CHAPTER 15
One by one, sixty-four UDA ships surged into the Carina Galaxy. They loomed like a school of sharks above Outpost Laharl 642. An oblong shape resembling a fat potato, the sixteen hundred kilometer ice chunk blazed a bright white marbled light. Chaotic gasses whipped across its surface, carrying sharp, deadly shards of ice. Surprisingly, the outpost had been terraformed along its topside and now a served as plush get-away for those in the UDA elite who enjoyed the game of golf. Outpost Laharl 642 was noted as the best outpost course in all of core space and rivaled mediocre courses on Earth.
Lige gave standing orders to his first and was aboard his shuttle, Tiberius, in moments. It appeared that the entire staff of the Calgas golf course was lined up in neat rows to greet him. They applauded as Lige tramped down the ramp. Jaret followed close behind him. Lige stopped for a moment and waved in a friendly manner to those gathered. A man in a brilliant white suit came forward and clasped his hand.
Jaret looked up taking in the gorgeous view, stars shining through the atmosphere dome. Jaret then scanned the hundreds of workers in front of him.
“Admiral Lige, we have eagerly anticipated your arrival. President Sullivan is waiting. Please, if you will follow me.” The man in white turned and led the way.
The group walked briskly through the employees flanking them on both sides. All smiled brightly at Lige, particularly the women. Jaret kept pace. They were approaching the end of the employees and were about to enter a tunnel that led down into the hotel sections of the outpost.
Jaret saw the frowns on the faces of the employees being pushed. A young woman wearing the same white outfit as the rest was breaking forward. He could not see the pistol but he knew it was there. He whirled, his hand reaching behind him. The young woman was screaming now, “Libre-.”
Employees were now diving away from her. The boom of the hand cannon roared and an employee screamed as his foot exploded. Then there was stillness.
Jaret stood motionless with his diamond-coated katana in both hands. The girl’s forearm and hand, clenching the pistol, lay on the ground where it twitched trying again to pull the trigger. The girl's yell halted and she stared as blood fountained out of her arm.
Everyone surged away and into action. Employees were surrounding Lige to protect him. Jaret drew his pistol and stood waiting for a second attempt. None came.
The greeter was now stammering, “Admiral, we can not extend the full extent of our apologies. We do everything we can to hire only productive, loyal UDA citizens. What can we do to make up for this catastrophe?”
Lige laughed and stepped around the man to get a better look at Jaret's handiwork. “And they said these things were antiquated.” Lige indicated the long gleaming katana Jaret now wiped with a cloth proffered by one of the employees.
“As you have drilled into our troops, sir, it is not the weapon that kills, it is the skill,” Jaret said as he returned the katana to the sheath on his back.
The greeter licked Lige’s boots a bit more while the medics scrambled to stop the torrent of blood that sprayed from the girls severed arm. Lige began to walk again and said quietly to the greeter, “You asked what you could do to make up for the insult I have received today. It would save the UDA taxpayers much credit if that assassin were not afforded the liberty of a trial. Perhaps your medics could be persuaded to work at the efficiency they use on their own enemies.”
The greeter seemed upset for a moment. This was not within the scope of his usual duties, but soon he smiled and said, “I'll see what I can do.” The employees had now lost their usual smile and a few carried worried grins. Now almost as many eyes were on Jaret as Lige. The tunnel leading below was mirrored and Lige walked quickly on the moving autowalk. Soon they were in the unparalleled opulence of a five star hotel. The elevators featured the latest model wall screens showing fly-over scenes of Outpost Laharl 642's golf course. They arrived at the seventh underground level.
Lige and Jaret were led into a ballroom, geometric shapes and figures played on the wall screens. Lige pointed nonchalantly to a point on the wall and Jaret posted himself there. In the center of the room was a small table draped in white cloth. UDA President Sullivan sat quietly waiting. He rose as Lige approached and extended his hand. Lige ignored it and went to the opposite seat at the table.
The greeter gave up any hopes of exchanging pleasantries with the President and hurried from the room. President Sullivan lost the cheerful demeanor and sat. He opened his mouth to speak and Lige raised his finger and glared.
Lige spoke evenly. “Vincent, you are a politician, a bureaucrat. You have reached the highest level of that profession and you probably believe that you wield a considerable measure of power. Fifty billion citizens are affected by your decisions and yet when it comes right down to it, you are prey. You are where you are because certain men wish you to be there. These men, myself included, are predators. Understand what you are and what I am and listen carefully to my words. Do not threaten me. How many men have you seen me personally grind beneath my boot? Do you honestly believe that there are any less than a dozen ways I can strip you of your power in less than one week?”
Sullivan shook with rage. “How dare you…”
With that Lige reached across the table and slapped Sullivan across the face, hard. Sullivan, stunned, did not speak for a moment. Then he roared, “Arrest this man.”
His bodyguards did not move.
“I gave you an order,” Sullivan said weakly, surprised.
Lige was out of his seat. He grabbed Sullivan by the hair and yanked his face toward himself. “Your guards are supplied by me, the best of my best. They are soldiers with little tolerance for your weakness. Who do you think trained them? Who controls their military destinies? You do not give orders, politician. I, Admiral Lige, do. I have ordered these men to protect your life with their own. They are not acting now because they know I have no intention of killing you today. You know I control three quarters of the UDA army. What would make you think your cadre of men would escape my grasp?”
He threw Sullivan forward and his head bounced off the table with a clatter of steel and porcelain. Lige sat.
Sullivan was crying. Lige waited. “Now I believe we have taken stock of the true nature of our relationship. There is no need for this to ever happen again. I need you to calm yourself. We have some matters of importance to discuss.”
Sullivan did what he was told. “Lige, please, I need to know what is going on with my daughter.”
Lige's face changed and he showed compassion. “I know where your daughter is. She is with the Confederacy and I can retrieve her at any time.”
Sullivan pleaded, “Then please for God's sake, do so.”
“Vincent, what purpose would it possibly serve? What I told you I expected is true. Alexa joined the AC of her own volition. She seems to be deeply involved with some Brule red skin. If I brought her back she would only try to escape. She would be a serious embarrassment to you. Thank God the media doesn't know where she is. Frankly, with my resources in the AC, I can keep her under closer watch and safer where she is now than if I brought her back. But I know you and Theresa miss her. I have an operative working now to make it so she will want to come back. Her red skin is a demolition man. He may become accident-prone on one of his upcoming missions. And there are other sources I have that will persuade her that the AC is not her home. Look, I brought you photos of Alexa.”
Lige presented Sullivan with three photos on his slate. The pictures had been carefully edited to make sure there was no way to tell they were over two months old. Sullivan looked at the photos, frowning at the red skin soldier draped over his daughter like a cape. He grimaced at the broad smile on her face. “These are two weeks old. Don't worry, Vincent. I am confident we can have your daughter back, by her own choice, in a matter of months.”
Sullivan appeared to be about to spit some sarcastic remark at Lige, but thoughtfully held his tongue. Lige contin
ued, “Let's discuss the White Earth matter. The censor bureau has failed completely in controlling citizen sentiment for the AC. The media reporters love them because they give them deliciously bloody vid. We took the angle of demonizing the AC and the citizens warmed to them from a mistrust of UDA media. When we try to ignore the AC the independent producers point out this fact and use the vids to soar their own ratings. Our victory over the AC does not lie in the media. It lies in military annihilation. My sources inform me Elder Stormseeker is now preparing battle plans for the spring to try again to take White Earth. I have expressed our need to do everything we can to encourage Stormseeker's war plans. As we have discussed I need your appropriations committee to grant me five hundred million creds for fifty Hellfire systems and a Nuc Catapult to be built on White Earth. How are we progressing on that front?”
Sullivan picked up a fork and played with it. “Gavon, I have enough pull for perhaps thirty-five of the sixty votes needed, but the preservationists will go nuts if this goes public.”
“We can keep this under wraps for four months,” Lige answered.
“This could ruin me if it gets out. Conventional and nuclear weapons have been banned on all colonies, you know that,” Sullivan whined.
“You have to remember we are dealing with a major threat to our government. The AC has rebuilt itself in the last thirteen years. If we had not massacred them at White Earth then, how strong would they be now? How strong will they be in another decade? You know the answer to that question. Neither the masses nor the political body understand the danger they pose. The masses see them as a romantic band of space pirates living in hippie love harmony. UDA elites are too focused on their own concerns to care. In reality the AC is a violent, uncontrolled cult and we must put it down. I am not asking you to do something unethical, Vincent. I am asking you to embrace the most ethical choice, to save the people from themselves. Appropriate the funds any way you can. I will take care of the rest. By this time next spring White Earth will be a planet arsenal and the AC will be no more of a threat than AIM was two hundred years ago.”
Lige stood still and smiled at Sullivan. “Don't worry Vincent. All for the best, no?”
Thunder Lizard pulled in slowly to the clamping mechanism of the Brule lodge ship Cold Pyre. True to Brule nature Cold Pyre was a stark, simple lodge ship. The Brule were the AmerIndian Confederacy's elite ground warriors, the entire tribe obsessively dedicated to the art of warfare. Celetain Prax made her home on Cold Pyre. Elders were not allowed to live on the lodge ship of their respective tribe, a practice that helped each Elder be a fair arbiter.
Wovoka, Cavaho, Wolf Plume and Keokuk all first approached the airlock. Word had been sent to Thunder Lizard as soon as it was through the correspondence plane that Celetain Prax wished to speak to Wovoka before he returned to Iron Bow. The airlock hissed open and the pack walked on to Cold Pyre.
Celetain stood waiting for him, dressed in a tight hunter green suede suit. Around the sleeves of her jacket and around her pant leg twisted a band of neon colored runes. Her comp set shifted the runes’ colors from blue to pink to bright silver. She brushed her straight black hair back away from her almond face. Six acolytes stood behind her in the same garb. None carried a weapon or wore any jewelry. They were a perfect AmerIndian Confederacy mix; two true bloods, one Caucasian, a Hispanic and an African. Celetain did not smile, did not speak, simply turned and walked.
Wovoka looked at Keokuk, shrugged and followed Celetain. Keokuk and the others fell in behind Wovoka. They made their way through the halls of the Brule lodge ship. In other lodge ships the halls were well-lit, little children played tag and older tribals sat out on cartons playing cards or chess or arguing over politics or showing old war wounds. The Brule lodge ship hallways were dark save for bright red direction beacons. The halls were empty, no playing children. In one area they passed a large gym. Below dozens of tribal warriors screamed and fought a mock battle with coupsticks. Wovoka, Keokuk, Wolf Plume and Cavaho followed Celetain and her Acolytes as they used the auto-ladder to take them down fifty levels. When they finally stopped they were close to the huge hangar door of Celetain's workshop.
Celetain waved her hand in front of the door and the massive breaker rolled back. The group entered a large dark room empty of furniture, equipment, and decoration. After everyone was inside, Celetain walked to the center of the room. It was dark except for the dim red light that came in from the hallway. When Celetain stopped the floor flashed with a circle of Haida symbols that matched some of those on her suit. She looked at the four AmerIndians. “Come into the circle.”
She was both beautiful and frightening to Wovoka. Cavaho, Wolf Plume, and Keokuk all walked into the circle after Wovoka. The Acolytes walked around the circle, each stopping at a designated point. Wovoka thought back remembering Celetain’s mother, Morningstar, who had been chief of the Haida and the most powerful shaman in Confederacy history. Wovoka clearly remembered her failed attempt to save his father thirteen short years ago.
Morningstar was sought after to heal many ailments and her advice on matters of the future had been respected. But Celetain Prax had taken her mother's practice of shamanism to a new level with Cybershamanism. Celetain’s digitized library of symbols, chant and new magical techniques formed a strange mystical mixture of shamanism, sorcery and cybernetics. Most of the old shamans had rebuked her saying what she did was not of the old ways, not AmerIndian. She had countered that she was pureblood AmerIndian and that her new magic was therefore inherently AmerIndian.
Traditional shaman magic had been passive; fevers cured over a matter of hours with herbs and chants. Celetain's magic was blatant; bullets pulled from wounds by insects or snakes and no scar left in an hour or two. And like so many of the AmerIndian Confederacy's pursuits the UDA world had embraced the successes. The media loved Celetain and presented her as the “Cybershaman Prophet”. The UDA media was not wrong to do so. Celetain had already showed she could indeed tell the future. But for all her dark ways, her diversions from tradition, she was nonetheless a beautiful, intelligent woman who cared for the AmerIndian Confederacy and had proved to be a good leader.
Now Wovoka could see many of the rumors he had heard were true. What was most frightening about Celetain's magic was the difficulty in determining what was real and what was not. Hard light displays had made illusions child’s play. Celetain channeled spirits back to speak with those left behind, but some wondered if the hard light displays that were often found in work areas provided more than simple room lighting and ready comp data. When a Kichai dealer had called her a fake she had touched his chest and dozens of snakes had slithered from underneath his shirt. He had screamed like a child and her detractors had kept their distance for a while.
“Comana Hena, he!” The acolytes sung softly in unison and the room changed from the dark empty visage of a storage bay to the grey mossy fertile ground of Naanac. Huge trees sprung up from the ground bearing massive grey leaves. Wovoka looked at his feet and saw a reptilian squirrel-like creature. What Wovoka was viewing was an incredible likeness of Naanac. The program was superb.
Celetain's top comp jockey was Sliver. The tall, thin Caucasian had made a name for himself by creating the Calamari Judas virus, a nasty comp program that performed hit-and-run lobotomies on navcomp systems. The UDA fleet had been grounded for six weeks while every UDA military navcomp was sterilized. Fourteen UDA colony ships and thirty-seven UDA prime ships disappeared after their comps used scrambled data in their correspondence codes. Infected UDA ships were sent to the far-flung corners of the universe. Only three of those ships were able to get back to a colony or outpost. UDA citizens speculated the other ships were still making random firings, hoping to come close to core space.
Something was wrong. Wovoka felt misty rain on his face. He brushed his hand across his cheek. His hand was wet, covered with cold water. Hard light displays could not do that. He watched as a tiny drop of water hit a leaf, rolled to it
s tip and splashed on his outspread hand. He shook his head, amazed. In a flash, the acolytes disappeared. Wovoka could see Keokuk was flustered and he walked over and put his hand on his shoulder.
“It's all right,” he whispered.
Keokuk spat, “She's a witch. It was all true.”
Wovoka shook his head. “She is a shaman, Keokuk. Nothing more and nothing less. And she is our Elder. You have nothing to fear.”
Celetain turned. She stood a few meters away and looked directly at Wovoka. “Are you prepared?”
Wovoka looked at Keokuk for a moment.
Wovoka turned back to Celetain. “Yes, Elder, I am prepared. I will tell the Elder Council what I saw, the whole of the Vision. I will assist in whatever way I can in whatever decision the Elders make.”
Celetain moved closer to Wovoka. “Wovoka, do you understand what you saw?”
“Yes, I saw what Naanac is.”
“And what is Naanac?”
“It is the Homeland. It is the land for which we have searched for seven hundred years.”
Keokuk, Wolf Plume and Cavaho looked at each other.
“And what part do you believe you will play in the events that are about to unfold?”
“I, uh… I will tell the vision to the Elders. The Elders will take the vision to the tribals. There will be a period of preparation for war. Wolf Plume says we should be ready for war again in another two or three years. By then I am confident my pack will be widely known from our successes. Perhaps I am over confident, Elder, but I believe by that time I could be in command of the Apache Tribe, their chief. I believe I will be an integral part in the Apache’s service to claim Naanac.”
Celetain smiled broadly. “You understand much and little. Celetain's voice rose and took on an echo, “Quarana, Que hasani.” All of her clothes turned white as well as her hair and skin. The gentle brown of her eyes disappeared and she stared at Wovoka with blank white orbs. “You will be an integral part of our victory for you are the prophesied one, the White Buffalo. You will lead our people to Naanac and claim the Homeland.”
Suddenly, her eyes swirled with colors and Wovoka stepped back. In an instant her vision was his and he saw himself standing on a field on Naanac as a battle raged around him. Hundreds were dying. He saw himself ordering thousands more to their graves and the grey mossy patches he saw were replaced with the color of blood. Now he could see Celetain again. Her eyes were again blank, white.
Celetain reached out and put her hand over his face, pulling softly. When she removed her hand his face was covered with gold war paint. “You are the White Buffalo. You will deal a mighty blow to the UDA and the AmerIndian Confederacy will inhabit Naanac before three days pass.”
Wovoka's mind raced. The White Buffalo, three days. It was impossible.
Celetain moved on as Wovoka reeled from her words. She approached Keokuk, her hand covering his face just as she had done to Wovoka. She pulled her slender hands away and Keokuk's face was covered in green war paint. “You will be the White Buffalo's mind. You will temper his anger with wisdom and you will lay many obstacles low before his path.”
She moved to Wolf Plume and drew his war face. “You will be the White Buffalo's eyes. Traps will be shown to you and Wovoka will see that which the enemy has hidden for decades.”
At Cavaho, Celetain hesitated, her hand hovering close to his face. Reflexively, Cavaho raised his hands to stop her from touching him. Her hand turned and suddenly Cavaho’s arms were flung back. She grasped his face tightly and he struggled against unseen forces holding him. “You will be the White Buffalo's weapon, for you are the destroyer. You will spread your pain like a plague and hundreds of thousands will die at your touch.” She released him and the two stared at each other for a moment.
Rage played across Cavaho's face and she stared back blankly. Then she fell. Celetain collapsed to the mossy ground and when she hit with a thud the Naanac scenery melted and the large room was back, the symbols swirling on the floor.
Five of the six acolytes rushed to Celetain, swarming around her and tending her. Sliver stepped forward nodding to Keokuk. He then addressed all of them. “We must get you ready. You speak tonight.” He then walked out into the hall.
Reluctantly the four followed. Wovoka had fallen behind and was obviously processing what he had been told. He lagged behind and Sliver was about to turn and wait for him when Keokuk stepped next to Sliver and maintained a quick pace. “I noticed, Sliver, that you did not mention to Wovoka that Okala’s prophesy also says that once the White Buffalo leads the people to the Homeland, he will banished.”
Sliver looked warily behind them and saw that Wovoka was still absorbed in his thoughts. “No, it does not say that he will banished. Perhaps ‘set apart’ from the tribes for a time.”
Keokuk glared. “Is that how you interpret ‘he will be sent away from the Red Man in shame, cast out for as long as the winds blow and rivers flow’.”
“I was told you were a Christian. How do you know the prophecies?”
“I am a Christian because I have studied many religions, not because I am ignorant of them.”
“This is not a concern, I assure you. Celetain will explain our view on that particular section of the prophecy to you later.”
Keokuk shook his head and became silent as Sliver led them deeper to the center of the Brule lodge ship. The few Brule warriors that crossed their path turned and stared at Sliver's white robes with questions on their faces. He directed the group into a well-lit room. Plush leather couches and chairs sat in the center surrounded by books and scrolls that lined the wall. Keokuk recognized the room as Celetain’s library. The books and scrolls, rare and ancient texts from Earth, were worth millions of UDA creds. No one sat.
Wolf Plume spoke first. “What in the name of Wambli is going on?”
Sliver mumbled in old Navaho, “It is as the Elder has foreseen.”
“What are you saying?” Wolf Plume growled.
“Celetain believes that Wovoka is the White Buffalo. She believes Naanac is the Homeland foretold of in the prophecies of Okala. Celetain sees that tonight Wovoka will convince the Elder Council to wage war against the UDA in order to capture Naanac in the next three days.”
Wolf Plume stroked at his beard, “‘The land where the sun, the moon and the stars will be blocked from sight day and night and yet the sky will sparkle like gold dust.’ Yes, I can see why she thinks Naanac is the fulfillment of Okala’s prophecies.”
Keokuk ignored Wolf Plume's musings, “Wage war? Do you mean a full campaign, an invasion? The AmerIndian Confederacy is not prepared for that, we are still not fully recovered from the White Earth Massacre. Wovoka is a twenty-six year old Infiltrator Pack Alpha. He is going to have trouble fighting other Infiltrator packs for a decent replacement for the man he lost. What makes Celetain think the AmerIndian Confederacy would follow Wovoka anywhere?”
Sliver sat in a plush leather chair and motioned for the rest to do the same. None of them did. “One question at a time. First, we are ready for war. For the past three years Stormseeker has been gathering all the pieces for the second assault on White Earth. He plans to announce the assault on White Earth soon. Celetain has foreseen that plan will fail and she will not allow it. We have grown too large to surprise the UDA with virtually any plan. Only a fast unpredictable strike will work against them now. Celetain wishes to use Stormseeker's preparations for White Earth to take Naanac immediately. Her reasons for this are many. The mercenary work we have done over the last thirteen years has made us ready for war but if we continue down that path any longer it will corrupt us. We are ready to take Naanac. Your next question is how Celetain believes anyone will follow Wovoka. They will follow Wovoka because he is the White Buffalo. He received the true vision and Celetain recognizes it for what it is. The obstacles to his leadership can be overcome.”
Wolf Plume asked, “Celetain’s prophecy? Is it destined to occur despite whatever
we choose?”
Cavaho cocked his head at this question, obviously interested in the answer.
“No. What she showed you is one path. It is the only path to a Homeland for the AmerIndian Confederacy in this century. What she saw will only occur if you each play the role that has been set before you, if you make the necessary sacrifices. We are looking at a window of opportunity. If we act with courage and determination we can make those foreseen events a reality. If any of you turns away, refuses the mask given to you, the window will close. But how many more generations of AmerIndians will be doomed to live as homeless star wanderers?”
Cavaho turned his back to that answer. He slammed his fist against the hard mahogany bookshelves, making a dull thud.
Keokuk continued, “So what do we do now?”
“First, Wovoka must speak to the AmerIndian Confederacy and tell them what he has seen and where he will take them. We have something that may help to that end. Wolf Plume and Cavaho, the acolytes have some issues you should be aware of, so please go with Simonqua.”
The door slid open at Sliver's gesture and an acolyte waited quietly for them. Both Wolf Plume and Cavaho looked at Wovoka. He nodded and they exited.
“Wovoka, would you like some water, tea, milk?”
“Water please,” Wovoka said. Keokuk agreed and Sliver rose to get the drinks.
“What you are about to do will appear to many to be a dangerous mixture of heresy and treason. Frankly, your action will waylay the plans of powerful individuals in the AmerIndian Confederacy. Claiming that Naanac, an isolated, distant swamp planet, is the true Homeland of the AmerIndian Confederacy, not Earth, the birthplace and sacred ground of the original tribes, will upset many tribals. I can assure you, however, there is no other way. The Confederacy needs an upheaval, a 180 degree turn from our current course. Only by surprising our own people can we have any chance of out maneuvering UDA forces.”
Wovoka and Keokuk sat in silence looking at Sliver. “Please take a few moments, finish your drinks and then I will show you the first step of a long journey.”
In a few minutes they were out again in the cold hallways of the Brule lodge ship. They traveled half the length of the lodge ship, a full kilometer and rode auto-ladders up forty decks. It struck Keokuk how similar all of the decks were on the Brule ship. Other lodge ships were diverse with families, occupation blocks or just jovial individuals decorating the halls with paint, plants and pure artistic zeal.
All of the lodge ships were stolen UDA colony ships and they had been originally built with very rigid, conventional architecture. The rooms were designed with the same eye for efficiency and uniformity used to design UDA prisons. All the other tribes had spent time and effort turning the prison cell structures into homes suitable for AmerIndian life. They had taken down thousands of walls that served no structural purpose and doubled, tripled or even quadrupled the size of many rooms in the lodge ships. On the Diegueño lodge ship every deck had nothing but gigantic community rooms where five hundred to fifteen hundred people lived without any dividers between families. In the Brule ship, no changes had been made to the original stark UDA design.
After a long hall they came into a wide-open, dimly lit mechanics bay. There were two AmerIndian soldiers in the large room with their back to Sliver, Wovoka and Keokuk. The three patiently waited as they observed the interaction of the two soldiers. One AmerIndian was older appearing perhaps forty by Earth standards and the other, a young man. Both were dressed in Brule infantry fatigues with full compliments of weapons, autoflays, Sledge firearms and a bandolier of grenades.
“You are not a coward,” the older Brule said to the younger. “You hesitated on the battlefield, found yourself fringing.” Fringing was a term used by Brule and Apache soldier. It referred to when a soldier purposely stayed toward the back or the fringes of a battle, not fighting to kill, but to stay alive. “There is nothing to be ashamed of. I fringed when I first joined the Brule. The first three battles I was in, I could not throw myself into the fray. My commander brought me here just as I am doing with you now and he told me what I am about to tell you. You have to decide what you are willing to do. You have passed through the Trials and I have seen enough in you over the last year to know that you are loyal to the AmerIndian Confederacy. You believe in our dream.”
The old Brule circled and continued, “Now are you willing to serve the AmerIndian Confederacy or are you willing to die for the AmerIndian Confederacy? Seven of the eight tribes have no other purpose than to serve the AmerIndian Confederacy. Say the word and I can have you in any lodge ship you choose serving the AmerIndian Confederacy in any capacity you choose. You can live a long and fulfilling life with any of those tribes. Or you can stay with the Brule. If you stay with us you must remember one thing. The Brule have one purpose and one purpose only, to kill and die for the AmerIndian Confederacy. All the Elders, except for Stormseeker, and all the tribals but the Brule will sugar coat and dance around the truth I am saying now. We as a people aspire to live one with the land and in order to do that we must buy it from the White Man who has stolen it. And there is only one price for land; the price has been the same since the Grandfathers walked the Earth. That price is blood, in large quantities. I know that someone has to pay that price if we as a people will ever regain the Homeland, so that is why I am a Brule.”
The old Brule stopped and placed his hand against the glasteel in front of him. A body tank rested in the large display case on which his hand was placed. The body tank gleamed brilliantly in the bright lights imbedded in the display. The suit was white except for the chest and arms, which were covered by a golden eagle, a beautiful depiction of Wambli. The suit was a Grade One Mako, 1.3 meters across at the shoulders and 2.5 meters high. It was in perfect condition, save one flaw. The one small flaw evident on the body tank was a hole; perfectly smooth edges and no burn marks, located near the center of the chest. It was the mark of a concentrated laser, the weapon that fell the AmerIndian Confederacy's creator.
“Potlatch Weaver was an Apache but he knew what the Brule know, the price of a Homeland, the price of the life that we want for ourselves and our children.” The old warrior took his hand away from the display case. “Do you want to serve the AmerIndian Confederacy, or do you want to die for the AmerIndian Confederacy.”
The young man looked at the armor for a long moment. “Commander, for a long time I looked down on the non-bloods and took pride in my natural heritage, my AmerIndian ancestors. I guess it's now my turn to determine if I am a true blood or not.” He placed his hand on the display where the old Brule had. “I am Brule and I will prove it at Cormorvan.”
The old Brule smiled. “You will, troop. You will.” He placed his hand on the young man's shoulders. The two turned and walked out the exit at the far end of the room.
Wovoka and Keokuk looked at each other. Sliver motioned to Wovoka. Wovoka approached the armor as he had dozens of times before. He knelt before it, putting his fist over his heart as he had done the day after Potlatch Weaver's death. Keokuk remained standing. Wovoka did not move to touch the glass. He followed the tradition of the Apache. Wovoka remained with his head pointed down to the floor for a moment before rising.
“You were right, Sliver. This did help me in putting what I am about to do in perspective. I have come here before when a particularly dangerous mission approached. It level's me.”
Sliver walked forward to the display and finger tapped a command. “I didn't bring you here to be inspired by the creator's armor,” the display case hissed and cold air spewed out into the room. “I brought you here to wear it.”