Torian Reclamation 3: Test of Fortitude (20 page)

“You’re the mission commander. And for good reason. I never question orders from a good commander. But for what it’s worth, I happen to agree with your decision. What we could see of that garbled Chenel message was enough to tip the scales, as far as I’m concerned. Heck, the fact that we’re getting secret messages at all is probably enough. The High General will want it descrambled right away. He also wanted you at Dirg if you strongly suspected an Azaarian coalition with the enemy, which you now do. So that’s where you need to go. I’ll check in with your family and let them know you’re all right.”

“Thanks, Perry.”

Perry glanced at the craft across the hangar deck and smiled. “Plan on logging any hours in the real McCoy?”

“Hadn’t thought about it. Maybe after I get settled in at Dirg, if I have the time—perhaps while waiting for our fleet commander to arrive. It’s tempting enough.”

“Then what?” Perry asked.

“After briefing our commanders, I’ll be on my way home. I’m certainly not sticking around and waiting for another battle to start. Had my share of those. Besides, it could be years before the enemy shows themselves again.”

“I don’t think I agree, especially after that little show Azaar put on for us. Do you know who our fleet commander is out here?”

“Yes,” Brandon said. “Olut6 gave me his name. General Islog8. I’ve never met him.”

A wide grin formed on Perry’s face.

“What? You know him?”

Perry laughed. “Yeah. I know him. Oh, that Olut6. I always did appreciate serving under a High General with a sense of humor.”

“What’s so funny about this general?”

“You’ll see. Good luck, Brandon. See you back home.” Perry turned around and started up the ladder behind him. Brandon watched his hands carefully find their hold, rung by rung, until he reached the open cockpit at the top and slid inside.

A deckhand then rolled the ladder away and the cockpit canopy came down. The huge mechanical arm that held the ITF1 in place loosened its grip and extended, moving the craft farther away from the hangar wall. Perry and Brandon exchanged waves. Brandon and the deckhands then exited the hangar in preparation for depressurization.

Brandon felt bad sending Perry on a cramped two-and-a-half day space flight, especially after Perry had just been captive in the same vessel for ten hours. But it had to be done. Perry, of course, never complained when it came to duty. And the ITF1 was a large enough craft to move around in. It had beds and exercise equipment. Even so, long space flights in tight quarters could become mentally excruciating, at least for Brandon. He was happy to be travelling on a larger vessel.

Back on the bridge, Brandon and the flight crew watched as the hangar opened and the ITF1 emerged again. The fighters moved in to protect it from the ice meteors. They shot a few, though nothing big was in the area at the moment. A few minutes later, the dag lit up and the ITF1 vanished. Brandon’s second in command, the only other human in this section of the galaxy, was gone.

Command. That was a funny thing to think about. Never before had Brandon been in a position of authority like this. All these crewmembers calling him Commander—it almost made him laugh at first. Brandon was a civilian. He had never given orders before.

But he was no stranger to making important decisions. And some of those had been under extreme pressure in military situations. That’s when Brandon discovered he was good at keeping his cool under stress. Stress he could handle. It was during the calm reflective times that he became scatterbrained. Too much time to think would often cause him to second-guess himself. Something about high-pressure situations brought out the best in Brandon’s natural ability. Either that or he had always gotten lucky.

His current task figured to be nearly finished. The tough part was over. Brandon allowed himself a moment of self-recognition. He did a decent job with the Azaarians. As good a job as could probably be done, anyway. And he was making good decisions—with Perry’s help—on how to proceed afterwards. His only mistake was miscalculating the amount of time for Perry to stay away. But in the end, it all worked out. Or maybe he had only gotten lucky again.

“Plot a course for Dirg,” Brandon said to the captain. “Get us in position. Have the boys make a final sweep around us, and when they think we have a reasonable window clear of the larger rocks, bring them in. Be ready to go as soon as the hangar is secure.”

“You got it, Commander.”

Another set of orders. As awkward as they had been to give at first, they were now rolling off his tongue smoothly. Heck, he was even getting used to being called Commander. Maybe being in charge wasn’t such a difficult thing.

That is, as long as there was some pressure.

*

Alan watched Shaldan’s hands carefully find their hold, rock by rock, until he reached the open depression at the top and slid inside.

He instantly popped back out and scrambled to find a foothold. A dark figure appeared above him. Shaldan’s reaction was panicky. Both his feet slipped. He held on to the ledge outside the depression with his hands as his feet dangled in the air. Ten meters below a set of jagged rocks waited indifferently.

A great screech bellowed throughout the surrounding air and the dark figure lunged at Shaldan. Shaldan moved his head to avoid being pecked. The huge bird then stabbed at his hands. Shaldan let go with one hand, then found another hold and removed the other hand just as the bird tried to peck it.

“Hold on Shaldan!” Jumper shouted.

The sound of Jumper’s voice echoing from below startled the bird. It popped its head over the front side of the ledge, peered at Jumper and Alan, and then took off. Alan watched it soar down the mountainside and then fly off towards one of the green oases.

“It’s gone!” Jumper yelled back to Shaldan.

Shaldan managed find steady holds for his hands and feet. He eased his way back down to the small mesa where Alan and Jumper were resting. Alan could tell Jumper was trying not to laugh, but failing.

“Did you get a close enough look at it?” he said.

“Too close.” Shaldan sat down between them and breathed heavily. “It’s magnificent, though.”

“Man, what were you thinking jumping in on it like that?” Alan asked.

“I didn’t see it at first. Got confused and thought it was up on a higher ledge. Then I came down right next to it. That bird hunches into a ball and looks like a black rock. Came to life when I nudged it. Wasn’t happy.”

Jumper continued laughing. “You seem to be having issues with animals on this trip. Maybe you should take up a different hobby. Next time you decide to get a better view of one, I’m going to have to dig our weapon out of my pack to protect you.”

Shaldan eyed Jumper’s backpack. “You have weapons with you?”

“Only one small hand laser. Trodenjo assured us there were no dangerous animals on Mpar, so that’s all we brought.”

“Unless you count the tupinx,” Alan said.

“The flute-drums, right.” Jumper stopped laughing. “We could always break those out and play them. The sound might seduce whatever beast Shaldan finds himself tangling with.”

Alan pointed down. “The problem is they might also seduce us. Right off the mountainside.”

Jumper’s eyes followed Alan’s finger. “Hey, there’s Threeclack and his entourage, going out to meet the traders.”

Alan looked to the ground and realized just how far up they had climbed. The Sulienites were tiny.

“They’re headed south,” Shaldan said. “Not east. Looks like they’re going through the canyon.”

Alan could see where the southern pathway turned in the distance. It followed the base of the rocks below them before angling left and vanishing in a valley between two more mountain ranges, eventually coming back out on the eastern horizon. Threeclack’s group appeared to be moving at a rapid pace.

“The Sulienites really are a unique people,” Alan mused.

“Because of their reclusiveness?” Shaldan asked.

“I was thinking more about their fascination with new activities—polwar and the tupinx in particular, and then their tendency to abruptly lose interest. But yes, that too. Reclusiveness and attraction to new things is an odd combination. Perhaps that’s what makes them suddenly all quit a popular hobby.”

Jumper spoke as he began fumbling through his pack. “Threeclack said it’s because they came to realize those hobbies had no value. Not just because they lost interest. It’s like they realized they were wasting their time on unprofitable pursuits.”

“They’re not much different from my race in that regard,” Shaldan said. “We’re an efficiency-minded people, trained from youth to recognize and pursue profitable courses of action.”

“But polwar,” Alan argued, “and this flute-drum thing, are terribly addicting activities. It’s not so easy to suddenly quit something like that, even when you’ve come to admit it’s a bad thing.”

“I quit polwar,” Jumper said as he pulled both tupinx out and set them on the rock. “It wasn’t that hard.” He kept searching through the pack.

“You quit when we moved to Banor, where there is no polwar, so you couldn’t play anymore. That’s not the same thing as voluntarily quitting.”

“No, but I also quit the tournament after the second event. I could have kept entering that. Extat, people expected me too, being a former champion.”

“But you couldn’t practice anymore, which is probably why you lost. And why you never entered again, right? You couldn’t stay in practice enough to compete at a top level.”

“That’s not why I lost.” Jumper pulled the elevation boots out of the pack and set them next to the tupinx before continuing his search.

“I’m just saying the Sulienites aren’t like everyone else,” Alan said, ignoring Jumper’s insinuation. “Otherwise, everyone else would have stopped playing polwar a long time ago. But it’s still the scourge of the galaxy, according to Brandon. And economic production on Amulen is still anemic because of it. They have to force the essential workers to stop playing it during the daytime. And this thing,” Alan picked up one of the tupinx, “is even worse, if you ask me. I’ve changed my mind about it again.”

Alan hurled the tupinx off the mountain.

Jumper and Shaldan both looked at him like he was nuts. The tupinx clanged on a rock below them, then bounced its way down a sheer cliff face. Along the way it picked up pieces of rock here and there. Soon it led a small avalanche to the ground below …where four figures were now walking, two of which were animals.

“Hey, there’s Kayla and Fardo,” Shaldan said. “You almost buried them.”

The mini-rockslide caused Kayla and Fardo to look up. Kayla waved when she saw them up on the slopes.

“You’ll pick it back up when we get down,” Jumper said waving back. “Or else you’ll go back to the arena and take one of the others. Same way you did this morning.”

“No,” Alan said. “I’m following the Sulienites’ example. No more hobbies for me that are all drawbacks and no advantages.” He turned to Shaldan. “And I don’t think you guys should take them as trade goods to other worlds, either. Even if you stand to profit from them.”

Shaldan shook his head. “We’re not interested in them. I was only being polite to Threeclack when I said I would discuss it with Trodenjo.”

“Good.”

“Why are you suddenly uninterested in them?” Jumper asked. “Yesterday you sure seemed like you wanted to add them to your catalog.”

“Because of the finite supply. They’re going to stop production now, and we know the only trading arrangement the Sulienites are interested in maintaining is being a customer for mining equipment. That’s one of the things Mparians all learn in business class at an early age. We don’t waste time investing in nonrenewable transactions. The lure of a lump-sum return is pure vanity. Lump sums are fleeting. Our purpose is to establish and maintain an income source. That’s the only truly valuable asset. As such, profitable businesses are rarely sold on Mpar. Usually only by the sick or elderly who have no heirs to pass them on to.”

“Oh no,” Jumper said.

“You disagree with our economic philosophy?”

“No,” Jumper said. “That.” He pointed down the mountain.

Alan looked and saw that Kayla and Casanova were beginning to climb up the rocks. Fardo and Kush were continuing to walk along the path at the base. Far ahead of them, Threeclack and his party had turned eastward and were about to disappear into the canyon.

Alan laughed. “They have quite a climb if they think they’re coming all the way up here.”

Jumper cocked his head at Alan. “Um, you do know her, right?”

Alan stopped laughing. “Maybe Casanova won’t make it. Some parts are pretty steep.”

“He can jump those. Believe me—she wouldn’t be coming up if she thought for a second he might have any trouble.”

“Maybe he’ll get distracted.”

“He’s a splendid climber,” Shaldan said watching Casanova.

Alan looked at Shaldan. “You sure are an animal lover. Why does Mpar have such strict foreign animal laws?”

“To protect our ecology. As Trodenjo informed you, there aren’t many large predators. Consequently, we have a delicate balance of nature that requires careful preservation. Environmental protection agencies employ over 6% of our population.”

“Sounds like a heavy drain on public revenue,” Jumper said.

“No, it’s all privately funded.”

“You mean, like from charity?”

Shaldan thought for a second. “I suppose that’s correct. We don’t think of it that way. What you refer to as charity is a standard expense for Mparians.”

“So it’s forced?”

“No, no. We’re a completely free society.”

Jumper cocked his head. “So you’re saying everyone gives to charitable causes without being forced?”

“Yes, that’s correct. Mparians are taught a sense of civic duty and national pride from a young age. As a result, we’re able to prevent governmental interference in all aspects of our lives. Charitable causes make their public appeals, and we support those causes which individually move us. This includes public works such as utilities and transportation. Those causes which fail to appeal to enough people simply die out. In this manner, the issues that Mparians collectively decide are worthy naturally subsist. Environmental protection causes are among the most popularly supported.”