24:01 One Minute After

by Eric Diehl

  The coven primes leaned in now, intent; their half-finished meals momentarily forgotten.

  “One of our OutRanger groups has discovered a new source, previously undetected behind a dead star, in a solar system in an opposite quadrant of the galaxy. A very fertile world exists there; with a prolific species of humanoids who so closely match our needs that some on the Council believe that it is truly Divine Providence!”

  That drew a brief chuckle or two, but Zar’s dinner guests were truly focused now, as it had played out in his species’ early chronology, when individual hunt had been so very critical. Zar whimsically decided to play his audience, pausing to strip the meat from a limb and holding the plate out for a scurrying Viirin to refill. He took another savoring swallow from his chalice, and patted his belly when satisfied that his guests had waited long enough.

  “From what I’ve been told, this newly discovered species, who call themselves umers, is much more docile and herd-like than even the hoomans. They seem to have no history of war or personal violence, and seem to not even realize that such might exist elsewhere. They even have a complementary relationship with a lower-level species on the planet, whereby adults of the latter willingly offer themselves up as food, so that they might procreate via the biogens in the digestive systems of their consumers.” Zar clapped a hand on the table. “Is that not a perfect irony? From the scat of the conqueror rises the next meal, and perfectly willing to be taken at that!?”

  There was an uncertain chuckle, followed by another, and then the table erupted with raucous bellowing and guffawing; the clapping of hands and pounding of fists.

  “Zar!” called out Draded as the roaring subsided, dropping all honoraries in the more comradely mood that had settled over the room. “Tell us then! What of us, the Coven Prime?”

  Zar scowled, irritated that his pace had been interrupted, but as the next words formed on his lips his displeasure was replaced by a surging anticipation that rose up from his loins and belly. He laid both massive hands palm down on the table and leaned in, as did all the Coven Prime.

  “The stocking vessels will herd and transport all the hoomans from all the habitats back to the provisionary planet. The pen-yards there are being restructured even now, so that the young will be bred and fattened locally and taken for food stock when sufficiently grown. This planet, mostly barren in any case, will be abandoned, and our group will transfer to the newly discovered habitat—which, I might add, is vastly more livable.” His face stretched wide in an obscenely bestial grin.

  “This marks a new beginning for us, my brothers! We move on to a more fertile, more prolific harvest!!!”

  He bared his teeth and snarled and the other primes responded as one, emoting some primal bloodlust. The Viirin throughout the room shrank away, against a wall or into a corner, and Zar turned in his seat, pointing to the charnel pit and waving both hands inward. Two of the Viirin darted forward to take the spit, one at either end, and they carried it to the table, dumping it in the center where it spattered and sizzled on the ancient wooden surface. Zar lashed out a taloned hand, tearing out the throat and leaning his head back to swallow it whole, and the primes fell onto their bloodfeast with a renewed voracity, shredding and tearing away the meat and the sinew, stripping the bones of marrow and spitting out the broken shards.

  Stedder gagged, clamping both hands over his mouth, and desperately gulping air he pressed Nyreea back out through the shadows.

  ***

  Forms darted through the darkness on all sides; fleeting shadows under a half moon, much like scurrying vermin out in front of a pack of hungry predators. The hoomans were spreading out through the hinterlands, ranging behind crumbling walls wherever possible and sprinting across open stretches of terrain where no cover offered itself. While they ran Stedder kept an eye on Nyreea, because she'd been so badly shaken that he'd had to half carry and drag her out from the sewage channels below the compound. But that was many hours past, and she now ran sure and steady.

  Questions flitted through his mind as his bare feet thudded their pace across the darkened plain. Was the compound really a Viirin hold, or were those gaunt creatures the hoomans thought to be their masters really just one step up the scale—little but subservient drones themselves? And what of those monstrous beasts that he’d never before known to exist? Whatever they were they obviously reigned over the servant class, and spelled complete genocide for the hoomans.

  He and Nyreea had made their way back to ShantyTown, in the darkness and stripped of their biotags, and they’d gone to Plaf to arrange a hasty gathering of near-elders. Someone had produced a candle and they’d huddled together while Stedder recounted his grim tale. Sharana had reacted with disbelief, as she always did, arguing to scorn his foolish warning and to accept her path of submission.

  That was when Nyreea had shaken off her deadened stupor, finally coming to terms with the new reality that had been so jarringly thrust upon her. Seeing the doubt in the faces of the near-elders and their dismissal of Stedder’s words, she had risen and come to stand beside him, and the hissed hubbub subsided in her wake. For this was Nyreea—one who so anticipated the coming salvation. She told her version of what they had seen and heard, in a flat monotone with her voice only occasionally breaking, and even Sharana had remained silent.

  Now ShantyTown was emptying out fast, with runners headed to the other ghettos to spread the news. The Viirin were out too, chasing them, killing those they caught, but there were so many more of the hoomans. Many had cut or gouged out the biotags and were not so easily tracked in the scrubby hinterlands, and all were counting heavily on the short period of time expected before the Viirin and their masters would evacuate Olde Aearth.

  There were, of course, no guarantees. Would the Viirin leave behind sweep-up squads to finish their grisly business? Stedder doubted it; the effort would likely cost more than it was worth under their new circumstances. So more to the point—would the hoomans be able survive on their own? Learn how to forage, how to grow food, how to create shelter and clothing from a barren landscape?

  Stedder thought so. He had very recently learned to hope, to believe that there could be so much more to life if he’d put his heart into it. He’d even taken himself by surprise by considering the possibility of an afterlife—not necessarily as the stories described it, but perhaps some form of continued or redefined existence?

  And trading on that new, pale shade of belief Stedder now dearly hoped, and prayed, truthfully, that Nyreea would choose to stay with him. He prayed that she would stand with him in their evolving struggle. He hoped and prayed that Nyreea would join with him to foster new life; that she would succeed and fail, laugh and cry, live long and die content—with him, with Stedder.

  At her side and strengthened by her—dare he hope?—heart, Stedder could now glimpse, in the distance, somewhere far along an exceedingly difficult path, the real possibility of a meaningful life on an Olde Aearthe restored of its past vigor.

  The planet was already changed, he felt certain, and the dust lifting from his pounding stride would be the first rising of a Newe Aearth.

  The End

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