The Book of Ominiue: Starborn (34 page)

The king sighed heavily as he let his hands fall to the bedding with a letter concerning something in his kingdom. The papers before him seemed trivial now that they were hosting the strange guests. It had only been a day since the star Ta’Orian doctor had seen him and already he seemed much healthier; his cough was still painfully persisted but its pitch was changing. His appetite was growing, but he still only ate a fraction of what he used to. The robot also administered the medicine when pain seemed to grip; this caused Níurthan concern, but the droid said it would take weeks before the king’s body repaired itself enough to relieve him.

‘Are you sure he is the one?’ the king asked his friend. ‘After all, the Hama Ta’Orians might be unmistakably from the prophecies, but their messenger could be any such soul. He may not even be amongst them yet.’

‘I hold no doubt that he is the one,’ The Kerwin monk softly replied.

‘So, after all these years it has begun,’ the king mused, he looked up at the man before him, ‘and you and I are a part of it. We are part of history now. Thousands of years from now, they will be singing about us, as they have of Vardas’ of old.’

‘I would be warier if I was you, my Lord,’ Níurthan cautioned; his expression grim.

‘I am sorry old friend,’ the king frowned. ‘I did not think.’

‘It is not your fault my lord, there was no harm intended.’

‘What is the Afra’hama doing today?’ he changed the subject.

‘He is visiting the temple,’ the human said. A slight curl developed on his lips and the UeVarda rolled his eyes.

‘Do not worry, anyone who knows better, knows that the tower and school are the true places of worship.’ Níurthan’s frown dissipated with those words. ‘I would very much like to talk with him, and the other Hama Ta’Orian.’

‘It can be arranged, but I do not think they should spend today with you. You should rest.’

‘But I have much work to do still,’ the UeVarda sighed, picking up a piece of paper from the bed.

‘Nothing that the council cannot handle,’ Níurthan gently added. ‘Days from now you will be presented with endless requests and letters. I can hear the drums roll from my room. They seem almost tireless in their messages.’ The UeVarda groaned. ‘Rest now my lord, and take up your work when you are better. None would think less of you for it,’ he motioned.

‘It is boredom I fight Kerwinite, not image,’ the king retorted. Níurthan bowed deeply and then raised his arms in the formal gesture of departure. The UeVarda returned the gesture; a sign that he saw the human as an equal. Níurthan took his cloak from a seat and wrapped it around himself; clasping the steel brooches before he raised his hood.

‘And here,’ the king said. ‘If you insist on doing my work then you should have these.’ He collected the papers on his bed and side table and handed them to the monk.

‘As you wish,’ Níurthan took the papers and gave a shallow bow before he left the room.

***

The Brigadier was spent. It seemed like they did very little, and when he thought back he could not determine where the entire day went; it all seemed like luncheons and meeting people who considered themselves important. They were taken on a tour of the palace and walked through several stories of rooms and halls and passageways. Everything seemed the same after a while.

Finally, he and the scemscar were allowed to retire. The droid chose a wall to back up to and essentially power down. Guards were posted on his door so he would not wander off during the night. Only untrusted guests or those who might be at risk had guards posted at them. The Starborn’s door was also guarded so the Brigadier was content; he would have resented the act if they trusted Shayne but not him.

He took the communications equipment from his bag and set it up on a table. There was still an hour or two left of daylight but the light level in the room was relatively poor. The thick multi-levelled building slightly affected the narrowband that the coded-signal bounced off the
Oxford
, so Hanniver opened the balcony window door and placed a wireless connection device on a small table. A cold southerly wind blew through the room which made him shiver. It was the first time he was cold since he came down from the mountains, so he closed the door behind him and wrapped his cloak around himself.

The computer quickly loaded and a signal was established. Hanniver then pressed and called for the general; while he waited for the man to answer he poured himself a drink of water from their purified systems.

‘Yes Brigadier,’ the general answered. His elderly face filled the screen, though he still looked fit with a full head of greying hair and a firm expression from a lifetime of military discipline.

‘Just reporting in the progress made so far,’ Hanniver answered. They exchanged details and information, talked about the health of the native king and the assembly called.

‘What are we going to do about
him
?’ the general asked. Hanniver had not reported about Shayne’s display at the meeting. He knew 14D-SCMSR was recording everything, but he secretly hoped that this fact would be overlooked. Hanniver was silent for a while, trying to gather his thoughts and form an opinion but he found he could not conclude anything. He sighed as he eventually said.

‘I don’t think there’s anything we can do unless there is just cause,’ he eventually stated.

‘I can conclude from your remarks that he has either shown little change or that it’s far more complicated. I guess what I really want to know is if the the Natives will rebel? And if so will he go rogue on us?’

‘I don’t know,’ Hanniver confessed, ‘but it’s possible. It seems like he’s becoming increasingly immersed in their ways.’

‘Is that even possible?’ the general wondered.

‘Anything is possible with him. I don’t think there’s a threat from him, but he’s calculating as well and sometimes it’s downright terrifying. I don’t know if he’s just being Starborn or if he’s withholding something or if he’s even planning.’ Thorn Hendingson placed his hand over his jaw and mouth as he contemplated the problem.

‘I feel we should pull him,’ Hendingson confessed, ‘but that would cause tension.’

Hanniver nodded in agreement. ‘We can withdraw him afterwards. When re-settlement is made we can occupy him so that he is barely interactive with them.’

‘Yes, I think that’s best. It’ll also leverage his status if we’re careful; too much exposure to a saviour tends to dampen the goodwill of believers.’

‘Agreed, it would lessen chances of an incident,’ Hanniver added.

Chapter
09

Naming

“A good name is more desirable than great riches; to be esteemed is better than silver or gold.”

                                                                                – Proverbs 22:1

The soothing coolness of the stone upon his bare feet was welcomed by Shayne as he walked the passageways of the palace. He occasionally glanced back to see if anyone was watching, but he heard and saw no one.

He passed an open door, inside was a dining room full of merry servants moving in slow motion, the sound of their joy was distant and distorted as they laughed and sung. The warm light from the room flooded the hall revealing Shayne as he stepped by but no one saw him. He continued on up another hallway. His presence went unnoticed to those he passed, as if he was a ghost walking silently by. Shayne rounded another corner to come face-to-face with
The Order
, his mask glinting in the light of the torches. The monk stared directly at him causing Shayne to falter; the native human then turned on his heels, sweeping his cloak behind him as he passed through a side door and down some steps.

Shayne instantly pursued the man: Every passageway he entered, every stairwell he descended and every hall he crossed; he only ever saw the retreating cloak of the monk. Shayne broke into a run to try and catch-up but the monk always seemed to be ahead of him, always making his way around another turn. At last they came to the round throne room of the UeVarda. The dark haired lionman sat upon his throne, no longer ill or weak. He held a golden round shield in one hand, blade in the other and a fair crown upon his head.

Shayne looked around for the monk; he spotted him pushing on a pair of great doors that Shayne did not recall existing. He ran to the doors to try and catch him but they had already closed. Shayne tried pushing them but they were heavy. He used all his strength to open them far enough to slip through.

On the other side he stood before the tower gates. The sanctuary guards were gone and the gates were broken; hanging from their hinges. The Citadel gardens were overgrown with thorns and bushes. Shayne glimpsed once more at the Palace with its statues and gardens still meticulously cared for, he turned his face back to the devastation before him and a pang filled his chest. An eagle called from the heights circling above as the Starborn climbed the steps to the great iron wrought doors of the tower. He grasped a large iron knocker but it crumbled in his hands. He looked down at the decaying rusted metal in his hands, something deep inside of him grieved for the corroding tower. He let the rusted pieces fall to the ground before he placed his hands upon the great doors and pushed.

***

‘Wake up!’ someone shouted at the top of their voice. Shayne felt hands firmly upon him; shaking him from his sleep. This time he instantly jumped out of bed; pulling his firearm out, his heart racing as he looked around him but he could not see anything. He searched the room carefully, running his hands upon the walls to see if there was a secret door, or any signs that someone had been there, but he could not find anything out of place. Shayne sat back on the end of his bed, the adrenaline fading. He could hear the faint sound of rain. He clicked his
wristcom
; the blue light showed him that it was still very early morning. He sat there a moment longer before he climbed back under the covers of the warm bed.

As the sun rose and the hours passed, the cloud layer slowly lifted taking the rain with it. The Earthmen were fine with the weather but the natives wore warmer tunics and bitterly complained about the unusual coldness of their still young summer.

Hanniver and Shayne were eating their breakfast at the main dining hall when a messenger gave them a letter inviting them to the UeVarda’s quarters. Hanniver decided to leave Red Rocket in his room. He felt bad about leaving her, but after learning about their spiritual views surrounding animals he thought it best not to encourage that towards the Tasmanian tiger.

They waited an hour in the hall before a high ranking Imperial Guard collected them, guiding them beyond the throne room which was empty save for the guards. Shayne instinctively looked to where he dreamt the door was, despite knowing there was only a wall there. They were lead through one of the guarded doors to the royal wing that lay behind the throne. They climbed a stairwell that took them to a passage with a single door at the far end. Two fierce looking male Lionmen Imperials stood proudly with lion-like Maltat’s at their sides. As they approached them the shytarda’s stepped aside, allowing them entrance.

‘Hama Ta’Orians,’ the king greeted from a reclined couch. He coughed a little and covered his mouth with his hand, but otherwise he looked well. The king’s wife was also in the room, sitting next to him in her own comfortable seat. There were also two other guards present and Níurthan who stood to the side, watching them carefully. The room was grand and covered three stories, with a double curved stairway, making its way to the bottom recreation room and the top viewing room which looked proudly over the glistening lake. Many things filled the room, but the prize possession rested by itself by the southern window. A small table stood in the light with a single item sitting upon it. Shayne eyes drifted towards it as they stepped across to where the king was resting. It was a giant egg, placed in an ornamental gold bowl; with four dragon statues supporting it.

‘You look well, my Lord,’ Shayne noted, taking his gaze away from the room. The UeVarda’s face was livelier than the day of their arrival and he was in a cheerful mood.

‘And I am beginning to feel much better, thank you Afra’hama, and please thank your healers.’

‘It is not finished yet,’ Shayne reminded him. ‘We will need to regrow your
lung tissue
,’ he gestured his chest region. ‘So you can breathe easier and run again. Also to see if there is anything else that needs repair.’

‘So you say I will be able to pick up the sword again?’ There was a blade hanging above his bed, with a jewelled Celtic style hilt and a black leather scabbard.

‘And swing it. Hopefully many times,’ Shayne joked. Hanniver smiled in approval.

‘Please, honoured guests,’ the Venra directed them to very fine chairs. ‘Take a seat; we are sorry not to offer our full and usual hospitality.’

‘Ma’am,’ The Brigadier said as he took a seat offered to him. ‘The quality of everything we’ve been offered is more than enough hospitality us soldiers deserve.’

‘I have called you here as I would like to learn about the place you call home. I would like to know how you came here and anything you are willing to discuss.’

‘What would you like to hear about first?’ Hanniver asked.

‘Your home world.’

‘Well,’ Hanniver contemplated. ‘I come from a country called England and Colonial Forrester; The Afra’hama, is from Eastern Australia,’ he paused momentarily; trying to think of something else to say, stumbling each time he realised he would have to go into great detail to describe everything.

‘Is it similar to our land?’ his wife the Venra asked. She had blue eyes, very rare for a lionman and the colour of her fur was also lighter than usual. She was sleek and charming, a perfect queen, though there was no word for queen in the common language. Venra meant the partner of the king, and their word for king was genderless, just as they had male and female terms for description they also had natural words for other titles.

‘Your planet is a little heavier than mine,’ Hanniver admitted.

‘What do you mean by heavier?’ she replied, her brow knotted in confusion. ‘How can a planet be heavy?’ the Brigadier hesitated, teaching was not one of his strong points. His gazed shifted to Shayne, silently pleading for help.

‘We call it
gravity
,’ Shayne took over. ‘When you throw a ball in the air it will fall to the ground; that is
gravity
.’

‘Why would it not come down again?’ she looked from one Earthman to the other.

‘If there was none it would not come down; it would keep rising into the sky forever. All things emit a known
wavelength
corresponding to
gravity
and as a result everything is attracted to everything else. All objects pull on each other and want to come together,’ Shayne replied. ‘
Gravity
passes through everything. You are subject to
gravity
, I am subject to gravity,
every
object in the world is affected by
gravity
,’ he saw that this conversation would quickly transcend into a complicated mess of
unified theory
, so he decided to move into classical terms in the hope they would understand.

‘Why do we not fall to each other?’ the UeVarda replied. He coughed again; Shayne noted it was not the same type of cough he heard two days ago. It had the pitch expected from the aerosol pump doing its work. He was pleased to hear the dryer sound even if it did sound unpleasant.

‘Because
gravity
is weak: very weak,’ Shayne demonstrated by picking an ornament up off the table. ‘If it was strong that would not be easy. We are made up of tiny bits of matter, so small you cannot see them. But countless of them make us and each small bit of matter is affected by
gravity
, and when they join together to make an object; like a rock, or us, then the force of
gravity
of each bit adds together and becomes stronger. But we are not big, so the force is still small and we do not notice the pull we exert on each other,
but
,’ Shayne emphasised by pointing up, ‘the world is very big. It therefore has a lot of
gravity
and we can feel it. When you try and pick up a small rock you can feel that rock in your hand and when you try and pick up a big rock that rock is heavier in your hand.’

‘And that is
Gravity
?’ the king smiled.

‘Yes,’ Shayne replied. ‘We measure a planet’s influence by determining how fast an object falls to the ground from so high,’ he made a gesture of height with his hands. ‘All equal mass objects, regardless of shape will fall at the same rate. That rate is determined by how heavy the planet is.’ Shayne knew this was not technically correct, but it would allow them to understand in terms he thought they could grasp.

‘So when you say that our world is heavier, you are saying that if I walked on your world I would feel lighter?’ both Shayne and Hanniver nodded.

The Brigadier beamed as he said, ‘Also you would jump higher, run further, and do anything without getting as tired.’

‘Do you feel heavier on our world?’ the Venra asked.

‘We slowly changed the gravity of our ships when we were in orbit. We feel no different now than we did on our own worlds,’ the Brigadier informed. ‘There wasn’t that much difference between our planets to begin with, really we wouldn’t even need to use it. The masses of our two worlds is very similar. Others in our settlement come from light worlds though so it was beneficial for them.’

‘You changed the
gravity
on your ships?’ she asked, confused again.

‘I would not worry about understanding that,’ Shayne shook his head briefly. ‘It is a complicated concept even amongst our people, only a few understand how it works.’ As they continued to talk about the known worlds and their differences the UeVarda reached over for what looked like a tobacco pouch of some sort and began to place some of the contents into a strange pipe.

‘Wha-?’ Hanniver raised a hand in a mixed expression of disbelief and amusement as he watched the king’s actions.

‘I know, I know,’ the lionman responded. ‘That confounded metal man of yours complains each time.’

‘For good reason,’ Hanniver added, ‘That stuff in all likelihood caused your illness.’

‘And you can make it all better. We have had this debate several times. I do not understand it.’

‘I think it comes down to medical insurance,’ Shayne added, shocking the Brigadier. ‘Those who choose destructive and damaging lifestyles pay higher premiums so it is frowned upon even if it is curable.’

‘And if they can afford this expense, as I can, then why not?’

Shayne shrugged, ‘peer pressure.’

‘Come on,’ Hanniver jumped in, ‘you’re deliberately harming yourself, and why? To satisfy an addiction.’

‘But you can heal it?’ the lionman retorted in what was an age old argument.

‘It would be wise to refrain until you are fully recovered.’ Shayne added. ‘Afterwards you can have a moral debate over it.’ The UeVarda glanced at the two Earthmen, glancing from one to the other before he then grudgingly put the pipe aside with a deep sigh.

‘If you insist,’ He responded. They returned to their conversation about the Earthmen worlds, deviating to robotic behaviour which fascinated the king and his wife. The nature of the medical droid disturbed the UeVarda at first, but the deeper understanding the Earthmen gave the king set his mind at ease; still the machine remained very strange to him.