’m sorry.”

  He stared at her. All children’s abilities were tested at age three and then they were sent to whatever school matched their talents.

  “My mother, father and brother died at the Lost’s hands when I was two.” Nimri sniffed. “Bryta is as close to a mother as I can remember, but Great-grandfather was constantly furious with her for telling me fairytales. He always claimed that scientists killed the Old World with the energy and chemicals they created in their laboratories.”

  “You confuse,” Larwin said. “Do you stare at sun because of fairytales?”

  Nimri gave a decisive nod.

  “Do you expect sun explode?” Surely she couldn’t be that uneducated. Or maybe she could. When she didn’t respond, he tried another tactic. “Why you speak of dead world?”

  “This is the New World. There are no dragons here.” The cloud moved, and again, the sun seared her eyes. He involuntarily flinched as her skin tightened. Nimri tilted her chin a bit higher, so that the sun could do its worst. “No dragons, but the Lost are across the river.”

  He’d heard the term before, but still couldn’t figure out what a Lost was. All he knew was that it was something or someone bad. “If you say.”

  “At first,” Nimri said, “I thought that you were sent to me to quell the Lost, but if the dream was right, I m
ust do more than that.” He wished she wouldn’t speak so fast or slur the syllables together. “I now know you are a myst-mender. A superb myst-mender, of course, what you call a warrior. I wish I understood that term better, I guess it means you’re one of the most powerful doctors. Yes, that must be it, since you can breathe life into the dead and return lost myst. Amazing. Even Rolf, powerful as he was, couldn’t raise the dead—”

  “I warrior not myst-mender. Warrior is warrior.” Larwin ground his teeth and cursed the incomplete language program. “The girl have water inside.” He thumped his chest. “I take water out, put air in.”

  “Tansy was dead. Her heart did not beat."

  “There life. Air need. I give air, not life.” At least that’s all he’d thought he’d done. What if Nimri could be right? If he hadn’t helped the girl, she would have died. The thought was unexpected; one he’d never experienced or anticipated. He suddenly felt light and full of excitement, as if he’d been part of a team, which annihilated an enemy battle cruiser. “Warrior take life, this is first I give.” And it had felt good, maybe even better than dispensing death.

  “Your breath gave life; your breath is life,” Nimri said.

  “My breath not life.” Didn’t the woman listen? “That illogical as thought humans and androids both gain power from sun.”

  “But didn’t you say the sun took away the myst?” Nimri made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the garden. She ended with her hand pointing at GEA-4. “And that she is gaining power?” He nodded. Nimri smiled. “Surely taking back the power from the sun is the secret.”

  Unable to deter Nimri short of physically restraining her, Larwin’s hands fisted. “Oh, for the love of Radzuk.” GEA-4 must have flubbed up the mind meld. “Fine,” he continued venting in Guerreterre, “Copy GEA-4. Stare at the sun and tell yourself that you are recharging circuits you don’t have because you aren’t an android. Burn out your eyes and blind yourself. That’s exactly what you need.” Larwin turned and stomped away. With each step, he told himself that when Nimri blinded or killed herself in her foolish stunt, he didn’t care.

  He told himself that he wasn’t willing to stand there and watch because he was busy making his lists of resources. He’d get right to his work, after he found something to eat.

  Larwin rummaged through the market baskets looking for another loaf of the fabulous bread; instead, he found some dark purple knobby berries tied in a stained piece of fabric. He picked one up between thumb and forefinger and tentatively sniffed it. It reminded him of Tiberian Tinglish. His mouth watered. His stomach growled. He took a tiny nibble. It tasted as wonderful as it smelled. Though he felt like popping the whole thing into his mouth, he waited a few minutes to see if he experienced any ill effects. When none came, he took another small bite, then another and another. An explosion of sweetly tart flavor radiated through his mouth with every nibble. He wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but the fruit was better than the stew.

  He delved into the basket and carefully extracted the lumpy bundle of fabric. He untied the knot, his mouth salivating at the sight of the dark purple heap. He popped another into his mouth. Everything seemed right with the world—until he glanced out the window and saw Nimri with her face raised to the sun. “Oh, for the love of Radzuk!” He’d hoped she’d cease her stupidity when he left, but all she’d done was close her eyes.

  For a moment, he felt tempted to go back outside and tell Nimri she must stop the foolishness. Then, he asked himself why he should care. Aliens weren’t important. If Nimri personified the typical native, conquering this planet would be a cinch.

  He popped another fat, juicy berry into his mouth.

  He would be richer than his wildest dreams.

  Chapter Ten

  Nimri forced herself to gather myst long past the time she thought her face would drip away like wax from a burned down candle. Long past the time she would turn to dust from dehydration. Long past the time she thought her eyes would either burn to a crisp or fulfill Larwin’s prophecy of blinding herself. Shade covered her face. Though she knew another cloud provided the relief, this time, the colors didn’t return.

  Distracted by the change, she realized how feeble she felt and acknowledged that she probably had failed at this, just as she had at every other type of myst exercise in her past.

  Her eyelids felt like fire and she understood why GEA-4’s had burned away. Her throat muscles worked, but no saliva came. If she had succeeded, she should sense strength instead of weakness.

  She had to quit before she collapsed. Nimri sank to her knees and bent to the ground. Even the soft grass felt harsh against her tender skin.

  A memory of the Guardian’s yellow stare flashed in her mind. GEA-4 must intend to become one of them and be well on her way to that goal if others didn’t even view her as human. Would she have such eyes once she gained power?

  Nimri shuddered.

  If she had to blind herself to serve her people, she would do that, too. She might already have accomplished that goal.

  Though the grass was green, the only color Nimri saw was red. Her head felt feverish. Dizzy, too. Crawling along the grassy path, Nimri made her way to the aloe patch. She fingered the fat, spine-tipped plants until she found a sap-filled leaf, which felt right for picking. Nimri squeezed the pulp into her right hand then she rubbed her hands together. As soon as the gel covered both palms, she gently messaged the aloe into her burning flesh.

  Sucking in her breath and biting her lower lip, she smeared some on her eyelids. The combined pleasure and pain seemed almost unbearable.

  Heal, she thought.

  Nimri heard a sound to her right and turned her head. Sunlight touched her cheek and the resulting pain seared so bad that for a moment, Nimri couldn’t breathe.

  Heal! She commanded her body. The pain eased to a sting.

  When she could open her eyes without feeling stabbing pain throughout her entire head, Nimri realized GEA-4 had returned to her other pastime—admiring plants. GEA-4’s face still appeared as white as a bleached bone. Nimri could feel fire in every pore. Without looking, she knew her own flesh looked boiled and that no matter how hard she tried, she’d failed to absorb the power she needed to fulfill her destiny – again.

  Larwin had been correct; she did not have Anthropoid's capacity and probably never would.

  Despair washed over her in a hot tide. Tears flowed in stinging streams down her cheeks.

  Hearing movement at the garden’s edge, she sensed Larwin striding up from the gorge, Kazza close on his heels. Squinting to clear the blurred image, she saw that both of them were damp. Obviously they’d been swimming.

  When Larwin glanced her way, a sudden look of revulsion marred his expression. Nimri could almost hear him think, “failure” when he looked at her. He abruptly turned his back to her and took two uncompromising steps. Then, as Nimri tried to hold in a sob, he stopped.

  She thought the feeling building inside her would explode if he didn’t hurry up and leave.

  Larwin turned toward her and moved in her direction.

  Nimri tried to swallow the boulder in her throat and appear indifferent to her burning, tear-bathed flesh.

  Larwin hunkered down in front of her. “Nimri,” he said softly, “you past being child. Do not crying.”

  Unable to speak, she glared at him.

  “On my world we discipline mind and body when we three. I never seeing adult uncontrolled.” The tone held a hint of rebuke.

  “You aren’t on your world,” she said, her tone strangled by the unreleased sob. “You’re on mine. You can go home to your world. I haven’t got another home, so I must save this one.”

  He blinked twice. “I hope you right. I hope I go back.” He frowned and looked her up and down as if measuring her value. “Why you certain this world die? And you think save it you?”

  How could he not know? Was this a test? “A vision,” she said, hoping truth was the answer he wanted.

  “More like
heat prostration and sun blindness.” The foreign words and tone held amusement. He hunkered down next to her. Larwin broke into a mixture of his and her language. “What is power you speak? Is atomic? Hydro?” She shrugged. He chewed on his lower lip, his expression serious. “How you fight? My world need this.” He patted the ground. She frowned. “How you, alone, save or protect all?”

  So, he was testing her. “Myst Power is something that passes down through my mother’s line.” There, now he knew that she’d learned her genealogy.

  “Explain, please.”

  “It controls nature.” He nodded. Nimri gained courage and went on, “My great-grandfather, my mother’s grandfather, protected us from the Lost for years, simply by the threat of annihilating them.”

  When Larwin appeared genuinely perplexed and started muttering to himself in the sacred language, “How? With germ warfare?” Nimri wondered what she’d left out. “Mutations at the microscopic level make that dangerous.” As he mumbled, he shook his head in perplexity. Nimri wished she could vanish, so she didn’t have to witness how disappointed he was in her. “My world give up disease-make centuries ago.” Even when he spoke her language, it still felt as if he didn’t speak it, yet on some level, she understood his bizarre assessment.

  “A disease would have taken too long.” She tried to think of a way to explain properly. “When Great-grandfather’s temper flared, he wanted revenge and retaliation immediately, not in a week or a month.” She’d always felt he was wrong for never allowing anyone to explain their mistakes. Did the Ancients know how many punishments she’d endured simply because Rolf didn’t take the time to understand what had motivated her errors?

  Larwin motioned for her to explain. His look of total concentration seemed encouraging. She hadn’t failed his test—yet. Nimri worried her lower lip and tried to decide how to explain Rolf’s egotistical behavior favorably.