Test of Magnitude (The Torian Reclamation) (25 page)

“Don’t they know where I am by these damn implants in my head?” Brandon asked.

“I guess they were never reprogrammed,” Mip7 said. “You were given high military clearance at Cardinal-4, but that was probably temporary. Remember, they had you identified as a Sheen after Arkan9’s friend reprogrammed your implants at the spaceport the morning of the battle. No, they can’t find you. But someone who saw you at the C5 spaceport, or on the ground transportation systems here, may report you. Maybe not, though. C5 Amulites are known for keeping to themselves and attending their own affairs, especially the Sheen. And those busses we took were nearly empty.”

“All the more reason I should stay, then. We just got here, for crying out loud. I’m not ready for crossing the desert again just yet.”

“Neither am I, but I think I better go. Governor Stugin2 is asking to see me. He probably knows where we are. All he has to do is call up my expense account.”

“I understand. But I’m staying put for now. Just don’t forget about me, please.”

Mip7 took a long drink and thought for a few minutes.

“Maybe you’re right. If they do check my expense account, they’ll see I’m on the move again, and will think you’re with me. Once I get back to Cardinal-4, I can find out what this is all about. Meanwhile, you don’t need financial support to subsist here. The Sheen are willing to provide food and lodging, and you don’t eat that much anyway. I will authorize a tab in this lounge for you on my account. Try not to drink me into trouble.”

Brandon nodded and sipped his argim. Mip7 was right, of course—there was something hauntingly familiar about all this. But he needed a few more days of rest.

They finished their drinks and went to Madkin3’s house to tell him about Mip7’s travelling. He had no objections and promised to look after Brandon. Brandon walked Mip7 to the stable and saw him off.

“Stay in the village,” Mip said. “I’ll get a message to Madkin3 when I find out what’s happening. Don’t go fishing or anything. It’s dangerous out there for you. Just get some rest, like you said.”

“Will do. Travel safe.”

“Tulros,” Mip7 said. He rode off.

Brandon decided to walk around the circumference of the village, since he was already on the outskirts of it. That figured to give him a more complete perspective of it. And it was a nice day, not as hot as yesterday—yet, anyway. He could circle around the back and come up to his cabin again from the opposite side of the village. There was a well-worn trail from the stable going in that direction which seemed like it would cater to this whim.

As he made his way around the back of the village, the trail became rocky and was soon running along the top of a bluff. Smalls groves that resembled Birch trees cropped up here and there between some of the boulders. There was a wonderful view from here. In the far distance, it seemed the horizon abruptly stopped, closer than it should have, and there was a faint blue behind it that was a slightly different color than the sky. That must be the ocean out beyond a cliff. He would have to take a trip out there soon to see it, and maybe even find out about doing some of that saltwater fishing.

If only his fishing buddy weren’t off in space somewhere. Heck, Derek could be halfway across the galaxy again, who knows? What were these lizard-people going to do about the hostages taken? They seemed a little passive to Brandon. They wouldn’t just forget about them, would they? Maybe they would. After all, most of the hostages were Sheen, who were treated as second-class citizens in this society from what Brandon had seen.

They weren’t second-class citizens to Brandon. Sheen were good people—very hospitable, family-oriented, and intellectual. Maybe a little hokey in their spirituality and the way they regarded archaic traditions, but they were good, trustworthy people. Derek had certainly taken to them.

Poor Derek. He must have witnessed two of them brutally murdered, right up close. Brandon hoped they weren’t ones who Derek personally befriended. But they probably were.

Derek and his dumb hippie-pacifism. Maybe now he would see how futile that way of thinking is. You can’t “just get along” with everyone when you have bullies around. And there are always bullies. Everywhere, throughout all history, there have always been bullies. You can’t get away from them even if you go to outer space. If you don’t fight back, they will simply crush you, and laugh as they do it. Pacifism is the dream of the lazy drug culture. People who are too stoned to accomplish anything, and who aren’t even considered worth harassing by the bullies. They are the only ones who pacifism works for, because they don’t do anything anyway, and have nothing to protect—not even dignity.

Brandon wished he could have another shot at those Azaarians, or whoever the hell they were. Yeah, he’d like another shot at them. Cowards. Shooting up cities and space stations, killing unarmed innocent villagers, stealing property, and taking prisoners millions of miles away from their home.

Kill them all. Now that he thought about it, that’s what Brandon wanted to do. What movie was that from? Kill them, kill them all. Nuke the bastards—only rescue the hostages first. Brandon could do it. He wished they would send him in. He could shoot them up good, and even help with the rescue.

Brandon pulled out his fishing laser and looked for something to shoot at. There was a stone perched on one of the boulders out on the rocky bluff. He aimed and fired. He missed. He adjusted, aimed, and fired again. Nailed it. The little rock went bouncing over the cliff after erupting in a spray of splinters. This was one powerful fishing pole.

Then, he saw something move where the small rock had been. It slithered in an s-shape. A snake! Brandon hit it with the green laser. It writhed and rolled off the cliff. See, he could still shoot like Wyatt Earp. They’d be crazy not to let him go shoot those thieving, murdering Azaarians.

Something flashed in the corner of Brandon’s eye. He looked over and saw a bright movement on the ground, too fast to focus on. It left an inflamed s-trail in the dirt, like a snake made of light or something. A sudden jolt of pain shot through his leg, and then a trail of fire skated off into the rocks, too fast to see what it was. That snake he shot—it couldn’t have caught fire, then climbed back up here to get him, could it?

Brandon pulled up his brown, Robin Hood pant leg and saw two puncture wounds above his ankle that were just beginning to bleed. He had been bitten!

An intense feeling of fire ran up his leg. Brandon turned toward the village and started running. There were several huts visible in the near distance. He needed to get to them. He tried to yell for help, but nothing more than the h-sound came out of his mouth.

The pain in his leg intensified. He began stumbling. Those huts were just another twenty yards away or so. He could make it.

He didn’t. Brandon found himself lying on the ground, helpless. He couldn’t move. No muscle in his body was responding to his will. He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t feel anything now, except for fire in the one leg. The sun was warm on his face. He blinked rapidly. It was starting to get hot. There was Banor, hanging in the mid-day sky. Yes, Banor. That was its name. He had been there recently, hadn’t he?

Chapter Twelve

“Go on back Mip7, the governor is expecting you.”

“Thank you.” Mip7 allowed himself a moment of pride over the fact that his status was now apparently elevated to the point where the governor’s staff no longer thought it necessary to escort him back. He had been on the station just long enough to check his compartment and verify it was still fully functional. Whatever damage had been done to the top decks appeared to be minimal, as the lifts were still working and everything was pretty much intact. Business appeared to be running as usual up here on the governmental floors.

That was not the case in other areas of the station, he had learned from one of his coworkers. Two of the lower-level lifts were out. The military hangar was considered destroyed and not in use, so the armed forces had to commandeer the upper spaceport, which greatly reduced public transportation capacity. Not that there was any visitor traffic right now. Some mid-level decks were closed, having sustained too much damage in the attack, including the renowned Deck 60. Several of the irreplaceable pieces of alien art had been lost as well.

There were crews in spacesuits and small construction craft outside cleaning up the rough areas, removing dangling debris and building structural supports where it was deemed necessary. Inside, crews were working on rerouting power circuits and sealing off corridors where decompression had occurred. There was a tremendous amount of work to be done just to make Cardinal-4 safe enough for engineers and construction crews to begin the needed repairs.

Mip7 entered the governor’s office and found that Commander Olut6 was there. He and the governor were both staring at a familiar object on the desk between them, which Olut6 was stretching his hand out towards. It was that extat Azaarian magnet game.

“Thank you for coming, Mip7,” the governor said without looking up. “Where’s the Earthling, down in your compartment?”

“No, sir. I left him on soil. Didn’t the High Chancellor like his gift? Or are you two researching enemy tactics on that thing?”

“You must have known we are seeking him,” Olut6 said, also keeping his eyes on the game. “Why didn’t you bring him?”

“I left him in a secure location. The Earthman needed rest. He is being taken care of. I can bring him here in a few days, if that is what you require—but he will want to know the reason for his summons. I am curious about that myself.”

“Is he injured?” Olut6 asked.

“No. Just exhausted.”

“Maybe these Earth aliens aren’t so super-powered after all,” Olut6 said. He placed a piece in the game field.

“You can tell him the Tora government wishes to recognize him for his help and heroics,” the governor said.

“Is that true?” Mip7 asked.

The governor looked up at him now. “Since when do Torians lie? In any case, he has been your responsibility. If you are told by your superiors to produce him, then that is what you do. Asking questions is not part of your job description.”

“I wonder, sir, just what my job description is anymore. I was a foreign relations delegate. Then I was an assistant scientist. Lastly, I found myself in the role of a fighter pilot, unintentional as that may have been.”

Mip7 expected Olut6 to interject something scornful in response, but he was just staring at the game field after the governor’s last move. Neither of them responded for the longest moment. Finally, Olut6 cursed and turned off the game. All the pieces fell on the governor’s desk.

“You have a lot of audacity bringing that up,” Olut6 then said. He was obviously irritated. “The two of you should both be assigned food service work at a parental colony, after stealing military property and interfering in a live battle. Even that would be too lenient.”

Mip7 remained silent.

Olut6 turned the game back on and beckoned to the governor. “Go again.”

Now Mip7 spoke. “Sirs, you cannot possibly be playing that Azaarian game for recreation purposes. Certainly you realize this device came from the attackers.”

“No,” the governor said as he placed a piece in the freshly-relit game field. “This one is 100% Torian. The scientists were able to replicate it after briefly studying the Azaarian game. It is now in small-scale production on Amulen. And what we choose to do or not do, recreationally or otherwise, is no concern of yours.”

“I don’t believe what I’m hearing,” Mip7 said. “The public is now playing this thing?”

“No,” the governor replied. “Not yet, anyway. So far, the games have only been distributed to our military bases. Gives the boys some new entertainment when they aren’t on patrol. It’s called
polwar
. That’s the closest they could figure the name in translation, at least, so that’s how they branded it. The boys love it, from what I hear.”

Olut6 frowned at hearing that. “We were the last to receive it, Governor?” he asked.

“Yes. They’ve had it on the ground bases for a week or so already. Our shipment actually came on the shuttle that the Earthling landed during the battle. We were lucky to get it off of there.”

Mip7 shook his head in amazement, but voiced no further objections. Instead, he just watched them play. Then, an odd thing happened. He caught himself hoping he would be invited to play. When he realized this, he shuddered.

“Governor,” Mip7 said, “Would you like me to return at a more convenient time?”

“No. Now is fine.”

Another long pause as more pieces filled the frame.

“Then may I ask why you want to see me?”

“You’ve been using your expense account again, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that means you are back on government time. We need to discuss your duties and schedule. I would also like to talk to you about your part in the battle of Cardinal-4.”

“And the Earthling,” Olut6 added.

“Yes,” the governor said, “both you and the Earthling. A discussion about the battle, and a bit of recognition.”