by Alma Boykin
Even Kirlin glared at the noble, who raised his neck spines and defended himself. “What? Shu lacks the resources to support cursed—” Angry growls drowned out the rest of his words.
“Shu, pack discipline is a pack matter,” Blee cautioned in grating tones. “But the greater pack has the right to replace a leader who loses the trail or causes unnecessary suffering and death while on the hunt. How many times have we heard the priests warn about the penalties for abusing the innocent and for abandoning the needy?” Beerkali, Diisch, and Zhi-king shifted their weight and eased their tails farther away from Shu. They tended to support him, Kirlin knew, and Kirlin suddenly wondered if they had been considering ejecting lineage members as well.
Shu subsided, raising no protest when the council agreed not to ask the King-Emperor to block immigration to Likhala. Tarkeela wanted to do more, Kirlin knew, but held his peace for the time being. “Any word from Court about the, ah, population situation?” Li-kiss ventured, reluctant to re-ignite the debate.
Muddy grey-brown Zlee-kae swept forefoot and tail in opposite directions before rumpling his tail in a shrug. “His Imperial Majesty is aware of it, he is not opposed to out-Clan relocating if they choose, and he is locked on the trail of reports of interference from outside the Empire.”
Tarkeela looked up from his data pad. “Pokara?” When Zlee-kae gestured an affirmative the grey-brown noble asked, “Any idea who yet?”
“The Shan are making noises, but the tracks suggest Filpan. Prince Ahtik thinks that they have Trader backing and assistance.” Zlee-kae made a derisive noise, adding, “I’ll believe that the Traders are involved when I see Tarkeela’s junior mating with Kirlin’s heir.” The two enemies joined the laughter at the idea of Traders putting themselves in physical danger.
The rest of the council passed quickly, with most attention focusing on the effects of the volcano on trade and on sorting out a minor territorial dispute between Blee and Ro-diit. “Center of the river, Blee,” Ro-diit reminded them.
“Well, then you’d better tell Seetoh, because the Imperial Lineage is claiming full river rights,” Blee grumbled.
“He’s what?” Kirlin did not want to believe his ears and judging by the twitching tails and quivering spines, most of the other nobles shared his dismay.
Blee and Beerkali both rumpled their tails. “The Imperial lineage is claiming full river rights by right of conquest. It is in the law codes, going back five sixts of years at least,” Blee grunted. Talons scratched on data pads as several nobles quickly called up the regulations and claims in question.
“Fewmets!” Diisch swore, scrolling through the law code. He’d been counting on using several small rivers in his lands for waterpower and power plant cooling. Now he’d have to petition the Crown for permission.
Tarkeela hissed as he read what Diisch had found. “Claw and fang it, that is not acceptable. I’m not going to petition for riverbank space on my own lands.”
“Agreed,” Kirlin and Diish spoke together. “This is a matter for the next planetary council,” Kirlin continued, giving Zlee-kae a significant look and pointing with his tail tip.
The senior Councilor rumpled his tail. “I’ll put it on the agenda but I’m not swearing or promising anything, my lords.”
“Understood,” Tarkeela growled, angry at the Imperial lineage’s power grab.
After several moments of silence, Peitak rose to his feet. “If there is no other business?” The other reptiles made negations or tail shrugs. “This meeting is adjourned,” Peitak declared.
“Seconded,” at least three others rumbled. The nobles left the council tables and scattered out around the walls of the hall, discussing private matters, comparing notes, or preparing to return to their own lands and holdings.
Peitak stopped next to Lord Blee. Kirlin heard Blee rumble, “Maybe the Lone God will appear, like that insane priest in New Southdown is claiming.”
“What, my lord?” Peitak radiated confusion.
Blee snorted. “Kirlin and Tarkeela agreed on something and the Traders are waging war. Probably means the galaxy is about to implode or something.”
Peitak caught the joke and laughed quietly before making a small negation. “Only if my mate and my steward agree on what to serve at my heir’s mate-taking banquet will we have proof beyond a doubt that the end of the galaxy is nigh.” He sighed and as Kirlin left the chamber he heard Peitak explaining, “She’s a Neekare, my lord. You know what that means.”
Thinking back from his sand bath, Kirlin grudgingly admitted to himself that Tarkeela had a valid point about keeping peace with the out-Clan. Kirlin had been carefully avoiding the popular news feeds precisely because they reflected the mood of the out-Clan more than the educated and the nobility, but obviously that would have to change. Lord Blee’s comment about a crazy priest also bothered the mottled brown male, and after one last full-body writhe in the hot sand, Kirlin shook off, pulled on a robe, and stalked toward his workroom. After several steps he changed his mind and took the strong-side corridor that led to the small family temple. Kirlin wondered in passing if Tarkeela even had a place of worship at Three Trees.
Kahree, the Kirlin household priest, looked up from arranging his ritual robes when the noble poked his muzzle into the temple annex. “My lord, how may I serve?” the older reptile inquired.
“Wise guide, what have you heard about a renegade priest in New Southdown?”
The priest ran a talon under his muzzle, thinking. “I have heard very little of fact, my lord, but much of fancy.” When the noble gestured for him to continue, the dark gray priest continued, “He leads a small but growing faction that believes the Lone God will appear in this world, destroy, and then remake it. He does not preach this in public, and is much better known for his use of the oldest forms of worship and liturgy, my lord. In fact, student-priests attend his services on occasion, in order to see what the old practices were. They report nothing untoward and the faith-pack makes no attempt to challenge the modern worship. That is the known and true trail, my lord.”
It sounded odd but benign to Kirlin. “What sort of rumors have you heard, wise guide?”
“The usual. That he is preaching the end of the world, that his followers practice wild sexual acts as part of worship,” and both reptiles snorted in unison. “Another rumor claims that he uses drugs to have visions, or that his pack uses drugs, or that they give drugs to others. Oh, and there was a tale yesterday that his pack had threatened the local council into giving them a new temple.” Kahree swirled his weak-side forefoot. “As it happens, they bought a temple from a pack whose priest was found guilty of bribery, theft, and mate-abuse, along with two of the pack leaders. The pack’s other members turned the temple over to the council as an honor-payment with the approval of the entire regional clerical council, my lord. The full story appeared in the clerical news-feed several moons ago.”
If rumors and exaggerations were shootee the Azdhag species would have died from overeating thousands of years ago, Kirlin thought, swinging his tail tip. “Thank you, wise guide. I suspected as much, but in these times rumor seems as deadly as a king’s anger and travels faster than diver birds.” He backed a little, giving himself room to turn around and leaving the priest to his work. Kirlin turned his thoughts to more important matters, such as the pending personnel shifts and harvest. He refused to think of moving north as “evacuation,” no matter what the others called it.
6. The Great Prey
Two Double Moons BGR
Tarkeela read through his morning news feeds and estate reports and marveled again at the ability of Azdhagi to continue hunting even as storm winds brought trees crashing down around them. The King-Emperor had donated a portion of the Crown lands to an out-Clan male named Schree for a settlement in the north, and now Schree advertised for farmers and artisans willing to exchange hard labor in a cold climate for freedom. Siloi, a very large, grey-brown male, completely dominated the planetary heavyweight wrestling tourname
nt and now rumors circulated that he might be Lord Blee’s storm-catch offspring. The story-catchers completely ignored Blee’s age along with the large number of other possible explanations. Both males denied the charge, of course, fueling even more speculation, and Tarkeela smiled as he finished his breakfast soup. Early reports put the goldgrain harvest as the heaviest in sixts of years, with predictable moaning by the nobles and grain speculators. Tarkeela reached over and dragged his message pad closer, scrawling a note for his estate manager to buy several more tons of goldgrain and ship most of it north to Mountains’ Edge, preferably via sea and river, then tapped “send.”
As he looked over the business and estate reports, and answered a few queries and plaints from his staff, Tarkeela found a small announcement that made his tail tip quiver. “Oh please, Lone God, please make this be true and please make it work,” he hissed as he watched the information projection. Tsae, the chief Maker in Central City, pointed to a smaller display showing a series of chemical formulae and strings of numbers, too small for Tarkeela to read.
“You will understand why we have been so reluctant and hesitant to speak of this, Imperial Majesty,” Tsae’s recorded voice began. “Recent events and the discovery of bone-crush pushed us to look at a new possible cause of the problems we’ve seen, and the Makers believe that while we cannot cure deathtouch yet, we might have a way to stop the effects of bone-crush.” Tarkeela listened avidly as the projection explained, “Both are metabolic disorders related to energy use, waste absorption, and chemical imbalances caused by the juniors’ altered metabolisms. At present, deathtouch appears too early for us to be certain that we can stop the process, but we have had limited success with slowing the progress of bone-crush. It stems from the junior’s body losing the ability to regulate potassium, leading it to substitute calcium via absorbing the mineral back from the bones and eventually killing the females. Massive doses of calcium slow the disease’s progress, and the physicians feel that they are making steady progress to finding a marker for the disease so that it can be diagnosed before the fatal shift in chemical processing begins.” Well, it was a start and the first one Tarkeela had heard of, and he shivered with pleasure.
Tsae’s recording continued, “Imperial Majesty, because the alterations in metabolism and body chemistry that cause deathtouch occur during gestation, we are not yet able to stop the process. However, we have isolated the gene that causes the problem, and laboratory experiments suggest that we might be able to undo that part of Star-Strong. Imperial Majesty, with your gracious permission, the Makers want to approach females known to have carried deathtouch-afflicted males and ask them to assist us with our research.” His mind racing, Tarkeela ignored the rest of the recorded file except to note the royal seal, indicating that this remained classified information.
For once Tarkeela agreed with the secrecy. The last time he’d spoken with Cheerka, the story-catcher had sported bruises and missing hide following a riot at Sky’s End, a town just north of Sea Gate. “And I wasn’t even near the center of the melee, my lord,” Cheerka had snorted. “Just passing by the fringe and got jumped by three males and a female who should be recruited for the Imperials. Just turn her loose on Pokara and the empire won’t have anymore problems there. She’s got forelegs this big around,” and the muscular Azdhag held his forefeet up to demonstrate. “I played dead and they went looking for someone else to vent their fury on.”
“Could you tell what set off the riot?” Tarkeela had wanted to know. He’d not read anything in the news feeds or council reports suggesting a problem in the small fishing and manufacturing community.
“Someone started a rumor about the Makers finding a cure for deathtouch but only telling the Clan Lords.” Tarkeela covered his eyes with his forefoot, something he’d picked up from a human he’d done business with, and Cheerka grunted in agreement. “Then another fur-for-brains said no, the Makers are hiding it from everyone, even the King-Emperor, because they want to take over like happened on Turshla. Someone with more sense called them both liars and the fight was on, the peacekeepers say. Last I heard, three people died, a bunch lost tail tips and talons, four buildings burned to the ground, and the window repair crews are going to be eating cheesali with every meal for the next moon or two,” he counted off on his talons. “And no, I’m not putting that sort of story into the news-feed. Riot yes, but the exact rumors, no. I’ve heard similar here in Sea Gate, my lord, so you’d best tell the other Clan heads to be careful.”
To Tarkeela’s surprise, Kirlin, Peitak, and the others had taken him very seriously indeed. They’d sat on Shu, metaphorically speaking, and convinced a few of the more obstreperous or stupid nobles to keep low profiles and closed muzzles. Kirlin still hated Tarkeela, who’s opinion of the younger noble remained both unchanged and low, but even he agreed, “We can’t risk a civil war and we can’t risk more riots. We fail the pack if we don’t do all we can to keep the peace right now.”
And any hint that the Makers had found cures, or that they wanted experimental subjects, could trigger disaster, Tarkeela knew. He closed out the file and after considering it, he entered his security code and not only deleted the information but also deleted the history of the file as well. The grey-brown reptile finished his breakfast and noted that the manager of Mountains Edge really needed to try cultivating this “nut root” plant. Tarkeela loved the flavor and the bean-like tubers stayed crisp even when stewed, suggesting that they’d be best sellers.
Shu-kara and others already knew of the Makers’ efforts. The news had sent rage surging through the weary female. Her muscles clenched and anyone around might have mistaken her for a statue of the ancient heretics’ Goddess of Wrath. Red-brown filled her vision and her mind passed far from coherent thought as the message’s final salutation finished playing. The tiny dwelling all but shook with her angry, incoherent screams. Then she collapsed onto her flank, gasping for breath and wailing to the Lone God, to Kleet, to any passing spirit or power that might hear her cries. “How dare they?” she implored. “How dare they? Are they truly so blind?”
So this is Lord Shu’s “mercy,” she snarled once she could think again. Shu lineage offered the opportunity to redeem her and Kleet’s position and honor by participating in the Makers’ experiments. “All you need to do is report to the laboratory complex at 34587 West 6th Road, New Southdown,” the Central City Makers’ secondary lab location. “The Makers will fertilize several of your eggs, harvest them, modify them, and return them to you, then monitor gestation. If you bear healthy offspring, you may return to Shu lands and resume your place and work assignment.” And Kleet could donate his sperm and if whichever test female bore clean offspring from his genetic material, then he too could return. But not with Shu-kara, “since you are incompatible,” the message claimed.
“No, it is you who are incompatible,” the female hissed to her unseen enemies.
The Makers’ could not learn. Shu-kara lay on the floor, staring at the peeling finish at the base of the wall and marveling at their daring. Could they not see the blackness inside them? No, she realized, they could not because that very darkness blinded them, just as one could not see the inside of one’s own eye without a camera, lights, and image capture. As the drained female calmed down, the interior of the dwelling faded from view, replaced by a new vision.
She watched the Makers in their lab, spreading bits of darkness in their futile effort to return to the light. A track appeared, then another, then more prints began shimmering darkly as an unseen creature stalked away from the lab. Shu-kara’s breath quickened as she beheld the True Prey walking the city under night-glowing clouds. Lord Shu was not the Prey, she realized. The Makers as a group formed the Prey! With that revelation and understanding coursing through her mind, the female lurched out of the vision and back into reality.
Shu-kara rolled onto her belly and rose to her feet, buoyed by her new knowledge. Clarity swept through her mind like the fog-eating wind that swept down from the
Cloudcatcher Mountains, opening new views and pathways for her. This made everything so much easier, she exalted! The Prey lurked, waiting to spring onto the unsuspecting and hope-blinded in the guise of the Makers. But she, Shu-kara, saw the truth and she knew how to bring the Prey to bay.
She collected her equipment for work. Kleet had insisted that they use their first work payments to buy the best foot-covers, tail-guards, and other protection that they could afford, and once again she blessed the Lone God for sending her such a wise mate. Accidents happened despite the best technology and care, and several of her co-workers bore the effects of broken hoist chains, shattered carboys of chemical, or out-of-control loaders. Shu-kara inspected the pieces closely, making absolutely certain that all the fastenings worked and that nothing flapped loose to snag on fast-moving loaders, lift-pallets, or other things. She folded and tucked everything into one neat bundle, clipped it to the back of her carry harness, made one last check that the cooker and water heater remained off, and departed for work. Kleet worked on the opposite side of the cargo ramp, in the agricultural section, and the new work schedule ensured that their tracks never crossed. Shu-kara growled yet again at the unfairness of Clan Shu’s behavior.
The female arrived just before her shift began. Shu-kara put on her protective covers and head-shell before passing through the scanner that confirmed her identity and also recorded her work time. As she got into line for the trolley to her assigned section, a too-cheerful voice called, “Shu-kara, news for you.”
She stepped out of the row and turned to face the sector supervisor. Shu-tahlk waddled toward her, throwing his fat belly from side to side as he walked. A solid tan like the Clan Lord, Shu-tahlk owed his position to, well, none of the workers knew but they all suspected. “A new assignment, Shu-kara. You are now in Section Two-sixes, same shift, starting tonight. Go report,” and his tail pointed to the trolley parked at the far end of the rows, well away from the other vehicles.
