The muted chatter of gunfire could be heard outside. T’sala looked around as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. The vast majority of the people who had been standing by the train had made it into the bunker. The thick octagonal door was sealing the last of eight locks securely into place. With that much metal, it would withstand even an Aamaranth blast, T’sala knew, for the same door had been in a room she had first hovered in. It was where the madam Zelsim had changed her without risking the volatility during the process. She hated hovering there in silence; it was a special kind of torture she was sure only she knew.
The river twins were off to the side, with nearly three-quarters of the people staring daggers at T’sala. She heard someone whisper something about a harbinger of poor luck in her own Teretha tongue. Beahra had immediately begun organizing things with her voice while she placed the Rumsey down and continued to pull T’sala’s hand through the crowd.
“We have it nearly all here, Rumsey. Did you bring the power source?” T’sala realized she still clung to it as she had the whole trip here, as if it had been the last connection to her offworlder. That fool! The thought was pushed from her mind.
“I have this. Is it the source you seek?” T’sala did not bother to try the baron hood tongue to include the Rumsey, finally feeling freed to speak her own tongue. “Does it belong to the travelling machine?”
“Yes,” Beahra responded. She adjusted her glasses and pulled her lab coat officially as they neared the place where the river twins stood at the forefront of the disgruntled group. “It is not the final piece, though; it powers the door, but we need the travelling song to another world. The twins were born in a melted river, very rare here, almost as rare as a purple woman. When they cried, it was in unison and in the song of this world. We hoped a purple woman may have been born with such a melody.”
They were mere inches away from the river twins; they locked eyes on T’sala and spoke in their unison sing-song way. “She is not of this world; she has not suffered as we suffer. She walks freely, not as one who felt the sting of the barons.” As if punctuating their words, more guns chattered outside, and a large explosion caused dust to rattle down from the rafters. The door held firm.
T’sala took in a breath and felt herself begin to glow, between Alec, the battle, and now this, T’sala felt she could only lash out. She felt the rage grow and tried to imagine the offworlder's arms on her, and the glow exploded out, lighting the whole room. Everyone, including the children, paused. In the silence, the gunfire seemed to crescendo. Before she could answer, a tall Teretha man she almost mistook for Tusong burst into the bunker from another entrance. He made a symbol of respect to the river twins, tried to take T’sala in, blinked and decided to pass it by in his urgency.
He turned to Bearha, “The ones who chose to stay are buying us time, but the General himself is here. We are being torn apart. The door should give us more time, but eventually they will turn to the purple reserves and blast the door, this bunker and us into the next hunt.” Upon realizing his reference to the purple was emphasized by T’sala’s glow, he began to take in the tenseness of the situation.
In the moment of distraction, T’sala tried to do ‘the planning’ the offworlder had found such success in. She felt alien amongst her own and was left only with her own resources. In her place, the man, Alec, would talk for his whistle bullets would do no good in gaining allies. Now that she had a full understanding of the language these people spoke, T’sala felt her own confidence lower the glow. She did not need that offworlder's arm for that! The thought flared her glow. Maybe she would go find it off his corpse later and use just the arm when she needed calm. She smiled and calmed the rest of the way to dissipate her glow. These people needed understanding, not another General. T’sala looked to Rumsey, who looked quite concerned but also confused, as she clearly did not understand any of the words, just the emotions of the room. T’sala gained wisdom from her, even though it had only been days; she was motherly and tough but had a spark of something. Hope. T’sala decided to give them Alec’s understanding and the Rumsey’s hope.
“Our time is short, and I know, of any, I should not take a voice in your affairs.” Her words echoed in silence outside of the battle outside. She addressed the river twins directly, making the sign of respect they had just had. “Singers of the Teretha of the white planet, you are right. To you, I am no one… worse than no one, if I understand correctly, our rebellion on my purple planet directly led to your current state. We do know suffering, but we do not know your suffering.” The humble way the man, Alec, had spoken to his people had taught her this; it was more disarming than having a bigger gun. “On our world, we faced a choice: fight or cease to exist. We did not have the chance to run. I tell you now we will live to fight another day, and there is a home on my world where we can rebuild.”
T’sala could see the River twins still stared at her skeptically, but a large portion of the crowd behind her, particularly the families, seemed to grow excited. Some looked to the door as more dust fell with the vibrations of the combat. The River Twins looked at her confidently with a sneering look. “Save us then.” They stated in unison. T’sala could see it was a challenge, but with the power source in her hand, mirrored their defiance and pulled Bearha along with her as she walked up to the small rift-opener.
Bearha questioned T’sala under her breath as they walked, “You know the journey song, then purple woman?”
T’sala had forgotten about that part in all her planning. Damn the man, Alec, his brain must have wires that hold all memories; hers did not. She felt her glow slowly returning as they neared the gate.
It was clearly old, T’sala could see that. The metal around it had been somewhat corroded, leaving missing patches in the frame. These were filled with fabristeel tape and metal wire wrapped firmly. It sat on a stage 4 feet off the ground, and a walking ramp led up to it. At the foot of the ramp was a large round dial with 12 palm-sized buttons on it. Beahra let go of her hand and reached for the power source. Her eyes widened as she looked back to the crowd over T’sala’s shoulder. “You'd better know what you are about. False hope kills more than the body.”
T’sala thought that was an odd statement and made as if to brush her hair out of her sight, and turned to see the people gathered in silence watching her with eager eyes. It was the same way her people had looked to Alec during the battle on her home world. What was it the offworlder had said? “I’m no Messiah.” She said it calmly and clearly, then turned to face the group. “I am no Messiah. There is a warrior on my homeworld named Maywil, she says, the Teretha will free themselves. I do not lead you in this; I join you in it.”
The purple Teretha woman turned to the instrument panel just in time to see it spring to life. Bearha had plugged in the power source, and small sparks and arcs of electricity confirmed it was active. T’sala could make no sense of the symbols on the buttons. She had nothing to do but commit; something must come to her. She was done with the Offworlder’s “planning,” it did not fit her brain. She did better building the boat once she was already drowning in the river. She took in a deep breath and pressed a button. Her planet was up in the sky, so she tried the top one.
It sounded a blaring tone, and sparks flew, and parts of the metal took on a heated life. She pressed a few more buttons, which created a tone at different pitches, and it glowed more. Once she hit the eighth button in her sequence, the platform began to shake, and the frame glowed near purple. All of a sudden, sparks shot out towards her, and the device went dark.
Lights flickered around the room, and in the strobe she could see faces falling, hope draining by the second, and T’sala knew of what Beahra had spoken. IF she failed to follow through, these people would die miserably, and she would probably be killed before the baron broke the door. The Rumsey, at the forefront of the crowd, was the only one without the look of confusion or anger. Her expression held the unwavering confidence the mothers of her tribe had in their daughters as they grew into hunters, warriors, home-makers and Singers. This woman had sung her mother's song with her. She had tried to understand.
In a moment of desperation, T’sala tried to calm and focus on her mother's song. She hummed it in her mind, then out loud. Then her glow returned with confidence this time as she stepped to the instrument panel. She pressed the buttons slowly, in a broken sequence as she sang her song of home, one note at a time. On the eighth note, sparks once again flew from the portal.
This time, they had a body of a purple particle wave following behind. It shot forward, stopping just shy of T’sala’s nose and forcing her hair back. She did not flinch but turned in exaltation and gestured with a hand to a milky image of a rocky world with a purple mist. A broken room could be seen at the top of a mountain, below the garden patties of her homeworld, let the morning mist into the air. In the sky, one crescent and one full moon provided the last light of dawn. T’sala breathed and wanted to cry. Home.
She stepped to the side, allowing the vulnerable, the children and those with them go first. While she stood there, T’sala felt an arm rest on her shoulder. The tall woman, Bearha, stood there beaming proudly. “I didn’t think it would happen by the way you looked at me, but you knew the song all the while.”
“I did not,” T’sala provided softly but confidently. Bearha looked shocked until T’sala continued, “My mother knew and taught it to me. It is all I have of her.”
“Then she is here, right now, maybe that’s the glow you have?”
T’sala looked at herself and felt the security she had yet to feel on her own without the man, Alec, near. The rumsey walked up to her, beaming from ear to ear. “Well, you sure showed them river-whatcha-ma-callits, Ha! Shoulda seen their faces when that thing opened. Bet humility isn’t a song often sung by them.”
As if on cue, the River Twins brought up the end of the line. They bowed in unison. “Purple woman, I hope this world is as safe as you say.”
“If it is not, we will make it so together.” It was Bearha; she had taken a more official tone as if inspired by T’sala’s willingness to stand up to the two. There was a large crash, and sparks flew from the octagonal vault door that had been keeping them shielded. A small hole appeared as a drill bit punched through. It was withdrawn while it was still spinning, and silence fell. The lack of gunfire felt uncanny. The remainder of the Teretha people began to panic, and the line became disorganized. A hissing sound began to overtake the voices of concern, ushering children along. T’sala looked to the door in unison with Rumsey, the twins and Beahra. A purple fog was filling the room; it smelled sweet, like T’sala’s homeworld. It was a comfort to her. For those who only knew the smell from blasting and devastation, it caused an even larger panic.
T’sala turned to Bearha, “Find the singer and tell him T’sala, sister of Tusong, the purple woman, has sent you. Look for three mountains directly between two moons as they rise. Our home is there.”
T’sala didn’t say goodbye; she shook the Rumseys' hand and then turned to face the door. She looked pathetic against the large eight locks, but as her glow filled the cave in the purple haze, she took on the shape of a glowing celestial. As the last of the people moved into the milky distance of her planet, T’sala turned her attention to the door. She placed a hand over the hole, but the pressure of the fog was too much and pushed her back. She pressed forward all of her Aamaranth strength and felt she had almost sealed it when the pressure hit back. Then two hands were on top of hers. T’sala turned to see the overly large smile of the Rumsey, adding the final pressure they needed to seal the hole.
It was enough that they soon heard shouts of frustration from beyond the door. They smiled at each other until they felt the pressure come back twofold. It pushed them both into a sitting position on the flor and they looked at each other in defeated dismay. They heard joyous confirmation from the soldiers outside as their plan resumed. Then they fell silent.
In the silence, T’sala could hear the hissing through the whole and another small sound coming through the gap. It was a shimmering clink, clink, clink that the stars on the back of the off-worlders' boots had sounded. Then a voice pierced the silence.
“Flatzlbart bltz carraaap!” It was broken, it was glitching, and to T’sala, it was the most beautiful sound in the world. She eagerly awaited the sounds that would accompany the Man Alec laying waste to the group of soldiers. Instead, she saw a small tube slide through the drilled opening in the door. Before she could get up to stop it, T’sala saw a spark fly from the tube, igniting the purple mist in the air. T’sala knew what came next.
She pushed all of her blood into focus and speed and pushed harder than she had pushed before. She grabbed the small form of the Rumsey and ran to the instrument panel. On the other side of the milky rift-portal, she could see Bearha waving them forward. T’sala did not push for the door. She instead ripped the instrument panel from its place; no soldiers would follow her people. The image winked out immediately in a shower of sparks. T’sala wrapped the Rumsey up protectively and then felt a crushing wave and heard a thunder that left her stunned.
