by Alma Boykin
“They crushed the fence,” Peilat grunted, pointing with his tail. “You can see vehicle tracks starting a li on the other side of the fence. Probably shot out the cameras, but I could be wrong.”
Why? Only Imperials have blasters here. If someone shot out the video equipment, it would have to be the Imperials. He caught himself. Or someone who wants us to think it is the Imperials. Or, worst of all, Imperials who want us to think it was a second group trying to set up the Imperials. His head started hurting, and Tartai wondered if that was why Kalaki and the others went mad—from conspiracy-induced headaches.
“Take it as a loss,” Tartai decided. “I know, the stock and bond holders will scream, but write it all off. Is this the only stand of these trees?”
“Of the hybrids, yes, my lord,” Reik assured him. “We have two stands of the native, unmodified version. These grew faster and straighter because of a cross in with needle leaf, but aside from a few scattered individual trees, these were the last of the hybrids.”
Tartai decided that he had to talk to Tardeet. This could not be a coincidence.
The next morning he met Tardeet at the gate of the Ag Research Station. The guard on duty logged him in and Tardeet drove him into the facility, using a small, bright red, two-reptile carry-all. “Apparently someone doesn’t like native plants,” Tartai observed as they drove.
“How so, cousin?”
“Someone used military equipment to kill a stand of hybrid trees and to smash the fence between your property and mine.”
“Was it the red-leaf?” Tardeet gulped. “We’ve only now gotten a second stand of the red-leaf growing, and we can’t afford to lose any of them.”
“No, not red-leaf.” The field beside them caught his eye and he asked, “Is that kurstem?” Tartai pointed to a swath of purple grain with his tail.
Tardeet stopped the carry-all and they got out. The morning sun felt hot and it released the dusty-musky scent of the plants. Tardeet reached out and bent a stem of the grain over so Tartai could inspect it. “Yes and no. Yes, it is a variant of kurstem. No, this is not the same breed grown on Drakon IV. This has naturalized to Pokara, and is more heat resistant and alkali resistant. We’ve made no modifications to it here, we just watch it and compare it to what the farmers send in every sixt of years.”
“A natural control, then.”
“Precisely. It has the same nutrition as the original.”
Tartai rubbed along the edge of his muzzle as he looked at the field. “Fascinating.” They got back onto the carry-all and went to the main settlement of the research station. Tardeet gave Tartai the three-tsu tour before ushering him into an equipment-stuffed office.
“I apologize for the clutter. We’re in the process of shifting some of the growth sheds, so we had to put the testing and study equipment somewhere out of the way for the next sixt.”
Tartai made a placating forefoot gesture and shifted a box off the bench. “Understood.”
“You said the attackers didn’t get the red-leaf. What did they get?”
“Yellowwood, a full stand, everything from two-year saplings to mature trees scheduled for harvest.”
Tardeet sagged on his bench. “Damn. They really know how to cause the most damage with the least effort. Did they poison them?”
“No, barked them.”
“At least they didn’t burn them.” Tardeet sounded bitter.
Tartai rumpled his tail. “From what I understand, if they’d tried we’d still be collecting the bodies, assuming that we’d managed to get the fire out by now.”
Tardeet gave him and odd look, then called up a reference list and skimmed through it. “Oh. Yes. I’d gotten yellowwood and yallawood mixed up, sorry.”
“Yallawood?”
“Medicinal bark, useful for some cancers, found on Sidara, grows in wetlands.” Tardeet passed the reader to Tartai, who read the article, then returned the reader.
Tartai exhaled. “I’ve got a question and you might not be able to answer it.”
“Try me.”
“Who is the most opposed to the research that you are doing?”
“You want the small pack or the big pack?”
Tartai tipped one forefoot palm up and waited.
The scientist made a snorting sound. “In no order: Governor Kalaki, half the population of Drakon IV, the Imperial financial office, and a few commercial seed producers owned by Lords Peitak and Shu.”
Tartai closed his eyes for a moment and repeated the list so he’d remember it. “Well, I think we can eliminate two of those from the list of people who are spending their nights killing plants.”
His cousin gave him a half-muzzle grin. “True. Fifty-million Azdhagi would leave at least a few tracks and scraps of evidence.”
“And accountants prefer to bury a business under a mountain of rules and data requests rather than to burn it down.” A thought hit Tartai between the eyes and he blinked. “Do you have a map of the ag station’s boundaries? Prey just trotted across my trail.”
Tardeet called up a map and, at Tartai’s gesture, enlarged the common border between TarKili and the research center. “Well call me furry,” Tardeet hissed, blinking. “Wrong address?”
Tartai made a negation. “Not sure, but possible. I can’t tell more right now, but I know someone who might have the resources to find out if that’s what it was. Because the border fence looks just like the ones you have separating that kurstem field from the fields on either side.”
Tardeet opened his muzzle, then closed it again. After several long moments he coughed. “Can I interest you in looking at the fiber plants we’re about to release for commercial development?”
Tartai wanted to groan and cover his eyes with his forefeet to make the plants go away. Instead he said, “Please. Tarlek Industries is always looking for new development possibilities.”
By the end of the afternoon Tartai knew far more than he wanted to about new fiber plants—new to him, at least—and had almost his weight in data about commercial viability and potential private-government partnerships in fiber development, and had the facility manager practically pleading with him to take home samples. Apparently, Tartai discovered, he was the first Great Lord ever to visit the facility in person, and once Reesh, the manager, discovered this, well, Tartai’s plans for quiet talks with his distant relative skittered off into the impenetrable underbrush never to be seen or smelled again. For his part Tardeet tried to apologize, but Reesh didn’t give him the chance to finish a sentence before interrupting. Tartai decided that if someone found Reesh’s body in the bottom of the irrigation pond/aquaculture tank, he’d help his cousin with as many alibis as he might need.
That night Tartai dutifully drew up a report for his sister and Tarlek Industries’ board of managers. He also organized his notes on the various wood products available through TarKili and other regional timber producers. After some thought, he sent a quick, coded message to Seelah with a copy of the textile information and his expenses, omitting the night at the brothel. Everything else the light-brown-and-tan-striped reptile kept in his memory. He didn’t think Prince Kalaki had a way to access his private data pack and work pad, but he didn’t trust Kalaki not to snoop, either. Tartai wanted to be shed of this whole foolish mess and thought fondly of going back to Schree’s Rest, climbing onto the logging transport, and disappearing into the woods for a sixt or so. Reesh’s behavior spooked him more than he wanted to admit.
They think the nobility can fix anything. Tartai knew better, had assumed that everyone knew better, and now he stared a talkak in the muzzle. Because so many of the Azdhagi he met wanted—no, almost needed—the Great Lords and Lineage heads to make the major decisions. Once he got away from the city, well, people trusted their Lineage more than they trusted their neighbors. I think I underestimated the power of the Pack. We’ve lived and died in packs since our ancestors first crawled out of the oceans, or wherever we came from, and we still need a pack of some sort. He’d forgotten h
ow strange Schree’s Rest and Mountain’s Edge seemed to the vast majority of Azdhagi. Which means Kalaki is chasing shadows and seeing shardi in the bushes. And so are the Great Lords, for that matter. He rolled onto his back and groaned quietly.
The next day, as Tartai offered prayers to whoever or whatever made rough air smooth, and Dak-lee contemplated ways to sneak around his uncle, the master carpenter Sheenaki and Tek-Zhi’s sister, Zhikaree, signed the papers registering their decision to become mates. Green-and-yellow Zhikaree seemed a touch distracted because Tek-Zhi had not responded to her and their parents’ messages for the past sixt. His absence struck Sheenaki as odd, but it wouldn’t be the first time Tek-Zhi gone on the road and forgotten that the rest of the planet existed.
When Tartai returned to the governor’s palace, he found Dak-lee not-quite pacing. “Shizara’s upset because her brother’s mate’s brother has vanished and there are rumors that he’s been arrested for treason. But I can’t find anything and no one will talk to me,” the crown prince fumed. “Damn it, what is going on?”
Tartai took that as a warning and approached Kalaki with great care, waiting until after the governor had finished with the last of the day’s schedule business to report to Kalaki’s office.
“Were you successful, Lord Tarkeela?”
Tartai bowed a little. “Yes, thank you, Your Highness. You are correct, there is nothing like having a ranking member of the Lineage present to smooth business difficulties and to ease people’s concerns about policy and procedure.”
“Excellent! Would that all Azdhagi took your words to heart, Lord Tarkeela,” Kalaki gushed. But his eyes and posture did not match his tone of voice. “I fear some reptiles refuse to learn what should be obvious to all loyal members of the Lineage and Pack.”
Tartai swirled his tail a little and made a slight forefoot gesture of appeasement. “Sometimes only hard experience can persuade them, Your Highness.”
“Indeed.” Kalaki got up from his worktable. “If you will excuse me?”
Tartai bowed almost as low as he would have to Dak-lee. “Of course, Your Highness. Forgive me for imposing on your busy schedule.” He waited until Kalaki’s tail vanished through the dark doorway behind the platform and desk before rising again. Something’s up. Something as rotten as five-moon-dead, storm-killed shootee. And he and Dak-lee seemed to be in the middle of it, one way or another. Hell, the way Dak-lee approaches things, he probably stepped in that carcass, then rolled in it just to make certain it was as bad as it seemed.
Tartai logged into the official message system and flinched. A desperate message from Schree’s Rest, forwarded through Seelah, led the top of his list. Lord Daesarae’s men were blocking all ground transport in and out of the town, and threatening to blow aircraft out of the sky unless the settlement accepted his rule. Seelah added that Daesarae and Peitak had troops on the way to NightLast and Mountain’s Edge, or so she’d been told. “I’m taking Tarlah to safety.”
Damn Dak-lee and his family to the four hells. I need to be with my mate and junior! Tartai pounded the bolster on the sleeping platform with his tail until stuffing leaked out of the seams.
Tahdak wondered if he should kill Daesarae outright for disobeying orders, or just cripple and blind him as an example. Both options appealed greatly to the King-Emperor as he listened to the reports from Schree’s Rest. Ostensibly, Daesarae’s men had established roadblocks in order to stop stolen wood and crops from being hauled in and out of the village. Everyone with an eighth of a brain knew better—he was trying to force the settlement to capitulate to his overlordship, and this despite Tahdak warning him repeatedly not to push matters.
Tahdak and Lord Defender Brreetai watched the latest images from the surveillance satellite. “Piss poor discipline, your Majesty.”
“Agreed, Brreetai. Your incoming cadet class could do better setting up and maintaining that roadblock.”
The big green-and-tan soldier adjusted the display, zooming in on the vehicles in question. He snorted. “A pack of five-turns juniors could do better, although,” and he failed to suppress a toothy grin fast enough. They caught sight of a puff of dust from the corner of the image just before a tree crashed down on the rearmost transport. Brreetai’s eyes narrowed and he grunted. “Who’s trapping whom, your Majesty?”
Tahdak’s eyes narrowed and his spines rose a talon-width. “Enough of this. Daesarae has four hours to remove the roadblocks and get his men out of the way. If he’s still there, clear the road, Brreetai, however you see fit. I’ll see about Daesarae personally. And remind the others to stay out of this, unless they too want to see what happens when they trespass on royal property.” Because, according to the documents Prince Archivist Seedak had found, Schree’s Rest, Mountain’s Edge, NightLast, and two other enclaves had been declared to be under royal protection by Seetoh just after Lord Tarkeela’s murder. None of Seetoh’s descendants had lifted that protection. I wonder why he left out Zhangki City? Oh, because it predates the unification, so the grant has become automatic and they manage their own defense, that’s right.
Tahdak left Brreetai to see to things while he returned to his workroom. He’d already composed his message for Daesarae. And had sent word to Great Lords Blee, Sheedak, and Diisch. The time had come for the Pack to intervene.
“Three, two, one, run!” As the tree started plunging down onto the vehicles, its trunk severed by saws and a touch of explosive, Schleek and Peelak ran as fast as they could through the belly-deep snow, kicking up an unmistakable cloud of white. The two males headed for a dense stand of red-stem, also known as “travellers’ peril” bush. With Daesarae’s men hard on their tails, the two split up and went around the back-high plants.
“Cut them off! There,” Schleek heard, and he grinned. They’d had a quick freeze, then a thaw and a light snow. The snow hid many of the landscape’s dangers, including . . .
Splash! He heard at least three people falling through the thin ice into very deep, cold water full of tough red-stems. Peelak saw him on the other side of the pond and flashed an answering grin before veering off to the weak-side. Schleek followed him to their camouflaged observation shelter.
“That should keep them busy for a while,” Schleek panted quietly, his breath steaming.
“Aye. Daesarae doesn’t hire for smarts, does he?” Anyone with any sense went carefully in this part of the woods, so close to the Great Swamp. If the males got out of the pond, they’d probably lose tail tips—and possibly other things—to winter-bite. If they didn’t get out of the pond, well, the foresters would send the bodies to Daesarae after the thaw, if they found anything. “You know, I really have trouble believing that all of Daesarae’s bullies are this stupid.”
Schleek, warming his feet on a small heater, grunted. “After tonight, I think we’ll have cleared out the last of the dumb ones. But yeah. I wonder if these are the same fur-brains who lost the fight with Tartai and drove into the swamp after?”
“Possible.” Peelak had considered the possibility that this was all a distraction from something worse, like a direct attack on Schree’s Rest, then dismissed the thought. Even Daesarae had limits to what he could do, and King-Emperor Tahdak had made it clear that if anyone touched the Defenders’ post near the town, they’d be explaining themselves to all the judges of hell. Too bad he doesn’t worry about us like he worries about his troops.
They’d dropped trees on two of Daesarae’s vehicles, and humiliated his men, but they had not launched a full attack against the noble’s troops yet. Peelak hoped that Beeltal was right, and that Daesarae would be stupid enough to attack first, thus allowing Schree’s Rest to act in clear self-defense. That Daesarae’s men had more energy weapons than the people of Schree’s Rest went unsaid.
Eighty kliqs south, as the birds flew, Great Lord Daesarae listened to the message from his liege lord and snorted with derision. The dark green noble turned off the communications link and stretched before returning to more urgent tasks, such as pla
nning on how to divide the lands formerly assigned to Schree’s Rest. Tahdak might have found something in the archives—or, more likely, made up something purportedly from the archives—about the land being a crown grant, but possession was ten tenths of the law. “Idiots. It’s for the benefit of the Pack,” Daesarae said yet again.
Independent towns only hurt the Pack. Without proper leadership, trouble followed like a talkak stalking wounded shootee. Without the so-called Free Towns, the delusion that Azdhagi could survive outside the Lineages and the Pack would disappear. Daesarae knew history and had read his Lineage’s records from before the Great Relocation. It was the Lineages that had opposed the genetic modifications, and the independent towns and cities that embraced the abomination, with horrific results. Daesarae drew a few lines on the map projection and wondered if it would be better to capture all the juniors under eight year-turns and leave the adults to make their way in the woods after he settled the town with his own people, loyal to his Lineage. The juniors would grow up properly, and those who earned it could join the Lineage through marriage or indenture. The more Daesarae thought about the idea, the more it pleased him.
Of course, first he had to clear out Schree’s Rest. He’d been more than patient, but time had come. “Ro,” he called, and his body servant appeared in the doorway.
“My winter robes and armor.” The small reptile rushed off, returning promptly with heavy robes and footcovers in winter-grey, armor, and Daesarae’s personal weapons. As he dressed, the noble sighed. He always had to lead by example, and it irritated him. His heir remained too young to do the job, and he didn’t trust his armsmen not to destroy the property and goods that Daesarae claimed as his by right of protection. He could easily imagine someone deciding to smoke out the rebels by lighting the entire timber depot on fire, sending millions of tsus worth of Daesarae’s wood up in smoke.
