Guardians (Caretaker Chronicles Book 2) (37 page)

They weren’t leaving. The Asgre ships still
hovered over the planet, and Reagan saw on his screens that the original ships had
been joined by many more.

They had reclaimed some of the Vala, but
according to Ethan, many still huddled in the cave system below the mountains,
and Reagan saw that Galo was going to come after them.

Reagan thought about his responsibility. He was
to “guard the inhabitants of Minea from planetary and interplanetary threats.”
Did that mean all the inhabitants of Minea? Reagan felt relieved that these
beings, the Asgre, were not here for humans. They were not threatening Minea or
Yynium production. The UEG maintained that they had simply come for their
property.

But Reagan couldn’t convince himself of that. Not
really. Though he’d only seen those few, the Vala were, from what Kaia reported
that Ethan had told her, at least a Class 6 civilization, with family groups,
creations, mineral manipulation, and written and spoken language. They were not
livestock, were not objects.

Reagan laid his head against the cool wall. He
was in this moment again. His position dictated that he bow to the UEG orders
and hand over the Vala, even if he had to extract them with his own troops.

But it wasn’t right. He knew it to his core.

He walked out of his Coriol Defense Headquarters
office onto the second-floor balcony. It overlooked the first floor training
facility, and he watched as the Coriol Defense Troops practiced advance
tactics.

The CDT was using the latest UEG recommendations
for hand-to-hand combat, a tactic called the trigon, where the squadron of
soldiers broke into teams of ten, each with a single, strong point man. The
point man stood at the front of the trigon formation, supported behind by three
strong soldiers. This central column was surrounded by two supporting flanks of
three soldiers each, falling slightly behind the point man to make a triangle.
They held their weapons at all angles, the sides of the trigon pointing out and
the center soldiers pointing up. It was a beautiful formation, and Reagan
imagined it against a front line of enemies. In his mind, the front line was
made up of Asgre mercenaries.

Reagan went back into the office. He locked the
door behind him. He pushed the button that darkened the windows. In the dark,
he reached into his briefcase and pulled out his missive. On it he called up
the passenger list of Ship 12-22 and let the missive play through the list slowly.
The passengers’ faces appeared one after the other in front of him.

Reagan opened his contacts and dialed Ethan. “Son,”
he said, “I need to talk to you.”

Reagan was waiting on the balcony when Ethan
stepped off the elevator. Below them, the Coriol Defense Troops practiced
sharp, triangular formations.

Reagan lingered a moment, watching them, then
waved Ethan into his office.

Ethan sat across from Reagan. “I’ve heard from
everybody about this situation,” Reagan said, “Saras, the President, the Asgre.
But I haven’t heard from you and I haven’t heard from your friends.”

Ethan was somber. “The Vala are peaceful,
Phillip. They don’t deserve to be imprisoned. They are compassionate. They
helped us in the cave, when there was nothing in it for them. They have
children. The Asgre use them in their ships somehow.” Ethan ran an agitated
hand across his forehead. “I don’t even know how, or for what, or where their
ships go.”

Reagan cleared his throat and tapped the screen,
bringing up surveillance photos of the Asgre ship, up close, when it was on the
ground outside of Coriol. “You don’t want to see this, but you should.”

He showed Ethan a photo of the cage on the bottom
of the ship, where a Vala child crouched miserably in front of a screen. Reagan
watched as the horror crossed Ethan’s face.

“I don’t know what they use the Vala for, either,
but I heard Galo mention that there is a metal the Vala cannot go through.
These cages and the shackles they use are made of it. I think they use the Vala
to help them navigate or something. The Asgre are a merchant race. According to
their leader, Galo, they ship things across the universe.”

“Things.” Ethan spat the word out. “Things.
Things that are more important to them than living beings.”

As he stared at the little being in the cage, Reagan
ached for it and for its parents. “Ethan, how can we help them?”

“Protect them, Phillip. Give them one race that
will be their friends instead of using them.”

“So we let them stay? It will be a war, Ethan.
You realize that? A war with an opponent I can’t even fathom. People will die.”

Ethan looked him levelly in the eye. “We’re all
going to die, Phillip. Nobody knows that better than you and me.” There was
such a depth of pain in Ethan’s eyes that Reagan had to look away to hold his
own emotions in check. “We’re all going to die, so we’d better live well while
we have the chance.”

When Reagan turned back toward Ethan, he felt a
new resolve. “I want to meet with them. I want to know what they want from us.
I want to hear them say it. I won’t ever make decisions for others without
giving them a say again.”

Ethan’s eyes shone. Evidently, that was what he
had wanted to hear. “Do you think we should bring them here?”

Reagan shook his head. “No. Your house is on the
edge of the forest. They should be able to get there without exposing
themselves to too many humans. Once people find out that the Asgre are here for
them, we may have to protect the Vala from the humans, too.”

***

That night Reagan sat at Ethan’s kitchen table,
watching as Ethan removed his thought blocker.

“I didn’t have much luck when I tried to
communicate telepathically with them,” he said, “but what they can sense from
me may help us get beyond the limits of the translator.” Reagan saw that Ethan
was nervous about it. He knew the toll that even human thoughts took on Ethan
and Kaia. He smiled encouragingly, sending a thought of appreciation.

It was after dark when the Vala came slowly into
the dimmed kitchen of Ethan’s cottage. There were four of them. They were
human-sized, covered with creased pale skin. They placed Reagan’s hand to their
foreheads, and the gentleness of the gesture surprised him.

He saw them fold themselves into the chairs
around the kitchen table, but they shifted awkwardly, and their short tails
bunched up in the chair seats. Their middle appendages stuck awkwardly out.
Reagan could see that they were uncomfortable. One stood up beside the table
awkwardly. Reagan glanced at Ethan, who gestured to the floor.

Reagan nodded. “Would you,” he stood and gestured
to the wide space in the living room, “prefer to sit here?” He lowered himself
to the ground, watching the crease in his uniform trousers smooth into
oblivion.

They seemed pleased, making small “hmm,” sounds
and rocking their heads up and down. Smoothly and with grace, they arranged
themselves around him on the floor in an easy circle.

“I am Phillip Reagan,” he said, bowing his head
slightly as he listened to the translator.

“Ray-gun. Ray-gun.” The Vala repeated.

He smiled. “Do you want to stay on Minea? Here?”
he asked.

The question seemed to reach them all at the same
time, and they all rocked up and down gently in assent. Aemon spoke, and Reagan
listened carefully to the translator.

“We have searched far for a planet which meets
our biological requirements. This planet has the correct atmosphere, the
correct minerals for our needs. The cave systems are extensive. We could be
happy here.” His genial mood suddenly changed, though, and Reagan saw, in the
drumming of his fingers on the carpet, that he had grown anxious.

“But we are not safe. Our children are not safe.
The Asgre have found us, have recaptured some of us. They know we are here, and
we cannot stay. We must flee.”

Reagan cleared his throat, trying to think of
what he could realistically promise them.

“We want to help you,” he said, trying to show
his sincerity in his gaze. “To offer you . . . protection.”

There was a stir in the group, and they passed
their long fingers across each other’s palms. He was unsure what that meant. He
waited a moment, two. Still, they looked at one another and at their fingers,
brushing the other Valas’ hands.

Finally, after several minutes, a female named
Ahmasa spoke. “We will not be used,” she said firmly. “We have seen our masters.
They perform services and receive currency in trade. They support themselves in
this way. We, too, will work for ourselves.”

Reagan nodded. What the wrinkly creatures could
do, though, he didn’t know. The smile on Ethan’s face told him that the young
man had heard that thought and Reagan grimaced toward Ethan apologetically.

“The Vala have a gift that I think could be very
valuable to humanity,” Ethan said. He glanced at both Reagan and their alien
guests. Reagan shot him a questioning look.

“The Vala can extract Yynium from the ground
without mining it. They can remove it by the block.”

Aemon rocked back and forth. “This is true. Do
your people want this orange mineral?”

Reagan smiled. “Very much.” He saw Ethan’s plan
and tried to articulate it. “Would you be willing to enter into an agreement
with us? You extract the Yynium and our companies pay you?”

The Vala turned to each other, again passing
their fingers across each other’s palms. “We would,” they said.

Ethan spoke up. “What about when the Yynium runs
out?” he asked.

Before Reagan could answer, Aemon spoke. “We have
found that this mineral comes from a molten source,” he said. “If the veins are
broken by blasting, then the channels become blocked, and no new material flows
into the veins. But when we extract the material, we leave the channels intact,
and new molten material flows into them as it is made deep inside the planet.
When it cools it can be harvested again.”

Ethan turned wide eyes to Reagan. They were both
thinking the same thing: Yynium as a renewable resource would change
everything.

Ahmasa spoke, her voice clear and precise and her
words coming through the translator. “And if, in the future, we choose not to
extract the mineral for humans? What would happen?”

Reagan felt the power of his words as he spoke
them. “You could do as you please. You would be free.”

The Vala delegation rocked forward and backward
in assent. “We would do this.”

***

Reagan walked back to the barracks that night
feeling better than he had in years. He thought through the strategy. He would
need all six battleships, and all twelve company ships. The Asgre were not a
warring race. Perhaps a show of force would scare them away.

Just in case, though, he would ready his ground
troops in every settlement. He would have to leave the ground troops in the
other cities and rely on the Coriol Defense Troops to defend the city. But they
would need more soldiers.

It was time to ask for volunteers.

Early the next morning, Ethan reached up behind
his ear. He braced himself as he removed the little button that had kept his
mind free of the incessant noise of other people for the last four years.
Holding his son on his lap, he looked into Rigel’s deep gray eyes and thought
of his love for the child, let it grow in his mind and heart and well up and
outward in his thoughts toward the little boy.
I love you,
he thought.

A pure, inquisitive beam of thought pierced Ethan’s
mind. It was like an unasked question, filling his thoughts with a curiosity he
hadn’t felt since the first time he saw Xardn symbols.

Ethan smiled, wondering if Rigel would like
Xardn. He extended the thought again, this time in Xardn:

Rigel squealed with delight, placing his hands on
Ethan’s cheeks. Ethan saw, in his mind unbidden, the symbol for love repeated.

The feeling of communicating with Rigel, whose
thoughts had been concealed so long behind his luminous eyes, washed over Ethan
like starlight. It was as beautiful as the sound of Polara’s first word, as
moving as the moment he burst forth from the darkness of the cave into Aria’s
arms.

Rigel’s thoughts tumbled wildly, flitting from
one bright thing to another until the child glimpsed the Taim and focused on
them. The Taim trays that covered the counters in the kitchen began to sway.
Ethan gazed at Rigel as the little boy began to sway with them.

A feeling of gratitude cut through Ethan’s
consciousness as Rigel danced with the Taim. What was Rigel grateful for? Did
he even know gratitude yet? The feeling grew stronger, and Rigel looked at his
father, clapping his small hands as the feeling washed through him.

And then Ethan knew. Aria had always maintained
that some plants may be capable of emotion and communication, and as bright
colors and complex feelings flowed through Rigel into Ethan’s mind, he realized
that the Taim were sentient. They were communicating with Rigel, and Rigel was
passing along their messages to Ethan. For a moment, he reveled in the
freshness of their feelings. These plants were young, but very mature. They
were joyous.

It was something like working with the glitchy
translator, though. Rigel didn’t have all the experience needed to truly convey
what the plants were communicating. But basic concepts came through clearly.
The swaying Taim plants were happy to be safe.

They had an interconnected consciousness, and
Ethan felt their pain and sadness over the seedlings that had been lost to Zam
and the vicious blades of the scrapers. Rigel began to cry, and Ethan ached for
him, knowing that the only way to turn off the Taim’s voices in his mind was to
give him a thought blocker.

But Rigel was so young. Perhaps he could learn to
shut out the voices at will. Perhaps he could be spared the pain of his gift
and only revel in the joy of it.

Because, when the Taim began to celebrate their
new situation, Rigel’s joy returned as well. The bridge of their thoughts gave
Rigel the deep connection that the little boy had always excelled at. Through
him now, Ethan saw the peace the Taim had found and felt their hope for the
future.

***

The Taim trays had done their work, scrubbing the
gas out of the air. Maybe it was Aria’s imagination, but the city seemed to
sparkle with fresh oxygen.

Many of the little plants were quickly outgrowing
their pottery trays. And as they grew, they developed a more complex root
system. When they reached a certain size, the Taim needed soil to grow in. They
tipped over if they couldn’t anchor themselves. Aria secured a large field at
the farm to transplant them to and put out a general missive announcement to
bring overgrown Taim trays out for replanting.

Aria stood at the gate to the farm, Taim trays
spread around her, top-heavy and verdant. As the first few people walked
through, she handed each of them a tray. They walked out into the vast bare
field and knelt.

She watched them, their hands scooping at the
dirt, the marks on their faces fading and barely visible from a distance. They
tucked the Taim into the rich soil with reverence and care.

Hundreds more came, bringing their own trays from
home. She saw Luis’s platters, his bowls, his mugs, all brimming with growing
Taim. She glanced at Ethan, who was holding their bouncing son.

“What is he saying?” she asked, hungry to know
Rigel’s thoughts and the thoughts of the sentient plants that had saved them
all.

Ethan smiled and reached behind his ear, removing
his thought blocker. She saw him wince, then lean down to rest his forehead on
Rigel’s.

Ethan was still a long few moments. He nodded,
then raised his brimming eyes.

“He says the Taim are singing. Not just the
babies, but their parents in the Taim grove.”

She smiled. “They’re happy then.”

Ethan reached for her hand. “He says they are
singing, Aria, about you.”

Aria looked at the dancing plants. Their rhythmic
swaying mesmerized her. To have found them, to have saved them, made her feel
useful again, made her knowledge as valuable here as it was on Earth. Maybe
more so.

She had felt that her presence mattered to her
plants back on Earth, had suspected that they grew better when she talked to
them, that she was able to understand their needs on a deeper level than some
of the other scientists, even in her own field. But they had been a different
life form, governed by simple rules of growth and nourishment. These plants had
actual will. They had thoughts. They had sent their young spiraling across the
wind to the city not because of coincidence or simple biology, but because they
wanted their young to have the best chance of survival. They were able to
change their usual pattern of seeding to get their young to a suitable growth
environment.

Aria laid a hand on Rigel’s head. To have that
gift—to be able to speak to the plants—must be wonderful and terrifying. She
had loved plants since the moment, as a child back on Earth, she’d pushed a
bean into dirt in an old milk carton. She’d loved them when the bean curled a
green shoot out through the dirt. She’d loved them when its fuzzy leaves
unfurled and the wonder of a living seed had been revealed to her. The souls of
plants had always been more apparent to her than to others. And the Taim, these
thinking, acting creatures, were both like and unlike those plants she had
always loved. To speak to them, to know what the world was like for them,
seemed achingly wonderful to Aria.

There was more than that, though. She looked at
Rigel, cradled in the shelter of Ethan’s arms, and Aria felt a longing to be
able to speak to her silent son. She had heard Ethan’s voice in her head
before, a few times, and she knew the wonder of telepathic communication. She
pushed away a little wave of jealousy for Ethan’s gift. She couldn’t hear
Rigel, but he could still hear her.

I love you, baby
,
she thought, trying to push the words in his general direction. Her clumsy
effort must have been effective, because Rigel turned toward his mother. His
blue eyes found hers and he wiggled happily, as if trying to communicate back
to her. She took him in her arms.

“See them dancing, Ri?” she pointed to the Taim.

Ethan was rubbing his temples. “He has such a
powerful telepathic connection,” he said. “It must be so intense for him. All
the time.”

Aria held him tighter and wished again that she
could communicate directly with the Taim, to save Rigel the pressure of it.

People were still streaming by, planting their
seedlings in the rich soil. Aria heard a familiar voice behind her. She turned
just as Daniel embraced her.

“Your Taim saved Nallie,” he said, his voice
choked with emotion. Aria ran her free hand over his hair as Rigel clutched at
the young man’s coveralls.

As she stepped back, Aria glanced down at Polara,
chattering rapidly with the two little Rigo girls. Nallie and Polara both had
the same fading pink tinge to their skin. Aria’s heart caught as she thought of
how close Nallie must have come to death. She reached out and squeezed Daniel’s
arm.

“They’ve given us a great gift,” she said. From
the corner of her eye, she saw Ethan. He was watching, smiling.

“Ethan,” she said, reaching for his hand, “this
is Daniel Rigo.”

The men shook hands.

Daniel’s voice was earnest as he said, “Sir, Aria
saved my life.” He glanced at the little girls again. “Several times now.”

Ethan smiled broadly. “Then we have something in
common. She’s saved mine, too.” Ethan squeezed her hand. “Several times.”

Aria grinned. “How are things for you, Daniel?”

Daniel glanced away. “I’m—I’m sorry about the day
at the store, Aria. I shouldn’t have been there, and I didn’t want you to know
what I was doing.”

Aria knew that feeling. She nodded her
forgiveness. Aria noticed now how Daniel had aged since she’d first seen him in
the market, the day Gaynes had made him chase the scrip across the floor. A
bitter taste filled her mouth at the thought of the man. It seemed a lifetime
ago.

“It was a stupid mistake. And now, my little
sisters are paying for it.” Daniel raised pleading eyes to Aria’s and she felt
a chill.

“What do you mean, Daniel?”

“Gaynes.” Daniel spit the word. “He’s threatening
my family now. I have to keep them in the apartment all the time when I’m at
work. I don’t even dare let them play outside.”

Aria looked at Ethan. “Can you turn him in?” she
asked.

Ethan nodded. “I will.” A shadow crossed his
features. “But you should know that the process is excessively slow, especially
with Saras managers. And they’ll want proof.”

“That means questions about what I did.” Daniel’s
expression was hard. “Maybe I’ll just have to take care of it myself.”