“How much longer will you be able to deceive the Kaihautu?” Spata Zhai asked. “While the commander may be a murderous tyrant, he is not a fool, and eventually you will be brought to heel for your failures to do as he commands.”
Blye winced as the Ixian’s comment struck home. “What else can I do?” she implored him. “If I give him what he wants, he’ll use those weapons to crush the Alliance and take power for himself. I can’t let that happen.” She sighed, shrugging her shoulders. “Besides, I didn’t lie, not exactly. I didn’t understand the technical data Aleph showed me.”
“But I suspect you could have memorized small portions of that data before passing them on,” the alien warrior continued. “It would likely take many sessions, but eventually you could give him what he wants.”
“... yes,” she whispered, “I could.”
The Spata nodded in grim recognition. “You must realize that if I can reason it out… so can he.”
“I don’t know what else to do,” she said frantically. “I can’t give in, I can’t say no, and stalling for time won’t work much longer. So what else is there?”
“Perhaps nothing,” he admitted. “Perhaps he decides to end this, once and for all.”
Looking away, Blye listened to the storm outside as she mulled it over. “Perhaps,” she reluctantly agreed, “but I can’t let myself think that way. I have to stay positive… for my fellow Knights, for my patients, for the refugees in this camp. If I surrender to despair now, who will look out for them?” She huddled in her chair, wrapped in a blanket, sipping a warm cup of some herbal local blend, when a wry smile came over her. “Besides, maybe the horse really will learn how to sing.”
The Ixian stared at her in confusion. “What? What does that mean?”
Despite all that was happening, Blye actually chuckled. “It’s an ancient tale among my people, from a time long before we traveled to the stars.” He looked at her curiously as she settled in. “Once upon a time,” she began, “in a land called Persia, a rich and powerful king ruled over the realm. And one night a thief snuck into his stables, intent on stealing the king’s finest horse.”
“... what is a ‘horse’?” he interrupted.
“Well, I’ve never actually seen one myself. They went extinct when Earth was destroyed,” she said sadly. “I’ve seen pictures, though. Beautiful creatures, tall and majestic, able to carry a human rider at incredible speeds.” Blye smiled wistfully, reflecting on the image, before moving on. “They were quite valuable, and highly prized,” Blye explained.
“I see,” the Ixian nodded. “Please, go on.”
“So they caught the thief,” she continued, picking up where she’d left off, “and brought him before the king in chains. ‘Why have you done this?’ the king demanded. ‘Surely you know the penalty for stealing the king’s horse is death?’”
The Spata leaned forward in his chair, drawn in by the story as Blye warmed up to its telling. “The thief answered, ‘Oh mighty king, I am no ordinary thief. If you spare my miserable life, in a year I will teach your favorite horse to sing!’”
“Is that actually possible?” the Ixian asked, cutting her short once more. “Because given the context, this seems unlikely.”
“Hush,” Blye admonished him, “stop interrupting.”
The blue-skinned warrior rolled his eyes but said nothing more.
“Anyway… the king was intrigued by the thief’s claim. ‘Very well,’ the king agreed, ‘you have your year. But if at its end the horse does not sing, you will suffer the most painful death imaginable at the hands of my torturers.’”
“‘Oh mighty king, you are most wise and merciful,’ the thief groveled, as the guards dragged him away. The chief guard looked down at him in disgust as they led him off and shook his head. ‘You are a fool,’ he said. ‘When the king realizes you lied to him, the torturers will show you pain the likes of which you have never imagined. You’ll wish they’d beheaded you.’”
“Much to his surprise, the thief didn’t look worried. ‘I have a year,’ he smiled. ‘Much can happen in a year. The horse may die, and he can hardly expect me to train a dead horse, now can he? Or the king could die, and his successor might pardon me to celebrate his ascension to the throne. For that matter, I might die, in which case it will no longer be my problem.’”
“‘And if none of those events take place?’ the guard pressed him. ‘What happens then?’’”
Blye grinned as he waited intently for the story’s conclusion. “‘Well, in that case,’ the thief chuckled, ‘who knows? Maybe the horse really will learn how to sing.’”
Spata Zhai stared at her before finally shaking his head in incredulity. “You realize the thief’s proposal was absurd and doomed to fail,” he said gravely. “I hope you are not taking this… this fable… to heart as a plan of action.”
“You’re missing the point,” Blye sighed, exasperated. “Yes, on the surface, it’s a funny and ironic little story, but its meaning goes much deeper than that. It’s about having faith, and hope, even against insurmountable odds.”
“To the brink of lunacy?” the Ixian asked. “Our problems are real, Chevalier Tagata. Our responsibilities are real, to those we have both sworn to defend. There is no place for fantasy here,” he said contemptuously.
“Are we the only dreamers in this freaking galaxy?” she said with disdain. “Haven’t you ever witnessed something that you flat out knew was impossible?”
“No,” he said brusquely. “If it occurred, then obviously it is possible.”
“So you’re telling me you’ve never been surprised by something,” she insisted, “never had some random event turn your perceptions of the universe upside down?”
The Spata gave her a look that would fill volumes. “Of course I have been surprised,” he snapped, “and had my preconceptions challenged. But even then, they were still events grounded by the natural laws of our universe. Your tale was not.”
“Remind me sometime to explain to you what a ‘parable’ is,” she said in defeat. “I understand what you’re saying, and I don’t even disagree with it. But if we don’t have something to hold on to, something to believe in… then what’s the point?”
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“Optimism? From a Terran?” he said in surprise. “After all that you have lost? Why would someone of your species, with your history, believe in anything?”
Blye stared out the window for a moment, gazing at the falling rain, a faraway look in her eyes. “... because we choose to,” she said at last, as she turned back to face him. “And that might just be the most human thing about us of all.”
The Ixian warrior regarded her for a moment. “Hold on to that,” he said at last. “It may be the one thing that saves you. Assuming anything can.”
“It’s not over yet,” Blye vowed. “We’re still in this.”
Spata Zhai inclined his head. “Then we should prepare for the eventuality of events being ripped from our hands,” he said gravely. “When the Troika decides we are expendable, we must be ready.”
“I agree, though I’m not sure what we can actually do if they decide to exterminate us,” she said quietly. “If they fire at us from orbit, there is literally nothing we can do. Oh, we could ask the Baishain patrol ships in orbit to intervene, but we both know they won’t. They already said as much when the Aggaaddub first arrived.”
“Then let us hope they choose to take a more… ‘hands-on’ approach,” he grimaced. “If they choose to slaughter us on the ground, we can fight back, though the casualties we will suffer will be extreme. And all of it may be futile unless we can neutralize their ship.”
“I don’t see how,” Blye said, dejected.
“Perhaps you could ask your new friend,” the Spata suggested.
“You mean Aleph?” Blye rolled her eyes. “For a billion-year-old computer filled with cutting-edge, high-tech information, it's actually not very intelligent. I haven’t been able to get anything useful out of it, thank Mother Terra. Otherwise, the Aggaaddub would know by now where their homeworld is located, not to mention have access to weapons far beyond anything in their current arsenal.”
“There’s nothing useful you can coax from it?” he prodded her. “Nothing at all?”
“I mean, I’ll keep trying, but right now I’m not hopeful,” she said, dejected. “I was hoping Aleph was the answer to all our prayers, but it’s like talking to a child with a developmental disorder. Worse, even, because in this case I know the answers are in there somewhere,” Blye sighed. “I just can’t figure out how to access them usefully.”
“I see.” The Ixian paused for a moment, weighing his next words carefully. “Then we should discuss the other purpose of my visit,” he said finally. “When you challenged Kaihautu Yugha’s authority over the food shipments, you took a great personal risk. That many of the refugees chose to stand with you surprised me, but I would be remiss in my duties if I did not point out the inherent flaws of relying on them as reinforcements.”
“How so?”
“They are untrained,” he stressed, “poorly led, and have no tactical or strategic sense. Should the worst happen, should the Kaihautu decide to wipe this camp from the map, they will provide little more than target practice for the Aggaaddub.” He shook his head. “An unsharpened blade is merely a decoration, not a weapon.”
“And just what do you expect me to do about that?” she demanded. “I agree they need training, but you’re obviously the best candidate for that.”
“I disagree, Chevalier Tagata,” the Spata said formally. “Not about their need for instruction and discipline, you’re correct about that, but who should be the one to provide it.” His pointed look was impossible to miss.
“That’s absurd,” she said, dismissing him. “Yes, I have weapons and tactical training, but not the way you do. You were born to lead warriors into combat, not me.” She winced, looking away. “I’ll defend those under my protection… with my very life, if need be. But my skills are better employed after the battle, treating their wounds. Not before, and certainly not during.”
“I would gladly lead these people into combat,” he said gravely, “... if I thought for one moment they might actually follow me.”
Blye jerked her head back around in shock as the Ixian chuckled ruefully. “These people trust you, Blye,” he said, addressing her by her given name for the first time, “and, more importantly, they believe in you. They have watched you work tirelessly on their behalf, fighting for their very lives. They watched as you stood up against one of the ancient powers of this galaxy, armed with nothing but faith and resolve, and emerged victorious. Even as you shamed them into choosing peace over violence, they knew you were right.”
“I’m a healer,” she stressed, “not a warrior like you. Just because I train with a staff…”
“... a weapon that many of the refugees have taken up as their own,” he interjected, interrupting her. “Perhaps on paper, I am the logical candidate,” he agreed, “but I will never be to these people what you are to them.” He fixed her gaze with a determined stare. “They would gladly follow you into perdition's flame, if you asked it of them. That level of devotion is rare, impossible to replicate… and powerful beyond mere words.”
“You’re asking me to get them killed,” she hissed. “I won’t do it.”
“On the contrary, Blye Tagata,” he said solemnly, “I am asking you to save them. For only you can.”
----------------------------------------
The Knights stared dubiously into the murky depths as Spata Zhai pulled up the floorboards, exposing the tunnel’s entrance. To no one’s surprise, the rains had filled it with black muddy water.
“So much for that idea,” Prash said in defeat. “You’re not getting out that way.”
“Maybe we could pump the water out,” Amar suggested.
“We’d need a pump the size of a shuttle just to keep up with the rains,” Blye said. “Besides, with the ground table as saturated as it is, it’ll be like this until the next dry season.” She sighed, facing the Ixian. “I’m sorry. We’ll have to think of something else to sneak me out of here undetected.”
The blue-skinned warrior stared back at them, incredulous. “Are Terrans so easily defeated by a little water?” he said in disgust.
“We can’t breathe water,” Blye fired back, “and besides, we wouldn’t be able to see to navigate, and even if we could, that shaft is far too small to maneuver in.”
The Spata rolled his eyes. “Can’t your species swim?” he demanded.
The three Terrans looked at one another. “Um…” Amar mumbled timidly.
“Well… in theory,” Prash ventured.
Blye just shook her head. “I’m afraid swimming is a lost art among my people,” she explained. “It’s not like we have diving pools aboard ship.”
“I see,” the Ixian nodded. “In that case, I will transport you myself.”
“What?” Blye squeaked.
“As it happens, I am an excellent swimmer,” he boasted. “The tunnel’s exit is not far… only fifty meters, and there are no side passages to confuse us. All you must do is hold your breath, while I do the rest.” He smiled, exuding confidence. “See? Easily done.”
“Fifty meters?” she shrieked as she backed away from the tunnel, waving her hands frantically. “Forget it! No way!”
Spata Zhai approached her, gently grasping her biceps and gazing deep into her eyes. “I understand you are frightened,” he told her, “but you have the word of an Ixian warrior that I will not abandon you, and that you will reach the other side safely. The people of this camp need you, and as long as you are under surveillance by the Aggaaddub, the only way we can sneak you past the guards is through the tunnel. There are several locations where we may train in secret, but it all starts here.” He searched her face for some hint his words were getting through. “Do you trust me?”
Blye closed her eyes and managed a jerky nod, still too terrified to speak. “Then watch, and do as I do,” he urged, releasing her arms and stepping away before moving to the edge of the tunnel’s entrance. Sitting down on the floorboards, he eased himself into the water with nary a sound, before submerging to mid-chest. Holding out his arms, he motioned to her, “... your turn.”
Somehow, she forced herself to the water's edge, her limbs trembling as she lowered herself to the floor. The water looked like ink, like death, and as her feet slid below the surface, it was so cold, gasping as the chill sucked the air from her lungs.
“Wait! Hold up!” Prash shouted, darting off before anyone could stop him and disappearing into the dispensary. He returned moments later carrying a small oxygen canister and face mask, kneeling beside her as he slung it over her shoulder. “... in case you can’t hold your breath,” he told her.
“... thank you,” she managed to get out, before pressing the mask to her face and taking a couple of practice breaths. It was operating perfectly, she realized, breathing a small sigh of relief. “Some leader I turned out to be,” she said bitterly, embarrassed by her fear of the water.
“We all have our hidden battles,” he said knowingly. “Now, close your eyes, and hold on tight,” he told her, wrapping a protective arm around her waist.
Holy Mother Terra, grant me your strength, she prayed fervently as the Spata lowered them both into the gloomy depths, kicking off with powerful strokes as he swam for the tunnel’s exit.