Chapter 34 - Tymos Rescues the Defenceless
While Tymos waited for the Warlords, he had listened to the soft telepathic voices – relayed and amplified by the power in the Temple. From the thoughts of the distant mutants, he located the largest concentrations of trapped Aeronite warriors and identified individual mutants He used their minds to give him the coordinates he needed.
When he arrived, suddenly, appearing out of mid air, the mutants immediately targeted him with their hodge-podge weapons. However, his brilliant auburn hair was recognised and the weapons pointed down.
Tymos took in his surroundings with a sweeping glance around. He was not in the mountains and the reason for that was clear. Thick black smoke billowed up from huge, widespread forest fires. The mutants had fled their villages and were roaming freely, in the general direction of Ecla.
Communication between the tribes was via the few telepathic mutants, and those Tymos met, shared the knowledge they had with him.
“Learnt we did,” Bordon, a skinny, wiry mutant admitted. “Noxious ones, robed, hard skinned. Kill as look at us.”
“Ciriot,” Tymos named them. “They set the dark eyed ones onto us.”
“Die they will,” Bordon promised. “That kind scavenges around cities. Bomb towns, villages, everywhere.”
“Where are your women, children and old ones?” Tymos asked.
“In cave, travel in dark, so avoid glowing places. Travel when noxious ones cannot see.”
Tymos nodded. “And you have seen dark eyed ones?”
Bordon gave an ugly grin. “Dug like hoppers into ground. Smell fear pong miles away.”
“Take me to your women folk and I will take them to Ecla.”
“How take?” Bordon demanded.
“I can transmit five or six people with me,” Tymos explained. “Like I did coming here.”
“Promise you, they appear in city?”
“I got here, didn’t I?” Tymos chided gently.
“Did,” Bordon had to agree. “Then I show you dark eyed hoppers.”
Three of the male mutants chose to stay with Tymos, leading him to groups of terrified Aeronites. They were all so relieved at the prospect of rescue from the wildly changing weather and the mind- twisting distortions of the air that they immediately surrendered. When they were promised a return to their baseships, they babbled the coordinates and hoped it wasn’t an offer too good to be true.
Tymos transmitted through the extra shields now protecting the baseships, and several times still hostile guards challenged him. However, the rescued Aeronites spoke in his favour, and gave him time to transmit away again.
When Bordon had led the way to all the hidden Aeronites he knew of, he led Tymos to another group of fleeing mutants. Many times Tymos came near cities where Aeronites huddled in dugout shelters, unable to enter the cities and trying to evade the attacking Ciriot. Often they had seen Aeronite fighters engaged in air battles with the Ciriot, and coming off worst.
The Aeronites were worse off on the ground than were the mutants. Their armour may have given them some protection, but not enough. However, by digging into the ground, they were protected by the same power that Jonko had summoned to hasten the harvest and safeguard the seeds.
Neither group thought to question how Tymos could move through the acrid and poisonous atmosphere, walk across areas of glowing radioactivity, avoid falling bombs, without becoming ill.
His power protected him from all the dangers.
Every now and then, he felt the mind touch of Kryslie or Llaimos and they shared images and impressions.
As Tymos travelled, his army of mutants slowly grew and they proved to have an uncanny knack for locating Ciriot and Aeronite alike. At first, Tymos left the Ciriot alone, simply reporting coordinates to Llaimos. When his mutant scouts reported a group of Ciriot with both Aeronite and mutant prisoners, he decided to act and sent his mutant army out to circle and flank the Ciriot.
At a hand gesture from Tymos, two mutants allowed themselves to be seen. Immediately, four of the visible Ciriot went in pursuit, leaving only two to guard twelve bound and secured prisoners.
So arrogantly confident were they – the two standing guard never looked around – just watched the chase. They never even considered that there might be more than two scared mutants trying to release their kin.
While Tymos controlled the minds of the two guards, an easy task since they had been unsuspecting of danger, his mutant allies cut the leather bindings and freed the prisoners. All were away into the nearest scanty cover within minutes. Tymos was impressed by how well they vanished into the dips in the ground, behind brittle and dead vegetation. Half of the mutants returned two creeping up on the oblivious Ciriot guards and thrusting knives into the vulnerable joints of the black armour. Tymos withdrew his mind from theirs an instant before they died.
A short time later, the two decoy mutants returned dragging the bodies of the four Ciriot that had chased them. Tymos grinned, not because he enjoyed killing, but for the mutants to take it as praise for their fighting prowess.
An itch of a premonition caused Tymos to silence the shouts of celebration.
“Hide the bodies,” he directed quietly. He didn’t need to tell them to avoid being seen. That was a natural instinct of all mutants.
Tymos tried to locate the source of the danger he had sensed. He heard the familiar thump buzz sound of a Ciriot aircraft approaching and made himself still. He called quietly for the mutants to do the same. He drew power from the aura to blanket them all, ignoring the discomfort of the warped energy.
The craft flew low over their position, and dropped an insulated crate. A small parachute zipped open and the crate floated down just beyond a line of desiccated trees. Tymos began to trot in that direction, alert for the possibility of more Ciriot.
Once he was at the dead trees, he stopped and used the aura to cloak himself again. He had guessed right, there was a grounded Ciriot craft. How many guards had they left here? One? Two? More?
One strode from the aircraft towards where the crate was half-buried in the dusty dry ground. It must contain something heavy but not fragile. Tymos inspected the Ciriot craft and saw blackened streaks along its length. Perhaps the ship had been damaged and the crate contained parts to repair it?
Tymos sensed some of the mutants creeping up to be beside him.
“What you do?” Bordon asked in a whisper.
“I’m going into the ship,” Tymos told him. “You four, take that Ciriot out of the way.”
The Ciriot had reached the crate and was bringing it back without the parachute. From its posture, the crate was heavy, and its full concentration was on the task.
The creature never saw or heard the mutants and had no chance to call out a warning. Tymos ran low and came to the dead Ciriot where it lay behind a low mound. He quickly stripped off the black armour and donned it himself. It smelt foul, probably of Ciriot sweat if not other bodily fluids.
“Keep out of sight,” Tymos told his companions as he hefted the crate. He held it easily, but he adopted the same posture as the dead Ciriot, and strode openly towards the Ciriot ship and its invitingly open boarding ramp.
From his brother’s mind, Tymos had some idea of the layout of Ciriot ships – although Llaimos implied they stole ships from many different worlds. He also warned that all Ciriot ships carried Burnfire in sealed palm sized canisters.
As he approached the ship, Tymos sensed it was not empty. He entered warily, even though he was disguised in the concealing Ciriot armour. As he had walked with the crate, he had used his perceptive sense to determine the contents. His guess of parts had been correct, and his mind told him they were parts for the engines. Therefore, once he was within the ship, and his glance around brought memories from the mind meld with Governor Xyron and images from Llaimos, he strode confidently towards the engine section.
He saw and memorised everything he passed and tried to ignore the powerfully alien stench of the Ciriot. From the size of the ship, Tymos deduced it could carry twelve and his team of mutants had accounted for seven.
Once Tymos put the crate down near the engine, he returned to where his perception had located the weapons store. He wrenched open the door and examined each kind, taking two, of different kinds, but likely to do most damage to Ciriot armour. He was aware that one of the creatures was creeping up on him, probably suspicious as to why one of his crew had not answered his questions, or perhaps why three others did not.
Tymos sensed the instant when some of the unaccounted for Ciriot reported that the prisoners had gone and the guard detail was missing. The one stalking him became more determined to confront the intruder. It decided, correctly, that Tym was one of the Royal Tymoreans that his kind had been seeking, and was supremely confident of capturing him.
There was neither compassion nor compunction in the Ciriot’s mind. It was already anticipating the capture, immobilisation and torture of the prisoner and the kudos he’d receive for making the prisoner reveal the secret locations of the planet’s treasures. It sent a signal that remotely locked the outer door, to prevent anyone else from learning things from the prisoner.
That suited Tymos, who in turn intended to get information from the Ciriot. He had his weapon aimed when the creature suddenly appeared in the same passageway.
Tymos immediately fired his stolen weapon at the shoulder joint of the Ciriot’s weapon arm, sensing he had hurt the creature.
“That weapon will not harm me,” the Ciriot claimed, using a mechanical translator to turn its clicking speech into Tymorean. “Surrender now, Tymorean and I will be merciful.”
“Talk is for cowards,” Tymos responded, echoing a statement made to his sister.
The Ciriot fired one of his weapons, an energy beam, but it reflected of Tymos’s stolen armour and was absorbed by the wall shields. It fired again, this time at the seals at the neck of the black armour. The headpiece separated and the Ciriot leapt at Tymos, dragged the headpiece off, and allowed its weight to fall on him, but Tymos was not helpless. Yes, the armour was awkward, but was no hindrance. He twisted and rolled, bringing the Ciriot under him where it became unable to do more than flail its arms.
Yet the Ciriot was not prepared to give up and Tymos knew when it began to edge its arm to a new weapon. Its mind was not thinking of the weapon itself, but watching Tymos and anticipating his imminent demise.
A flick of the metal gauntlet, and something flew at Tymos. He deflected the small vial and it broke beside the two of them, igniting in the air from the friction of the glass breaking. Immediately, Tymos realised it was Burnfire. Some of it splashed onto Tymos’s stolen armour, and the fiery glow crept along the surface, spreading to the Ciriot’s armour.
It gloated, and it clicked a sentence that translated as, “You cannot stop it – it will burn you when it reaches you. Unless you remove the armour and run…”
The power that had protected Tymos from the poisons in the air outside was still buzzing in him and the knowledge of Burnfire that Kryslie had shared with him ensured that he need not fear that vicious liquid. He continued to hold the Ciriot down.
Prepared for the physical pain, Tymos neither screamed nor blacked out. As he burned like a torch within the armour, he imagined raising his arms and summoned more power to himself. The lighting in the passage dimmed, so the glow of Burnfire was the only light. With a brilliant flash, the power surged through him and quenched the Burnfire. The flames blew out and his flesh tingled with greater sensitivity. It was as if he had been cleansed, purified, his human skin burned away to reveal a newer perfect creature.
The Ciriot armour was impervious to the liquid; the Burnfire had only removed the black coating to reveal a grey metallic surface.
Tymos watched the alien as it thought it had won, and then ruthlessly invaded its mind before it thought to resist. In moments, he knew all that the alien had known. There were no noble sentiments in the creature, and Tymos wasted no compassion on it. In his mind, he felt the Guardians of Peace judging the creature and finding it abhorrent. It wasn’t from mercy that he induced the mind to become unconscious; it was because he found no pleasure in watching creatures die. Leaning down he opened the facemask and examined the features. It was as ugly as the one he had seen at the Estate. The film of Burnfire found new fuel and the alien’s body began to burn.
Tymos stood and watched until the flames went out from lack of fuel. His mind considered all he had learnt, all about the ship, its equipment, how it worked, how to disable it, how to access the computers, the format of the data and more that was not of immediate use. He sent a thought to his siblings, sharing the knowledge and inviting Llaimos to examine the ship.
When Tymos emerged from the ship, half of his mutant allies came forward dragging three more Ciriot bodies.
“That should be all of them,” Tymos commented. “The one inside is dead. Hide the bodies – their kind will surely come looking for them – eventually. My brother is coming to examine the ship. We will stay and keep guard until he is done.”
As the mutants scurried to obey his directions, Tymos stayed alert. He did not intend to assume that he had accounted for all the Ciriot.
In a surprisingly short time, Llaimos’s ship, previously President Reslic’s personal craft, landed nearby and uncloaked. It was still protected by defensive shields. Llaimos transmitted out and materialised in front of his brother. They wasted no time on greetings.
“Will you have time to transmit all of the data from this ship to the computer archive at the palace?” Tymos asked.
“Certainly, Tymos. The knowledge you shared with me gave me what I needed to be able to translate and reformat the data from the computer cores I have collected as well. Pyr is writing a translation program so that I can, in future, down load the Ciriot ship memory without removing the core. That has been becoming more difficult lately as the Ciriot have become aware of my interference. Pyr is very quick to learn – I simply have to express my idea, and explain what I need and he comes back with a solution.”
“He is our brother,” Tymos reminded Llaimos. “I think he is only now being allowed to show his potential. Do you need a long time here?”
“No, I have seen ships like this before – all I must do is remove the computer core. You need not stay – I know you have many more innocents to find and safeguard. However, you might wish to visit my ship. The President had a supply of fresh clothes in there. That is unless you intend to keep wearing that hideously uncomfortable armour.”
Tymos grinned wryly at his brother’s first attempt at teasing him. With their minds open to each other, it was no surprise that Llaimos knew of his experience with Burnfire, and how it had burnt all but the metal of the armour and Tymos’s protected self. He needed something to wear.
“I will accept that offer. This armour is restrictive, but at least it no longer reeks of alien sweat. However, I much prefer Tymorean armour, with some soft fabric between me and it.”
“Leave that armour on the ship, and I will take the cleansed armour from within too,” Llaimos decided thoughtfully. “If I have a chance to meet with Krys, I will pass them on for Jon and Kel to wear if they need it.”
“Have you some for Pyr?” Tymos suggested.
“I have done the best I could to reduce the President’s armour to fit him, but I don’t think anyone expected a child his size to need armour,” Llaimos admitted. “Go, he will be glad to see you, and he knows where the clothes are.”
Tymos faced the Aeronite officer, who was defiant even with his arms bound behind him and six miscellaneous weapons aimed at him.
“I am no traitor! I will not make deals with the enemy and I will not desert my post,” the Aeronite insisted.
His subordinates were huddled in a small crowd, facing their own weapons, now in the hands of mutants. Many were wheezing from the poisonous air, as well as being terrified of dying.
“I accept your decision,” Tymos said calmly. “However, I will give each of your men the same choice. They may stay here and die from poisoned air, or starvation, or they may return to Warlord Axec’s ship.”
“I will personally report to the Warlord, the names of any of them that desert their duties,” the officer said loudly. “And if they survive the Tymorean torturers, they will be whipped and killed by the Warlord.”
Tymos sensed the resignation of the huddle of warriors. They dared not disobey the officer, despite the intolerable situation and their own failing health.
“Have you been able to contact your superior?” Tymos asked, knowing that the answer was no.
It had been the transmissions from this group, intercepted by Llaimos that had led Tymos to them.
“Have you untainted food and water? Do you know where you can get fresh supplies? The Ciriot are making this world uninhabitable – no one will be able to survive outside the cities, and there is no room there for your people.”
The officer spat at Tymos, not wanting to admit to the truth of what he had heard. He ignored the subtle shifting of the mutants and the increase in intensity of their hostile stares.
“Your Warlord has been invited to the Temple of Dira, to discuss an alliance with us against the Ciriot,” Tymos told the officer. He did not intend to mention the Warlords were prisoners there.
“The Warlords will not deal with Tymoreans! They’ll annihilate…”
Tymos interrupted the dogmatic speech. “The outcome of that meeting is of no concern to you here. You have not been able to contact your baseship because of the interference in the atmosphere. You are the ranking officer here. The decision is yours. Will you stay here and commit your men to die, or will you give them the chance to live and fight again?”
The officer’s rigid posture slumped slightly. It wasn’t necessary to read his thoughts to figure out that he was thinking of ways to turn the apparently altruistic offer against the Tymorean.
“You promise to take us back to our ship, right now, unharmed, not tortured…how? Where is your ship?”
“I don’t need a ship,” Tymos told him, knowing the man had no idea of Tymorean transmitters.
“You just as good as said we can’t travel overland,” the officer retorted.
“I promised a safe return. I can take five of you with me at a time,” Tymos stated. “I will take the five sickest warriors first.”
Now the other Aeronites were disregarding protocol to plead with their officer to accept the offer.
Tymos added, “You may report to your superior that there are no people left around here, since I will not be staying after I have assisted you. You may also give a first hand account of the conditions and maybe they will wake up to the truth. That the Tymoreans are not their enemy, the Ciriot are.”
“Untie me,” the officer insisted.
Tymos considered him for a time then nodded at two of the mutants. Their wickedly sharp knives cut the rope bindings.
“I want our weapons returned,” the officer continued.
“Later,” Tymos told him. “And while I am gone, do not try to regain control. My allies are vicious fighters, and they do not have the patience I do to try to make you see reason.”
The officer stayed where he was, and gestured to his men to go with Tymos. Five shuffled forward, nervously, but with a trace of hope. Tymos told the mutants to return their weapons and transmitted the Aeronites to where he knew Axec’s ship to be. He had not been told the location, but the officer had known the coordinates and had thought of them when Tymos had been talking to him.
In a very short time, he was back. The mutants returned the rest of the weapons, but had others to keep aimed at the officer. They didn’t trust him. Tymos moved the officer and the remaining Aeronites into a close group and transmitted once again. The instant he rematerialised after the second trip, the officer fired a weapon at Tymos. He had an instant of shock when he saw Tymos raise a hand and reflect the energy beam back at him. Then the pain overcame him. Since more Aeronite guards were converging from all sides, Tymos transmitted away, leaving the Aeronites to care for their own.
Bordon spoke as soon as Tymos returned. “We move now? Hunt us will they?”
Tymos shrugged. “If I were them, I’d stay where they are. Where do I need to go next?”
The wiry mutant grinned, showing bunched up teeth. “Mithas’s boy Morin sent picture. Them stuck in caves. Said you know it.”
“I do, let’s go.”
When the mutants could tell him of no more Aeronites, or mutants needing help, Tymos took his companions to Ecla. He was pleased to see the city survivors working side by side with mutants to recover the dead and inter them with respect in a mass grave. The list of identified dead was being recorded for later memorial services.
Rubble and debris from bombed buildings was being cleared and piled for possible reuse. Damaged buildings were being repaired on behalf of the shocked survivors, and they were indicating empty buildings to house the refugee mutants. There was still a great deal to be done before the city could be sealed.
Tymos sent word to his sister, “I can still see the trails of the Ciriot. They have not completely faded. Their rubbish is everywhere.”
Kryslie sounded tired when she answered. “They will have left a lot of nasty surprises. If you can find any, show them to the mutants. They may be able to sense more like them, in the same way they were able to sense Aeronites. If they do, have them move any Ciriot things to the edge of the city. I can take care of them when I get back there. Where will you be going next?”
“I will petition the Guardians to lead me to any more Aeronites on this continent, and then I will go to the other continents and check there.”