“And put ourselves in danger to save aliens we don’t even know?” Carven shook his head, settling back into his wicker chair. The dried cushion of swamp reeds creaked underneath him. “We’re safe here behind the wall.”
Striver picked up his fallen chalice with forced calm, running his fingers along the nicks in the rim. He expected as much from Carven. His loyalties lay with his large family. The hardest people to persuade were those with greatest risk.
Finding the ship might be the best way to protect all their families. How could he make them see?
Striver scanned the council. The table stretched the length of the meeting room, as long as the redwoods from which it was carved. The expressions of the farthest council members were hard to decipher in the dwindling firelight. “If everyone stayed where they were and lived with minimal risk, our ancestors would never have left Old Earth. They would never have battled to live on Outpost Omega or boarded that alien ship to a paradise planet only heard of in legends. If our ancestors hadn’t taken risks, none of us would be here today.”
A few members of the council nodded with reluctant accession. Several more held tightlipped frowns. Beckon, an elder from Striver’s grandfather’s generation, furrowed his wiry gray brows from the head of the table. “What if they’re hostile? Their technology is far more advanced than what we’re capable of right now. The Lawless can fend for themselves.”
Ignoring the shouts of protest, Striver pointed from across the table. “Exactly. Do you want that technology falling into the hands of the Lawless?”
Carven spread his palms. “If the Lawless can take it from them.”
Striver pushed down his rising frustration. An unknown force within that ship called to him, and ignoring his instincts meant trouble. But a leader couldn’t let his own emotions get the better of him. “We don’t know they’re even attacking. What if they can help us?”
“What if they want to take over? Shouldn’t we be running for our lives? Finding a safe place in the mountains?”
Striver held out his hands to settle the anxious murmurs in the crowd. The last thing they needed right now was mass hysteria. Besides, running away would only delay the inevitable. If those beings in the sky wanted to conquer, Striver had to make a stand and fight, perhaps convince them to cohabitate. Sharing Refuge was his village’s only chance, since their ancestors decided to forgo technology. “They could be delegates, missionaries. Do you want the Lawless to be the first humans they meet?”
“Let the Lawless deal with them. We have our own problems.” Beckon waved his hand and sat back in his chair as if he’d said the final word.
Striver held Beckon’s gaze, challenging him to stay in the discussion. “If they intend to conquer, wouldn’t you rather know now so we can plan accordingly?”
“You just want to go back over the wall because of your brother!”
Striver whirled in the direction of the speaker. Riley, Riptide’s older brother, glared at him from across the table. Ever since Striver had denied Riptide’s affections years ago, the young man had been breathing down his bow.
Riley gripped the table with white knuckles, looking like he’d flip the whole thing. “You’re not going to convince him to come back. He left because of you.”
Anger and hurt rose up and churned in Striver’s chest in a sour brew. For a moment he questioned his own motives. Was it because of Weaver?
No.
This situation did not concern his brother. A current of urgency in his gut drew him to that ship. Striver straightened, swallowed bile creeping up his throat, and spoke softly. “Weaver has nothing to do with this.”
Arguments flew over the table, and the heat from the torches seared the back of Striver’s neck until his skin dripped with sweat. This meeting had turned ugly, digging into his weakest places. His father’s voice echoed in his thoughts.
Vulnerability makes you human. When you’ve lost that, you’ve lost your true self.
Carven gave him an apologetic smile and stood. “We’ve said our arguments. If we draw this out, the meeting will last until morning, and there’ll be no decision at all. We must vote.”
Striver nodded, acknowledging the rules set in place by his ancestors. “How many say we don’t get involved?”
Four out of seven hands rose and his stomach sank. They’d never know who or what was on that ship until it was too late. Anxiety tugged on his nerves. How could he lead if he didn’t know what he was dealing with? Ever since they’d elected him, he’d feared losing the colony his ancestors had worked so hard to build. He didn’t want to be the broken link that severed the chain, the generation that sent the world to hell just like on Old Earth.
He had lost Weaver, and then the Lawless attacked the wall. Now his greatest fear threatened to come true. A ship full of technology was heading into the enemy’s hands.
Although he knew the outcome of the vote, in order to finalize, he had to ask the other side. “And how many say we go after the scout ship?”
Two hands rose besides his. Striver exerted all his will power not to pick up Carven’s hand and make him change his mind. This was it. He’d said his argument and they’d outvoted him. All he could do was sit tight and wait. Every nerve in his body screamed for him to go after the scout ship, but he silenced all his instincts.
One of the torches flickered from the back of the room as a shadow walked past. Phoenix stepped forward and held up four long fingers, casting a branchlike shadow across the table. The shadow grew until a golden glow illuminated his whole feathered body.
The council turned toward Phoenix, silent. Guardians didn’t usually involve themselves in the vote. But, when one did, people listened.
“Ignorance is more dangerous than curiosity.” His large eyes met Striver’s, and he seemed to wink in the glint of firelight. “I say we go.”
Warm pride flowed through Striver’s veins. He grinned at Phoenix before turning to the rest of the council. “That makes a tie.”
Slowly, every hand rose until Carven was the only man with both palms on the table.
Striver shook his head. “I’m sorry, old friend.”
Carven sighed and peeled his hand off the wood. His fingers shook in the firelight. “If you’re going, then I’m going with you.”
…
Weaver followed Jolt into the jungle, wondering if the leader of the Lawless had brought him to the edge of their grounds to finish him off. They’d walked for hours, into the foothills of the northern mountains. Darkness had fallen, and Jolt had lit a torch, the flickering shadows bringing out the ghoulishness in his crooked features.
Surely if he wanted me gone he would have killed me in the ship. Unless he didn’t want to foul up his floor.
Weaver pushed the thought away. He’d had numerous opportunities to run away on this meandering jungle trek, enough to wonder if he should blindly follow Jolt. Besides, spilled blood on the muddied, rusty chrome plates of that ancient wreck would make no difference. The ship would never fly again.
The terrain grew steep as they approached the foothills of the mountains, trees growing sideways to reach for a sliver of light. Hard rock jutted from the soil like broken shards of pottery, sharp enough to slice his pants leg open. Using a branch for support, he wished Jolt had waited until daybreak.
The jungle gave way to a valley of rocks. Jolt’s torch flickered before a veil of blackness. A crumbling cave led into the bottom of a crag. Weaver stifled his doubts as he approached. “We’re going in there?”
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid.”
“I’ve got more courage than ten of your men combined.”
“Good. Because it takes a real man to see what I’ve found.” Jolt stepped into the cave, and the darkness engulfed his torch until it was only a small, quivering light up ahead. Afraid to lose him in the crux of night, Weaver scurried ahead.
Cool air stung his cheeks, making him shiver. The floor reeked of stagnant water and fungus. Weaver disliked any place away from the surface, away from the light. He slipped on the incline as he struggled to keep up. His night vision wasn’t as acute as some, and the walls pressed in, suffocating him.
The cave narrowed, and Weaver held his arm out in front of him to slip by the rough edges. The ceiling had partially caved in, and he kicked away stray rocks to find firmer footing. Spidermites clutched his shirt and he brushed them off, their hairy legs tickling his skin. What had he gotten himself into?
“Jolt, you still there?”
Water dripped, breaking the silence. Jolt’s gritty voice resonated from deep within the cave. “A little ways farther.”
Pushing aside a rising current of fear, Weaver forced himself deeper into the cave. Jolt’s torch had burned to a stub, and he wondered how much light they had left. Had Jolt gone crazy?
Weaver squinted in the darkness. Could he feel along the walls to find his way out? If he got trapped, Striver wasn’t there to rescue him. Not this time.
Just as the ember of firelight died, a golden radiance illuminated the cave farther in.
Was it Jolt’s torch? Weaver strained his sight to peer ahead. No. This light shone steadily without the flickering reds and oranges of flame. Curiosity outweighed his fear, and Weaver pushed ahead. The light grew stronger, making Jolt’s torch unnecessary. Weaver expected warmth on his skin, like when he stood in the sunlight, but the tunnel grew colder and damp moss clung to his pants legs. What kind of light had no heat signature?
The narrow tunnel opened to a room lit by a golden glowing pool. Swirls moved on the surface, blossoming and disappearing like the substance moved with life. Jolt stood at the edge, his torch a weak flame compared to the radiance enveloping them.
Weaver stepped forward, leaning over the pool of light. “What is it?”
“Who knows? That’s why I brought you here.” Jolt pointed to the rim of the pool. The rock had been smoothed down. Strange scratchings and loops were carved into the stone in a language Weaver had never seen.
“You said you could read the symbols and work the controls of the
S.P. Nautilus
. Is this anything like those hieroglyphs?”
Weaver bent down, tracing one with his finger. Definitely not. The width of the scratchings was too skinny to match anything he’d traced on the
S.P. Nautilus
.
Weaver paused, thinking quickly. He knew better than to deny the resemblance. His familiarity with the
S.P. Nautilus
and the language of the Guardians was why Jolt kept him alive. Especially after Weaver’s attack with the Death Stalkers had failed. He’d have to find a way to prove the bows were still useful.
“It’s possible. I’ll need some time to study the symbols.”
“Of course. Just don’t get too close.” Jolt circled the pool, and the swirls followed him, churning at his feet. “A member of my crew fell in when we discovered it. He never resurfaced.”
Weaver watched a golden swirl spin toward him and disappear. “It doesn’t look very deep.”
“Appearances can be deceiving, can’t they?” Jolt narrowed his eyes, the scar of his forehead widening until it looked like his skin would break.
“I’ll be careful.”
“Good. We wouldn’t want you disappearing on us.”
Weaver met his glare, his muscles tightening like the strings of his bow. “I told you once already. I’m here to stay.”
“Then get to work. Decipher the symbols and find out how we can use the goo to our advantage.”
Jolt headed to the tunnel. Relief flooded Weaver’s veins as he passed. Somehow, he had to find a way to beat this man and take control of the Lawless. Maybe the pool of golden light was the answer to his problems.
Jolt stopped at the entrance and craned his head to Weaver as if he could hear his thoughts on the wind. Weaver’s pulse quickened. Was he that easy to figure out?
“One more thing. I should warn you about the side effects.”
“Side effects?” Weaver shook his head. That’s not what he expected Jolt to say. At all. He couldn’t tell if it was better than another accusation of treachery or worse.
“I call it memory liquid. Seems to turn men sentimental over time. If you spend too long in proximity, the golden stuff will bring up all sorts of things you want to remember.” Jolt tilted his head. “And some you don’t.”
Weaver set down his arrow bag. “What do you mean?”
“Ever want to relive a day of your life? Ever feel regret?” Mistiness clouded Jolt’s eyes.
Sure, there were a lot of memories he wanted to forget, but ones he could relive again? Weaver pushed down the thought and lied. “Not that I know of.”
Jolt shrugged and turned back to the tunnel. “Maybe you’re too young for regrets. But maybe there’s more to ya than you want people to know. You can’t keep secrets from the memory liquid.”
The sound of footsteps echoed down the tunnel, and Jolt flicked a warning in Weaver’s direction. Weaver picked up his arrow bag and took out a long, slender shaft. The footsteps grew louder, soon becoming two sets of heavy boots. Torchlight flickered in the darkness.
Jolt slinked back along the entrance and prepared to take the intruders by surprise. Weaver cocked his arrow in his bow and pulled the string taut. The grooving in the handle reassured his blistered palm.
“Damn spidermites are crawling all over me,” a tenor voice echoed.
“Shake ’em off. We’re almost there,” a deeper, gravelly voice answered.
Jolt’s shoulders slumped, and Weaver loosened his hold on the bow. He recognized the voices.
Crusty and Snipe emerged into the golden light, looking like vagabonds stumbling upon the gates of heaven.
“What are you two doing here?” Jolt growled. “I told you not to interrupt—”
Snipe’s hooded eyes widened so much, they almost looked normal. “You’re gonna want to see this, boss.”
“See what?”
“A ship.” Crusty flicked a glance in Weaver’s direction. “Headed right into our lands.”
“A space ship?” Jolt’s hand hovered over the sheath where he kept his obsidian blade.
“Yes, sir. A big monster, and it just sent a scout ship in our direction.”
“Holy Refuge.” Jolt clapped both men on the shoulders and grinned. “Get the team ready. We’re gonna have an ambush.”