The Battle for the Ringed Planet (10 page)

Realizing that if it had not been for his quick action she would be dead, Siiri whispered quietly beside his ear, “Thank you Torian McCallum. Sleep tight.”

In her room, a place she thought she would never see again, Siiri slipped into a comfortable night gown and examined herself in the mirror. Would she really leave with him to go off planet? Would the voices let her? Did the other off-worlders know about her condition and could they cure her? Her mind raced in deep thought and despite her exhaustion, she knew she would not fall asleep right away.

A quiet knock on the door interrupted her thoughts and her mother appeared, “Siiri, dear, the Sky … Torian is having nightmares. Perhaps you should go and try to settle him.”

Immediately she got up and went across the hall into the guest room where Torian was thrashing and moaning in his sleep. In the darkness, gently touching his chest, she rested her palm to try and comfort him, but then he started to talk in his sleep. She was about to wake him, but decided to listen a moment first.

“Bad intel … Tristan, we have to punch out now!”

He mumbled a few unintelligible words, and then became agitated, “… Imperium fleet! I count 8, Emperor class … Solvairs coming fast, 10 o’clock …”

“Go go go, that one was close … damn, shields gone, we can’t take another hit …”

“Boxing us in, they want us alive … watch out … almost rammed him …”

“… forcing us down to that the moon … break! Damn, that was inside … Tristan! Oh … Tristan!” Torian began to cry and thrash harder.

“Torian!” Siiri grasped his shoulders, whispering urgently close to his ear and he sat up.

“What?”

“You were having nightmares.”

“Oh,” still shaking, he mumbled, “Sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

“Sometimes …” he started, slurring the words still suffering the effects of the alcohol.

But she placed a finger on his lips, “You don’t have to explain. Just try and get some sleep.”

“Aye,” he moaned.

“Do you want me to sit here with you a while?”

“No, I’m good. You need to sleep more than I do.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah …”

“If you have any more, I’ll stay.”

“I won’t …” but she stayed a while anyway.

Chapter 7: The Old Man

Sometime in the middle of night, Torian, rocked awake by tremors caused by thundering ordinance somewhere near the valley. Groggily he glanced around in the dark, disoriented and confused until he remembered where he was. Spitting out dust fallen from the ceiling, he fumbled for his boots and utility belt.

“Tristan! What’s going on?” he shouted in the dark.

The door opened and a shadow carrying a lantern entered, “Oh, it’s you …” he groaned, recognizing Siiri and rubbing his temple. The room shook again and in the dim light more streams of dust poured from the ceiling.

She knelt next to his bed, “What are they doing? I can’t figure it out on the Con.” She held the small black object in her hand.

“Give me a moment …” Torian sighed.

“People are gathering their things in sleds and going to the deep shelters.”

“Do you have any coffee?”

“No, only Father Jarlan.”

“Never mind, let’s see.” He took the Con from her hand and began playing with the vertical screens appearing over the device, “Damn, I have to pee.”

“There’s a chamber pot under the bed. Grandpa couldn’t make it to the bathroom.” She watched Torian work the screens on the small rectangular device, “What is it?”

“Good news...” he put the Con aside on the bed and then reached under for the bowl, fancier than it should be for its purpose. He turned away from the young woman and undid the fasteners on his flight suit, “Do you mind?”

“What does the Con say?” she rolled her eyes and stood up walking across the room looking away while Torian filled the chamber pot.

“How much did I drink last night?”

Folding her arms and staring in frustration at the wall, she sighed, “Way more than that pot. The rest went to your brain.”

The room shuddered, but not as intensely as it had earlier while Torian fastened up his flight suit and began to slip on his utility belt, “That’s better.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

Pulling out a white gel pill from his backpack medical kit for his headache and then a small tubular flashlight with an extremely bright beam from his utility belt, he chewed the pill mumbling “Starhawks. Ours. They’re pounding the hell out of the Callisto crash site. That means the fleet, or elements of it, are here and that’s my ticket home, darling.”

“I’m not your darling. Why are they doing that?”

“Rebels might have landed troops, so we’re denying them souvenirs.”

“So there are bad Sky Demons around?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“But that’s not good!”

“Our guys are probably landing marines, too.” Torian flicked his powerful flashlight at Siiri and saw that she wore buckskin pants, a green button up shirt and the utility belt, with a plasma pistol, “That’s more practical.” He also noticed she filled the pants out nicely and was not as skinny as he had thought.

“They’re my brother’s clothes, and the pants are a little tight.”

“Yeah they are.” He grinned.

“You shouldn’t be looking there, Sky Demon.”

After dumping the chamber pot into the pump flush toilet in their quaint bathroom and brushing his teeth, Torian helped Siiri’s family collect their belongings and load them onto a grav cart. They would take it down the tunnels to shelter in a deep hidden area that had been prepared decades earlier for times such as this. As Siiri handed him half a loaf of bread and some cheese for breakfast, he noticed that worry had darkened her blue eyes.

She hefted a heavy leather pack and commented, “Mom made lamb sandwiches and there’s a thermos of hot soup.” Then while Torian helped adjust the straps on the pack, she added, “Father Jarlan wants to see you. The chapel is across the river.”

“That should be interesting.”

In the kitchen, dimly lit by the glowing embers in the fireplace, the ground rumbled again and Torian watched as Davin walked towards him with hand extended, “Torian McCallum…” his face appeared sad, “you’ll take good care of my daughter? Please get her to the good Sky people.” His voice wavered.

“Aye, that will be my first priority,” he glanced away with a little guilt knowing that Intelligence Agents would want to spend considerable time with the girl, and that the interrogation may not be what she was expecting. They would not hurt her, and held in detention was far better than execution in Grondalle.  

As he stood next to the steel door leading to the tunnel complex, Torian adjusted his own backpack, checked his Con, then turned to Siiri gently motioned that it was time to go. “Take some time to make your good byes, but we need to be on the move.”

Her eyes were wet as she nodded, and went quickly to her family. Torian glanced away, reminded of three years ago at the space terminal in Gold Sea, Kanata, where he last saw his own family. Now his brother was in college and his sister was at university.

Looking stoic despite the wet cheeks, Siiri rejoined him and Torian spoke to the watching family, “I promise it won’t be forever.”

The main tunnel was crowded with villagers dragging wheeled carts, wagons, and grav sleds loaded with supplies. They had prepared for invasion all their lives, keeping emergency kits stocked and food stored in abundance and memorizing the routes to the huge chambers kilometers down into the tunnels. Father Jarlan had ensured that the shelters had enough provisions, ventilation, and generators to last for a six-week stay. The explosions had knocked out the lights so the villagers carried lanterns. Torian took out another flash light and handed it to Siiri.    

 He and Siiri pushed through the throng of people, jostled back and forth, accidentally or purposefully, Torian was not sure. Some were obviously frightened and screamed every time the ground rumbled. Others were more concerned about Siiri’s presence and when he heard harsh words hissed in her direction, he pulled out his pistol as a precaution. She unconsciously moved her hand to her holster when Lexor and his family strode by; her accuser glowered at her as he pulled the largest grav sled in the village. When his eyes met Torian’s flat stare, he backed off and turned away.

The explosions were not as powerful as the earlier ones, but since the ground above impaired the readings on his Con, he could only detect big objects like space vessels. Not only did he see Starhawks, but Solvair fighters and large box-like enemy troop carriers. That was not so good. The Starhawks must be pounding the enemy troops.

“There’s a nasty battle going on above the falls,” he commented as he got between Siiri and another menacing villager with an angry stare.

“This way,” she directed him down a branch of corridor that led downward. As they descended, the air temperature got cooler fast and water dripped down the walls. Passing a small room with several metal doors, Torian glanced in and stopped.

“We’re under the river. Those are ice lockers.” Siiri commented tugging his arm.

“That explains the cold beer! Any in there?”

“Not for you!”

The tunnel was clear so they began to run. He lost his footing once on the slippery floor, but Siiri in her high leather boots never lost grip. Entering the chapel, they viewed an impressively large room filled with rosewood pews carved with crosses at each end, bathed in colored light from painted transteel skylights. Most of the beams of light angled to highlight the carved marble altar.

“Wait outside Siiri,” a voice commanded from a room behind the altar.

Siiri glanced at Torian nervously, but he countered, “She stays.” His pistol was still drawn and he raised it towards the room.

Father Jarlan emerged and as he stepped around the altar, Torian noticed he was carrying a backpack, “I don’t have much time.”

“And I don’t have much patience.”

“You’re an arrogant fool. You have no idea what she can do.”

“I do know that what ever fantastic powers she wields couldn’t stop a pack of wolves.”

“You will see …” Then he sighed, “You gave her a military plasma pistol?”

“No, she stole it when I was resting.”

“Inebriated, you mean.” she corrected.

“Yeah, well you’re going to give it back.”

“Just try and take it from me!”

A very annoyed Torian turned back to the priest, “Do you know how to deactivate the ward or shield or whatever it is around the city?”

The old man furrowed his thin grey brows over his bold eyes, “I see you get right to the point. I was going to talk to you about that.”

“My fleet is here and they’ll be overflying the city, if they haven’t all ready.”

“Hopefully they will have learned from the mistakes of others that have perished.”

Suddenly Siiri groaned and fell to her knees, holding her temple in her hands and moaning.

“Siiri!” Torian immediately knelt next to her.

She looked upward, shouting, “No! I won’t!” Torian saw that her eyes had turned a shining bright gold. He threw down his pack and reached in for his Con.

Father Jarlan calmly began to pack a few items from the altar, a gold cross and a silver chalice.

“What’s happening to her?” Torian examined the readings.

“The voices are not fond of me.” He said with a wry smile, and then continued in a deadly serious tone, “There are times she cannot be controlled. Eventually they will kill her, but not before, they make her do something regrettable. Of course, supplying her with an advanced weapon only makes matters worse.”

In a small trembling voice, she replied “But they promised it wouldn’t happen to me! They were nice …”

“They lie, Siiri. They always do.”

Then she collapsed onto the floor, breathing heavy. Torian gently put his hand on her shoulder.

“She’ll be fine. They haven’t taken her over completely yet.”

“What are they?” Torian demanded.

In answer, he motioned, “Scan me with your device.”

Complying, he aimed the Con at Jarlan, and then gasped.

“Yes,” the older man stepped down closer, “your readings are correct.”

“You are 152 earth standard years old.” Frowning, Torian studied the man more carefully. “That means you were here when the city was alive.”

 “And still spry, well, thanks to a little mechanical help.” Then Jarlan grinned, “Come now, McCallum, haven’t you seen extraordinary aging before?”

 “I’ve heard of it, but the mind usually gives out around 120 years.”

The old man tapped his forehead, “Not this one.”

Siiri moaned and rubbed her forehead, sitting up.

“Are there are others that hear voices here?”

“No. They ended up like her. And now they are gone.”

“How do you stop it?”

“The information about the ward and her condition is located in a laboratory. You will need to go there.” Then he turned fully to face Torian, “McCallum, it’s not an ordinary energy shield. It uses the mind. It can read your intentions and learn your ship’s systems through your thoughts. It will kill anyone that is hostile.” Then his tone became slightly distracted, “I don’t know how you survived, but obviously there must be a flaw … I’ll have to make some corrections.”

Torian stepped back, “You designed the shield?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s killed people!”

“No, it’s protected the city. It knows all the people in the village and lets them pass. But off-worlders cannot enter or they will die.”

“Except me.”

“And you want to bring Siiri back with you to your battle fleet.”

“Unless we find out the cause …”

“No McCallum, your fleet is here because they want her, or information about her. They want do know details about the experiments conducted here.” Then he glanced at the girl who was brushing off her cloths, “Did he tell you what his fleet will do to you if you go with him?”

“No …” she answered in a hesitant small voice.

“First they will put you in a prison where you will be interrogated until you can’t tell them anything more. Then they will kill you and dissect your brain.”