Beyond Mars Crimson Fleet (53 page)

As she grabbed and clutched
its handle this time, however, a now pleasant impression welcomed
her in approval—as though it knew her intentions. Regardless, she
picked the weapon up and laid it down upon a table some distance
away. Tara then attended to unlacing and removing Wakinyan’s
moccasin boots.

When she had finished, she
both held and pushed him ever so mindfully down upon the mattress,
guiding his body to lie totally on the bunk. As Richard’s tired
eyes gazed upwards at her, Tara smiled back warmly.

“Try to get some sleep,”
she prompted in tender tones and with a loving touch of her hand to
his face. “I have to leave for a few minutes. There are some things
I have to attend to, but if you need anything, there’s a squad of
marines outside the hatch,”

Richard feebly nodded his
head in understanding and closed his eyes. Tara then turned and
quietly walked away, caringly looking back at him as she strolled
to the hatchway.

“Lights out,” Tara
commanded the room’s computer in a soft voice before she
left.

After the woman parted, the
dim room was only illuminated by the amber glow of a few safety
lamps. Yet, it created a harbor of shelter within Richard’s mind.
The peace and solitude of the compartment gradually released the
warrior from his heavy burdens, and within a few minutes, Wakinyan
quickly drifted off into sleep.

* * * * *

As Wakinyan opened his
eyes, he stood upon a high plateau that overlooked a great plain of
undulating grass that was patched by rolling hills and a few sparse
mountains. Through them snaked a great river; its pristine current
catching reflections off of the noonday’s sun as it warmed all in
its heated, golden rays. The sky was a deep medium blue with an
occasional wisp of cloud moving at a snail’s pace. And though a
casual wind blew, the Lakota warrior heard a distance rumble that
drew closer.

The thunder increased
dramatically and shook the ground in deep tremors. After a few
moments, however, Wakinyan realized it came not from the sky, but
from the mighty hooves of an enormous herd of large shaggy animals
that raced and trampled quickly through the valley below. Their
numbers were incredible and easily surpassed many thousands. He was
awed by their magnificence, and smiled as he watched them move
onward without care.

For the first time in many
years, his soul felt totally at peace. And as he inhaled the clean
crisp air in deep breaths, he slowly became rejuvenated to the
picturesque setting. He thought to himself that he would not leave
here—ever.

But the “killy-killy” of a
bird above drew both Richard’s attention and gaze upward. He then
viewed a small red-backed hawk circling overhead. Its strong
extended wings rode the updrafts of wind with expert skill. And
although it was absolutely beautiful to behold, it circled like a
harbinger, refusing to leave until it delivered its message of
forewarning.

Suddenly from behind,
Wakinyan heard a man’s voice. “Ahh-h!” it intoned loudly as if to
draw Richard’s awareness deliberately.

Wakinyan spun to the
unexpected intrusion, taking a hand-to-hand combat stance. He
turned to fight, but the man whom he abruptly faced stood like a
statue with a stoic face. Although a rifle was cradled in the
stranger’s left arm, his right hand, however, was raised in a peace
offering.

“Hau Kola,” the man called
out in the ancient tongue of the Lakota Oglalas. “Little Wolf, I
have not come to fight you,” he added still speaking in the ancient
language of the Sioux.

Wakinyan for a moment froze
as he studied the stranger, sensing something unusual about him.
Wakinyan, however, realized that if the man was a threat that he
could have easily shot him in the back.

Slowly exhaling his breath,
Richard relaxed and stood upright. It was then that he noticed the
stranger was an American Indian like himself, however, garbed in
clothing of a bygone era.

Wakinyan’s eyes scanned the
intruder with curiosity. He was a handsome man of approximately the
same age, clothed in a light tan buckskin blouse and blue pants. He
wore beaded moccasins on his feet that were faintly covered with
dust.

A decorative breastplate of
hairpipe, buffalo horn, and beads was fastened across the
stranger’s chest with deerhide ties, while a single eagle’s feather
stuck out from behind his long, dark brown hair. Thick bracelets
were rapped around the cloth biceps of each of his strong arms, and
the old slug-throwing repeating rifle that was slung across his
left arm looked in excellent operating condition.

“Who are you, and how do
you know that name?” Richard challenged back in the tribal language
that his Uncle Nathan had taught him.

“I am the one who came
before you—I am the one who you ride with now,” the man explained,
“and I have come to give you counsel.”

“Counsel?” Wakinyan
questioned, ignoring the stranger’s riddle about himself. “About
what?”

The man reached out with
his right hand as if to draw a picture with his fingers. “A storm
gathers on the horizon, Little Wolf. Black riders draw together to
gallop across the night’s sky and cover the all the plains with
blood thicker than a red blanket. And though tears will fall as
rain, they will not be able to wash it away,” the stranger
prophesized in Oglala oral tradition.

“And what do you ask of
me?” Wakinyan questioned the soothsayer.

The stranger paused for a
moment to stare deeply into Richard eyes. “You and your warriors
must stand against them. For there is no one else who
can.”

“And if we
don’t?”

“If you do not, then the
sky will grow dark—and there will be no more sunrises. The people
will be gone and all the lands will be as dust. Nothing will live
or grow again!” the stranger ended his foretelling.

Sadness fell upon
Wakinyan’s face, for he felt the man had spoken the truth. Still
the Martian fleet Commander wanted more proof. “How do I know what
you say is true?” Richard questioned with some doubt.

The man turned as if to
leave, but stopped. “You know in your heart that I do not speak
with a double tongue. But I realize you must hold something more
than just words,” the stranger added.

Reaching behind his back,
the man retrieved an object and swiftly flipped it at Wakinyan.
With lightning speed, Richard’s right hand caught the item in a
quick snatch.

Richard’s gaze slowly broke
from the stranger and hesitantly fell upon what he had caught. As
his handed opened to allow inspection of the object, he shockingly
realized what he held; it was his own sheathed knife.

Startled, Richard looked up
quickly again to study the man’s face with intensity. In a burst of
insight, the stranger became more than just familiar.

“I know who you are!”
Richard proclaimed in an enlightened wonderment. “But you’re been
dead for almost three hundred years!”

The man, however, just
stood still. “The earth covers the body and turns to grass, but the
spirit dwells always within the heart of the people. Farewell,
Little Wolf—until we meet again,” the man bid Wakinyan
goodbye.

Suddenly, a fog appeared
from nowhere and clouded Wakinyan’s vision. In a moment, it cloaked
the entire plateau with a fine gray mist.

* * * * *

Tara
raced back to her cabin as fast as she could. Although she had
relegated her duties as ship’s master to Martin Pearl, the towing
of the
Crazy Horse
back to Valamars had become real a headache.

The now
derelict ship had broken away from the
Ariana’s
magnetic tow twice while
almost accidentally ramming another escorting destroyer. It had
seemed as though the ship had a mind of its own and wanted to
depart away from the living with its dead. But the
Crazy Horse
, however, had
assumed the greatest importance to all the new citizens of
Valamars.

This was why Jerome Gris wanted it back. The
creative leader of the mutants saw it as more than just a supply of
scrape metal to be recycled.

He too,
like so many others, had been inspired by its deeds. Although the
battle had been over for only a few hours, word of the
Crazy Horse’s
fight with
the
Ruthann
had not
only spread among the fleet’s crews, but back to Valamars
itself.

“The
destroyer that humbled a battleship” quickly added to the ship’s
reputation. The bravery and skill of Wakinyan and his crew was a
source of unimaginable pride for all. It became a symbol of the
moral determination of a planet to be free. Furthermore, with its
rescue by the
Ariana
, it linked the Martians and the mutants together as one
people, just as Wakinyan had sought.

A berth
awaited the gallant destroyer, but towing her was slow due to her
twisted and distorted hull that resisted the magnet mooring lines.
Regardless, a procession of the Martian warships steadily formed up
behind her. The combat vessels assumed their squadron formations,
which progressed into the strangest looking victory parade. Many
limped in, battered and damaged, others were so wrecked that they
had to be towed themselves. Debris and puffs of particles drifted
everywhere. From the pierced hulls of the ships it came, leaving a
wide and obvious trail of wounds suffered from the battle. Yet,
none were deterred heedless of their condition. In a massive show
of reverence and pride, the Martian fleet unwaveringly followed
behind the
Crazy Horse
to their new home world.

To Tara, however, it was
Wakinyan who was more important than the deserted hulk. Her feet
flew as she quickly jogged back to her cabin. As she came upon the
marine guards outside the hatch, she slowed and then
stopped.

“Has he stirred?” she asked
the corporal of the guard.

“No, Ma’am,” the marine
said with a slight smile. “And I have looked in on him several
times.”

“Thank you!” she gratefully
appreciated the corporal’s concern. She then quietly slipped
in.

As Tara carefully walked
through the blackened room, her eyes slowly grew accustomed to the
darkness. However, as she drew closer to Wakinyan, she noticed that
his knife was missing from the table. A sudden panic gripped the
woman, along with a chilling fear of the deadly weapon. She
promptly advanced to Richard’s side.

Quickly scanning Wakinyan
with her mind and eyes, Tara became relieved. He was sleeping safe
and soundly, while the missing weapon was held firmly in the hand
of Wakinyan’s broken right arm. Tara let out a quiet sigh. She then
hesitantly leaned over and placed a small, but tender kiss upon his
forehead and then brushed his hair gently with her
fingertips.

The woman wandered behind her desk and sat down.
Knowing that Wakinyan went no where without that knife, it was easy
for her to assume that is was probably as much of a security
blanket to him as it was anything else.

Giving it no further
thought, Tara settled into her new duties, and powered-up her
command computer. She began methodically reviewing the damage and
status reports of her small taskforce of freighters and supply
ships. War for the moment was over, and they were greatly needed to
help sustain her new home world and all the human beings of
it.