by Alma Boykin
The story-catcher waited for two males to come out before pushing the door of the Blue Azdhag open and walking in. The True-dragon working the drink section raised a forefoot in greeting and Cheerka waved his tail. “Anything you recommend?”
«Just got in a dark kurstem beer,» the blue-green reptile told him. «The owner likes it and so far no one’s tossed their glass at my head.»
“Sounds like a glowing review,” Cheerka chuckled. “Big flask and some of whatever fatty nuggets you have for table three.”
«Gotcha.» The True-dragon swiped his customer card and reminded him, «You have fifty credits on your card after this.»
“Thanks.” Cheerka settled himself on the bench at his now-regular table. The flask of dark beer arrived within seconds, along with a basket of what the drink mixer called “Azdhag-chow,” the bar’s secret recipe spicy meat nuggets in deep fried watergrain balls. He popped one into his mouth and chewed slowly, enjoying first the crunch, then the soft bite with a burst of heat as the spices reached his palate. A strong meat flavor followed. The beer had a rich, thick, and silky aftertaste, almost too rich for the story-catcher. Well, he’d better enjoy it now. Cheerka suspected any weight he’d gained during his stay in Sea Gate would vanish once he went north.
He nursed his beer and wondered why the female had bothered him so much. Something about her words and tone, how she’d looked through him. Cheerka popped another grain ball and looked at the latest news feed on the wall-mounted table screen. After reading two headlines, he turned the display to pictures of sunsets taken from the bar’s roof. Another murder suicide, this time a male, his sister, and her two juniors; Cheerka hid a snarl in a sip of beer. Azdhagi never committed suicide outside of Clan war or gravest protest. Self-destruction contradicted every single instinct of the pack. As he contemplated another grain ball, the story-catcher caught his mental prey.
People were losing hope. The realization slammed Cheerka between the eyes with the force of an energy-bolt to the faceplate and he almost made a mess with his food. He caught himself before he finished squeezing the grain ball into bits with his talons and ate it instead. The female at the terrace saw no future for herself or for the Azdhagi as a people. A chill worked down Cheerka’s back from his spines all the way to his tail tip and his entire tail shivered. Hopeless creatures tended to do two things. Either they rolled over, gave up, and died, or they fought like maniacs. If enough Azdhagi decided to go after the Clans, or even just the Clan Lords, it would make the Clan Wars and subjugation of the northern continent look civilized and peaceful. And if enough gave up, not even trying to have families, then the Azdhag species would collapse. Oh, he recalled his biology lectures. “As long as two hundred mating pairs survive, the species will recover,” the instructor had assured the cadets. But two hundred mating pairs could not even defend Drakon IV, let alone hold the Empire.
“Want a refill?” the server asked, spooking him out of his reverie.
“Erm, no. It’s good but how about something lighter, same size, please,” he decided.
“We’ve got Imperial goldgrain on tap,” she offered. “Or herbed silma.”
“Goldgrain, and a half basket more of these,” he waved toward the Azdhag chow.
She collected both basket and glass. “Right away, sir.” He’d barely had time to start cloud-stalking again before she reappeared. “One big flask of the goldgrain and a half-basket of Azdhag chow. There’s some nut roots in there too. Cook needs to start a new batch,” and she vanished before he could reply, summoned by four females at another table.
Cheerka impaled a ‘nut root’ on his talon and regarded it closely. He carefully sniffed the new food, then licked it, waiting for any warning sensations. Feeling none, he nibbled a little and waited again. No ill effects and he ate the whole very tasty, crisp bite. «It’s dead already, relax,» a voice laughed into his mind. Cheerka looked over to see the drink mixer standing beside his table.
«I was going to ask what you thought of the Kurstem beer,» the other reptile explained. «Nut roots are a new item, come from Mountains’ Edge and the House Moytu lands up north. Where did you do your service, if you don’t mind?»
Cheerka couldn’t take offense. “Pokara. North side. And the beer is very good, and very rich. It’s almost a dessert or solo brew.”
The blue-green head dipped up and down, whiskers floating like water waves. «That’s what several people have suggested. I may switch the taps around and sell it as a special brew rather than a general. Thanks.» The female True-dragon flicked her rounded external ears and returned to the bar. Cheerka took a good look at her, a little surprised. She couldn’t be much larger than an Azdhag noble, unlike normal True-dragons. He finished his second beer and the snacks, mind rapidly tracking a new type of prey for his news feed.
On his way out he stopped by the bar. “Do you mind a question?”
«Fair’s fair,» she told him, ears twitching.
“You seem a little smaller than most True-dragons I’ve met. Are you from a different sub-species?”
She flicked her whiskers. «’Scuze me,» and she decanted three flasks of beer and two small mugs of hard liquor, plus a wine flask, then came back. «Sorry. No, I got caught in a rock-fall when I was, oh, twenty year-turns or so. Wounds got infected and the rocks crushed my original tail past salvaging. Most of my tail is a prosthetic and the antibiotics stopped my last growth phase.» She rumpled her tail in a shrug. «I’m too small to mate easily, but I fit in lots of places a “normal” True-dragon can’t. Like behind the bar in the best-paying place in Sea Gate.»
Cheerka imitated her head bob. “Thank you. I’ll let you get back to work,” and he added a credit token to the very full flask on the top of the bar.
«Rosilia, and no problem. Have a great afternoon!» He heard her smile and it carried him quite a way toward his dwelling.
“My lord husband, have you seen this?” Lady Shartee brandished a flop-screen at Kirlin three days later.
“Seen what?” He’d seen far too many documents in the past few days and sixts.
She pushed the flop-screen into his forefeet. “Read the second and third pieces please, my lord husband.”
He did as asked, too tired to argue. When he finished he looked up at her, blinking a little. “Well. That certainly is unusual. These are from the idiot’s pet story-catcher?”
“The male’s name is Cheerka, and yes. Lady Ro-diit sent it to me. He’s started a new series as part of his news-feed. It is the only part that gets full coverage in both the free and the subscription feeds,” the striped brown female informed her mate, a touch impatiently. She’d tired of his fights with Tarkeela years before.
“It certainly is more edifying than the usual gossip,” the mottled brown male allowed. “Are they all like this?”
“All the ones I’ve seen thus far. He announced a new set of articles but has not made any comment beyond that,” Shartee explained. “They are all about people who overcome problems or accidents, about great battles and business successes from the past, and about new businesses now. Here and outside the Empire,” she added. “The only connection seems to be that all are very inspiring.” With that she took herself out of her mate’s workroom, closing the door with her hind foot.
Kirlin grunted again, this time at the document file he’d been working through when Shartee interrupted him. He almost regretted not paying more attention to all those dull-as-dust lessons about farming and the history of Azdhag development back in his cadet days. Almost. Tarlek at least knew how to condense information into a usable form, Kirlin granted. The kurstem fields looked very good, with well-developed grain pods a sixt or so earlier than forecast. The new shootee hybrids had survived the winter with almost no losses, and Tarlek wanted to know if it would be possible to consider renting or leasing Crown land even farther north, outside the crop lands, to see if cooler summers would cause the shootee to gain weight more quickly. Kirlin set the request into a “pending” file for fur
ther consideration.
After dutifully reading the rest of the farm and settlement report from Sunblast, Kirlin signed a few electronic forms, approved the household budget for the sixt, and logged out, declaring to the computer, “I hate administration!” Kirlin wanted to do, not read and sign. “Well, if you would delegate more then you could do more and sign less,” he reminded himself, mimicking the snipping tones of Old Kirlin, his sire’s brother. Kirlin replied to his own plaint, “Yes, well, if my honored sire had not stopped with one male and one female offspring, I’d have siblings I could trust.” As it was, Kirlin managed everything himself and thanked the Lone God that the lineage held to the old trails. If he’d had to deal with corporation laws as well as agriculture, he’d go as mad as Tarkeela.
“Speaking of juniors,” Kirlin reminded himself. He closed the shutters against the forecast storm, just in case, and walked out of the workroom. He’d planned a family meeting with his females and all the offspring currently in residence. Sometimes it was best to flush the prey in full sight of everyone. Plus he would have Keeshti on hand to soothe Shartee’s wails of protest, Kirlin admitted without a talon’s width of guilt.
He really wondered if his lady’s ancestors descended from screech-birds. They both sported brown stripes, short tails, and piercing voices capable of shattering rocks and terrifying game for kliqs around them. He heard her voice rising already and braced himself for the piercing shriek that normally followed.
Instead, he heard his heir, Kirlin-Sharlin, stating in calm tones, “Honored lady dam, Lady Beesh has already relocated and is setting up her den and household. Do you truly wish to let her have time to set the customs and fashions for lineage ladies?”
Kirlin opened the door and strode into the chamber before she could respond. He studied the gathered reptiles, waited as they bowed or saluted, and gestured for them to be seated. “Good. No side-stalks, not today or for the next few sixts and moons,” he began. “Kirlin lineage and the full Clan are moving to Sunblast, all who wish to go, with all our livestock and as many other goods and materials as possible.” Shartee and Keeshti blinked, and Sharlin and his brother Kharee rustled, touching hind feet. “Yes?”
Sharlin ducked a little and held up a coin. “Ah, honored sire, we had a small wager,” the younger male admitted. His dam gave him a mildly horrified look but Kirlin simply patted the floor with his tail tip. He’d have done the same, had he been heir with a sibling.
The Clan Lord continued, “Tarlek moved north already and manages the farms under supervision. Kharee, you and Keeshti the younger will go north in the next group. It is time you learned more about managing so that when you return from your military service you can assist Sharlin however necessary. Keeshti the younger can help run the household until such time as Lady Shartee and I come north.” Shartee’s tail tip vibrated but she remained silent, much to her mate’s surprise.
“Keeshti, after Beetoh’s mate-taking ceremony I want you and Teesha to go up to Bluewater. The Clan moves overland from here to Bluewater and then across the Dividing Sea, and I need someone there who can calm females and get them organized for the crossing and settlement.” The green female seemed surprised, but gestured her assent without question and Kirlin’s affection surged once again. “Shartee, you must oversee everything related to the household.” He raised his forefoot, reassuring her, “Before you flee into the forest, I will deal with Old Kirlin.”
She bowed low. “Thank you, my lord and mate.” Old Kirlin terrified the female and Kirlin knew it. “Ah, my lord, you mention Beetoh’s mate taking?”
He smiled broadly, feeling both sides of his muzzle stretch for the first time in sixts. “Yes. Lord Beerkali asked for her as a mate for his fourth son. It is a good match for the lineages. Beertal has finished his duty with the Imperials and wishes to return to Teelkan, where His Imperial Majesty appointed him to supervise a district. Instead of the usual mate-gift, Kirlin will provide Beetoh with transportation and all provisions necessary for a small household of appropriate rank.”
Keeshti nudged her daughter, who prostrated herself. “Th-thank you, o most generous lord Kirlin!” She’d met Beertal once and the two seemed compatible, much to Kirlin and Keeshti’s relief.
“You are welcome, and given recent events, Lord Beerkali and I agreed that a proxy ceremony would be appropriate.” Shartee swept her tail in agreement and the others looked relieved. An in-person mate-taking between two of the greatest Clans required attendance by all the other Clan Lords, and no one wanted to witness Shartee’s reaction to sharing space with Lady Beesh!
Keeshti raised her tail. “Yes?”
“My lord and master, has a date for the ceremony and departure been set?”
Kirlin gestured affirmative. “Yes. Eight sixts from yesterday. I am aware that Beetoh has been preparing,” and the female ducked as much as she could while flat on the floor.
“Very good, my lord and mate,” Shartee slid in before Keeshti could reply. “Kirlin lineage needs a celebration, but this will be quiet enough not to draw censure.”
“Correct, my lady. If there are no questions, then I leave you to sort out what you need to do. Sharlin, I want you to come with me.” Kirlin left the chamber and brown Sharlin dutifully followed behind into the hallway. Kirlin stopped and pulled his heir into an alcove and out of the flow of household traffic. “His Imperial Majesty has asked me to look into a delicate matter and you are going to come along. Then you will accompany Beetoh to Nightlast and serve as my proxy, escorting her to Teelkan.”
The young male glanced to the side, automatically identifying and then ignoring a passing servant. “My lord sire, does this mean I’m to be stationed on Teelkan?”
“I believe so, but I am not in charge of the Imperials.” At least not yet, and may the Lone God spare me from ever being offered a ministry! “As it is, you need to prepare your field kit and personal weapons. We are going to New Southdown.”
Two days later, Kirlin decided that he’d fight a house-to-house defense against drug-maddened Berparts commanded by Islak the Cruel before he would consent to return to the Deathlands. Kirlin, Maker Tsae, and one of the few surviving environmental quality technicians flew over the remains of New Southdown in a half-hover equipped with more sensors and gauges than Kirlin had seen outside of a space transport’s propulsion section. A black, sticky film of poison dust extended well to the north and west of the flattened city, marking the forbidden zone. Maker Tsae stared out the view-port, taking notes while his tech remained glued to the data flow. For his part Kirlin just wanted to get away: the scene made him feel unclean, and he wondered if the spirits of the dead walked the ruins.
They landed in an open plaza north of the Makers’ former research center in Central City, where salvage operations continued night and day. “We lost all the bio-technology technicians and most of the genetics specialists, agronomy as well as zoology,” Tsae informed Kirlin, his tone so cold and matter-of-fact that the noble wondered about the Maker’s sanity. The scientist led the Kirlins and their escort to Tsae’s temporary office. “Geology took a major hit, as did stellar transport, although the private companies are going to be able to make up some of the knowledge loss. Meteorology already moved to the new capital, along with most of agronomy and some other biology sections. As you know, all the military technology sections, including communications and computing, went north several year-turns ago.”
“His Imperial Majesty asked me to determine what your people needed for their re-settlement,” Kirlin began.
Tsae waved him off. “So few of us survived that those who have lineages are going back to them. It is probable that most of the rest of us are already dying, so we are staying here and concentrating on salvaging equipment and data.”
The two nobles glanced at each other and Sharlin made small querying gesture with his hindfoot and tail. His sire flicked a negation, although his neck spines shivered. Tsae had gone mad. The Maker continued, “How many out-Clan will hesitate to at
tack someone they think might have been part of Star-Strong, my lord? How many will help a stranger from here?” and his tail sweep included the entire central urban zone. “Especially a gravid female?”
Increasingly uncomfortable, Kirlin did not try to answer. Instead he shifted topics slightly. “Maker Tsae, the council would like more information on how long the exclusion zone will need to be maintained. Some of the reserves need to be rotated because of pending harvests and troop training.”
“Forever.” The others stared at him and Tsae explained, “It will take several years for the particulate contamination to break down and become safe again. However, as the infrastructure decays, chemicals and materials are leaching into the soil and water. We have no idea what was in all the warehouses around New Southdown and southern Central City, my lord. And then there are the bodies and the health hazards associated with them. And those Azdhagi and True-dragons exposed to the fall-out from the fission blast? They also breathed and probably drank the particulate contaminants, breathed the vaporized chemicals.” Tsae spread his forefeet. “The pathologists and public-health specialists will have a mountain of data to work from before the last of us die.”
The conversation unnerved Kirlin to say the least. “Ah, Maker Tsae, you said that the geological section took heavy losses?”
