Chosen (24 page)

Her teachers had been unable to give a definitive answer as to this ironic ability, though they had their ideas. No one knew of the origins of this particular species. Records only went back a thousand years, and in that time, the Kromins were as they are now: androgynous, technologically advanced clones having no emotion. The Masters had believed that this race used to be quite different in the past. It was unclear whether they came to live on Kromin only after they evolved to their current state, or if conditions on their planet forced their evolution.

She wondered if perhaps conditions on this violent planet had once been calmer, less dangerous. Catastrophic changes could have affected them in such a way as to render them infertile. That would explain the need for creating clones in order to survive. It might also explain their residual emotional state that came out in their communication.

When Mirka had arrived on Kromin, she had had to pretend to be a newly awakened clone. She had tried to ask several other clones about their evolutionary past. They refused to answer any of her questions.
There is something in their past they do not want to talk about.
She often felt frustrated at the avoidance of communication about
their ancient history, almost as if they believed if they pretended it did not exist, then it did not.

Out of sight, out of mind.
Mirka turned and walked to her travel pod. The rest of the clones had lost interest in the atmospheric anomalies and were making their way to their travel pods as well. She made her way to the front and slid into the grey vinyl pilot seat. She punched several buttons on the console, and the computer came to life in flashes of grey symbols and bleeps and blips. She keyed in her destination and the saucer-shaped travel pod shot out of the hangar door and into the now still Kromin atmosphere.

The sky is magnificent!
There was nothing to break the skyline, except the occasional cloud and the structures hanging in the dense sky like great, grey bulbs.

She had never set eyes on the buildings of the floating cities until flying very close, almost in the hangar doors. The heavy winds churned up the clouds to such a degree that computers were necessary to navigate, as the buildings and other travel pods were invisible until one was almost upon them.

Mirka punched a few buttons on the shiny metal console and the travel pod sped forward, and then banked to the west. As the craft turned, she looked down at the surface. It roiled and bubbled like a giant cauldron of thick yellowish-orange and pink mud. Eruptions sent up huge geysers of semi-solid material; it was magnificent and frightening.

The Kromins could not possibly have evolved here unless their planet was quieter in its past.
Metals and ores for constructing the buildings and travel pods were taken from nearby moons or other astral bodies. They possessed extraordinary technology allowing them to take an object, break it down to its basic atoms, and rearrange them into an item of need, like food, fluids for the birthing chambers, computer components, everything that the Kromins needed.

I cannot imagine an alien race would travel here on purpose and choose to live in such an inhospitable place.

As the travel pod neared the destination, the sun slid beneath the horizon. The sky turned a deep blood red before settling into black. Stars pebbled the night sky, shining like diamonds.

Mirka purposely slowed her speed as the travel pod approached the storage building. She wished to stay in the pod and drink in the sight of the starry sky. As the buildings of the Kromins had no windows, she would be unable to gaze at the stars once inside.
Duty
calls,
she thought disgustedly as she piloted the craft into the hangar door.

She brightened as the full realization of what she was doing hit her.
I am going home!
Home. The word had so much more meaning now. Mirka never appreciated how very special her world was until coming here to this planet. She longed to let her guard down and
feel
and wear those emotions on her sleeve. The thought of a loving touch, a pat on the back, a hug, a kiss, was almost enough to make her lose control of the hold she kept on her feelings.
Soon, I will not have to.
Her pace quickened as she neared the door to the small storeroom housing the portal.

--We have arrived.

I do not know what to say to them!

Panic was beginning to set in as the moment had finally arrived to tell the Chosen of their destiny. She broke into a cold sweat. She had rehearsed the speeches in her mind a thousand times since coming to Kromin. Now, the words escaped her.
I have a little time. Clone 53279 won't be back for at least a little while.

--Come to storeroom 9.

Her heart dropped to her feet as she saw all five Chosen entering storeroom 9. Clone 53279 had arrived earlier than expected.
Or perhaps I was so lost in thought I lost all track of time.
The clones stood patiently.

When the door was secure, she motioned them toward the far wall, partially blocked with grey metal crates and containers of varying shapes and sizes. She instructed them to move the boxes against the side walls.

--What a curious thing.

Clone 48951 pointed to the symbols appearing in a rectangular shape, outlining the portal. The others moved closer to the wall, curious but not afraid.

--What manner of thing is this?

--It is called a portal. These devices are capable of transporting one to another planet. They also change the molecular structure of the being passing through it, so that it resembles the sentient life on the new world.

--Are we to use these to travel to other planets for our studies?

--No. They are much more important than that.

Mirka paused before continuing.

--We must make a journey, the six of us. To the planet I call home.

--But you are a clone, like us. I do not understand.

Clone 48951 stared at Mirka with its large, black, almond-shaped eyes, not blinking.

--I am not a Kromin. I came here from a planet called Gentra, through this portal.

She indicated the wall behind her.

--My form was changed to that which you see before you.

--Why are you here?

This came from clone 70786.

--I have come here for you.

Mirka stood in silence for a moment, letting her message sink in, before continuing.

--A race of mechanical beings, the Mekans, is threatening the existence of life in this galaxy. Clone 9684 encountered them while on a mission to a planet located on the outer rim. They were most intriguing. The Mekans moved about the surface, driving over the indigenous life as it searched for ores and minerals.

The clone's eyes widened.

--Now I understand why you wanted me to leave the planet, instead of staying to study them.

She was disturbed by the lack of emotion in the Chosen about the danger that these Mekans posed to life in the galaxy.
They see this as some strange curiosity. They do not care that these machines devastate entire planets, kill every living thing that inhabits them. How can they be asked to face the danger if they do not truly comprehend its nature?

Clone 53279 asked:

--Why have you waited so long to tell us of who and what you are?

--I could not tell you until the right time. The recent atmospheric anomalies were the signs I have long awaited. When the winds ceased to blow, I knew the time had come to bring you to the portal and tell you of your destiny. We must travel through this portal to my home planet. You and the other Chosen, will meet with the Gentran Masters, who will tell you more about the prophecy.

Clone 8503 asked:

--There are others?

--Yes. There are other Chosen who live on three distant planets. Going through the portals changes the physical appearance but does not give the ability to speak the language. They will be able to make the necessary sounds but will not know the vocabulary. Your telepathic abilities will be needed for communication.

Said Clone 70786:

--This is why you had us communicating with alien species. And our abilities of communication across thousands of parsecs will be needed if we are to mount an attack against the Mekans.

Mirka nodded to Clone 48951. She was pleased that they grasped the situation and could speak the truth of things.
Perhaps it is not so bad a thing, being devoid of feelings.
When the six turned up missing, six more clones would be awakened from the birthing chambers and the new clones would take over their jobs and domiciles.
No one will even miss us.
That last thought made her sad.

Clone 70786 stepped forward, its supple limbs moving with delicate grace. Its long, slender fingers brushed the markings, moving over their form and shape.

--What do the symbols represent?

--They represent the planets on which other portals can be found. Some planets have one symbol, while others are represented by several symbols. Here is the symbol for your planet.

Mirka pointed to a series of squares set one inside the other at 90
^°
angles, growing smaller and smaller, into infinity.

--I bear a mark much like that one, here on my leg.

The Kromin Chosen each bore a mark on their bodies that resembled the symbol for their planet.

She pointed to a triangle with a circle inside.

--This is the symbol for Gentra, my home world, and our destination.

--Traveling through the portal is…uncomfortable. I will go first. The rest of you must follow, allowing a few moments between. I will assist you in the assimilation process.

The clones stood, silent and resolute. To them, this was simply another journey, much like any other. They felt no fear, apprehension, nor did they truly understand the importance of what they were about to do. Mirka turned and faced the wall. She mentally steeled herself. Though dreading the interminable pain, she was full of excitement at the prospect of emerging in the scorching water of her home.

She turned and entered the portal.

E
ARTH

The fighting raged on the outskirts of the Jhinn encampment. The Cowboys, under the ruthless leadership of Wild Bill, had managed to ford the river without alerting the men in the watchtowers. A fleet-footed youngster practicing with his bow outran the enemy and breathlessly yelled a warning to the first adults he came across.

The clanging of the warning bell, which had been silent the last three months, broke the early morning quiet. The Protectors had sprung into action as soon as the bell had sounded.. General Ted Smith wasted no time deploying men to the river. He heard the faint shouts and screams coming from the east. He saddled No Name and sprang onto her back. He jerked the reins to the right and gave her a swift kick with his heels. The spirited sorrel mare leapt forward and sped down the main thoroughfare. Ted could hear the pounding of hooves following closely behind as the Protectors raced after their General.

“Lieutenant!” Ted shouted to Robert Marshall as he noticed the man racing alongside him on a jet black gelding. “Take your men and head downriver! We have to keep them away from the food stores!”

His Lieutenant nodded, signaled to his squad of fourteen Protectors, and veered to the northeast, heading down river. The General signaled to the Protectors following him to stay with him. He headed due south, toward the watchtower. He sucked in a breath
as he saw that the enemy was in among the buildings, setting fire to them with wooden torches.

Townfolk ran screaming from their burning homes, only to be cut down by the Cowboys. Men, women, children, all died in a rush of heat and blood and fear. Ted drew his blackened iron blade complete with a hilt made from the antlers of an elk. He cut and slashed at the screaming enemy, killing them where they stood. No Name danced to the side, avoiding the blow from an enemy blade.

Ted smiled grimly at his spirited, intelligent mare. They made a deadly team, dancing in and out of the reach of slashing knives, her killing with her hooves, him killing with his black blade. Soon he was lost in the feel of the blade as it cut through skin, sinew, and tendon to meet the bone underneath, the hot rush of blood as it flowed from the wounds he inflicted, the smell of the blood and offal from the dead, the sweat pouring off his brow, the tightness in his chest as he fought for breath, the steady ache in his arm and shoulder as he continued to hack the enemy to pieces.

No Name suddenly reared and kicked at a man coming at them afoot, carrying a hatchet. The General yelled as he lost his grip and fell backwards, landing hard in the dirt. He stood quickly, trying to catch the breath that had been knocked from him. He heard a noise coming from behind and whirled to face the man with the hatchet. He raised his knife and swung at the man taking an offensive stance, testing his opponent. The man was small and quick, able to avoid Ted's blade. His hatchet did not give him the reach he needed to finish the General off. The man attempted to disarm Ted. The General was ready. He pretended to stumble as the enemy pressed the attack, reaching behind his back with his left hand to the small knife he had stuck in his belt.