Stamme
Shikari Book Three
Alma T.C. Boykin
Copyright © 2018 by Alma T.C. Boykin
Cover: Saul Botcher at IndieBookLauncher.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
1. A Long Dry Spell
2. Trouble Arrives
3. Plague and Memory
4. Losses and Memories
5. Becoming an Adult
6. Social Graces and Lack Thereof
7. A Voice in the Dark?
8. Courtship
9. Gentlemen, Scholars, and Otherwise
10. Touching the Sunset Waters
11. The Western Staré
12. Danger in the Stars
13. Racing for Home
14. End of the Second World?
15. Ends and Beginnings
Afterword
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Alma T.C. Boykin
1
A Long Dry Spell
Auriga “Rigi” Bernardi studied the diagram of a Staré hind leg. Where indeed would she put a tourniquet if she had run out of clot-spray, or did not have access to any? Not up by the hip, because the blood vessels dove deep into the muscles and anything tight enough to cut off the blood flow would probably damage the leg even more. That left, hmm. There, where the vessels skimmed the surface. Rigi selected the answer and waited.
Correct.
She slouched in her seat for a moment, then straightened up, electronically signed the test form, and logged out of the program. That was the last book test. Now all she needed to do was pass the practicum and she’d be certified as an emergency responder – basic. Rigi felt more comfortable about that than about the knowledge test. The knowledge test included all sorts of material about which Stamme she could touch and which she was supposed to leave for a Staré medic, when humans could treat Staré and vice versa. It also included a few truly outré conditions that Staré developed for which medicine could not help, including scent-sickness. Rigi had seen scent-sickness first hand, and thought that the descriptions in the teaching files understated the severity of the condition just a bit.
“Auriga, if you are finished, I need help.” Rigi got up from the computer terminal and trotted down the stairs to the main floor of the house. Her mother presented Rigi with Paul, who waved his arms and squirmed in his bunting. The bunting meant that he’d been especially lively recently. “Siare is out on personal time for the afternoon and I absolutely must finish the accounts before your father comes home. Please keep Paul out of mischief.” Paul, eighteen months old and more wiggly than a pond full of hopper spawn, gurgled and waved, trying to kick free of the bunting. Rigi took him, one hand under his well-diapered rump, ducking his enthusiastic waving. “Take him out for air, please,” her mother commanded. Mrs. deStella-Bernardi walked down the short hallway and turned, ducking into her office beside Siare’s room.
“Gah!” Paul grabbed for one of Rigi’s dark brown curls.
“No, Master Paul, you have too strong of a grip,” Rigi said, intercepting the small damp fist. “Let’s go outside.” She raised her voice a little and called up the steps, “Martinus, come.” As she followed her mother’s path, then turned to cut into the shoe and coat room, she heard the sound of her m-dog’s claws on the wooden steps. Oops. Apparently the latest software upgrade had undone the cautions about not clawing the floors. Rigi made a note for herself to change them back, then lowered Paul into his rolling carrier. She exchanged house slippers for outdoor shoes and grabbed a light jacket. His bunting would keep him warm, but she did pull a knit hat over the top of his head.
“Ah thppppth,” he said, immediately trying to remove the cap.
“Thpp yourself,” Rigi answered, but so quietly that her mother could never hear. Rigi pulled on her brown hat, then opened the back door, letting Martinus out before following with Paul’s carrier. She pushed the carrier the length of the verandah to the small ramp and eased him down into the yard. Eenjan and Makana had made a gravel path around the side of the house and she took that to the stonework front path. She paused at the gate, then pushed the carrier out to the street. She ought to have Makana with her, but he’d gone on family leave along with his brother Lonka, the house manager. Rigi looked left and right before deciding on left, away from Sogdia and toward the small park area. She’d stay in the human half of the park. Martinus paced beside her, alert and scanning for trouble, his metallic matte silver legs and muzzle dull in the sun burning down despite the high overcast. You’d think the sun would make things warmer, Rigi mused.
The air smelled of dust. The wet had not come that year, although the cool weather had. Adding excitement to things, the wombeast migration had stopped closer to Sogdia and Keralita than usual, making surface trips out of the city’s protective shields risky unless you had a large vehicle. Since all Rigi was allowed to drive was the wombow cart, well, she stayed in town. Paul sneezed. “I agree.” She pulled the sun shade up over him. He fussed, then resumed trying to remove his hat. “Mother says we have to wear hats, Paul, so we wear hats.” He really didn’t have enough hair yet to keep his head warm. The black fuzz made Rigi smile whenever she saw his head, but he needed more insulation. Rigi and her older brother had dark brown, curly hair. Paul fussed a little more, so Rigi found his road binkie in the pouch on the carrier and popped it into his mouth. That satisfied him for the moment.
Two third Stamm Staré females shared a bench on the Staré side of the park, one with a hopling and the other with two hoplings and a pouchling. Rigi made a note of them but continued down the walkway to the human side. She ignored the sign with the rules about who could play where—children and hoplings had no Stamm and played together without causing trouble, at least not that kind of trouble. Rigi found a rocking swing and brushed it off with her hand, then wiped her hand on her skirt. “Ugh.” She’d need to clean the spot before her mother saw it. She lifted Paul out of the carrier and set him in the rocker, then gave it a nudge. It began to swing back and forth, and he smiled and waved his arms. He liked the rocker swing. “Maybe you will be a starship pilot when you grow up.”
A pair of ears appeared over the top of the swing, and a hopling stood up on her hind feet to peer into it. Rigi hid a giggle as the light-brown Staré’s head turned left and right and back, following the swing’s motion. The hopling puffed the scent for //confused/question//.
“Yes?” Rigi answered in Staré.
“Where are the hindlegs?”
Rigi smiled, careful not to bare her teeth. “They are under his blanket. If you watch, you can see him kick.” She stopped the swing just long enough for the hopling to see, then restarted it. Paul happy was Paul quiet, and he had the strongest baby lungs on all of Shikhari, or so Rigi firmly believed. Two more pairs of ears appeared as the other hoplings came to see what was going on. The female explained, and the males watched, then went back to playing on the Staré side. After a minute or so the female joined them, playing high leap and catch-the-tail on the elevated platforms of the Staré castle. A human castle sat beside it just on this side of the park, and Rigi had seen impromptu contests and ball-fights between Staré and humans on occasion.
As her younger brother swung, Rigi stretched a little. She’d been working too long and felt things trying to kink and pop. She wanted to reach down and touch her toes and really stretch, but proper young ladies did not do that in publ
ic. Not that she was a proper young lady, according to some of the society matrons, Rigi grumped. She was a neoTraditionalist, she went on scientific expeditions as an illustrator, she’d helped discover the first of the lost cities, or spirit villages as the Staré of Sogdia called them, she could synthesize some Staré communication scents, and she’d helped quell the near-riots a year before by acting as translator. Proper young ladies did nothing of the sort, and proper young ladies had proper young men courting them after a proper presentation to society. Tomás Prananda did not count on either point. Only the Creator and Creatrix knew when her presentation would be or who would be involved. Rigi's mother had the final say on all matters, that much Rigi did know.
Paul scrunched his face and made grunting noises. Then he relaxed and smiled up at her. One whiff confirmed Rigi’s fears. With great care she lifted him out of the swing, trying not to compress his diaper as she put him in the carrier. Of course the changing shed was on the other side of the play area, she sighed. She heard the sound of someone following as she pushed the carrier. Martinus? She glanced over her shoulder and saw the female hopling trailing behind Martinus. Oh well, hoplings tended to be as curious as human children, and if the female were not around humans, she’d probably not seen an infant before. Rigi lifted the sides of the changing table and locked them in place, wiped the surface with one of the towels from the machine, and set Paul down. She undid the bunting, and—
“Whew! Young man, that’s quite an accomplishment.” He probably weighed at least a kilo less than when they’d left the house. Out of the corner of her eye Rigi saw the pair of ears backing away, and bit the tip of her tongue to keep from laughing. Staré had a much more developed sense of smell than did humans, and if the diaper made Rigi’s eyes water, well, the poor hopling probably wanted to hide. Rigi pulled a clean nappy from the bag, shook it out, and cleaned Paul, then diapered him as fast as possible so he couldn’t get her wet. Her mother swore that he did not sprinkle people deliberately. Rigi had her doubts. He was, after all, a boy. Rigi put a holding strap over his tummy so he couldn’t roll into trouble, then scraped the solids out of the old diaper into the disposal bin and put the fabric into the dirty nappy bag to take home for washing. Once more she promised herself that if she had any way to have disposable nappies for her children, she would use them, tradition and cost notwithstanding.
The hopling rose onto her toes and peered down at Paul. “He does have legs,” //happy/satisfied//.
“Yes, he does. His name is Paul.”
The hopling sniffed, then sniffed again. “Smells dust and flowers and itchy.”
Rigi mentally rolled the hopling’s age back a few years. “Humans put special dust on babies. It keeps their skin soft.”
“Oh.”
Rigi used the binkie to distract Paul while she fastened the bunting around his lower half once more. He did not like that, and kicked mightily. “I take that back. Not a starship pilot. You’re going to be a striped leaper when you grow up.”
Martinus nudged Rigi as she picked Paul up, and she turned to see one of the Staré females looking left and right. “Your dam wants you,” she told the hopling. The female looked, and hop-ran to the adult. Rigi put Paul in the rolling carrier and tidied the changing area for the next person before dropping some coins into the donation box. Rigi hurried Paul and his carrier back to the swing.
She’d just gotten him swinging when the darker of the two third Stamm females approached, pushing the female hopling ahead of her. Rigi could see the resemblance, and noted that both had an interesting shading to their fur, darker at the top and shifting to a silvery brown on their tail-tips. She still could not understand why some humans couldn’t tell Staré apart, aside from twins like Kor and Tortuh. Even she couldn’t tell them apart unless one of them moved. The adult bowed and the hopling copied her. Rigi hand bowed. The adult spoke in careful, slow Common, “Has there been contamination?”
“No, ma’am,” Rigi answered in Staré. “I did not touch your hopling, and she did not touch anything in the pouchling-outfall-catch-wrap changing room.” If the Staré had ever created a single world for nappy, Rigi had yet to hear it.
Rigi smelled a strong //relief// scent. They must be upper third Stamm, because the higher the Stamm, the more involved and costly purifications were. Rigi wondered suddenly if that was why Kor preferred to be taken for outStamm or seventh instead of claiming his true first Stamm rank. Except Kor was Kor, and he might do it just to irritate his twin. Only Tomás understand Kor, if any human did, and Tomás probably never thought to ask him. Rigi filed the idea away. The female adult eased closer and looked at Paul. “Pouchling yours?”
“Full brother. Age-gift pouchling.” Her mother and father had not planned on seventeen years between children, but the Creator and Creatrix had their own ways.
//Satisfaction/mild surprise/understanding// tickled Rigi’s nose. Paul waved his arms, screwed up his face and started to wail. Rigi pushed the swing, setting it in motion once more, and he settled down. The Staré seemed intrigued, watching Paul and the swing going back and forth. Rigi didn’t mind. Most Staré did not spend much time around very young humans, and Rigi had been just as curious about pouchlings and hoplings during her weeks as a captive of the Staré on the Indria Plateau. Martinus nudged Rigi, suggesting that it was time to take Paul home unless she had brought a bottle and food and warmers, which she had not. As the swing slowed, Rigi reached in, unfastened the strap, and lifted him out. He squirmed and fussed. “Easy young man, dinner does not come to you anymore. You have to come to dinner.”
“Taul,” the hopling enunciated, pointing. Their divided upper lip and sloped front teeth made labile sounds difficult for Staré.
“Yes, Paul. His full name is Paul Procyon Bernardi.” Once he was in the carrier, Rigi pointed to herself. “Auriga Bernardi.”
The adult backed up, dragging her daughter with her, gusting a wave of //dismay/apology/awe//. “Forgive, Wise One, we did not know!”
Oh dear, Rigi sighed. “No error, no blame. Human Stamm not easy to see even for humans.” She hand-bowed and started to go, pushing the rolling carrier.
“Thank you, Wise One, for mercy.” The Staré bowed once more, still staring at Rigi as if awestruck.
If only there was some way for the thumping network to let everyone know that Rigi was not a Wise One as Staré understood it! Rigi had long since gotten over the novelty of people thinking she was some special individual. She didn’t feel special, she wasn’t a nurse or doctor, or an engineer or xenoarchaeologist. She was an artist, and a young woman who wanted to find a husband, marry, and start a family. She was as common as the dust on the Kenusha Plains, if a bit more useful.
They reached the house just in time for Paul to decide that he was indeed starving, possibly to death, and the entire world needed to know. Rigi envied Martinus—he’d been programmed to ignore Paul’s wails if someone else were present, and according to her father, the m-dog actually blocked the sound and focused on other noises. Rigi did not have that option, and hurried as much as was safe and seemly into the house, unstrapping her baby brother and carrying him into the dining room.
“Perfect. I have his bottle and some vegetables,” her mother said, taking him and securing him in the feeding chair, then spooning the first bite into Paul’s mouth.
Silence. Paul ate with gusto, and Rigi glanced at the bowl. How horrible, he liked tam! She loathed the bitter vegetable. It reminded her of aged leaper liver in all the bad ways. Rigi eased out of the room, put the used diaper in the bin and added a fresh one to the rolling carrier, tidied Martinus and brushed the dust off his metal and black synthetic exterior, then took him upstairs with her to change for supper. Her mother insisted on dressing properly for meals eaten as a family. Rigi rinsed her face and hands, and then cleaned the dust off her skirt. She stopped, picking up the fabric and looking more closely at the spot. “How odd.” Rigi carried the skirt into her work area, where she had better light, and used a
magnifier to study the dust. It seemed paler than usual, with a little more glitter to it than the soil around Sogdia possessed. She filed the detail away for the moment, returned to the washing room, and finished de-dusting the dark material, then put the skirt away and changed into a dress and loose trousers.
Rigi confirmed that she had no incoming messages in either her personal or professional accounts. Then she sent Martinus to his charging pad and returned downstairs. “Auriga, has Paul had a movement since you left?”
“Yes, ma’am. A large, firm one.”
“Good. Thank you.” Her mother gave Paul his bottle. He took it with both hands and latched on as if he had not just emptied a bowl of tam and what appeared to be a smaller bowl of minced fruit with ginter for digestion. “If you would be so kind?”
Rigi took the bowls to the pass-through between the kitchen and dining room, and helped herself to one of the cheese rusks that Shona had left on a warmer. The cook detested people lingering in his kitchen, and Rigi’s older brother Cyril ate constantly when he was at home, so food in the pass-through served to keep everyone happy. Rigi especially liked cheese rusks, with crisp bread on the bottom and Shona’s special cheese blend on top, just a little cooler than melty. She had a second, and placed several on a plate for her mother.
“I really shouldn’t,” her mother said as she ate two of the three. “Young man, I fear you are going to be larger than your brother if this continues.” Mrs. deStella-Bernardi shook her head a touch as Paul finished draining the bottle. He smiled, burped a little, and smiled wider. “Very well, bath and then nap for you, since you most certainly did not sleep this afternoon.” She unstrapped him and carried him and the empty bottle to the nursery between the master suite and Siare’s room. Paul’s surprise arrival had led to adding additional rooms to the house, including one for Siare, the high fourth Stamm female who took care of Paul most of the time, as well as space for Shona, Lonka, and Makana. The addition made the house look very much like a Staré head seen from the side, with a muzzle and second-floor ears.
Stamme: Shikari Book Three Page 1
