CHAPTER 35
Lige's smaller fleet had correspondence jumped into Naanac's vicinity with shields down. Lige commanded his communication officer to open a channel, “This is Grand Admiral Lige of the UDA. I request discourse with the Elder Council.”
Wolf Plume looked tired as he came on screen. “This is Wolf Plume, Alpha of the AmerIndian Confederacy Fleet. Power down all weapons immediately.”
“No weapons will be powered down. However, we will not fire first. I am approaching with the intent of communicating with the Elder Council in person.” Lige commanded the channel muted.
Jaret came to his side, where the floating camera drone did not pick him up. “Our shuttle is go, every inch is shielded and the signature wraiths are operational with tight parameters.”
“Excellent.” A view of the shuttle hiding his body tank troops came up on the center wall screen. Sixty-four body tank troops were nestled inside the hull of the shuttle in every available space. Sixty-four breakaway hatches were positioned on the outside of the shuttle so that in seconds the body tanks could be dispatched, surrounding the shuttle. Lige waited patiently for Wolf Plume's response. He knew what concerns plagued Wolf Plume.
Normally AmerIndian Confederacy commanders would be coordinating firing paths and launching additional fighters by now. Today the rules were different. With the AmerIndian Confederacy declaring settlement rights on Naanac, they had called for recognition from the eight UDA colonies and eight hundred UDA outposts. As an intergalactic government calling for their sovereignty to be recognized, the AmerIndian Confederacy displayed dedication to replacing guerrilla tactics with diplomacy. Wolf Plume had no choice but to stand down as long as Lige did not fire first.
Lige reestablished the link to Wolf Plume as he came back on screen. Wolf Plume frowned as he spoke. “Word has been sent down to Naanac. The Elders will consider your request. I am sending outrider ships to escort you closer into Naanac orbit at eighteen thousand kilometers. Have each fleet ship follow the escorts exactly or your movements will be read as flanking maneuvers.”
Lige nodded, “An escort will be fine, Alpha. Let us know when an audience has been granted.” He commanded the communications channel closed without waiting for a response.
Keokuk sat tensely across from Celetain in the Elder Hall. The waiting was aggravating, not knowing what was happening above. Celetain leaned forward, “Where is Cavaho?”
The question surprised Keokuk, seeming inappropriate considering the circumstances. “He is on the shuttle with Wovoka. Where else would he be?” Keokuk coupled his answer with a wicked smile.
“Wipe that smile off your face, comp jockey. I am your Elder.”
Keokuk injected more respect into his expression. “I apologize, Elder Shaman.”
Celetain looked at him and nodded silently saying, “You damn well better apologize.” Then her face softened and she looked back at Keokuk sheepishly. “He is a good man.”
Keokuk frowned. “No, Elder, he is not. He was a good man at one time. Now he is a killer. Nothing else is in him anymore. Cavaho is dangerous in every way and you should understand that before you get any closer to him. The only thing that keeps Cavaho functional is his service to Wovoka.”
Celetain opened her mouth to contradict him but as she looked into Keokuk’s eyes she could see his warning was sincere.
Stormseeker raised his hand at the center of the Hall. Those gathered quieted and comp set views shifted to show the visage of the Confederacy's greatest enemy, Grand Admiral Gavon Lige. Stormseeker pushed down his anger enough to speak. “We are here, Lige. Why have you come to our Homeland?”
Lige stepped closer, his face growing larger. “I have come to discuss terms of your occupation of Naanac. I have been delegated full authority by the UDA. There are issues to be settled.”
“Have you been authorized to recognize us as a fully sovereign intergalactic government, separate from the UDA?”
“More or less.”
“I am not in the mood for witty banter, Lige. If you are not authorized to recognize us as a fully sovereign intergalactic government, separate from the UDA, than there is nothing for us to discuss and you can start your navcomps calculating your way back home.”
Lige paused. “Honestly, no. I do not have that authority. But I can offer you something close. Regardless, I request Ambassador status as the delegate of the UDA.”
Stormseeker chuckled. “Grandfather Stone will crumble to pebbles before you step one foot on Naanac soil, Lige.”
“Really? Let the crumbling begin. I have brought a guest who I believe can only be properly greeted by the AmerIndian Confederacy Elder’s on Naanac's surface. I have brought Potlatch Weaver.”
Stormseeker's face scrunched into a quizzical frown until Jaret wheeled a longhaired aging man into view on a grav chair. Potlatch Weaver was locked down with metal clamps.
Lige stooped so his face was next to Weaver's on screen. “He is no clone. We're sending our bio test data now. Run it against what you have on file. It will match. But if that's not enough…”
Potlatch's Weaver's mouth was taped and he looked away. Shame emanated from him. With three fingers Lige straightened Potlatch Weaver's head toward the remote cam.
Stormseeker growled, “You fool. Potlatch Weaver was killed thirteen years ago at the White Earth Massacre. You should remember, Lige. You were there.”
“Oh, I saw what you saw. Weaver's body tank lanced by concentrated laser fire and then four body tank warriors scooping him up into an outrider ship. Legend has it he died in the arms of Torquan, then Brule chief. Torquan is my witness if DNA code is not conclusive enough for you. I don't believe he can lie to another generation while the proof of his deceit stares him in the face. Bring him forward.”
Stormseeker did not move as he took in the image in his comp set. It would not have been difficult for Lige to create a clone of Potlatch Weaver. A UDA spy could have stolen the DNA code. As Stormseeker looked at the man, he knew Lige was not lying. There had been mysteries surrounding Potlatch Weaver's death, questions left unanswered. Through gritted teeth Stormseeker said, “Bring Torquan in.” A Tsimshian bi-jack contacted Torquan through his comp set and fed his view to the others present.
Stormseeker explained the situation as quickly as possible to the retired chief and asked. “Does Lige speak the truth?”
Torquan stood stunned. A secret he helped bury over a decade ago now loomed before him. As Lige had said the DNA code flowed up the side of comp set view. The man that created the AmerIndian Confederacy was before the Elders now.
“Potlatch Weaver,” Torquan said. His voice choked as he released the word. Potlatch shook his head furiously and his denial of his own identity made Celetain gasp. His hair flew around his head and he stared through the strands just as he had years ago.
Stormseeker asked Torquan, again insistently. “Did Potlatch Weaver die at the White Earth Massacre?”
Torquan steadied himself. “No. He survived. He was broken by our defeat, ashamed to face the brothers and sisters of the tribes, the survivors. Potlatch Weaver believed his dream had brought only blood. I helped Potlatch Weaver leave Shoeless Joe undetected. The body burned as Potlatch Weaver was an unidentified Brule killed at the White Earth Massacre.”
Lige's face was close to Potlatch Weaver's. “I have a shuttle ready. I am prepared to trade Weaver's life for some concessions on the settlement of Naanac. Prepare to escort us to the surface.”
Stormseeker was still recovering, grappling with the fact that the Elder Creator was still alive. Potlatch Weaver's writings were sacred text to the AmerIndian Confederacy. He was inspiration and legend. Seeing his tear-stained face staring back, helpless, was a powerful blow. Stormseeker steeled his resolve. “Potlatch Weaver is dead to us, Jackal. The Elder Creator would not wish us to waste our breath spitting at you. You cannot think we will bargain with you for his life. Get your navcomps calculating. I want you a mega-klick from Naanac within
five minutes or we will scrap every ship you brought with you. This discussion is over, hound.”
Next to Lige's face, Weaver was now shaking his head up and down, frantically agreeing with Stormseeker. Lige pushed Potlatch Weaver's face aside. “Oh no, old man. If this discussion is over, you can loose the cannons now. Be aware that for every laser you fire I will send you an decagram of your leader.” The metallic call of Jaret's diamond-coated wakazashi could be heard clearly over the open channel, the floating camera drone panned out. With no more effort than he would expend cutting cheese, Jaret smacked the blade down on the armrest of the chair, two fingers rolled off Weaver's left hand, dropping unceremoniously to the floor.
“Gather those and jettison them, Jaret. Prepare a dozen more containers of various sizes. Weapons systems are go?”
Celetain gasped and ran forward to the floating camera drone. Elder John intercepted her and addressed Lige. “Power down your weapons, bring your shuttle in and for Wambli's sake reattach those fingers now. If you harm him again then there will be battle here and now.”
“No, this is wrong-” Stormseeker roared.
“Shut up, Stormseeker,” Celetain cried. “Please, Lige, bring in your shuttle and do not harm the Elder Creator.”
Keokuk shook his head. He knew a dark decision had been made and lives would pay for Celetain and John's compassion. Tribals rushed out of the Elder Hall running to tell their families that Grand Admiral Gavon Lige was descending to the surface of their new Homeland.
Keokuk pulled close to Celetain. “Lige survived the Ghost Dance because he knew that when the UDA sent their fleet, as we expected them to, we would slaughter them. Now we are doing exactly what he expects us to do. Tribals are going to die because of this decision.”
Celetain turned to him and with a cold hardness he had not see in her before. “Yes, they will. But Potlatch Weaver won't.”
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