The Hero

Chapter 21

The room would have been recognizable to a human martial artist. It had that spare look that avoided excess visual stimulation, while being elegant and attractive. Knifelike and spearlike weapons covered two of the walls in geometric precision that was inhuman but logical. A trained human fighter would have deduced the means of using most of them.

Tirdal sat, legs folded, near a small charcoal brazier above which was suspended the Darhel equivalent of a teapot. The steeping herbs within were fragrant and rich. All of this added to the environment, making it tastefully exotic to the untrained but familiar and conducive to proper mental energies in those who understood the Art. The mysticism surrounding any good martial art is not so much religion as mindset. One must feel the form. The clean, charred smell of the fire came to Tirdal, too. For a moment, the steeping beverage reminded him of Gorilla’s tea. It had taken days to reach this level of calm, and he was almost back to normal, that “normal” having been imposed on his species by a race that dared to play deity. Then he reached the critical point and suddenly he was… there. In touch with himself mentally and physically, in touch with his Master, in touch with the universe. The pleading, demanding tendrils of tal, pulling at his mind and spirit, receded below the threshold to what was considered safe and untroublesome. Their retreat left only memories, which could be assimilated with his mastery of the Art into greater control for next time it became necessary to court lintatai for survival.

What to make of the ending? The “tiger beetle” attack was instructive in that he’d been able to kill, fortuitous in that Dagger had died as a result. Yet he had not been able to deliver that final death to the sentient, even though dealing death to the lesser forms was manageable. And Dagger had had the greater position until the very end, even exhausted, enraged and afraid. There was much to consider about humans, still. They were amazingly hard to kill, and could make very determined and deadly enemies. Generations long past had seen that. They had been correct in their assessment of the potential threat. A new study and evaluation would have to be made.

Which was not Tirdal’s problem. Focus on Dagger, his actions, thoughts and words. Remember all that took place, for the knowledge, evaluate it for its importance, for wisdom, and respect the strength of that mind, even in its sick and twisted state, for honor.

Focus on Ferret, who’d done what he must, not knowing why. He had been the only one whose motives were pure. Crippled, outclassed, seeing his own death, he’d fought anyway, stalking two physically superior enemies, knowing one outranged and outclassed him. He could have called an entire fleet using Gun Doll’s gear, but had quietly and with dedication expended his life to maintain operational secrecy. No human would ever know of his valor. Only a very few Darhel. It was up to Tirdal to honor him.

Gluda San Rintalar entered from the panel behind Tirdal. He Sensed her presence before he heard her, and opened his eyes in deference as she padded around the hearth and sat across from him. She was a superior of his own line, and much respected.

Through the steam and hot gases of the brazier, her face rippled just slightly. That, too was part of the meditation. The Master had an etherealness when seen thusly, which reminded the Student that one’s eyes were only one sense of many, and were not the Sense.

“I greet you, Rintai,” she said.

“I thank you for the greeting, and return one, Rintalar.”

“You are recovered?” she asked.

“I am untroubled. There are many memories to discuss,” he said.

“We are most eager for your report. You were able to kill and eat animals, kill predators, even kill a sentient enemy, if indirectly. This is astounding news, and credits your training,” she said. There was a trembling excitement to her body that not even her iron discipline could contain.

“If there is credit due, it is to you who trained me, Rintalar. I am but a Rintai,” he said formally. Still, the compliment was real. He had impressed his instructors.

“Your humbleness is honest, Rintai, but incorrect. You have done what was thought still impossible. You will be noted.”

“Then I thank you, Rintalar,” Tirdal replied.

“There are, of course,” she continued less formally, “still questions. Why, for example, did you dispose of the artifact? It would have been well to bring it. Especially since the humans are disturbed by the loss of a team without any hard evidence.”

“Have they complained that much?” he asked.

“They have,” she admitted. “They questioned whether Darhel could go insane. They have made inquiries as to you as the killer. Though their records of us in the subject of warfare and violence seem to make that a confusing and embarrassing question for them.”

“I was the one to decide, having no superior to ask,” Tirdal replied. “It seemed the most prudent course. They have the intelligence about the Tslek decoy, they have mapping data, drawn from my mind and from what memory remains of the cameras.” His ears flicked at that statement. It had been hard to selectively erase scenes and make it appear a malfunction related to the “battle” they’d fought against Tslek bots. “As I understood, the humans were happy with the strategic result.”

“Indeed they are, Tirdal San, and there is no mistrust of how you handled it. The caste is simply curious as to your motives.”

“My motive was to find a way to get the artifact to our scientists, or have it destroyed. Beyond that, it was to stay alive to accomplish that task,” he said.

“Yes, and it sounds as if that of itself was difficult.”

“Very,” he admitted. “Yet from it I learned the levels to which Jem can restrain tal and lintatai to turn them to use. Having survived and learned, I accept the event as positive. If I could have saved the artifact, I would have. But as the only survivor, I anticipated great inquiries as to the event, and decided it was safer destroyed.

“As to the other,” he continued, “Earth seems to accept the story and has expressed great pleasure at learning of the Tslek trap. It also seems the cometary bases in that system were decoys. It is a shame that during the initial planetary engagement, the Tslek outer sentries killed the rest of the team. Nevertheless, they fought a valiant retreat to get the intelligence out. If not for my sensat skills and some luck, I also would have been killed. I was fortunate to have such competent professionals to learn from and who protected me. I only wish sensor data remained to show their true nature.” Earflicks being insufficient, he grinned again.

“And of course,” he said, “the humans have a fleet en route to clear the system and prosecute an offensive. It appears the fate of several worlds was affected by a lowly Darhel.”

“So it does,” Gluda agreed. “The fate of humanity itself may have been affected.” She shook her head and asked, “Was the artifact really a lindal?”

“Most certainly,” Tirdal replied. “The markings were distinctive, even if the shape was odd. I speculate it was of the oldest type. There were images to confirm my analysis, but they suffered an accident.” His ears flicked again.

“Yes, how unfortunate an accident,” she replied, her own ears indicating wry amusement. It was unfortunate to both races for entirely different reasons. “It must have been an Aldenata research site from before they incorporated lintatai into our life coding. Perhaps even from before lindai was a Power they had.”

“I concur,” Tirdal said. “That was my thought upon seeing the device. It was a tense moment, but I was able to avoid indication of the depths of my interest.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “That has been noted. You did well there, too.”

“I thank you,” Tirdal replied and continued. “I also chose not to give humans the knowledge of the ability to artificially induce lintatai in Darhel.”

“Yes, and we are grateful. It is a shame in many ways. The site would be a treasure trove for human and Darhel researchers. There are likely other devices in those mounds, and also elsewhere on the planet and in the system.”

“It seems almost certain,” Tirdal agreed. “But the system is currently in Tslek hands and would be just as useful to them. This must be avoided, I think. I know I personally prefer that neither gain access; some weapons are too evil to see the light of day.”

“Indeed,” was the reply. “And concurring, we are working to that end. Favors are being called in from the O’Neal Bane Sidhe, plans made. If all goes well, we can avoid having that knowledge become available until after lintatai has been put in its proper perspective.

“You have done well, I say again, Tirdal San Rintai. Your performance was exemplary under conditions more extreme than anyone could have anticipated. Much new knowledge and data have you brought us to consider.” She rose easily from her cross-legged position to stand. The meeting was over, and both had meditations and duties.

Tirdal did likewise. “I thank you, Rintalar. Please relay my thanks to those appropriate.”

“I will, Tirdal. And you should begin preparations for the Rintanal examination.”

A chance at advancement. It was not entirely unexpected, but appreciated nonetheless. And it showed respect for his abilities. “I am most honored, Rintalar. I shall endeavor to perform to that standard.”

“You had best, Tirdal,” she said with an earflick. “You will reflect on my training. And our Line will note how you do, youngling.”

The destroyer flickered into existence barely a diameter from the planet. Such a jump had been risky, but it was not as dangerous as a long approach to such a target. For long milliseconds, nothing happened as factors and preset calculations were compared. Then a swarm of angry dots erupted forth, flying straight as the meteoroids they would imitate. The kinetic weapons entered the atmosphere in a reticulan spread as ground-based missiles and beams blazed to intercept. Some were destroyed by counterfire. The lone Tslek desperately launched message drones, but the remaining weapons tracked in on the facility and adjusted their perfect courses into erratic terminal maneuvers. They hammered the ground, flashing into multikiloton incandescence and lifting the decoy base, now rubble, to the stratosphere and beyond. The bright spheres of the detonations subsided into mushroom clouds that would take days to dissipate, drifting around the globe in long, glowing streaks. Beams and more missiles fired space-to-space, destroying most of the few drones that had launched. The Tslek would find out what had happened sooner or later, but any delay was of tactical use.

Three of the planetary weapons, perhaps decoyed by the systems of the base, fell just to the south and west of the target area. The white flashes of the immolations were noted only by rough beasts.