Worlds Away (15 page)
Kinich Ahua must have been angry with us because of the war
with the northern tribes, and this was his punishment.
I did not sleep that night. Instead, I worked on the story,
and completed it as the sun rose in the morning.
I headed down the mountain and across the valley to look for
my father and the other warriors, and found them before the sun set that night.
Though more tired than I had ever been in my life, I told
them the story, and I felt their grief as they listened.
After hearing the tale, my father spoke to the King of
Copán. The war council agreed that the gods did not approve of the war with the
Q’eqchi’, and we would return home.
My father and the other men of our village decided to erect
a monument to the memory of our lost ones where we were, to remind any Ch’orti
who came north not to engage in war with the northern tribes.
In the following months, I carved the story into the stone
of four mighty columns, and vowed to return every year to recite the story and honor
my people.
Qin
Station :
Sol
System :
Alice stood
straight
up, her face reddening with anger. “You idiot!” she screamed at
Alex.
Taken aback by her reaction, he sat there as still as he
could.
“This is exactly the reason the nations of Earth have driven
themselves to the brink of destruction,” Alice said through gritted teeth. “They
didn’t need any alien enemy; they’re doing a good enough job all on their own. They’ve
been on a downward spiral for a century. Corruption and apathy in the
government, greed and avarice in the economy, cruelty and malice in the
people.”
She swung an accusatory finger toward Alex. “And you kept
this information from the one person in the system who has the resources and
the strength of will to save it. My father was right; you are a petty, selfish
little child.”
The words stung, and Alex felt they were unfair. He had a
brief urge to refute her claim. After all, Alex had sacrificed everything from
the moment his parents had died on Macklin’s Rock.
He shot back at her. “All those words you used—corruption,
apathy, greed, avarice, cruelty, malice—those are all good words to describe
your father. He may have fooled you, as he fooled so many others; as he tried
to fool me. He plays on your weaknesses, prays on your feelings of abandonment.
When he sees someone who he can use for his own purposes, he befriends them,
tells them they are important and powerful. But once he has what he wants from
you, he chews you up and spits you out.”
Alice shook her head. “You lie!”
“Why do you think he ended up in prison? Because of me?”
Alex let out a hollow laugh. “It was Klaus, if you must know. Your father
underestimated him. When I was kidnapped, your father thought he no longer
needed him. Klaus figured out where he stood pretty quick, and took steps to
take down your father first.” He swung a hand around as if to encompass
everyone on the station. “Look around. Why do you think your father surrounds
himself with people who have run afoul of the law, or are repressed, or who’ve been
ostracized by society? Not out of the goodness of his heart, I can tell you. It’s
because they let their anger and desperation rule them, and because of that, they’re
easy to fool.”
Alice looked ready to burst. “I’m not a fool,” she said, but
her voice was low.
“You’ve been deeply hurt. Betrayed and shamed by society for
something that wasn’t your fault—I’m sorry; I know about your history: your
mother, the newspapers in Beijing. It wasn’t fair, but your life was still ruined.
Now, you want to make someone pay.” He shook his head at her. “But just because
they did this to you, it doesn’t give you the right to conquer them or kill
them.”
Looking suddenly like a little girl, Alice lowered her head.
Alex said, “I know you’re angry, but you don’t want to watch
the world burn. If you did, you would simply do nothing and let the Kulsat do
your dirty work for you. No, you got angry at me because, deep down, you care.”
There were tears streaking down her cheeks. “I don’t care.”
“Yes, you do,” Alex said, his voice taking on a soothing
tone. “And so do I. The Kulsat will destroy us. It will be quick. Emperor Yin
is going to take his time about it, but he’ll end up doing the same thing. I
won’t trade one doomsday scenario for another. But you—”
Alice looked up. “What about me?”
“You have the power to make a difference. There is a chance
to stop the Kulsat. I’ve been told there is a way, but in order to get to that
point, we need to work together.”
Narrowing her eyes, Alice said, “Against my father…?”
Alex nodded. “Yes.” Seeing her teetering on the brink of a
decision, he added, “He was directly responsible for the murder of my friend,
Kenny, and he’s given the order for many others all in the name of power. You’ve
watched the newsvids; surely not everyone is telling the exact same lie about
him.”
Alice wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Say I believe you,”
she said. “Say I want to help you. What do we do?”
Alex lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “We continue our
work.”
Looking up sharply, Alice spoke in a breathy rush. “What?”
“The goal is the same. We need Kinemats. Only then can we
learn how to defend ourselves. I told the truth: I have no idea how long it
will take the Kulsat to find us. It could be minutes; it could be a millennium.
When they do find us, we need to be prepared. Other systems have been able to
defend themselves. It’s possible.”
“Then you will tell Sian to stop delaying and complete his algorithm?”
Alice asked, and gave him a sly smile. “I told you: I’m not a fool. Don’t
worry, my father is occupied with other matters; I need not concern him with
every little detail.”
“Thank you,” Alex said.
“If we do solve the formula for priming the Kinemet, we’re
going to have to test it.”
Alex shook his head. “We’re not going to sacrifice any more
innocent lives.”
“Then how will we know if it works?”
“I have a thought about that,” Alex said. “As someone who is
attuned to Kinemet and its radiation, I may be able to tell if the formula is
correct or not.”
Alice stood up. “What are we waiting for?”
Copán
Departmental :
Honduras
:
Yaxche insisted
that
they return to his village, and would not give anyone a hint of his
friend’s location until they agreed. Five of them piled into a hydrogen-powered
crew cab. Yaxche sat up front with Migel, who continued his role as the driver.
Michael sat in the back with another Cruzado named Diego, and Humberto, who
squeezed between them. After the five-hour drive, Michael was thankful to get
out and stretch his legs.
Little had changed in Pueblo de Santa Brio since Michael had
been there last. Even the older woman selling handcrafted trinkets sat on the
same wooden chair in the same spot as before. She smiled at him, as if
recognizing him. He nodded to her, returning the smile, though he didn’t stop
to peruse her wares.
There was a young tourist couple in town, recording their
journey on a digital recorder. Humberto gave them no more than a cursory glance
before dismissing their presence.
The house that was once Yaxche’s now belonged to another
family. Four years was too long to remain vacant, and without news, the village
would have assumed he wasn’t alive.
Yaxche headed straight for a different house, and before he
reached it, a middle-aged woman ran out, tears streaking down her face and a
cry on her lips. Michael recognized her as Yaxche’s daughter.
The two embraced, and it was a long time before the woman
stopped crying.
Michael, not wanting to intrude on the reunion, turned to
Humberto. “We might be here a while.”
“Oh?”
“I feel like an ass,” Michael said. “I was so wrapped up in
everything else that’s happened in the past while, it completely slipped my
mind. Four years ago, Yaxche’s grandson, Terry, was killed on Venus.” The sharp
memory of Kenny’s recent murder cut through his mind. He intended to contact
the young physicist’s family and extend his condolences, and vowed to do so the
first chance he got.
“Ah.” Humberto nodded. “Te’irjiil. Another victim of Jose’s
madness. I regret my part in involving him in that mess.”
When Michael looked up, he noticed Yaxche waving him over.
Humberto followed a few steps behind.
Yaxche said, “My daughter wants to thank you for bringing me
back to her. She wishes us to spend the evening to hear the story of my
grandson’s sacrifice. There is plenty of room on the floor, and she has spare
blankets for the night. In the morning, we will go.”
“Of course,” Michael said.
Humberto turned to his two men and instructed them to park
the truck on the outskirts of the village. “The three of us will set up
rotating patrols.”
Michael followed Yaxche and his daughter into the house,
where they waited for her husband to return from work before they ate supper. Yaxche’s
two granddaughters, Rosalia and Maria, clung to their grandfather and would not
let him do anything for himself.
Michael’s translator had been disabled by Humberto, in case
it had a tracker, and he fervently wished he’d had time to pick up another one.
He had some difficulty following the conversation among the Hernandez family,
and had to rely on Humberto to translate.
They spent the evening listening to stories of Terry’s
youth, and his love for Itzel. When it came time for Michael to share what he
knew of Terry’s fate, he told his mother that he was sorry that he’d never had
the chance to meet the young man.
To his surprise, Humberto told of his experiences with
Terry, and didn’t gloss over his role in inducting the youth into the Cruzados.
“He had the heart of a crusader,” Humberto said in
conclusion. “And it is because of his true spirit, and those like him, that we
continue our fight.”
Michael expected Yaxche’s daughter to be outraged at
Humberto, but instead, she held her husband’s hand and said,
“Te’irjiil le
habría perdonado, estoy seguro. No podemos hacer menos.”
“Gracias,”
Humberto said, his voice solemn.
∞
The next morning, the five of them piled back in the truck
and headed out. Yaxche would not tell them their destination. He merely
indicated which turns to take.
As they headed west toward Copán Ruinas, Migel gave Humberto
a concerned look.
Humberto, checking his holoslate, leaned forward and spoke
to Yaxche. “It looks as if you are taking us to the border crossing of Guatemala.
If that’s our destination, we need to stop. We can’t get past the border
patrol.”
Having read up on the region, Michael knew that under
ordinary circumstances, crossing into Guatemala wouldn’t be a problem. The custom’s
office was more of a prolonged toll operation and casual check stop. If Michael
gave them his passport, however, it would register on the national-security grid,
flagging him to Ruiz and his operation.
“Head north at the ruins,” Yaxche said to Migel, and
Humberto let out a sigh of relief.
“We’ve only got a few more hours’ hydrogen in the tank,”
Migel said. “How far north is your friend?”
“We will be fine,” Yaxche said.
Sensing everyone else’s discomfort, Michael asked, “Can you
show us on a map?”
Turning in his seat, Yaxche said, “I have not seen my friend
since I was a young man, but I will remember how to get there.”
Realizing that, for a great number of cultures, landmark
navigation was the primary means of travel, Michael sat back in the seat and
looked out the window, watching the farms and forests fly past.
After a little over an hour, turning one direction and then
another on dirt roads, they arrived at a small plantation. Michael glanced at
Humberto’s holoslate.
“We’re here,” he said, pointing to a spot on the small map
on the holoslate display. “Right near the border.”
There weren’t any signs telling them what plantation it was,
and Michael fervently hoped they had nothing to do with Oscar Ruiz.
A horse and rider plodding along the edge of the main
entranceway spotted them, and turned toward them.
Migel spoke to the man in Spanish, and Michael wished he had
a translator with him. He didn’t want to ask Humberto what was being said every
time.
The rider looked across the seat to Yaxche, who spoke
rapidly. A moment later, the rider replied, and pointed farther north along the
road.
“Gracias,”
Migel said, putting the truck into gear.
Yaxche, sounding excited, said, “My friend has retired from
the plantation, and has a villa down the road.”
The road, little better than a goat trail, cut left and
right several times before leading to a small clearing. A modest house stood there.
A dozen chickens walked freely around the property. There was a small barn with
a pen holding a few pigs.
As Migel pulled up, a man who could only be described as ancient
stepped out from the doorway, a wide grin on his face as he waved to his
visitors.
Stepping out of the truck, Yaxche hurried over to his
friend, shook his hand and gave him a heartfelt slap on the arm.
They spoke in Spanish, and Michael didn’t need Humberto to
figure out they were re-acquainting themselves with one another.
If they hadn’t seen each other in over half a century, there
would be a lot of catching up to do.
Michael noticed that Migel and Diego automatically migrated
to either end of the property, trying to look casual as they set up watch posts.
The paranoia might not be necessary, this far away from any major population,
but then again, if something happened, help was a long way off. He decided to
be thankful the men were on guard.
Humberto patiently waited until the two older men finished
saying hello to each other.
Yaxche turned and said, “Michael, Humberto, I am pleased to
introduce my oldest friend to you. This is Patli, who is also the grandnephew
to my grandfather’s brother. He does not speak English, but he has agreed to
talk to you for a time. Perhaps he will share his story with you. Come, sit.”
They followed Yaxche and Patli to a small area on the side
of the house opposite the pen, where several wooden chairs were set out around
a barrel.
“Patli does not often get visitors, but he always has a few
spare chairs just in case.”
The four of them arranged themselves around the barrel, and
Patli spoke, looking at Michael with a kindly smile.
“He says he wonders if this is the first time you have
stepped out into the sun.” Yaxche grinned. “He’s never seen a person so pale
before.”
With a nod, Michael said, “I come from a land far to the
north, where it snows half of the year. The sun is much colder there than
here.”
Yaxche translated, and then said, “He has never seen snow,
but he heard a story about a man made of snow once, and thought someone was
pulling a trick on him.”
Michael laughed. “It’s true. I’ve made a few myself, when I
was younger.”
They spoke casually like that for an hour, allowing Patli to
get to know them.
Just as the noon sun peaked, Patli spoke at length to Yaxche.
Humberto narrowed his eyes at what he heard, and Michael’s
anticipation grew.
Turning to Michael, Yaxche spoke. “I have told my friend
that you and George were the first ones, besides my grandson, who understood
the Song of the Stars, and that you needed to hear the rest of the story. Patli
says he has not told the story in many years—no one is interested in the
ramblings of us old men—but he is happy that you have shown patience today. If
you have a little more patience, he will tell you the story that was passed
down from his grandfather’s grandfather many generations back.
“It is the story of the dying god, and of the young hunter
who discovered him, and who was the first to hear the divine Song of the Stars.
He was my and Patli’s ancestor, who wrote the Song of the Stars as told to him
by the dying god. His name was Subo Ak.”