by Alma Boykin
“Thank you, royal governor,” the male had replied, resuming his seat.
The males had talked among themselves but no more questions had come from the group. He’d dismissed them and they’d left. Only one had agreed to serve in the municipal government.
The LowHills meeting had been the quietest, most reasonable of the twelve Lineage leaders’ assemblies. The worst point came at the end of his announcement at TwoTrees. The males had stood as a body, roared, “No, we will not,” and had pushed out the door, leaving one male behind to explain. “Royal governor, this district is composed of Azdhagi who left their Lineages or who were denied membership by their ancestral lines,” the green-and-yellow-brown-striped male had informed Kalaki. He’d been respectful but firm. “We hold no truck with the Lineages, and we do our duty to the Pack in our own way. We’ll select representatives for the council, but by free election, not because someone is the oldest surviving member of a family that disowned us a hundred year-turns ago.” He’d bowed and turned, stalking out the still-open door before Kalaki could respond.
Kalaki felt pain in his forefoot and looked down to see that he’d tried to dig his talons into the stones of the floor. He lifted the forefoot, checking to see if he’d cracked a talon base. No, but several showed strain lines, and he eased the forefoot closed, flexing it several times. He’d need to splint the affected talons until they grew out. No, better, he’d wear his gauntlets. They’d provide more protection, and he could remove them at night.
He paged Soarsa. “Bring me my half-talon gauntlets,” Kalaki ordered. His chief of staff returned with the desired items. “Thank you. Any news of import?”
The solid-gray male rocked from weak-side to strong-side and back. “Ah, yes, Your Highness, there is. Only half the district Lineage leaders have agreed to participate in your restoration of the municipal and planetary government, and several, including all the males in TwoTrees, have filed statements of intent to petition with the Crown.”
“I see. You are dismissed.” Soarsa bowed and departed, leaving Kalaki alone with his anger. He’d anticipated having more time before he reported his findings to the King-Emperor, but the common-born fools had stolen that time away from him. He growled low in his throat, then affixed his official seal as governor and second-heir to the report and sent it via secure network.
Task done, Kalaki turned his attention to foreign matters. He read over the latest reports. One in particular seemed to have a familiar scent and he tracked that prey line, pulling up everything reported in the past ten moons about Morinc-loy and the Morinci Confederation. The latest news, two sixts old, claimed that the Confederation had dissolved and that the Morinci had begun to advance on Teedar. The Regis had not requested aid yet, but the Imperial intelligence system was monitoring the situation and gathering data on the Confederation’s military strength. A second report mentioned that the only other information about the Morinci referred to them as a semi-mammalian species with mild psionic abilities, adding that the details came from the Durkorlig Scholars, with all the usual caveats. Kalaki flagged the topic and set his data system to push any further information to the top of his “must-read” list as soon as it arrived.
Kalaki went out to enjoy the garden again for a few minutes, clearing his head in the warm afternoon air before returning to business. “I wonder,” he thought aloud as he strolled between the lush plantings. Back in his office, Kalaki reviewed the general and secure-access information about Morinc-loy. Then he sat back, rubbing one talon along the side of his muzzle. The government of Morinc-loy, like the governments of the other three worlds in the Confederation, was self-selected by all adult Morinci. Could that be the source of part of his problems? If the Morinci attacked Teedar, they’d have to weaken the world’s defenses first, and civil insurrection certainly worked to do just that. Kalaki shuddered so hard that his spines rattled.
“No,” he hissed. “Do not see shardi in shadows.” At least a dozen other possibilities, all comparatively harmless, could explain the surge of complaints and of the rising interest in “self-determination.” It could be something as simple as letters and messages from people with relatives in the Free Towns talking to others. And Kalaki knew that fads in popular thinking came and went as capriciously as female fashion changed.
Which reminded him. Kalaki logged out of the government network and shut down his terminal with a forefoot swipe. He opened his private data pad and found the desired file waiting for him. He’d made tactful and discreet inquiries with the leading Lineage families, notably Peitak and Kirlin, about eligible female offspring. They had to come from clean lines and not be too young. He needed a consort as well as a pleasure mate. Information about four candidates appeared in his incoming message file and he studied their pictures and their Lineage histories. They had to be clean to the third back-pairing, which, alas, eliminated the most attractive of the four. Her dam’s sire’s dam had likely been a carrier, given that she died while delivering her fifth clutch. He kept her information, however, since the female might be available for a sterile pairing.
Kalaki wondered what his brother would do if he took a mate without permission. Probably nothing, since Dak-lee seemed to be healthy and sane. Tahdak might scold his brother for not clearing the mate-taking with the Lineage first, but he couldn’t do anything once it happened. Besides, only Kalaki and the now-dead female knew about the deathtouched male. Kalaki had made certain of that as soon as he’d seen the junior’s coloring and eyes. It had been a mercy killing, Kalaki sighed again. And he so regretted that the female had bled to death after the delivery, a terrible waste of life. He’d been so busy disposing of the dead junior so she wouldn’t see it and overreact that he’d not gotten back to her fast enough to stop the bleeding.
She’d been one of those females prone to emotional outbursts, typical for a common born pleasure-mate, but she’d been attractive, skilled in certain ways, and had never tried to put herself ahead of her place. By the time he’d gotten back to the den, she’d gone too far down death’s trail for him to disturb a Healer or medic with trying to repair her. Kalaki wondered again if he should have given her a stronger dose of squeeze root earlier, speeding the delivery, but he hadn’t. He had given her a pain-killer as soon as she’d finished giving birth, and had assured her that it was a large male, while making certain that she did not see the cursed creature. Kalaki tapped one talon on the floor. He thought that he’d made certain that she came from a clean, if common, line, but obviously she had not. After all, he came from the Imperial line and so he could not be a carrier, his dam’s dam’s reputation for skill as a medic notwithstanding.
Well, the light-brown female from Peitak seemed sound enough, he decided. Kalaki made a note to see what the regional mate-gift cost, and to ask for less since he was not heir—at least, not yet, although that could change.
Several qliks from the governor’s palace, Sheenaki was doing his best to pacify Tek-Zhi before the green-and-yellowy-brown teacher did something stupid. “I know, you already told me that you and the others from TwoTrees told Prince Kalaki that you are going to refuse his plan. There are lots of others in the city who agree with you, Tek-Zhi.”
“Then why is no one doing anything?” Tek-Zhi’s tail lashed from side to side, endangering anyone trying to walk behind him. “He’s a total idiot and must be removed.”
“Yes, he’s not the sharpest knife in the Imperial collection,” Sheenaki soothed. “No one, well, almost no one disagrees with you on that. But the best way to get rid of him is still petition and patience. We elect our representatives, and then the representatives from each district pick one of their number to serve on the municipal council. We give Kalaki a list and he can either lump it or be stupid, in which case we’ve got a rock solid reason for the King-Emperor to remove him.”
“That’s not enough.” Tek-Zhi’s tail slowed down to a gentle wag from the earlier agitated sweeps. “No more Lineages, period. A mixed system won’t work, because the Linea
ges will sabotage it somehow, Sheenaki. You know that the rurals have already rolled over and are showing their throats.”
The older reptile lifted his forefoot and turned it palm up. “And were you surprised?”
A long silence, then a gusty sigh. “No, but still.”
“We won’t starve if we tell Lords Peitak or Kirlin or Shu to go stick their tails in a fabric mill. The others just might and no, it’s not fair, so don’t start down that trail, Tek-Zhi,” he warned. “There’s still a double-forefoot of truth in that old saying about city air makes you free.”
“But we have to get rid of him.”
“If the prince-governor continues mismanaging everything his talon touches, then yes, he will go. But if someone does something rash or stupid, it will undo everything we’ve been working toward for the past two generations.” Sheenaki wanted to pick up a piece of scrap lumber and beat Tek-Zhi’s head with it, just to see if it would make even the smallest impression on the other male’s thick skull. He doubted that it would. “Now, back on the proper track: how is your sister?”
Tek-Zhi blinked. “Huh? Oh, you mean Zhikaree?”
No, I mean the invisible friend your youngest sibling talks to, you mono-focused obsessive. “Yes, her.”
“She’s fine. She’s taken up wood carving as a hobby for some reason. I liked it better when she was learning new ways to cook.” Tek-Zhi shrugged his tail.
“And has she found a mate yet?”
Tek-Zhi reached around and scratched the base of his neck-spines with one hind foot. “No. And I can’t get her interested in politics or in helping me, not even in posting messages on her electro-pack’s notice board.” Tek-Zhi sounded either frustrated or disgusted. Sheenaki couldn’t tell which.
“Then you won’t get upset if I ask her to go to the next research viewing at the palace museum? They are having another furniture display, including some pieces from outside the Empire.” Sheenaki did his best to sound as if he were just being friendly rather than stalking a potential mate.
“Take her. I’ll make sure she has her sketchpad so she can do something useful. I need illustrations of extra-Imperial goods for my lessons this coming sixt.” Tek-Zhi blinked. “Oh, that reminds me, do you buy any wood or hardware from outside the Empire?”
“No. I make furniture, not clothes or jewelry, remember?”
Tek-Zhi snorted and gave Sheenaki a sideways look. “Right. I saw the finish you put on that set of matching benches last moon, remember? And the pook holder, too. There were at least four colors in the glaze alone. That’s not plain furniture, Sheenaki.”
“All you saw was light on the wood. I don’t share your family’s fondness for, hmmm,” Sheenaki thought for a moment. “For colors of such intensity and variation that they blind anyone who stumbles into your humble abode.” Not long after the colony’s founding Tek-Zhi’s family had bought some of the first painted furnishings on Pokara and were rightly proud of their collection. It wasn’t really their fault that tastes had changed, although Sheenaki never let Tek-Zhi forget about the bright orange, green, and purple swirled bench and spotted table.
He got a snort and a rude forefoot gesture in reply.
“And you. So when shall I meet Zhikaree?”
“Two before noon should work. I’ll have her ready to go.” Tek-Zhi cared for his sister, but she was, after all, a female who would marry out of the family and take her income and housekeeping skills with her.
“Thank you, oh most generous patron of,” and Sheenaki dodged a tail swat. He walked home mostly content, although Tek-Zhi’s vehemence worried him. Sheenaki nodded to a few acquaintances and enjoyed the heat radiating off the pavement. True, the current governor is not the best we’ve had. And true, his idea has problems built into it that will keep it from working. Yes, he’s underestimating what the average non-noble Azdhag can do. But that’s not enough to warrant talking like a conspirator or rebel. I’ve been in the Imperials, Tek-Zhi, I’ve seen what they can do. And we still need to coordinate planetary and Imperial defense, and deal with the Lineage Lords back on Drakon IV, which is best done by one person. Well, he’d just keep his thoughts to himself as he always did.
Sheenaki turned his mind to other matters, such as how much Tek-Zhi’s family might offer in mate-gift. If Zhikaree could carve anything beyond the most basic of patterns, and especially if she could judge wood, he just might offer to take her without payment, since he’d be saving the cost of an assistant. Of course, that assumed that she suited him and vice versa.
Three days later, he peered over the lean brown female’s shoulder to look at her data pad. She’d done a perfect sketch of what was supposed to be a Teelarlan table and incense stand. Sheenaki didn’t think much of the overall design, but the carvings on the surface of the main table fascinated him. The curator had set up an angled mirror so everyone could see the pattern, and Sheenaki tried to envision using it on the side panel of a chest or other large, flat-framed piece. He backed up and moved over to study an old-style bench. As he did, he pinched his nostrils shut as a whiff of something stale and bitter blew through on the ventilation system. Probably came from the bad preservation on the spongewood table at the end of the display, he decided.
Zhikaree watched the dark-brown carpenter as he circled the next display. So far she liked him, and had decided that if he asked her brother for permission to ask her to be his mate, she wouldn’t object. Sheenaki had a steady income, came from a good family, and seemed less obsessive than her brother was. Government change didn’t interest Zhikaree. She wanted a stable family life, and if that happened to be under a government where she picked the leaders, fine. If not, well, the current system seemed to be working, and changing government always brought trouble, or so she recalled from the history lessons at the learning place.
She’d finished and saved her drawing, so she tucked the pad into its carry pouch and wandered past Sheenaki to look at an antique textile chest. Someone had carved what looked like ocean waves along the top and bottom of the case, and the feet resembled clam shells. At least, the front of the feet looked like shells, and Zhikaree began to circle the display to see if she could get a view of the back.
Crack boom! The lights failed and debris rained down on the Azdhagi in the museum as something near the door exploded, dropping ceiling panels and knocking the doors off their hinges. Alarms blared and reptiles bellowed and screamed in the darkness.
Sheenaki froze, waiting for more explosions. He heard screams, moans, and the creak of beams bending, plus some sneezes from the dust in the air, but no more booms. He peered around, picking his way through the scattered ceiling panels until he found Zhikaree. She’d had the sense to climb onto the platform with the antique chest and crouch beside the big, sturdy furnishing, protected in part from falling debris and from further explosions near the door. “Come,” Sheenaki ordered. “We’ve got to get people clear of the damaged area and secure the scene.”
She gestured her assent and followed him. A few others had begun leading, or chasing, the uninjured and the walking wounded out of the emergency exits. They heard another long creaking sound from near the main door and Sheenaki hesitated. A male ahead of them rose onto his hind legs and began calling orders, not bellowing, but certainly making his wishes known. “Stay away from the main door. Anyone with duty service or medical training, come to me.” Within moments five Azdhagi rallied around the stocky male. “Who are my medics?” Zhikaree raised her tail. “Good. I want you to start triaging the worst injured. You two,” and he pointed to the two largest males. “Carry the wounded outside that door,” he pointed with his tail. “There’s plenty of space for people and vehicles out that exit.”
Zhikaree forced herself to ignore her fear and her shock. People needed her. She happened to have a pouch-light in her carry harness, and she turned it on, then picked her way through the debris to the main door. Three Azdhagi lay by the exit, and she began evaluating their condition, one ear tuned for more sounds of breaking
building. Two of the reptiles, a male and a female, needed no medical attention, and she crossed their hindlegs and tails to show that they were dead, then moved to the third. The male was still breathing, but the foamy brown blood on his muzzle warned that he’d better get medical help very soon. He also had broken bones, but Zhikaree ignored those for the moment. “This one,” she told her two orderlies. “Try to keep his head higher than his chest.” With that she began a methodical sweep of the exhibit hall, starting with the darkness farthest from the designated exit door.
Back at the middle of the hall, the male in charge pointed to Sheenaki. “You know anything about buildings?”
“Yes. Basic structure, some wiring.”
“Look at the main entrance and see if you can tell if the rest of the museum’s going to fall on our heads or blow up before the peacekeepers and fire crews arrive. And if you can find any more Azdhagi.” He turned to the remaining male. “We’re running a sweep of the hall, looking under things that the medic can’t lift.”
“I was explosives in the Defenders,” the small, skinny male told him.
“Even better. Keep your eyes open for me, then. I was heavy-weapons.”
That makes sense, Sheenaki thought as he began his work. He’s got the mass and the voice for it. He stopped every few steps to listen and sniff for trouble. Once at the door, he ventured outside and looked up. Oh fewmets! The main horizontal support beam over the door bent up at one side, as if pulling away from the vertical supports, and the center dipped. He could see cracks in the stones of the façade, and scorch marks above the windows on the next level. Large sheets of glass littered the walkway and road, blown out of the windows. Sheenaki smelled arcing wires and wondered why the breakers had not kicked in, although the short explained why he wasn’t hearing any fire alarms. A visual sweep of the area outside the museum door revealed three prone figures, one being tended by a female with a healer’s purple foreleg band. Sheenaki returned to the dark exhibit hall.
