The Fourth Guardian Page 4

  She raised the killing instrument to oracular level, taking what seemed at that distance needless aim. “Speak well, for this is your last opportunity!"

  Regis stared at her, took in his surroundings, knew there was no escape, and shrugged.

  "All right, if you insist."

  "I do."

  "So be it.” He straightened and looked her square in the eyes. “I killed that degenerate for taking the life of a child. I avenged myself and her, and then you. I could not rest, nay, I could not live if I had done otherwise. My horror cried for justice. Her spirit cried for justice. And your grief and rage begs for mercy and understanding. What I did was for you most of all."

  The dam stepped back, oculars staring ... the orifice of her mouth parted as if gasping for air.

  "If you're so damn keen, revenge yourself for your lack of courage upon me, and the hell with you all!"

  Her grip on the weapon tightened, but then she lowered it. A claw that could easily have crushed his head rose.

  "You are an Outré, yet...” She gestured helplessly. “You killed one of us for one of us? You killed for my only daughter? I—I do not understand. I was told you were all barbarians. I was told ... and now...” She shifted as an ocular glanced over a massive shoulder, and then it swiveled around. “What are you, Outré?"

  "I am a man just like any other."

  She fidgeted. “No. Not so. Not like the others. I know. I see now. There is a difference. What are you, Outré?"

  "I don't understand the question."

  She passed a claw over him, making him flinch, but then something happened, something extraordinary. He saw himself in another way. In a way that was cold and pure. He shook his head, backed up, feeling strange with a tingling that touched from head to foot.

  His voice croaked as something inside clawed to be heard.

  "I am aware. I am suffering. I, who have never had cause for want, wants. I, who have never known desire, desires."

  He clutched his throat, his eyes bulged out of their sockets, and his temples pounded until he thought his head would explode.

  He shouted. “Wha—what did you do to me? What's happening?"

  Suddenly, he could hear the surf raging outside the castle walls. Smell the fragrance of the dew-misted gardens. Feel the weight of the stones beneath his feet. See the steaming blood of the dam as it rushed through her veins, and then he could even sense—his heart ached with it—the heave of the marshlands, the swish of smooth leathery bodies as they slithered in the jungle. He glimpsed a world he never knew existed—and it was killing him!

  The dam caught him as he collapsed into a catatonic state. A tentacle touched the nape of his neck. An organic spine needle injected into the back of his head, and then pulled out and rested ever so gently between his staring eyes, and the poison that would have killed, worked its way into his nervous system as a potion to ease, to cause one to sleep ... to forget.

  His eyes closed, and his rigid body fell like a limp rag.

  "Hush child,” she clacked softly. “I know now what you are. What you have always been. You, who seek truth beyond all others. You, who now must sleep."

  * * * *

  He blinked. It was dark. He felt his face, realizing he was in bed, and the taste in his mouth was, ugh, like re-used boiler seals. He stumbled up, made his way to the washing basin, keyed a light sensor, and found himself in his reflection.

  He shook his head wearily. Whew. That must have been one hell of a party. But what happened? It was hazy, but ... he could not remember. Was it important?

  An internal need forced him to seek relief in the toilet facility, and when he was through he stripped off his clothes, dropping them where they fell. He made his way to the cleansing pool and dipped a toe in, only to jerk out. The water was cold. He shrugged. No matter. He pressed the controls, and soon the radiants warmed it up.

  He sank into the depths and lay back, sighing with relief. It felt good to have a nice hot soak. He was worn out.

  * * * *

  His eyes opened wide, the flush of memory suffusing him. Now he knew how it had begun. Each time he came across some nasty horror, he felt it necessary to balance the scales. He licked his lips. However, between the urge to exterminate vermin, and keeping up appearances, somehow he'd miscalculated something, so it was over.

  What were those charges? The elimination of the head of the Neenahsth family? He snorted. Good-riddance. But what had gone wrong? How had he been discovered? He thought he'd been so careful.

  * * * *

  The Galactic shifted. A pseudopod formed into a handy claw and scratched blissfully at a piece of fresh molting, and he thought it was frustrating sometimes, molting. Especially now with all this trouble.

  The seventh line of his crèche viewed the assembly with disregard. Silly beings. Why couldn't they accept the inevitable? He accepted it. Why couldn't they? Perhaps if they were made to see what was likely to happen if ... the Galactic Elder chuckled softly.

  "Gentle beings,” his vocoder announced, stemming the raging arguments rending the proceedings into a farce. “Gentle beings, please, be calm. I have a suggestion."

  Around the circle, Lord Galactics resettled themselves hastily. It wasn't often the Eldest spoke, let alone offered suggestions. Pseudopodals were thought more as beings of intellect rather than action.

  "Gentle beings, we have an unusual situation stemming from the discovery of a new Light Bearer. While in the same context, concerning his nature for violence and quick solutions, being a creature of intense emotion, nevertheless he is what he is. I've overheard some of you intimate, that were we to allow his death, who is to say what can be gained, or what will be lost? Perhaps nothing, perhaps much.

  "Perhaps the very Arcturate itself would be judged by our decisions, and what may follow? I cannot help but wonder if this is somehow a test of us, rather than of our lesser cousins..."

  There was a sluggish reaction in the Elder's middle as a vacuole opened and closed with amusement. “If we interfere, if we act in any way, would we lose our favor? I contend that doing nothing is in fact doing something with negative results. Therefore, we cannot stand aside. I've studied the situation closely, and I believe I have a solution."

  They looked up expectantly.

  "I propose,” said the Elder, “that we allow Regis Tregarath of the House of Nald to be exiled and watched, and when he matures he might be allowed to return home."

  "But...” interrupted a Shith, a representative of a reptilian race of vegetarians with a taste for exotic teas, which at the moment he was sipping, red-tipped tongue lapping. “Is it not expected of us to render an impartial overview of this child's guilt or innocence? We know his guilt. The Block of Truth has shown us that. Why consider interfering in their decision-making at all?"

  "Genen Seinak,” said the patient Administrator Quolm, his oraculars peering fondly at his friend. “As usual you are right, but what we've forgotten to take into account is that the killings were not dictated by the boy himself, but by the circumstances he was thrown into."

  Genen Seinak bowed to Quolm. “Could you clarify this?"

  "Indeed. The humans think him guilty of only one crime, while we know he's guilty of far more, and therefore, are able to deduce the greater with the lesser. Do we condemn him for reacting to the demands of the fates? It would be the height of hubris on our parts, would it not, were we to assume we knew better?

  "Is the boy a murderer, a killer, or a savior? How can we judge adequately, considering the evidence we've amassed, which at best is second-hand? We need a closer look into his soul to better judge. This means, we need time."

  "And if,” another asked, with a shrewd glint to an eye, “it is found the flaw lies not in the new Light Bearer, but in his race, what then?"

  "Then,” quoth Quolm, suddenly feeling his age, “what happens to the boy will be followed by what happens to his people. All his people. Everywhere. They will not be allowed to explore beyond the point of their outer
limit, and for every hundred years, their space will be diminished and restricted, until finally, they will be driven back to their original solar system and confined there until they mature or die."

  Had someone opened a tomb there couldn't have been a greater silence. Quolm bowed respectively to their Eldest, who, after a moment of consideration, nodded. The other had set the matter plainly, and now the choice was in the hands of those who didn't know it.

  "Yes,” said their Eldest Galactic, “we must be sure of ourselves, lest we become ruthless and intolerant. We must not catapult this mess into the unimaginable, lest we become unimaginable. To do otherwise is to court disaster."

  "What I'd like to know,” put in a high-pitched keening from a Celstuloid, a creature of quivering crystalline hues, “is how we were fortunate enough to discover him at all? From what I've gathered he was careful to cover his tracks."

  covering his tracks."

  A contractee to the human's council, given special dispensation to travel to the Galactic's Forum to testify if called upon stepped forward. A heavily muscled tail twitched under his robes as his dragon head bowed in homage to the assembly.

  "It appears this creature's betrothed wished to ensure the greatest return on her mating contract. She is of a profitable mind."

  "By all the holies!” Someone laughed in a whistle. “The bitch spied on him for blackmail, and then realizing what she was uncovering, got scared and turned him in!"

  The contractee's tail twitched in amusement, but he was of too low a stature to mention his own thoughts on the subject. The assembly rocked back and forth with laughter.

  * * * *

  Once again, the legendary prisoner was placed on the Block of Truth, but this time he was clean, dressed in a simple grey one-piece, and no attempts had been made to have him shackled. Monitors zoomed in for a close-up of the strong, indomitable features. Dark, glaring eyes peered at the judge, while a muscle twitched along the jaw. It was obvious to those who studied humano-psychology that this unique being was prepared for the worst.

  Then the plate beneath his feet glowed, and no electronics keyed it to life. It started itself, having sensed who stood upon its face, and a sigh reverberated through the chamber.

  A softened hazy white changed to an off-white, where its intensity grew brighter, and at that point, it pulsed. Each pulse made it a shade brighter, a shade higher, until the prisoner stood in a pillar of blue-white incandescence. It was frightening and god-like.

  The judge nervously cleared his throat sacs and fingered his vocoder. “Reg-I-Nald of the House of Nald. You stand before us condemned, found guilty of the crimes to which you have confessed, guilty of killing with premeditation. This is all that would be necessary to commit you to death, or worse, a brain wiping. Yet, the Block of Truth has shown another side to your character, one that calls for a different decision by this court than what might normally have transpired."

  A hush followed as everyone leaned forward. Reg-I-Nald swayed as the truth hit home. He saw his mother clutching his father's arm, and when he turned his attention to Mat"lzzlog there was a flash of understanding between them.

  "Reg-I-Nald, you are hereby exiled and sentenced to pass a term of indeterminate length on a world outside the Arcturate realm.” A burst of noise arose. People cried, shouted, laughed, and cursed, some for having found a Light Bearer, others for feeling betrayed and frightened that a crime of such magnitude was not punished enough. “You will be placed on a planet civilized for its time, and you will interact with the indigenous population. You will become part of their culture, their society and their struggles."

  "For how long?” the prisoner asked, stunned.

  "How long?” repeated Mat"Izzlog curiously, as if he were asking himself. “Of that I have no idea, young Reg-I-Nald. That decision lies with your own governing council. I, as a high court contractor, have done my duty. You have been tried, convicted, and sentenced. You will be escorted back to your cell, and where you go from there, and for how long, we are not privileged to know. You will be given a few moments to make farewells to your family. May the fates guide you. This court is dismissed."

  Numbed, Reg-I-Nald was directed off the block, and once removed the pillar of light glittered with his outline, as if something alive and filled with power were left behind. He was escorted into a waiting area, shielded from the main hall, and there his family was brought for farewells.

  Doral stood tall and grim of eye. The father wanted to crush the life out of the young upstart—unmitigated fool. Yet, the relief he felt that his son would live, was great. He stood there, unable to find the right words.

  "Well, son,” he swallowed, “it certainly looks as if you did it this time. Don't know where your luck comes from. Not my side of the family, that's for sure."

  But Synthis, his mother, was not of such stern stuff. She flung herself about her son with a cry of grief intermixed with happiness and bawled. To think, her son, standing upon the Block of Truth and making the damn thing glow like a miniature star. Then abruptly she tore herself away, straightened, and with narrowed eyes hauled off with a well-rounded slap.

  That done, she hugged him to herself again, the boy's red-sided face pressed against her own, her tears spilling forth.

  "Mother, please,” he begged helplessly. “Please, it'll be all right. You'll see. Everything will turn out fine."

  "But—but you're a convicted murderer,” she mumbled sorrowfully into his vest. “Oh, son, you're a murderer of people. How could you?"

  "Please,” he tried again, “please don't cry. I'll be back. Why you could almost hear that crotchety old Syrian say so, and besides, I've got a feeling I must come back, sooner or later..."

  Over her shoulder, he looked at his father, but the older man's eyes held worry that didn't promise much. Influence notwithstanding, Doral was not sure if he could manage it, but he nodded to his only son that at least he'd try.

  "And, uh, my fiancé...?” he asked.

  His mother turned away. Her face tightened and pulsed hot with unsuppressed anger. “Don't you dare mention that bitch in my presence again! Spying on my son as if he were some commoner! Do you know what happened?” At his dumb look, she nodded righteously. “Well, I'll tell you! That bitch wanted more company stock in addition to the dowry. When your father refused, as well he should have, she set those loathsome sneaks to follow you. May they all rot in hell!"

  Then her mouth opened and closed when she realized what she said, and why. Her legs bent, and she was about to collapse when he caught her and held her tight, whispering in her ear over and over again that it was going to be all right. She should get a grip on herself for all their sakes, and slowly, she pulled herself back up.

  "Mother, I want you to know I will survive. And I expect you to survive. I expect you to both survive and do well, while I'm gone. Just think of it as an extended vacation.” He smiled softly. “Do you remember when you couldn't get rid of me fast enough, when I was going to the university, and wearing those outlandish costumes?"

  Father and mother smiled. Yes, they remembered.

  "Then think of that. Think of it as if I were going back to the university, but this time it will be a bit longer before I return, and the studies I'll undergo will be of a different nature. But eventually, as you both knew, I'd be back."

  "Promise?” she whispered, the agony in her voice making him ache.

  "Promise."

  "And to think...” she said tearfully, breaking her vow never to mention the subject again. “If only Shar-Mei had been more careful—” She choked the bitterness down.

  Doral, white-faced, steered her to the portal opening behind them, the guard gesturing for them to leave. Then, just before they departed he looked back at his son, seeing the young man frozen, a look of grief upon his face, eyes shut tight.

  Shar-Mei, Shar-Mei, Doral thought sadly, what a steady influence you might have been. What a daughter-in-law you would have made ... what children you would have had ... and
he too felt like crying.

  The cell's energy field dropped and admitted a tall silver-haired administrator in the white robes of a councilor, one of the elite cabinet, which, depending upon one's point of view, was either an honor or a warning.

  He gestured and Reg-I-Nald stepped into the corridor, neither wanting to speak. The guards followed, knowing there was no escape.

  "Where am I being taken?” he finally asked.

  "You are going on a journey few have taken. There is some risk, but it was the only solution the president and his cabinet could come up with that wouldn't panic our Outré friends too much."

  Reg-I-Nald stopped. “I've been told I was to be exiled. It will be another world then?"

  The administrator shook his head, amused. “Not really, but don't panic. We're keeping our word, never fear. It will be like dropping you on another world in the general vicinity. And we have to ensure you stay where we put you."

  The convicted felon swallowed his unease, squirreling away his dread, and followed his guide. “For how long?” he whispered.

  The other lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Now that's a puzzle none of us have been willing to come to grips with yet. We know that eventually you'll be returned. The odds of there being another Light Bearer are remote."

  "What kind of a society will it be ... this place I'm going to?"

  At that, it was the councilor's turn to stop. His eyes scanned the young anomaly beside him, appraising him for whatever he was worth.

  "Now that I can answer. In some ways it's similar to ours, in others it is far more violent. And, as you like terminating criminals of monstrous caliber, you won't have to seek them out. They'll be all around you.” He shuddered. “You should feel quite at home, young Reg-I-Nald."

  "I see."

  They recommenced their walk down the corridor. “You won't look out of place, you know. It is a humanoid society, and their people look like us, though there are some internal differences. We suggest not seeking a medical practitioner. You know the basics of transplanting healthy cells, so treat yourself if you have to."