O’Brien’s lips pursed. “We’re still in training, all of us, and we will be for a long time. It sounds like we’re going to a bunch of worlds, all new to us, and we don’t know what it will be like. Personally, I’m looking forward to them, and I know we can deal with the Chessori.”
Washburn turned to her. “How, exactly, have you had such an impact on the war effort? And how, exactly, does what you’ve learned impact Earth?”
She turned to Tarn, who nodded his head, then she turned to Stven for guidance.
He considered, but not for long. “My Lady, when we started out, Chandrajuski gave you the best resources he could, and it was up to us to form ourselves into an invincible shield around you. We were a small crew with no back-up, and our very survival depended on each of us giving all that he is.”
His purple eyes stared into hers as he recalled the close calls they’d had. “The shield he gave you is no longer enough, My Lady. You need a sword.”
His long neck swung slowly around the circle, making eye contact with each person in the room. “We’ll soon be on our own again, and our very survival will depend on each of us giving all that he is.”
His purple eyes went back to her. “The Queen has given you more and better resources, and it’s up to you to form us into that sword. A master craftsman forges his sword, then fires and tempers it to be hard and true. There have been no secrets among our small crew, My Lady, and that was the tempering we needed to make your shield invincible. You now have the makings of a sword. Temper your sword. Make it hard and true.”
She reached a hand out to touch the scales on the side of his face, her eyes telegraphing the love she felt for him. “You are truly a Rress, my captain. We will temper the sword and use it wisely.”
She chose her words with care, looking at each of the men in the circle before she spoke. “You want to know what it is that I do. What I do is see things, things that will happen in the future.”
Blank looks met her words. Tom O’Brien shifted his position and looked a bit squeamish, so she focused on him.
“Tom?” she asked.
He shifted his shoulders again, clearly uncomfortable. “This is getting a little weird, My Lady.” His gaze bored into hers. “Are you saying you’re a prophet or something? I’m not so sure I like the sound of that.”
“Nor do I. I did not choose this, but I sometimes see things that will take place in the future. Not often, and my skills are weak, but my visions have proven to be accurate. More important, they’ve been useful. The Queen calls me a Seer.”
“Visions!” Washburn snorted. “Surely you’re joking.”
“I wish I was. I wish I could be anywhere but in the midst of all this. I’m not a soldier like you, Terry.”
“Are you saying we’re here because of dreams or something? There’s a war going on out there,” he said pointing his arm to the ceiling. “Surely our leaders are not relying on dreams to guide them.”
“They’re not dreams,” she said, looking at all the bewildered faces staring at her. “There have been no Seers within living memory of the Empire. So far as we know, besides me there are no others. My visions are of things that will come to pass, sometimes soon, sometimes far in the future. In most cases, I don’t know what the visions mean, but Tarn has an uncanny knack of figuring out exactly what they mean. She turned to him. “Can you help explain?”
“I’ll tell what I know, My Lady.” He turned to the men. “My first experience with her talent was a vision foretelling my death…”
When Tarn was done, the men from Earth knew everything he knew. Washburn reciprocated with details about Sir Mike that none in Krys’ crew knew, particularly about how he had saved the Queen, several times.
“How does all this vision stuff work?” one of the mean called out when the telling was done.
“I don’t know,” Krys answered, “but in most of them, I have to be in contact with the person to whom the vision applies. That’s why I have to go out on this mission. No one else can do it.”
“This is really, really hard to believe,” Washburn growled.
“I know it is,” she replied.
“So you touch someone, and bing, it’s there?” Sergeant Jacobs asked.
“Not always. In fact, not very often. I get the feeling that the visions only come for individuals who will play a significant part in what is to come.”
“Maybe a demonstration is in order,” Tarn said softly.
Her lips formed into a thin line. “You might be right. The sword must be forged.”
To the men, she said, “My skills are not great, and there are no other Seers from whom I can learn. The process does not always work.” She looked to Washburn. “You first.”
“My Lady, your story is as amazing as it is humbling, but I’m not at all comfortable with the idea of prophets and visions and such.”
“Nor am I. Do you think I chose this path?” she answered angrily. “The Queen named me a Seer many years ago. During most of that time I have, like you, fought against the very concept of what I am, but no longer. I have come to appreciate the value of this gift, a gift that is meant for others, not for me.”
Washburn stared at the woman before him. Their gazes locked, and he suddenly sensed the depth of her plight, the fear and determination and courage of this young-old woman he had agreed to protect. No further words were exchanged before her eyes closed.
She settled into her meditation pose, the workout room deathly silent. Most of the original crew had never actually seen her work a vision, so for most, her behavior was strange to say the least. Tarn gave her ten long minutes during which there was not a sound in the room, then he motioned Washburn forward to take her hands.
His great hands engulfed hers. Nothing happened for a time, then tears began falling from her eyes. When she opened them, she stared into his eyes in horror. She could not bring herself to speak.
“My Lady?” Tarn asked. She turned to him, and the horror remained. She shook her head, unable to speak. She didn’t know or care that all eyes in the room were on her. Tarn did, but his concern was only for her.
He took her hands and kissed them. “What did you see, Krys?”
She closed her eyes again, but the vision filled her mind and her stomach clenched. She couldn’t face it. Her eyes opened again, quickly.
“I’ll try again later,” she whispered.
“I know you saw something. Good or bad, your visions have always been important. Tell us what you saw. You must.”
She lifted her eyes to Washburn, whose great body crouched before her, his large, white eyes staring into hers. “I’m so sorry,” she said, reaching a trembling hand out to touch his face.
“Sorry for what?” he asked, intrigued.
“I saw you dead.”
His eyes continued to stare into hers, but they were suddenly very focused. “I think you’d better explain.”
“You were lying on the ground. I don’t know where we were. It looked like you’d been shot in the chest by a blaster.”
He looked away, a hand going to his chest and rubbing. “Dead from a blaster. Not so farfetched, I suppose. Anyone could predict that. What’s this all about?”
“Wait,” Tarn commanded. “Describe what you saw, Krys. We need the details while they’re fresh in your mind. We can look for meaning later.”
She closed her eyes, and tears again seeped out between her eyelids as she relived the vision. In a whisper, she said, “He is lying on his back on the ground, it is a hard surface, not dirt or grass. He is dressed in an Empire uniform, a dress uniform, I think. A great, gaping hole is smoking in his chest, and Sergeant Jacobs is leaning over him. There’s nothing he can do.”
“Is he armed?”
She considered. “Sergeant Jacobs is. I don’t see another weapon.”