03 - Sagittarius is Bleeding (7 page)

“If I haven’t been afraid of entire governments… if I haven’t been afraid
to be jailed for my beliefs… what makes you think I’m afraid now?”

Paine’s jaw twitched back and forth a couple of times. He didn’t drop his
gaze, but he amended, “Maybe not afraid, then. Maybe just too damned
comfortable.”

Zarek rolled his eyes and started walking again, and Paine followed behind.
“You,” said Zarek, “have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t I? Pretty cushy status you’ve got for yourself now, huh, Zarek?
Member of the Quorum. Gone all legitimate now. Angling for the presidency. Maybe
you and Adama have something worked out. You stay out of his business, he stays
out of yours. Maybe you figure it’s not smart to make too much of a ruckus now
because you’re trying to climb up the ladder. Leave the guys on the lower rungs
behind while trying not to piss off the ones standing at the top.”

“Yeah, that’s it, you’ve got me all figured out,” said Zarek with obvious
exasperation. “Look, Luther, I’ve listened to you, I’m considering what you’re
saying. My guess is, the Quorum of Twelve is going to have some of the same
questions as you. I don’t need to go running off on my own. I’ll have eleven
other representatives, and we’ll get a lot more done and a lot more answers if
we operate as one instead of all of us flying off in all different directions.
There will probably be an inquiry, and we’ll find out at that point what went
wrong, and make sure it doesn’t happen again. Will that do it for you?”

Luther Paine sounded as if he wanted to say something else, but instead
simply replied, “Yeah. Yeah, that does it for me fine.”

“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting scheduled with…”

His main office, used for conferences and meeting with various dignitaries,
was just ahead. Cortez stepped forward, preparing to open the door for him, and
that was when an explosion—sounding all the louder because it was within a
confined space—went off just a few feet away from Zarek. He was nearly deafened
from the noise. He was stunned to see Cortez drop, clutching at his right
shoulder, blood welling up between his fingers. The others who had been walking
along with him scattered as quickly as they could.

“On second thought, it’s not fine,” snapped Paine.

His eyes were wide and he had a crazed look on his face. Zarek didn’t know
what the hell had gotten into him. It wasn’t as if Zarek didn’t have the respect
of every man on the
Astral Queen.
The only thing that occurred to him was
that this was some sort of bizarre power play. That Paine was hoping to move up
in power and prestige by taking down the guy who was one of the top players. If
Zarek was dead, Paine could make up anything he wanted in terms of an excuse for doing it. Who knew if
Paine perhaps represented some sort of growing belief that Zarek really was
becoming too much of the “establishment”?

That, however, was a consideration for a future time, presuming there was
one.

“Where did you get that gun?” Zarek demanded, deciding that the best thing to
do was act as if he was totally in command of the situation.

Paine looked slightly taken aback that Zarek wasn’t daunted by having a
weapon pointed at his face. “Black market,” he snapped. “Not that it’s any of
your business.”

“If you’re waving it in my direction, that makes it my business.” He looked
down at Cortez. “You all right?”

“I’ll live,” growled Cortez, looking daggers at Paine.

“You go right on telling yourself that,” Paine snapped back.

That was when the door to Zarek’s office opened and a man emerged from it.
And emerged. And emerged.

That, at least, was what it seemed like to Zarek. The man was gargantuan, as
large an individual as he had ever seen. His shoulders were half again as broad
as Paine’s, and his bare arms had muscles that looked as big as Zarek’s skull.
He had a head of red hair and a bristling red beard that was a slightly darker
hue. His simple white shirt was having a difficult time, strained as it was
covering his massive chest, although his dark green trousers hung loosely He
seemed to radiate confidence, as if he were certain there was no challenge he
could not undertake. More: that if he undertook it, he would succeed in whatever
the endeavor was.

“Is there a problem here?” he asked, his voice rumbling like thunder.

Zarek could not recall a time in his life when he had been at a loss for words, but there was a first time for everything, and this was it.

Even Luther Paine seemed daunted. Rallying quickly, he said fiercely, “This
isn’t your concern.”

“Oh,” was all the man said. “All right.” For half a heartbeat, he turned as
if he were about to walk away. Then his arm reached across the distance between
him and Paine before Paine had even registered that the behemoth was moving
toward him. His huge hand enfolded Paine’s as if it was an adult’s hand firmly
grasping a child’s, and then he squeezed. His expression never changed. There
was an audible
crack
that was partly muffled by the giant’s hand, and
Paine let out an ear-splitting scream.

“Pardon me,” said the giant, easing past Zarek. Very carefully, he pried
Paine’s now broken fingers from the gun, one digit at a time. Paine clutched his
hand, his eyes wide, and whimpered in shock and pain. The giant held the gun
carefully between his thumb and forefinger and passed it over to Zarek, who
wordlessly received it. “I don’t think,” said the behemoth, “that he’ll be
firing this anytime soon.”

Zarek tried not to look as stunned as he felt. Several of the followers who
had fled were now slowly returning. Having heard the scream, their curiosity had
overwhelmed their sense of self-preservation. Taking control of the situation,
Zarek said, “Take them to the infirmary.” He paused, and then added, “Get Cortez
down there sooner. Feel free to take your own sweet time with Luther. Cortez… keep your hands off him, as tempting as it may be to do otherwise.”

Luther Paine could only manage a whimper in response as he and Cortez were
helped away toward the lower-deck infirmary. The way that Cortez kept firing
furious looks at Paine, Zarek was only willing to give fifty-fifty odds that
Cortez would heed his instructions. At that moment, he didn’t care all that much; his
attention was focused instead on the formidable individual who had staved off
disaster.

“We had an appointment,” said the giant, his soft voice a stark contrast to
his appearance.

“Of course, yes. Come in… or rather, come back in.” And he gestured toward
his office. The giant stepped through the door, ducking slightly to avoid
striking his head on the overhang. Zarek followed him in and blinked in surprise
upon seeing an attractive young woman leaning against the desk. She smiled a
dazzling smile that made Zarek feel twenty years younger. She was tall and
slender, although her hips were nicely rounded. Her face was oval, her eyes
twinkled with amusement, and her long flowing hair was the exact same shade as
the giant’s. This told Zarek two things: First, that she was very likely the
giant’s daughter, and second, that Zarek would be well advised to keep reminding
himself that this girl’s father could break him in half if he looked at her
wrong. So he quickly gave a perfunctory nod and turned his attention back to the
new arrival. “You’re… Wolf Gunderson…?”

“Gunnerson,” he corrected, and extended his hand to shake Zarek’s. Zarek
looked at the formidable paw with not unreasonable concern. Noticing Zarek’s
hesitation, Gunnerson didn’t seem offended. If anything, there was amusement on
his face. Noticing this, Zarek overcame his trepidation and shook Gunnerson’s
hand. He could tell the giant was taking care not to squeeze too hard… or at
all. “And this,” he gestured toward the girl, “is my daughter, Freya.”

“A pleasure, Mr. Zarek,” she said, her voice musical. “I’ve read a great deal
about you.”

“Really.”'

“Yes. In history books.”

Zarek forced a smile. She had spoken in a perfectly straightforward manner,
and naturally had not intended to make Zarek feel as if he was some sort of
modern-day relic. He took no offense at it, but suddenly he was feeling
arthritic pain in every joint. Imagined, no doubt, but still, it reminded him
that when he was her age, she was an egg residing in her mother’s uterus,
awaiting the call to action.

“I thank you for taking the time to see me,” her father said.

“Well, obviously I’m the one who should be thanking you,” said Zarek. He
gestured toward a chair. “Please, won’t you sit down…”

Gunnerson looked dubiously at the chair Zarek was offering and said, “I think
I’ll stand, if it’s all the same to you. Freya?” And he gestured toward it. She
nodded and took the seat, crossing her legs. Her long blue skirt was slit up the
side, and some of the cloth fell away to reveal one of the most stunning female
legs Zarek had gazed upon in a while. He assumed the companion leg was equally
compelling. He cleared his throat loudly, walked around the desk and took a seat.
“Your timing certainly couldn’t have been better.”

“My followers and I have always been fortunate in that regard.”

“Your followers,” echoed Zarek. “Yes, when you asked for this meeting, you
mentioned a group that you were representing…?”

“That’s correct. The Midguardians. Perhaps you’ve heard of us…?”

Zarek shook his head, looking regretful. “I’m afraid not, no. But there’s
quite a few independent political action groups, and it’s so hard to keep track
…”

“Oh, we’re not a political action group,” said Freya. “We’re a colony.”

That brought Zarek up short. He shook his head in polite confusion. “I…
don’t understand. There are twelve known colonies… and the lost thirteenth.
You’re saying you’re the lost thirteenth
…?”

Gunnerson shook his head. “I am saying we are a separate colony entirely. We
have embraced sections of the Sacred Scrolls that were rejected by the religious
establishment. We believe these sections to be far closer to the truths of the
universe than anything that the church of the Lords of Kobol would have us
believe.”

“You don’t believe in the Lords of Kobol?” This was now sounding familiar to
Zarek. He was starting to think that he had heard of these people: religious
fanatics whose beliefs positioned them far outside mainstream society.

“No,” Wolf Gunnerson said firmly. He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re shocked.”

“What? Oh, no. No.” And Zarek forced a laugh. “No, it takes a good deal to
shock me. Simply having a different belief system isn’t going to do that. Hell,
I’m more or less used to being out on my own when it comes to beliefs.”

“Indeed you are,” Freya spoke up approvingly. “You’re not afraid to use
violence for the purpose of social change. You’re not a man who shrinks from
doing what is necessary to accomplish his ends.”

Obviously the history books were generous to him. “I do what needs to be
done,” he said, trying to sound modest and only partly succeeding.

“As do the Midguardians,” said Wolf. “As do I.” He leaned forward, resting
his huge hands on Zarek’s desk and looking for all the world as if he could
easily smash the furniture apart. “That is why I have come to you in seeking out
representation.”

“How,” asked Zarek, “do you mean? What sort of representation?”

“Our people resided on Sagittaron, the same as you,” said Gunnerson. “Ours
was an ancient order, but it was only in the last twenty years… during the
time of your incarceration… that we began to make our presence known.”

“Why only recently?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” When Zarek shook his head, Gunnerson gestured toward him.
“Your shining example, of course. Your refusal to accept the repression of
Sagittarons. We had been guarding our beliefs, our history and heritage, afraid
to come into the light. But you,” and he pointed at Zarek, “made us realize that
we were little more than cowards. That we had to take a stand if we were to call
ourselves true sons and daughters of Woten.”

“Of Woten?”

“The head of our Pantheon,” Freya said helpfully, “just as Zeus is of yours.
I’m named for his wife.”

“I myself lean more toward the teachings of his son, Thorr. I am told”—Wolf
smiled—“that I bear a resemblance to him.”

“If you say so,” said Zarek. “But I’m still not entirely certain what it is
you expect from me… although naturally I’m flattered that you consider me
such an inspiration. Although, then again, considering where my beliefs landed
me, maybe I’m not the best person to follow.”

“It’s very simple, Mr. Zarek,” Gunnerson said. “When millions of people
resided on the world of Sagittaron, we were a hopeless minority. Barely five
hundred of us. Asking for representation in the Council, asking for our beliefs
in the book of Edda—”

“The… book of Edda?”

Gunnerson nodded. “The book that was stricken from the Sacred Scrolls. The
one that has the entire history of our gods, from their birth to their deaths.”

“Your gods are all dead?”

“Not yet. But we know how they will end.”

“As part of a prophecy? But certainly your gods are powerful enough that
they’re not held sway to prophecy. Their fates aren’t determined…”

“Of course they are. As are ours, and yours.”

“You don’t believe that man controls his own destiny?”

Gunnerson looked at him skeptically. “Mr. Zarek… we’re on the run from
killer robots who harry our every step, with no world to call our own, and not
even fifty thousand of us left alive. Does it
sound
as if we’re in
control of our destiny at the moment?”

“A valid observation,” admitted Zarek.

“The point is,” Gunnerson continued, “it was difficult enough—hopeless,
even—to have our beliefs, the rights of our individual ethnicity, to be taken
seriously when there were millions of Sagittarons in existence. Now, however,
there are… what? Barely over five thousand?”