A frown appeared on Sun-Warmed Boulder’s face when Kasumi easily blocked his first attack after first ignoring a feint. “Not yet?”
Kasumi nodded. “I must prove myself worthy of the blade.” She blocked the next attack with the back of the blade and then returned to moving the blade in a slow figure eight. Slow the movements may have been, yet somehow the blade was always in just the right place to block or deflect Sun-Warmed Boulder’s attacks. “I tire of this,” Kasumi said.
Sun-Warmed Boulder jumped backward in shock as the blade suddenly came within a finger length of his face. There was a whistle as the blade flashed, and Sun-Warmed Boulder ducked. Blue feathers floated to the ground. Sun-Warmed Boulder reached up and felt at his crest.
“He looks better that way, Sister,” Mel called cheerfully. “I always did think men looked better with a buzz cut.”
“You … dare,” spat Sun-Warmed Boulder. He charged Kasumi with his blade outstretched and aimed directly at her heart. Kasumi seemed to just fade away from his blade, and then she knelt and slashed with hers. Sun-Warmed Boulder stumbled past and just barely kept from falling. The shock of missing delayed the realization that he had been struck until the stinging in his side overrode the shock. Sun-Warmed Boulder’s hand went to his side. His crest flattened as his hand came away covered in pink Rynn blood.
“Yes, I dare,” Kasumi said almost conversationally. Again her blade spun in that deceptively lazy figure eight. “I am going to tell you a truth, Rocky.” She smiled as some of the Rynn watchers started to chirp in amusement.
“You were right about me,” she said. “I was indeed incompetent. I was unsure, untried, and unready for command.” Suddenly, she stopped defending and began to attack. She attacked high, forcing Sun-Warmed Boulder to duck, and then low, forcing him to leap over the flashing blade. The attacks slowly began to get through. No one attack caused any true damage, but blood began to stream from what seemed like dozens of shallow cuts.
“But here is another truth,” she said. Her blade swung, and she struck the now reeling duelist on the side of his head with the flat side of the sword. “I was not so incompetent that I could not learn.”
She lowered the blade and stared coldly at the bleeding and beaten Sun-Warmed Boulder. “Submit and live,” she said. “Or continue to resist and die.” Her crest rose to its fullest. “The choice—a choice you refused my core—is yours.”
“Never,” growled Sun-Warmed Boulder. He threw down his sword and pulled something from his pocket. It was a lethal-looking thing.
“So,” Kasumi said in contempt. “Your true self finally comes out.” Her crest, already high, seemed to get even higher. She stretched her arms to the side. “Go ahead and kill me for all the good it will do.” She waved her hands. “All will attest to your cowardice.”
“And all will know you di …” Sun-Warmed Boulder’s voice suddenly cut off and the handle of a blade seemed to sprout from his right eye. He staggered for a second and then fell, dead before his body hit the ground.
“Forgive me, Granddaughter,” Jeremy said in mild tones. “But I seem to have interfered in your fight.”
Kasumi stared at Jeremy for a moment and then began to shiver. She found herself being held by Mel. “It’s okay, Sister. I have you,” Mel said comfortingly.
Jeremy walked over to the dead Sun-Warmed Boulder, knelt down, and jerked the blade free. He wiped the blade clean of gore using the dead Rynn’s uniform before returning it to its sheath. He walked over to the still shivering Kasumi. He bowed respectfully. “Do you still feel unbalanced, granddaughter of my heart?”
Kasumi closed her eyes for a second and let Mel hold her, and then she straightened. Mel let her go to stand on her own. “No, Grandfather. My balance has been restored.” She bowed. “Thank you.”
Kasumi looked at Sun-Warmed Boulder’s body for a moment and then walked toward the silently watching Rynn. “I want statements from all of you,” she said in a commanding voice. “I want the truth to be known.”
One by one, the surrounding, silent Rynn covered their eyes. Two of the Rynn went over to the cooling body. “What shall be done with the usurper, expedition leader?”
Kasumi appeared to consider. “Sun-Warmed Boulder is dead. He has paid for his crimes. We shall return him to his family.” The two Rynn covered their eyes and hoisted the body. They carried it to the shuttle. Kasumi touched her Torque. “Where is Morning Mist?” she demanded.
Another of the silent Rynn covered her eyes. “She was confined and her Torque removed.”
“Release her and restore her Torque immediately,” Kasumi ordered. “Then ask her—ask her politely—if she will be willing to meet with me.” She tapped her Torque. “Hear me. I am Kasumi Blunt, who you knew as Small Snow Flower. Hear me. The ship is mine.”
Less than a half hour later, another shuttle landed in the clearing. In the meantime, a camp of sorts had been set up, and Kasumi sat in a pavilion-like structure listening as the events on the ship during her absence were conveyed by one Rynn after another. Jeremy and Mel were looming and intimidating presences who kept the reports short.
A figure stepped into the pavilion. “Small Snow Flower?”
“Morning Mist!” Kasumi stood quickly and almost ran over to the diminutive—even for a Rynn—figure, sweeping her into an embrace. “It’s Kasumi now,” she said warmly.
“Kasumi?” Morning Mist asked in confusion.
“By some strange chance, it means … mist,” Kasumi said. “Come along, Core Sister, and meet your new family.” She leaned over and said, “I know they are somewhat strange-looking, but their hearts are great.”
“Are they the reason you look like some barbarian princess?” Morning Mist asked. Kasumi nodded cheerfully. “Then I would be most happy to meet them.”
YEAR 2
10
BABY STEPS
“There’s that bogey again,” Communications Officer Lieutenant William R. Daniels reported. “Whatever it is, it’s real.” He tapped in a number. “Commander, it’s Daniels,” he said crisply. “Yeah, it’s back.” He checked a console. “We can barely get a lock on it, but CompCom has finally come up with a probable flight path.” He frowned. “Commander, if it belongs to Russia, we’ve already lost. It’s faster than anything we have—heck, it’s faster than anything should be within an atmosphere.”
Klaxons began to scream angrily, and within minutes the near empty situation room was filled with the men and women of the California National Guard. Lieutenant Commander David Eisenstadt strode into the room and demanded, “On the board, Lieutenant.” Tall, tanned, and trim—with close-cropped steel-colored hair, a strong chin below a determined mouth, a nose that was a little too large, and deep set brown eyes—Eisenstadt looked like what he was: military to the bone.
“The track is an estimate based on …” Daniels began. He stopped when the commander waved his hand in a cutting motion. “Yes sir.” He picked up a remote. “The bogey is definitely originating outside our atmosphere and terminating somewhere northeast of Knox Gulch.”
“What do we know about Knox Gulch?” the commander asked.
“It’s more a halfway point between other places than a destination, commander,” Daniels replied. “It’s the kind of place people move to, to not be found.” He checked a monitor. “People there live mostly off the grid: hunters, fisherman, small farms.” He snorted. “It’s basically in the middle of nowhere.”
“Do we have a satellite available to take a look?” the commander asked.
“It’ll take another ten minutes to get one in position,” another officer reported.
“Designation?”
“Preliminary AN designation would be AAZ-1,” reported a third officer.
The commander raised an eyebrow as he decoded the designation. “Invisible?”
“The only reason we detected it was the new stealth detect
ion units have finally come on line,” the third officer explained. “It’s invisible to radar. It is not emitting any EM radiation at all. The only reason we know it’s there is that it doesn’t sound like anything we have on file.”
The commander sat down in his command chair. He pursed his lips. “I am not reporting a UFO to the Pentagon or NORAD,” he said in sour tones. “Not without proof.”
“Satellite coming in range,” sang the second officer. “On screen … now.”
The commander turned his attention to the large central view screen. “Sharpen that up,” he barked. The screen split into pixels for a second as the computers worked to resolve the image. The image sharpened. There seemed to be a collective intake of breath.
“Oh my god,” a voice said.
“Quiet,” barked the commander.
The image displayed three vaguely teardrop shapes in the middle of a clearing. Figures could be made out moving between the three teardrops and a smaller rectangle. “Is that a truck?”
“Looks like a Ford F-150,” the third officer reported. “Well, there goes the alien theory.”
“It just means there’s a truck there,” Daniels disagreed. “Locals.” He looked at the screen. “Spectroscopic analysis is … inconclusive,” he said after a moment. “They’re real, but that’s about all we can say. Using the truck as a reference, each one of those … things are about the size of a CH-53E Super Stallion.”
“They could almost pass as Super Stallions,” the second officer commented.
“Commander, we have the license plate,” Daniels reported in triumph. “I’ll have Optics see if they can make it out.” He spoke into his pickup.
“Don’t bother,” came a female voice over the base sound system.
“Who said that?” demanded the commander. “Identify yourselves.”
“Call me Mel,” came the voice. “Who’s this?” the voice asked cheerfully. “I know you are military and where you are, just not who you are.”
“Do you know how many laws you’re breaking?” the commander said angrily.
“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me,” the voice replied. “Come on, big boy, try being friendly,” the voice chided. “Now give me a smile.” There was a giggle. “And your name, of course.”
“Lieutenant Commander David Eisenstadt,” growled the commander. “California National Guard.”
“Now was that so hard?” the voice replied. “Nice command center.”
“You … you can see us?” asked the commander. In response, the large screen scrambled. When it cleared, the room was looking at an attractive Eurasian woman with reddish hair.
“Hi,” she sang. “Now, I’m sure you have a lot of questions. Let me introduce you to one of the answers.” The image pulled back to reveal an ordinary looking desk. What was not ordinary was the being sitting at the desk. It had cinnamon-colored skin, a pale pink cockatoo’s crest on its head, and a faintly birdlike appearance. “Commander Eisenstadt, may I introduce you to Captain Kasumi Blunt, of the … the best translation would be, ‘The Seeker.’”
There was a chirping, and the birdlike being in the chair could be seen moving her mouth. “Good afternoon, Commander.” The being smiled. “Mel tells me that ‘We come in peace’ or ‘Take me to your leader’ would be considered trite, so how about: ‘Times are about to get …” She paused. “Interesting.”
11
CHAIN REACTION
The White House was in an uproar. The current president, besides dealing with a lingering recession and double-digit unemployment, was also fighting off an impeachment movement. With his approval rating in the mid-teens, it seemed that at the very best he would escape impeachment but would not be reelected. “My god, if this gets out, I won’t be impeached, I’ll be shot.” He slammed the desk with his hand. “I am not going to be the president who loses to an alien invasion.”
The head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff forced himself to not roll his eyes. Idiot, he thought. “It’s not proven to be an invasion, sir,” he said. “They claim to be here for trade.”
“Do you expect me to believe that shit?” the president growled. “They’re invaders, pure and simple.” He stared at the general. “Drop a fucking nuke on them and get rid of them.”
“Sir, we can’t just detonate a nuclear weapon,” the general said in overly patient tones. “And especially not on American soil,” he pointed out. “Even in as sparsely populated an area as Knox Gulch, civilian casualties could be in the thousands.”
“I’m the president, and I order you to blow those fucking aliens out of existence,” the president shouted. He wiped at the edges of his mouth. “Do you hear me?”
“I hear you, sir,” the general replied. “You still need Congressional approval.”
“What kind of chickenshit job is president if I have to get permission for everything I do?” the president complained. “My predecessor didn’t have to go through all this.”
“Actually, he did,” said the only other person in the room. Vice President Spencer was a distinguished gray-haired presence. Calm and rational, he was the living embodiment of the professional politician. “Despite all the election rhetoric, he was actually quite constrained.”
“Well, I don’t like it.” The president paced the room. “I want action, and I want it now.”
“Yes sir,” the general replied. “If you will excuse me, I will begin said action.” The president waved a hand in dismissal, and the general left the executive office. God, but he’s an asshole, the general thought in disgust. He pulled out a cell phone. “Ted?” he said when the phone was answered. “Operation Trading Post is a go. I repeat, go.” He hung up.
Instead of returning to his office, he headed toward the House building. Minutes later, he was ushered into the office of the House majority leader. “We need the Iron Bitch too,” he said brusquely—”the Iron Bitch” being the self-assigned nickname for the House minority leader. He waited until both leaders were in the room before speaking. “He ordered me to drop a nuclear device on the visitors,” the general said without preamble.
“The man is mad,” the minority leader exclaimed. “Will you testify to that?” she asked. The general nodded. She turned toward the majority leader. “Am I going to have to fight you, George?”
The majority leader blew out a breath. “Call your committee,” he said. He walked over to a credenza. “Does anyone beside me want a drink?”
“Make mine a double,” the Iron Bitch replied.
“Heads up, we got company” Melanie Blunt barked. Her words were converted to the chirps and trills of standard Rynn by the Torque she wore around her neck. The Rynn security team snapped into action. The Rynn might not have fully accepted her as head of security, but they were professionals. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that they’re scared shitless of me, she thought grimly. Her expression softened when she saw the tiny form of Morning Mist running toward her. Well, not all of them.
Morning Mist ran up to Mel and threw herself into the human’s arms. “Oh, I’m so excited. More humans!”
“You’re just hoping they have carrots,” teased Mel. She grinned as most of the security staffs’ crests quivered. “Okay, everyone. It’s showtime,” she said. “Kasumi?”
“Ready,” came Kasumi’s voice through the Torque. “What do we have?”
“Three military-grade copters,” Mel replied. “I think someone wants to talk.” She turned. “Okay, boys and girls, look fierce.”
“It’s hard to look fierce when your opponents are twice as tall as you,” one of her security people grumbled. She sighed and raised her crest. “How’s that?”
“It would be more intimidating if you didn’t have flowers in your crest, Summer Rain,” Mel replied. Well, well, they’re starting to joke with me, she thought in approval. “Next time, wear war paint.”
“War paint?” the Rynn guard asked.
Mel could hear her chirp to her Torque. “Ooh.” Her features blurred, and there were blue stripes suddenly running diagonally across her features.
“Not bad, Summer Rain!” Mel said in approval. “The rest of you, do what Summer Rain did.” She grinned, as she was now surrounded by war-painted Rynn. “Nice.” She nodded toward where the helicopters were landing. “Now remember, do not point the weapons directly at them, but make it look like you’re trying hard not to.”
“Yes, Security Chief,” came a ragged chorus of replies. “I still think red stripes would be better,” she overheard one Rynn say to another. Mel suppressed a sigh. “Honor guard, move!” she ordered. Mel and her squad jogged to where the three helicopters had landed. She had the squad form into two parallel rows and waited.
The first people out of the helicopters were a team of very tough-looking men and women. They wore full combat fatigues and carried extremely lethal-looking weapons. They quickly formed two matching rows. “Shields, everyone,” Mel ordered.
The two double rows of beings stared at each other.
“They’re fucking children,” one of the marines suddenly sneered.
“I assure you, they are all fully grown,” Mel said cheerfully. “Melanie Blunt, chief of security for the Rynn.”
“Hey. You’re a human,” exclaimed the same marine.
“Very good,” Mel replied. “Now the big question is, can you count past ten without taking your shoes off?”
The Rynn behind her chittered in amusement.
“Listen, bitch …” began the marine.
“No, you listen, fuckwad,” Mel interrupted. “If you don’t want to start an interplanetary incident, one you will lose, you will shut up and stay shut until I give you permission to speak.”
“Hendriks, shut up,” barked a voice. “My apologies, Ms. Blunt.”
“Well, well, Commander Eisenstadt,” Mel said in surprise. “I didn’t expect to see you.” She grinned. “Let me guess—you pissed someone off.”
Redemption Song Page 11