“Letho, I want you to look around the eating place and search for any food or water that might have been left behind. I will return to the dormitories and see if I can find anything useful.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” Letho said, offering a mock salute. Maka replied with a raised eyebrow, but after a moment his lips softened into a weak smile. Then he turned and left, leaving Letho alone in the presence of the dead.
A shiver ran down Letho’s spine as he walked across the trash-ridden floor of the eating place, avoiding the dried pools of blood and bowing his head solemnly every time he passed a fallen Tarsi. The pantry was on the opposite end of the room, through a small kitchen where food was prepped and dishes were washed. Standard Tarsi fare was a pasty grey protein soup that, to Letho, had always seemed to be too lumpy and lukewarm, yet somehow inexplicably laden with surprise pockets of scalding heat. He almost hoped that he would find none of it left, but then his stomach spasmed, reminding him that he needed to eat something soon, and couldn’t be too picky. His head joined the conversation with a moment of dizziness that reminded him of the awful detoxification he’d suffered during his first days among the Tarsi.
If the eating place had been untidy, the pantry was in absolute disarray. The room was four times as big as Letho’s old domicile in the above, and nearly all the shelves had been overturned. Letho found that many of the cans had been punctured, leaving only flaky remains. The room stank, not quite like death, but close enough to make Letho’s empty stomach lurch. Dead Tarsi and Mendraga rotted together in a communal tomb.
How could the Mendraga be so fundamentally evil? Causing others to suffer for the sake of their own survival? It was a question that Letho didn’t quite yet have the philosophical capabilities to answer. Survival and morality, he knew, did not always align. Sometimes one had to engage in abhorrent behavior: kill or be killed. Letho thought about the Mendraga he had slaughtered on Alastor’s ship, and felt no guilt whatsoever. In this, Letho decided, they were even.
He managed to gather a few cans of Tarsi yum-yum paste, and even a few containers of water. He wasn’t sure if the water was drinkable; Deacon might know. He loaded the cans and water containers into a sack he found on the floor, then tossed the heavy sack over his shoulder and headed out to find Maka.
Maka had just completed his task as well, and they met in the hallway. Maka appeared to be even more withdrawn than before. He laid his bag on the floor and handed Letho a ragged scrap of paper. Hastily scribbled pictograms covered it, smudged and diffused by water stains.
“What’s this? I can’t read Tarsi glyphs. You know that.”
“It is a message from the Tarsi on this station. It says that all Tarsi were rounded up and taken by Mendraga soldiers. Many proud Tarsi refused to be taken as prisoners, and stood to fight the Mendraga.”
“That explains the bloodbath.”
“There is more, Letho. The note is addressed to you. They have given you a name: Sartan-Sien.”
“Sartan-Sien. What does it mean?”
“It is a combination of two words. The first part means warrior. The second part means anointed. They say they await your return, so that you might free them from their bondage. The paper also says that something has been secreted away in the Elder’s cabin. For you.”
“That is some heavy shit,” Letho said. His head spun. Sartan-Sien. Anointed Warrior. He had barely managed to get out of Abraxas’s ship with his hide intact, and he certainly hadn’t been able to save anyone, except for the last being the Tarsi would have expected the Sartan-Sien to save. He leaned against the wall and took a few deep breaths, trying to slow his racing thoughts. He ran his fingers through his hair and scratched his bearded chin. Maka was staring at him, waiting, clacking his toe claws.
“What?” Letho asked.
“The shit. It is heavy? I do not understand this expression. Do you require medicine, Letho?” Maka gestured at his stomach and pressed downward with both hands, as if he were pushing something down from inside his belly.
“No, Maka.” Letho almost laughed. “It means that I find this situation very intense.”
“Oh. Well, why didn’t you just say that then?”
“Forget it. Let’s go find our secret message and get the hell off this station.”
Maka nodded in agreement, then gestured with both arms toward the hallway.
“After you, Sartan-Sien,” he said.
“Shut up,” Letho said, but not unkindly.
“That is no way for an anointed one to speak, Letho. I am very disappointed.”
“Cut it out, already.” Letho tried to screw his face into a surly expression, but he couldn’t help but smile, for it was good to see Maka in a jovial mood; he had been far too brooding lately for Letho’s taste.
Maka clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed. Letho placed a hand on Maka’s and squeezed as well. After the exchange of brotherly affection, which lasted approximately three and half seconds, they returned their hands to their sides. Any longer and the contact would have become awkward for the both of them.
****
Bayorn was the new Elder of his Kinsha, but to everyone, even Bayorn, the room still belonged to Fintran, the former Elder. Many of Fintran’s possessions were still just as they had been on the day that Fintran died. But someone had clearly been in the room since the excursion to Alastor’s ship, for a few of his belongings were missing. Maka growled, his hackles rising as he scanned the room.
“Relax, big fella. Maybe your Kinsha took them for safekeeping,” Letho said.
“Nartwa! If they break any of Fintran’s things, they will answer to me.”
Letho flinched at the outburst. He had never heard Maka use a Tarsi expletive before, and Maka certainly hadn’t taught Letho any of these most useful of expressions. But Letho had encountered a few Tarsi around his age who were more than willing to share their knowledge.
“So if I were a terrified Tarsi committing an act of treason and espionage possibly punishable by death, where would I hide something?” Letho wondered aloud. He took a step forward into the room, and his footfall rang hollow on the tile beneath his foot. He dropped to a crouch and attempted to pry the tile up, but he couldn’t quite get leverage with his fingernails.
A pillar of green fur surged down from above, causing Letho to fall back onto his ass. A singular ivory claw extended from Maka’s middle finger, piercingthe metal tile as though it were a sheet of tissue paper. He lifted the tile out and began spinning it on the axis of his claw.
“Very funny,” Letho said as he scrambled to arrange himself in a more dignified position.
Beneath the tile was a bundle of cloth. Letho looked at Maka, who only shrugged. He made no motion to retrieve the object.
“Okay, I guess I’ll do the honors,” Letho said. He picked up the cloth bundle; it was heavy and warm in his hands. As he carefully unwrapped it, the thin linen revealed the head of Fintran’s staff.
“Okay… so now what? Is this a clue of some sort?” Letho asked, turning the wire-wrought staff head over and over, examining it carefully. Multi-colored faux gems and chips of glass lenses glimmered in the overhead light.
“Let me see it, Letho,” Maka said. Letho handed the staff head over, and Maka performed the same close inspection. He sniffed it a few times, then brought it close to peer into the largest crystal, a bluish orb at the tip of the staff.
“There is something underneath this crystal,” Maka said at last. He extended the tip of his index finger claw and used it to pry the crystal from the staff. The bauble popped from its binding, and Maka caught it with his free hand. Then, scraping a claw into the recessed area, he retrieved a microchip. He scrutinized it for a moment before turning up his nose.