Sons of the Lion

by Jason Cordova

  “Can I ask you something?” Zion asked the alien. Thorpi looked up and set his slate aside.

  “Please,” Thorpi said, evidently happy with the interruption. “This wait is driving me to distraction.”

  “Do you have any family?”

  Thorpi’s face scrunched up into what Zion could only describe as a Veetanho’s version of a grimace before answering. “I do. My family situation, however, is…rather complicated.”

  “I have two younger sisters up in Philly,” Zion said as he scratched his head. “Thought about stopping by up there to say hi, but…I love them, but distance works best in our relationship.”

  “I could say the same about my sister,” Thorpi admitted after a brief pause. “All my sisters, actually. The primary daughter of my mother is…difficult, to say the least.”

  “I get that,” Zion nodded. “I went to Tulane for my undergrad, law school at Denver, passed both the Bar and the CPA exams, and my sister is still better in my parent’s eyes because after she graduated from Harvard she went back to Philly to become a community activist. I mean, really? I’ve actually achieved something in my life, but because she went back home to help other immigrants, she’s more successful, according to my parents.”

  “I am the first…of my kind to leave the creche,” Thorpi said quietly, his whiskers twitching as he spoke. “In my mother’s eyes, I am nothing more than an anomaly. The primary daughter of my mother is the future for her, for all of our family.”

  “What’s a creche?” Zion asked. He shook his head and grimaced. “I mean, I know what the word means, but what does it mean to you? Is it like a nest or something?”

  Thorpi took a deep breath before responding. “A creche is a name for household, but much like your feudal system in ancient times. There are five classes of Veetanho in the creche—high mother, brood mothers, favored or primary daughters, creche sisters, and males. You are born into this and there is no changing your status.”

  “That’s…pretty strict,” Zion muttered. “I don’t mean to pry, but can you explain them to me?”

  “I can try,” Thorpi stated after a moment of contemplation. “Some concepts are difficult to fully explain in just words, but I shall endeavor to do my best.

  “The high mother is just that. She decides the role of the creche and the future path. Her decisions are law within the creche and we all obey. Usually the smartest and strongest, she is also responsible for ensuring the primary genetic sequencing of the creche is passed along. She is what you Humans would call the queen of the family, I suppose, though that term isn’t really accurate either.

  “Brood mothers are sterile females who remain behind on our home world to raise the young and care for the creche. They are the ultimate authority figures in the creche and if you like living, you don’t cross them. They enforce the will of the high mother. If you are born sterile but otherwise are normal, it is almost certain are you will become a brood mother. Our creche had five when I was growing up. It was…unpleasant at the best of times.

  “Favored daughters are what you would call the warriors of the creche,” Thorpi said after taking a breath. It was obvious to Zion this was a sensitive subject for the Veetanho, but for some reason the alien seemed to want to talk about this more than Zion had anticipated. “My mother’s favored daughter is the sibling in question I have…difficulties with. They are the ones who will later take over the creche and become the high mother. If there are multiple favored daughters then a creche war will break out to fight for the high mother position. This war cleanses the gene pool and ensures future generations are stronger, faster, and smarter. Only the weak succumb.”

  “Brutal,” Zion observed. “And here I thought growing up in a Liberian household was rough.”

  “Veetanho culture is a very interesting thing,” Thorpi admitted. “I have learned during my time with you Humans that ‘interesting’ can have many connotations. This, I believe, is interesting in the Chinese sense of the word.”

  Zion chuckled. He understood the meaning behind it as well.

  “Then there are creche sisters,” Thorpi said, squirming uncomfortably at this part. “They are born smaller than most females and typically are what you would call mentally challenged. They exist for only one purpose—to serve as prey to favored daughters as they come of age.”

  “Holy…you eat one another?” Zion asked, eyes wide with shock.

  Thorpi quickly shook his head. “No. It’s more of an intellectual hunt. The favored daughters are expected to torment, abuse, and generally make a creche sister’s life hell. This ensures the favored daughter understands what cruelty is, and ruthlessness, in order to ensure the creche survives and grows stronger.”

  “What happens to the creche sister?” Zion asked, perturbed.

  “They almost always die before they come of breeding age,” Thorpi said in a quiet voice. “If they live past that, which is exceedingly rare, they usually assist the high mother in anything they need.”

  “Damn,” Zion grunted.

  “Yes, very,” Thorpi said. “Most creche sisters are indeed damned. Then there are the males, who have one sole purpose in life—to breed. They fight for supremacy amongst one another for the chance to sneak in while the high mother is nesting and submit themselves to her will. If she approves of them, she will allow the mating to occur. If she does not, she kills them by rolling on top of them and smothering them. Fortunately, thanks to the size difference, it’s a rather quick death.”

  “Size difference?” Zion asked, surprise on his dark features. He chuckled and shook his head. “A high mother must be enormous.”

  “No,” Thorpi shook his furry head. “A male is just very small.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Not many outside of our species know this, but the typical Veetanho male is about the size of your pet sugar gliders,” Thorpi explained. “Males are tiny and fragile things.”

  “Wait…are you a female?” Zion asked, shocked.

  Thorpi shrugged his shoulders. “In a way, yes,” the Veetanho corrected. “I am a creche sister.”

  “But…I thought you said…”

  “Creche sisters are mentally challenged?” Thorpi finished the question for Zion before chuffing slightly, amused. “Creche sisters are very mentally limited, yes. I was born different for some reason. I was able to outsmart the best of the favored daughters in the creche, which drove my siblings to despair. Only the last favored daughter, the sibling of which I spoke of, survived the high mother’s displeasure at my besting them. More than once did I have to fight off their attempts to simply kill me with their superior strength and size. The high mother of my creche saw value in me, however, and decided I would have a different role other than bait. Eventually, I accepted your job offer and left my creche.”

  “And you’ve never been back?” Zion asked. Thorpi shook his head. “If you are a creche sister, why do you call yourself a male?”

  Thorpi laughed at this. “It’s much easier to state that I am a male, rather than a genetically inferior female. It appeases my high mother, as well as allows other Veetanho to ignore my status in Colonel Luo’s company. If I were to state my status as a creche sister and was open about this, then they would constantly seek to challenge me and your company to prove their own worth. This way I can exist and live without appearing to be a threat to future high mothers.”

  “That’s crazy,” Zion muttered.

  “Not in the least,” Thorpi said. “You have Humans who do this as well, yes?”

  “Yeah, but…” Zion’s voice trailed off as he struggled to elucidate his argument better. “It’s just weirder here. I mean, they don’t do it for survival. Usually. Hell, I don’t know, they could be doing it to stay alive. Maybe. Ugh, this is one of those things where growing up in American culture clashes with my Liberian heritage and norms. No wonder my parents didn’t want to go back to Liberia.”

  “As I said, it is easier for all involved to accept me as a male
,” the Veetanho said. “I’m sure your people feel the same.”

  “Do you…want me to keep it a secret?” Zion asked carefully, not wanting to offend the alien.

  “It would make functioning easier amongst the enlisted mercs,” Thorpi admitted, his furry face scrunched up in thought. “But for the officers, it doesn’t matter. I…have a personal preference of being called a ‘male,’ however, for the simplification of things. ‘Creche sister’ just seems like a bit too much.”

  “Fine with me. It’s not like we could tell the difference if you hadn’t said anything. Changing the subject,” Zion said with a nervous titter, “are you blocked from the GalNet? I mean, do you have full access?”

  “No,” Thorpi said as he picked up his slate and checked. “Very curious. I wonder why access is limited?”

  “I was going to ask you the same thing,” Zion stated. “It’s almost like Peepo wants to limit the things we can search from Earth.”

  “It would be difficult for the general to accomplish that, but not impossible,” Thorpi pointed out, though he was careful as to what he shared. There was only so much he was willing to tell anybody, especially given the divisions in both the Mercenary and Information Guilds. “The information is outside the control of the Mercenary Guild. The Information Guild would throw a fit if anyone tried to control the GalNet or thwart the flow of data.”

  “Could they be bought?” Zion asked.

  “Everyone can be bought,” Thorpi said as calmly as he could manage. Humans were too perceptive at times, and it drove him crazy. It was time to shift the conversation away from this avenue. “Look at me. I’m working for a Human mercenary company.”

  “Point,” Zion nodded.

  “But typically, the Information Guild is the most demanding with their loyalty,” Thorpi continued after a moment of contemplation. He could offer them something without it seeming as though he was hiding more. “Information is vital to making the universe function. The Mercenary Guild might want to clamp down on information, but it would fly in the face of the Information Guild’s self-proclaimed ideals and could cause friction. I doubt Peepo would want to irritate the Information Guild.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because the loss of information can cut both ways.”

  “Ignorance isn’t always bliss?”

  “Ignorance is bliss until it kills you,” Thorpi confirmed.

  The door leading back to the surgical suite opened and a Human doctor in scrubs came out. He looked tired but pleased, which gave both Veetanho and Human hope. Thorpi was particularly happy the Wrogul hadn’t tagged along.

  “She’s out of surgery,” the doctor said, shaking his head. “That girl is tough. This surgery was very invasive, yet she never complained, not even when we created the storage data area within the folds of her brain. There’s no way to block the neural pain, so the fact she didn’t even wince tells me more about her than I care to know.”

  “How long until she’s ready to return to Liberia?” Zion asked. The doctor shook his head.

  “Her recovery process is long,” the doctor explained carefully. “I know you mercs have the tech to speed up her recovery, but I’d be more comfortable with her remaining in the hospital for two or three days. I’ve been watching the news, and I see Liberia isn’t safe right now.”

  “What? The attempt on the president’s life?” Zion asked, surprised. “Sure, national news in America. That’s just a typical Tuesday in our country.”

  “She will be under my care, as well,” Thorpi stated, looking up at the doctor. “Sunshine will be well-taken care for.”

  “Well, I was hoping you’d agree with me,” the doctor stated. “But she was saying as soon as the local anesthetic wore off she wanted to go home.”

  “Well, let’s get going then,” Zion said as he reached out and shook the doctor’s hand. “Thanks again, Doc.”

  The doctor muttered something under his breath and walked back toward the surgical suite. A few moments later Sunshine appeared in a wheelchair pushed by an orderly. Zion struggled not to laugh as he listened to the teenager rip the orderly apart.

  “You stupid, menh, I can walk!” Sunshine protested loudly as she half-turned and glared up at the woman pushing the wheelchair. “Walking is easy.”

  “The doctor said you can walk when you are no longer on hospital grounds,” the orderly said firmly. Sunshine launched into a tirade of swear words which could have blistered paint. Some of them were new to Zion, who had thought he’d heard it all. Apparently, he’d been mistaken. Even Thorpi appeared taken aback by Sunshine’s verbal assault upon the orderly.

  The Veetanho looked at Zion. “Is that even anatomically possible?”

  “I hope not.” Zion winced as mental images flooded his mind unbidden. He shook them off and decided the young private needed a reminder as to the order of things. This was as good of a time as any to begin her training. “Sunshine! As a representative of the Kakata Korps, everything you say can reflect poorly upon the bass. You remember this, ken?”

  This seemed to deflate the teen a little. She looked down at the floor, embarrassed. Zion knelt down and took her hand in his.

  “I’m not mad. But if you want to be a member of the Korps, you have to remember how to treat other people in public,” Zion explained as gently as he could. “You have a problem with someone, you go to one of your NCOs. If they can’t fix it, the problem will eventually reach me. If I can’t help, I go to the bass. We call it the chain of command.”

  “Yes, bass,” she acknowledged quietly. Satisfied for the time being, Zion stood back up. As he did so, he received a small ping through his pinplant.

  “I just got a message from the colonel back at HQ,” Zion said as he walked back to his seat and picked up his slate. He looked back and saw the alien had his slate already in hand.

  “I received a message as well,” Thorpi informed him as he looked at his own comms device. The Veetanho looked at Zion, a malicious glint in his eye. “Time to head back to HQ. Colonel Luo has called a general staff meeting. He has something very interesting to share with us. And it’s one of those ‘interesting’ things which makes certain we keep earning money.”

  * * *

  Kakata Korps HQ, Freeport of Monrovia, Liberia

  Mulbah slid the slate to the side and looked at the gathered officers in the room. The atmosphere was grim.

  “Thorpi and Zion just landed and will be in here soon,” Mulbah said as he folded his hands on the table’s smooth surface. “We’ll begin as soon as they arrive.”

  “Bass, mind giving me a heads up what this is about?” Antonious asked as he played with his prosthetic arm. It pained Mulbah to see the high-tech device, but it didn’t appear to have slowed Antonious down too much.

  Mulbah was surprised to find he missed having Antonious and the rest of his Jackals out in the field. As much as they drove him nuts with their lack of strict decorum, the Jackals also had the most direct combat experience. After the butchery at New Ikoyi Prison and a severe reassessment of the Korps’ overall capabilities, Mulbah realized not all of his companies fit the bill the same way, and he would need to be far more flexible when deploying them in the future.

  Mulbah cleared his throat. “I could, but then I’d just have to go all over it again when they get here. But I can tell you that it involves the assassination attempt on the president.”

  This satisfied Antonious for the time being. Samson, on the other hand, only grew more excited.

  “I knew it,” the 1st Company commander growled in a fierce voice. “We got info, bass?”

  “Hold on,” Mulbah said as he heard footsteps coming down the long hallway. A few moments later, Zion and Thorpi appeared, the former looking tired and haggard. Zion plopped down in a chair and promptly heaved a deep sigh while Thorpi carefully situated himself in the open seat next to Antonious.

  “How’s the patient?” Mulbah asked.

  “Tough little girl,” Zion replied. “Didn’t com
plain at all until the hospital tried to make her stay longer.”

  “According to my translator, she invented certain curse words which ‘blistered paint,’ I believe the term is,” Thorpi added humorously.

  “So you don’t think she’s going to need the typical three days for recovery and integration?” Mulbah asked Zion.

  The captain shook his head. “Doubt it,” Zion admitted. “One, two at most. She’s been through seven different types of hell already, sir. The fully integrated pinplants? That was nothing.”

  “Good,” Mulbah grunted. He shot a querying ping via his pinplants to Thorpi, who confirmed the question with a single word, before he continued. “We’re going to need everyone available, soon. Even you, Antonious.”

  “Huh?” Antonious looked at Mulbah, confused. “What you mean, bass?”

  “I have a recorded statement from the assassin who missed taking out the president,” Mulbah began, sending the files to each of the officers gathered via slate. “Take a look, listen to the Blevin’s claims, then discuss.”

  The office became silent as the officers listened and parsed through the files. It was a long time before any of them spoke.

  “They try to kill the goma because of us, bass?” Antonious asked, slipping into his native accent due to the shock. “It’s like they think we greegree and kill the aliens?”

  “Worse,” Mulbah told them. “They wanted us to turn Liberia into a warzone.”

  “But why?” Samson asked. “It makes no sense, bass.”

  “Perception,” Thorpi said quietly as he set down the slate. He looked around the table. Mulbah motioned for him to continue. “It’s all about perception.”

  “What you mean, menh?” Samson asked, looking at the Veetanho.

  “Humans are being shown as a backward, violent species who cannot govern themselves within the Galactic Union,” Thorpi began, his eyes partially closed as he spoke. “Flaunting Galactic Law and doing whatever they will. Part of what the Mercenary Guild—more importantly, what General Peepo is doing—is showing everyone that humanity must be managed. If they succeed, then humanity and her colonies would be placed under direct control of the Mercenary Guild in a sort of guardianship. It’s happened before. Many times, actually.”