Hubris: The Azdhagi Reborn

by Alma Boykin

  That fattened the offer and Old Kirlin grunted his acknowledgment, still unwilling to yield to his nephew. “What about the lineage records? Where are those?” he demanded. “That should have been the first priority, after getting your mate and juniors to safety.”

  Before he could launch into a lecture that Kirlin could recite from memory, the younger reptile held up a forefoot, talons spread in warning. “Lives before legends, Old Kirlin. They go up in the next shipment, after you arrive, so that you can ensure that they are properly arranged and stored.”

  The elderly reptile changed topics, snarling, “And how dare you stoop to working with that jumped-up miner’s brat’s brat? Kirlin Lineage goes back to the founding of the kingdom and before, youngster, and theeesssss—” His tirade terminated as Kirlin’s digits and talons locked around his throat. Old Kirlin froze, unable to overpower his Clan Lord’s grip.

  “I will say this once, old man,” the younger male hissed, spines up, tail rigid. “Pack allies with pack when survival is at stake. Right now, I would marry Sharlin to a slave’s bastard if it would protect Kirlin. I would turn your hide into a bench cover if doing so kept a healthy junior alive long enough to have clean offspring! When I became Clan Lord, thirteen-thousand-million Azdhagi lived on Drakon IV and the colony worlds. Do you have any idea how many of us will be alive when Sharlin becomes Clan Lord?” He tightened his grip. “Do you? Four and one half thousand million! On four planets,” he released his hold and Old Kirlin collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. The brown mottled reptile stalked away from his flattened kinsman. “That is why I work with Tarkeela, and Shu, and anyone else who can help us survive this self-induced massacre. You may leave, sire’s sire’s brother.”

  Elsewhere on Kirlin lands, an exhausted junior dragged herself through her family’s dwelling. Neela could barely set forefoot before hindfoot as she struggled to pack all the food and supplies that she could find. Her sire refused to help the junior, ignoring her as he had ignored everything since her dam’s death. Her entire world had fallen in on that day and the young female wondered again why the Lone God was punishing them so horribly. She could not remember doing anything, unless disobeying her sire to go play in the creek with her brother that one day… but the priests never said that playing in the Starstream was a sin.

  The dark brown female stopped to run fresh water so she could cook a meal. Only a little trickled out of the tap and she wondered why. Neela wanted to ask her sire, but was afraid. Although exhaustion made her clumsy, the junior did not lose any of the water as she staggered on her hindlegs to the stove, barely able to drag the pot but too small to use the boosted carry-harness as her dam had.

  In the rear chamber of their dwelling, Keerpak stared at nothing. He heard his offspring as she tried to follow Lord Kirlin’s orders and the male growled. Neela was the lone survivor of his mate’s second clutch, the only female of the five. Of their first clutch one male survived and he’d gone north already, one of the warriors granted land on Likhala by Lord Kirlin in exchange for service. Keerpak and his mate had waited after that, waited until Neela alone remained before having a third clutch.

  The twisted not-borns had killed his mate. They had emerged without shells and the stress and blood loss had killed his female. Keerpak had disposed of the remains without ceremony and had spat on the priest who dared to scratch on the door offering to say prayers for the dead. Two sixts later Kirlin of Clan Kirlin had summoned everyone to meet. “Too much death stalks Starstream Ford,” the large male had begun. “I am taking all who wish to come north, into Likhala. Bring what supplies you have, as if you were going to be storm-stranded. If you do not have supplies enough, you can trade service for food and shelter.”

  One of the priests had called out, “What sort of service?”

  “Labor. Fortune granted that it is the start of planting season there and we will have to grow a crop as quickly as possible as well as building shelter. I’m only taking old-breed seed grains and only livestock that has not been modified for cold tolerance. A lower yield that is clean is better than cursed abundance.” Kirlin’s words had chilled his distant kinsman Keerpak to the core: Kirlin knew of Keerpak’s first two clutches. Kirlin had finished, “You have two sixts to gather what you can and arrange passage. Again, if you lack resources you can trade labor for a place in the transports.”

  That night a fire burned Keerpak’s workshop to the ground. The workshop had been next to the settlement’s grain storage bins and when they burst into flames, the cascade of burning grain destroyed the buildings around the bins. The three tall storage towers had held the latest harvest of enhanced grain, all of which disappeared in clouds of smoke that filled the valley with the scent of burnt bread. No one had confessed to lighting the fire, nor had Lord Kirlin’s investigators inquired too closely.

  Now without employment, Keerpak buried himself farther into the shadows of his dwelling and trembled as he imagined the other reptiles in Starstream burning everything that had been touched by efforts at “improvement.” Keerpak’s sister had been part of one of the genetic engineering teams until she and her mate transferred to the colony world of Pokara. Seela specialized in fruit, not animals, and she’d been uncomfortable with the speed some of the other Makers insisted on. She’d protested, “If we have to wait three clean generations before we can release new fruit to the markets, why don’t the others do so as well?”

  Neela knew none of that. All she knew was a dead dam and siblings and a sire who acted dead. Two sixts after Lord Kirlin made his call, Neela’s dam’s brother collected her and all of her family’s possessions and supplies that an eight-year-turns junior could pack. Keerpak ignored them, not seeming to notice their departure. “Come Neela,” Tara snapped, angry at his brother-by-mating for dumping a useless mouth onto the family. They had run out of water the night before, forcing them to go to the river, and to boil and treat what they found there. Neela, still tired, tripped under her load, then staggered back onto her feet, tail dragging behind her. Tara relented a little. It was not the junior’s fault that the reptiles in charge of maintaining the water system had fled, not her fault that attempts to work the machinery had failed when toxic waste from a burst industrial dam upstream had overloaded the filters. “Put that in the carry-all, Neela,” Tara said quietly, then boosted the undersize female into the back of the vehicle before clambering onto the driver’s bench.

  The scene repeated all over the Azdhag homeland. Some Azdhagi turned inward as Keerpak did, fading away and giving up on life. Others attacked their mates in rage, unable to cope with the series of woes. Still others turned their fury on those individuals and family groups that seemed untouched by the plague, killing the healthy juniors or females in revenge. In many cities and larger towns, the elected and appointed councilors lost control of security as their civilization fell backwards. Infrastructure also failed when perfectly healthy individuals abandoned their posts, some fleeing to their Clans, others seeking who-knew-what in the rural areas. Looking back at events, King-Emperor Seetoh and others wondered, aghast, at how weak their civilization had been.

  And yet, as Sseekhala dissolved into episodic chaos, pockets of order also emerged. Clans and lineages with strong leaders remained intact although diminished. Kirlin and other Clan adults led, drove, and prodded their followers and supporters north, out of the Starstream Valley, through the edge of the Great Central Plain and up to the coast. Some reptiles fell out of the group, preferring to try and make a life closer to their old lands, while others joined the band, swearing allegiance to Kirlin and trading labor for hope. Kirlin and the other Clan members accepted no strangers with deformed juniors. “We cannot support the useless,” Lord Kirlin informed one petitioner. “The pack can no longer tolerate weakness. One day, but not now.” Neela worked even harder after hearing her lord’s announcement, forcing her small body to do more than an eight-year junior should have ever done.

  When the Kirlin group reached the coast at Bluewater,
they stopped. Neela, shoved in with a number of other juniors, listened and wondered what would happen next: would they force the small and weak to stay behind? And how could they cross the sea? She’s snuck out of the portable den and stared at the end of the world, wrinkling her nostrils closed at the strange, mucky scent of the Dividing Sea. Kirlin and some of his soldiers and the larger males traveled ahead of the main group in order to make certain that everything was ready, leaving the wave of migrants waiting. Within hours the Clan leaders returned and Kirlin growled orders. “Things are ready, but you must work quickly. Twenty strong males, the smallest juniors, and five females will go by air, along with the critical medical and technological supplies. The rest of us will take to the sea.” A ripple of fear flowed through the gathered refugees: most had never been on the sea. “There are others who want our boats and a storm is coming into the passage, so we must hurry.”

  Old Kirlin threatened, “Anyone who misses the transport will be left to wait for the next group and will have to fend for themselves for the next two or three sixts, or however long it takes.”

  And so Neela’s uncle loaded her along with three of his own offspring onto one of the big, heavy-lift half-hovers. “Watch them and keep them out of trouble,” Tara commanded.

  “Yes, sir,” the bark-brown female whispered, terrified at being separated again from everyone she knew. The Azdhagi loaded every bit of equipment that could be fit into the aircraft around the juniors and females, and then the males clambered aboard. Four half-hovers lifted off from the airport at Bluewater.

  Soon Neela worried more about not being sick and cleaning up her cousins who did become ill from the rolling, bouncing passage than she did about her future. “Forewinds from the storm,” the pilot told one of the males. Neela had no idea how long the flight lasted, but she cheered weakly when the aircraft at last touched ground and rolled to a stop.

  Then she had to wait for the adults to remove the cargo before they unstrapped her and the other juniors. “Come over here,” a male ordered and Neela pushed and prodded the younger reptiles into a pre-made enclosure. “Stay here,” and the male walked off, leaving the juniors to see to themselves for the moment.

  Neela and another older junior clambered up the side of the improvised den and stared around them. More heavy equipment than either female had seen in one place trundled around them, the noise almost covering up an intermittent thumping that Neela would learn to associate with emergency power generators running at maximum load. Groups of adults moved mysterious boxes, stacks of flat panels, sacks of grain and seed, and other things. “Look at that!” the other female called, pointing as four males chased down an escaped shootee, catching it with sticky lines before dragging it out of the juniors’ sight. “What was that?”

  “It was a shootee, a farm animal,” Neela told her.

  An adult female walked past, then stopped and scolded the two juniors. “You need to get back into the den, you two. It’s not safe for you out here.” The females slunk back to join the younger reptiles. Not long after, several adult females came into the enclosure and distributed food and water.

  “I don’t like it. I want my dam!” One of Neela’s cousins whined.

  The closest adult swatted him with her tail. “Eat your meal and be grateful that Lord Kirlin is providing it,” she told the juniors. Neela shushed another cousin when he started whimpering, doing her best to keep them quiet and clean so her dam’s brother would let her stay with the family.

  The next day the stranger females brought more food. “Sort out by lineage,” the oldest female ordered, and Neela herded the three cousins together. The adults asked each junior or group of juniors their lineage, or sire and dam’s names if they came from out-Clan families. A male noted the information, then stuck a tag onto each junior’s back. “This way we can identify you quickly,” he explained when a very small male began squalling in protest at the stiff, sticky patch. “And you are?”

  “Neela of Keerpak’s lineage, sir. These are Tarli, Tass, and Seeta, of Tara’s lineage,” Neela recited, pointing to the cousins in turn. The adult entered the data, printed out the tags and slapped them onto the four juniors.

  After another day, a male appeared, calling “Tara’s lineage? I need the three juniors of Tara’s lineage.” Neela pushed them together and waved her tail, attracting the male’s eye. “Good. Wait, there should only be three juniors,” he said, suspicious.

  “The scrawny female is Tara’s sister’s junior. She came over on the flight with Tara’s hatch,” the recorder explained.

  “Well, she can stay until Keerpak gets her,” the green male told the junior keepers, irritated at the news. “We have room for Tara and his mate and hatch, that’s all. You three, come,” and Neela pushed the trio along, following the stranger. “I’m Tara’s mate’s brother,” he explained over his shoulder. Once they reached a vehicle, he pushed Neela backwards, firmly but carefully so as not to hurt her. “Go back to the junior herd, little one. I don’t have food for another mouth.”

  “But I can work, sir! I can mind the juniors, and cook, and clean,” she protested, pleading, desperate.

  “Not work hard enough, little female,” he repeated, pushing her away again as he loaded the cousins into the vehicle. “Get into the den where you will be safe,” he ordered. Tail dragging, Neela crept back into the enclosure. Maybe when Tara came he would rescue her, she thought.

  But Tara never came, leaving two unclaimed juniors, Neela and another larger female called Khae who had been dumped into the enclosure on the second day after they arrived. “I don’t have room for some loose-born storm-catch whose sire can’t pull his weight,” an angry voice had snarled and the female appeared, tossed over the panels around the enclosure. Khae, curled into a tight ball, hit the ground so hard that she bounced, then rolled the length of the den before stopping against the side of the enclosure. The other juniors stayed well clear of the pale green female, leaving Neela to make sure that Khae was all right after her rough arrival.

  “What’s going to happen,” Khae whispered to Neela when they alone remained in the den.

  “Maybe they will keep us here until the next group arrives,” Neela guessed. Instead, a lean older male appeared in the enclosure and studied the two females, then left. He returned several hours later and beckoned for them to follow him. They rumpled their tails and did as ordered, trailing along behind him as he walked past the storage section, around the shootee pens, past a field of grain, and stopped at a large building. The two juniors flopped onto their flanks, exhausted by the unfamiliar exercise.

  “Since no one has claimed you two, but you seem healthy,” the dark green striped male told them, “you will work in Lord Kirlin’s lineage residence, Sunblast manor. If you do not get into trouble, and if you work hard, Kirlin will find you mates when you are old enough. You will get winter robes, food, shelter, and medical care, plus credit toward your passage here. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Neela replied, and Khae gestured her agreement, shy around the strange male.

  He sniffed the two and then puffed his displeasure. “Right. First you need a wash. Then you can work in the infirmary. You are too small to do much else,” and he led them to a washing place. The two juniors took off their carry harnesses and scrubbed away at least two sixts of grime. The male handed them bundles of cloth. “These are work robes. It is colder here than back on the ancestral lands and you’ll need these later. Come,” and the females followed the male into the half-finished stone, wood, composite, and concrete building. Neela tried to keep track of their path as they climbed up a treaded stone ramp, around a corner, and stopped at a door at the end of a long hallway. Their guide pushed a buzzer and let them into well-lit, airy, pale-colored chambers.

  “This is the infirmary. Teek, the lineage physician, will tell you what to do next. Stay here and wait for her.” The male departed, leaving the females alone.

  Not long after, before the two could start explori
ng, a grey-and-brown female waddled into the infirmary. “What are your names?” she demanded, brusque but not unfriendly.

  “Neela and Khae,” Neela pointed to the other female.

  Teek sniffed Khae from muzzle end to tail tip. “Can you speak, Khae?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the pale-green junior whispered. “My dam is dead and my sire has a bad tail and hindleg from a mining accident. I’m the first junior, single clutch,” Khae added.

  “And your sire’s brother doesn’t want you in his residence,” Teek finished. “Well, he can go stick his tail in a cement fabricator,” the physician told the junior. “I need someone with small, steady forefeet who can store and remove things from floor-level storage units and manipulate small tools for me. You two need work,” she turned a little, adding Neela to her conversation. “Can either of you read?” Neela waved her tail. “Good. You two are going to work hard, harder than I wish any junior had to work, but no one will hurt you. No being tossed around like a tailslap ball.” Khae sagged with relief. “Come here and I’ll show where you will sleep. You’ll eat with me and the other Kirlin lineage staff and servants. Neela, do you have any relatives here?”

  “Yes, ma’am. My older brother Keerpak the Younger is a soldier with a farm on Likhala, on Kirlin lands,” Neela recited. “Tara, my dam’s brother, and his pack are here as well.”

  “Not pack, Neela, lineage,” Teek corrected. “Great Lord Kirlin says that all of Kirlin is one pack, those who are Kirlin by birth and those who earn their membership through service. So your lineage is that of your sire and dam, until you find mates. There are a few juniors who do not know their lineage on either side, and they are considered part of the lineage they are taken into. Is that clear? No more packs within Clan Kirlin.”