Renaissance: A Novel of Azdhag Survival

by Alma Boykin

  Kalkai’s disgust with his fellow Azdhagi grew over the next double forefoot of sixts as he reviewed the petitions the colonists had submitted. How could they not learn? Any creature with functioning optic receptors could see the tracks that led from modifying cereal grains to the disasters that had forced the Great Relocation and that had almost wiped out the entire Azdhag species. The crown permitted crossbreeding. That should have been more than enough for the agronomists and horticulturists, but no. Kalkai wondered just how great a cataclysm some reptiles required before they saw reason.

  The proposal currently floating above his new worktable was a prime example of the problem. Kalkai made a negation with one forefoot as he read the document. He certainly understood the problem the plant specialist wanted to eliminate: stem rust affected so many grain plants, especially the high-yield hybrids used by most sapient species. And crossing the goldenstem with a lower-protein, thick-stemmed native variant sounded like an excellent trail to track along. But modifying the goldenstem’s genetics to boost protein levels? No, no, absolutely not, he sighed for the thousandth time. Impatient is what they are. They should thicken the stem, then slowly cross more goldenstem back into the line until the protein level reaches that of the first goldenstem strain. He made a note to that effect and denied the request. If they resubmitted the request without the protein boost, he’d approve it.

  At least the modification requests could be dealt with easily. Scientists, for all their stubbornness, remained rational Azdhagi. They accepted his rulings and went away. The reptiles pushing for political change belonged to an entire separate species, as best Kalkai could determine. That or the entire lot had been dropped on their heads at birth, or had spent too long in the birth canal and suffered oxygen deprivation.

  The vote beggars failed to understand that they could never govern the planet effectively. Not only that, but it had been the self-governing cities that had spawned the genetic plague leading to the Great Relocation. There’s a reason why the Lineages remained healthy, aside from the Dead Clan. Kalaki forced himself to read and consider the latest proposal only because duty demanded it. He’d much rather track down the malcontents and discipline them for gross stupidity. Could it be something in the air or soil that causes such foolishness? It does seem to afflict more colony worlds than home worlds, he thought. The possibility worried him, and he made a note on his private data pad to inquire with the Palace Archivist about looking into the records to see what might be found.

  Kalaki drew up a list of objections as he read the petition. First and foremost, permitting females such a large role in government violated the new statutes. Although, as he considered the matter, he decided that perhaps it would be wiser not mention that policy shift until it became law. He added a little mark to the note. Then came the problem of the petition making no mention of Lineages and the Pack. That omission alone made proper control of the election questionable at best, and revealed the ignorance of the reptiles agitating to take over the government. After all, how were individuals supposed to work and support themselves as well as studying matters and policies in enough detail to be able to make a proper decision? That duty rested on the Lineage lord and his staff, precisely because workers had no time for such things. Even the Lineage lords did not always have access to the necessary data or the intelligence to use it, as some of his visits to the planetary and Imperial council meetings more than proved.

  Those meetings also showed Kalaki the kind of the unrest that came from political disputes. The king-emperor had to enforce Pack discipline on the Lineage lords often enough. Who would stop hundreds of thousands of unhappy Azdhagi if an election—no, when an election’s results failed to please them? All those commoners who’d never been trained to control themselves properly? The prince allowed himself a tiny shiver. He’d seen a mob, on Sidara, and he’d not permit any such thing while he was governor. And the problem wasn’t limited to elections, since no doubt there’d be fighting at meetings and discussion sessions as well. It would tear the Pack apart!

  No, Kalaki sighed, the activists meant well, but they did not understand Azdhagi. What worked for other species had no place in Azdhag society. Azdhagi needed a strong Lineage structure and a good leader to make the final, most important decisions. For all that the Lineage lords acted as if they controlled Drakon IV and the Empire, even they knew that the King-Emperor accepted their suggestions only to ease Pack discipline. The King-Emperor and Imperial Lineage could, and had, and would, rule without them, just as the Lineage lords ran their Lineages without consulting the servants and slaves.

  Well, Kalaki grumbled, at least this group had presented their requests in a sensible way. He’d dignify their attempt with a proper response. He did not want to encourage them, but neither did he see any value in acting arrogant or dismissive. In fact, Kalaki made an additional note to look into the education system and the teaching modules about government. It could well be that too much emphasis had been placed on foreign systems and not enough on domestic history and policies, in which case the petitioners’ ignorance would not be entirely their fault. The more he thought about it, the more likely that seemed, making a polite, moderate, and yet firm response to the election petition an even better idea. He felt quite pleased with himself for not rushing to an improper decision.

  The other matters divided neatly into domestic and gubernatorial business. Where are the acting Lineage heads? He wondered as he sorted through the files. Two-thirds of these are Lineage matters, or Lineage council matters, not things for the Imperial government to have to deal with.

  When he finished his initial survey of pending business, Kalaki drew up a list. First he needed to find new staff for the governor’s palace, and have the palace refurnished and the den sealed. Then he needed to have his chief-of-staff find and summon all the Lineage heads to meet with him so he could make his needs known and return their business to them. While he waited for them to gather, he’d see about necessary alterations to the teaching modules and compose his reply to the election petition. Start in and then work out, always, he reminded himself. In fact, that would make a good starting point for his meeting with the lineage heads here on Pokara: first the little pack must be in order before the greater Pack could prosper.

  The thought brought an unwanted imaged up from his memory and he snarled, shoving the picture and all it’s meanings aside. The female should have told me about her Lineage. If she had, I’d have known to take responsibility for not risking conception.

  “Klop, klop.” Someone tapped on the door knocker.

  “Yes?”

  A good-sized dark-brown-and-yellow-blotched female leaned into the doorway, hesitant. “My lord governor, I was told you needed to speak with someone about replacing staff members and refurbishing your chambers?”

  “Yes, I do. You are . . ?”

  She ducked a little. “Your pardon, my lord. I am Leesare, the chatelaine. My duties are to oversee care of the furnishings and supplies for the palace.”

  Kalaki frowned, tail swishing. “I thought those were the steward’s duties.”

  She made a negation. “Not entirely, my lord. The steward oversees the over-all management and the physical plant of the palace, as well as acting as the representative of the staff. My duties are internal, and I share rank with the groundskeeper.”

  Now he had the trail, and Kalaki sat back on his bench. “I see. I want all the painted and inlaid furnishings removed and replaced with simple elegant pieces in solid colors. The entrance to the den must be covered or bricked up, and I need a list of the staff, their time in service, and their Lineages.” He checked that off his list before adding, “please.”

  She’d been taking notes on an archaic waxed scratch pad, and she recited back, “Replace the furnishings with simple but fine pieces in dark colors, conceal or remove the den door, and a list of personnel.”

  “That is correct.”

  She looked up. “Ah, what times do you prefer to dine, my lord gov
ernor?”

  “Break fast with the sunrise or earlier, something light. Dinner at the usual local time and it will be a working meal, and supper will vary depending on my schedule.”

  She recited his orders back verbatim, and Kalaki found himself growing happier about the staff problem. If she continues as she has started, I will certainly see about keeping her. He dismissed Leesarae and she bowed and departed. Especially once Soarsa arrives and I have some experienced staff in place.

  Elsewhere on Pokara, in a tavern near the barracks at TreeSweep Town, Breekhar made a negation with one forefoot, careful not to knock over his friend’s beer. “The governor is not the problem, Sheenaki, the problem is the past.”

  Dark-brown Sheenaki sipped a little of the gold-flecked brew. “You mean the lack of precedent. Even though we had citizens’ councils and common-run cities of over a million Azdhagi, and they functioned just fine.” He snorted, shaking his head. “Sorry,” and he wiped up the bit of foam that had flown off his muzzle.

  “No problem—and that’s just it.” The dull green-grey soldier held up one talon while pointing with his tail tip for emphasis. “You see the councils running things. The nobles and court, and a lot of commoners, see the places that suffered the most from the junior plagues, and the places that couldn’t evacuate fast enough when the news about the harbor wave reached them. The Lineages kept people together and alive, and the councils running the outClan lands, as they were called then, didn’t. That’s what you have to change. Not the past but the perception of the past.”

  Breekhar popped a bite of fried nutroot nibble into his mouth as Sheenaki thought. “So we’ve got to deal with the perception as much as the reality.”

  “That’s half of foreign policy, or so the instructors told us at cadet training. If the Empire is perceived as strong,” he half-chanted, “then the Empire is strong to those outside. And if the Empire is strong, it is safe.”

  Sheenaki made a rude sound.

  Breekhar rumpled his tail and pushed the snack basket at his friend. “How’s Shizara?”

  “She’s fine.” Sheenaki crunched a forefoot of nut nibbles. “She’s taking up dancing now, says it will keep her lean.”

  “Does she need a partner or a coach?” Breekhar rocked one forefoot from side to side.

  Sheenaki snorted again and smiled. “Ask her yourself. You know where to find her.” Hell, a quarter of the male population on Pokara knows where to find her. Not that they can afford her time, or that she does what they think she does. Having the planet’s second-most-famous pleasuremate for your sister made life interesting, Sheenaki had to admit. It also kept him out of the dens of pleasure, because females talked. On the weapon-forefoot, because everyone knew who she was, Sheenaki never had to worry about someone trying to use that against him. Threats to reveal their connection just made him laugh.

  Beekhar finished his beer. “So, if you are going to convince the average Azdhag that self-government is for them, you have to persuade them that their ancestors governed themselves in the past.” He tapped one talon on the tabletop. “And you have to show that anyone can learn enough about government and economics to understand everything while still having time to work and raise a family.” Tap of another talon on the table, “And you have to show them that Azdhagi have done it and succeeded, because using foreign examples will shut everything down faster than a law-enforcer walking into a back-room wrestling match.” A third tap. “And once that’s done, all you have to do is convince the Lineage lords, their followers, and the King-Emperor.”

  “Shall I do it before the next moon?”

  Beekhar rumpled his tail and signaled to the female on keg duty that he needed a refill. “Nah, no need to rush. I’ll give you until Breakdark.” His beer arrived just as Sheenaki got up off his bench. “Leaving so soon?”

  “Some of us have work to do, trails to follow, prey to track,” Sheenaki reminded his friend. The joke went back to their first year in the reserves, before Beekhar joined the Imperials.

  “I’ll pass the word to Sgt. Deelka,” Beekhar mock-threatened. “He’ll be thrilled to know you’ve finally found honest employment.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Sheenaki watched a new, and very intriguing-looking table server ease by before adding, “Strong scents and clear trails.”

  “You too.” Beekhar also followed the female’s progress with his eyes, then returned his attention to his beer and the last of the nut nuggets. What a waste. Sheenaki could do so much with that mind and instead he wastes it on trying to change the unchangeable. Oh well. He’s harmless. Which reminded the officer to check his messages. Beekhar pulled the little comm box out of the pouch on his carry harness and logged into his topmost account. He sped past the usual administrivia until he found something from Sgt. Zee-Shu. Beekhar read it, grunted with satisfaction, logged out, and applied himself to his beer.

  Sheenaki walked back to his workshop, careful to avoid the lines of juniors and their tenders traveling back to their homes and dens from the learning places. After a horrific accident when a transport drove over three juniors because the driver couldn’t see them behind some spilled construction debris, a previous governor had ruled that all juniors under two sixes of year-turns had to travel in a pack with a minder. The minders carried bright red flags on sticks attached to their carry-harnesses, so everyone on foot or in a vehicle could see the group. As much as he disliked rule by command, Sheenaki had to admit that it had been a good idea. The numbers of juniors reported missing had also dropped precipitously after the rule went into effect. Soon it would be the summer solstice festival, and the juniors would get a sixt away from the learning places. Sheenaki reminded himself to put a warning note on his message pad. He’d need to change his work schedule so that the waste disposal work-pack could pick up before the juniors got out on the streets.

  Sheenaki unlocked the door to his workshop and kicked on the alert shield with his weak-side hind foot as he passed. That way he could keep the door open but people and insects out. He took off his carry harness and slipped into a protective coverall, chemical-proof footcovers, and special talon guards. He’d wait for the respirator until he got ready to apply the next coat of sealer to the wood. He needed to finish the table and two benches today, while the air was dry.

  He’d completed all but the final finishing and smoothing. Sheenaki studied the pieces once more, making certain that he’d gotten all the rough places smoothed and that no pad-prints remained on the wood. He’d intended to leave them in their natural color, but the patterns in the grain displeased his sense of design. Instead, he’d decided to finish the tabletop with a dark crackle pattern and the legs and the two benches a lighter, but still deep, red black. Sheenaki found one little carved curve that needed to be a fraction of a scale’s width deeper, and he carved away the slightest curl of wood. “Yes,” he sighed, stepping back to study the pattern again.

  He masked off the tabletop, then pulled on his respirator and began finishing the pieces. He could have used a spray shed, and an anti-grav frame to suspend the benches, but he preferred the old ways. And there was that spectacular, loud, disaster at Keeks when someone hit the wrong switch at the power plant and we lost electricity at just the wrong moment. He never did know just how much that cost him, did he? Sheenaki tried to remember as he smoothed the first, light coat over the pale wood. At least ten thousand tsus, I remember that much, because that was the materials in the two tables and the display platform that fell out of the anti-grav field and split along the inlays. Poor Keeks went to the Lone God still trying to pay for that one day’s disaster. Not this reptile, no, I’m not going to put myself in that position if I can help it, thank you! That he couldn’t afford to buy that sort of technology without expanding into commercial production had zero bearing on his decision, of course.

  As the first coat dried, Sheenaki went over to his design bench and traded footcovers for a talon-mounted computer interface. He called up the program and studied his lat
est idea. He’d seen a picture of an ancient piece of furniture in an auction catalogue from Zilowi. The piece had originally held the thick, square manuscripts called “pooks.” Instead of manuscripts, Sheenaki planned to put ceramics—and possibly textile displays—on the little internal platforms within the larger frame, and he’d sketched out plans accordingly. Now, four days later, the balance seemed wrong. He rotated the image, trying to see where the problem stood. “It’s too heavy,” he grunted after several minutes. “If I . . .” He changed the solid top to a simple scrolled ornament that rested on the sides of the frame. “Better, but now the bottom doesn’t . . . ah.” He removed the solid doors and replaced them with either glass or a basic lattice pattern. “Yes.” He saved the program, had it calculate the materials necessary, and after some thought he placed an order with his wood and metals dealer.

  Sheenaki applied the second coat of red-black finish to the benches and table legs, and tidied the shop while that coat dried. Cleaning should have been his mate or apprentice’s job, and he wondered again if he should ask his dam’s brother about finding a mate for him. Or more precisely, about finding a few possible candidates, since otherwise the old male would probably appear at Sheenaki’s door with a female, her parents, and a priest and registrar in tow! No, thank you, he snorted for the thousandth time. Not after the last arranged mate-taking went so well. The female had not been as advertised. Apparently neither was he, because both families broke off the proceedings without grudge or feud. And now she’s mated to that scientist and the dam of five juniors.