Justice and Juniors (A Cat Among Dragons Book 2)

by Alma Boykin

  Despite the resupply vessel’s propulsion problem, a transiting scout ship obtained permission to dock in the Rakla da Kavalle. The journeyman on duty marched up to the ship and glared at the new arrival as the scout ship’s hatch faded, revealing a very bare interior. The pilot stood up and walked towards him. “Did you not get the broadcast?” the journeyman demanded, his breath steaming in the frigid air. Energy from the landing bay had been diverted to the repairs, leaving the cavernous space just a few degrees above freezing.

  The scout folded her arms and nodded. A banging sound echoed through the hold aft of the landing area. The scout turned to see the source of the noise and the journeyman caught sight of a waist-length plait of very pale brown hair swinging free behind the scout’s head. He gulped. “Ah, my apologies Mistress.”

  “Accepted, Journeyman,” she replied, her tone gracious and forgiving. “I received the transmission but as I merely wish to leave a contact and data list, I do not believe that I will be interfering with any repairs or necessary work.”

  “No, Mistress, not at all,” he assured her. “If you would come this way?”

  “I am of da Malnavi,” she told him as they walked to his work area. At this time, Tarqina da Kavalle and da Malnavi operated together, so Rada’s request made sense. Scouts gave their information to the Elders as often as possible, in case of accidents, further reinforcing her cover story. Rada took mental notes as the pair wound their way through at least a dozen other scout ships. She spotted two sets of cargo pods, one attached to a transport and one sitting by itself beside a bulkhead.

  As they reached the main computer access terminal, the journeyman stopped. “Forgive me, Mistress da Malnavi,” he began. “The computers are powered down. It will take a moment for me to establish a connection,” and he cringed as Rada frowned.

  “Do what you must,” she ordered. Rada allowed a hint of anger into her expression, then resumed her earlier façade of polite neutrality. Trademasters and mistresses never, ever lost control of their emotions. The journeyman ducked, rushing the power-up sequence so badly that he had to start over. As he did, Rada calculated the distance to the pods, entering the numbers into her data-link. By the time the journeyman finally got the computer engaged, Rada had sent the information to the Dark Hart. Rada suspected that the cold, plus the journeyman’s nerves, caused part of the problem and she decided to show a little mercy. It would also put him further into her debt, and get him out of the landing bay. “If you need to attend to other matters elsewhere, I will remain here and deposit my data. It should not take long once the system is warmed up.”

  The tall, pale young man hesitated. He’d been ordered to remain in the hold, but had not been warned how cold it might become. Rada sensed his dilemma and gave him a very slight mental nudge, not enough for him to notice. He decided that his senior did not intend for him to freeze to death. “Thank you, Mistress. I will return momentarily, should you have any difficulties,” and he vanished before Rada could answer. She nodded gravely. The cameras and audio recorders in the landing hold, and the Traders watching the images, would only see what they expected.

  Not thirty seconds after the journeyman departed, Rada heard footsteps approaching from behind one of the other scout ships. Aw blast it, she growled silently. A male Trader appeared, saw Rada, and frowned. “Who are you and what are you doing?”

  “I am of da Malnavi and I am making a data and contact deposit before continuing on my way,” Rada informed him. The computer hissed and Rada turned, entering her data into the Tarqi’s clan records. She had not lied. Rada and the Dark Hart had visited some locations the other Traders had not, and she added some highly edited information into the system, mostly safety data. But she also uploaded a small present for anyone who tried to track or backtrack her after she left. The scout waited until she finished, watching her intently, his grey eyes narrow with concentration. “Is there difficulty?” Rada inquired after completing her upload.

  “You are small.”

  “I am small,” she agreed. “Thus I am a far-ranging scout.” Far-rangers took the most dangerous of missions and suffered the highest casualty rate of any Traders. It also implied that Rada was not permitted to breed.

  “Very well,” the scout stepped back, allowing her to pass. Rada noticed that he followed her, and wondered how she could lose him or chase him out of the landing hold. Maybe it’s time for that little surprise I’ve been planning, and she loosened the flap catch on one of her belt pouches.

  “ScreeEEEEEE,” a piercing alarm whistle cut through the cold air. The floor rocked under Rada’s boots. Both she and the scout lost their footing and she scrambled for a grip as the Rakla da Kavalle shuddered and listed. “You know, this might not have been such a good idea,” she muttered under her breath. Rada got to all fours and crawled towards the ‘Hart as her ears began popping. Atmosphere loss. Oh sod it! Either someone f’ed up beyond belief, or the Rakla just got hit by debris. Behind her, the man cursed, then saved his breath as he hurried to reach one of the emergency oxygen tanks on the bulkhead. Oh gnardbites, fewmets, no, no, no, Rada chanted as she reached for one of the cargo latches in the deck, using it to gain purchase so she could get to her feet as the Rakla shuddered again and alarms blatted. Hull breach means emergency launches means I’m about to get caught.She did not know the current protocols and launch directions.

  “Here!” and the scout grabbed Rada, clamping an oxygen mask over her face. “Where’s your ship?” She pointed, ducking her head so he couldn’t get a good view of her face. “Good. Go,” and he stopped, staring at her again. He reached for her chin.

  When his bare hand touched her skin, a spark seemed to jump between them. Rada recoiled and the scout drew back as well. “Who are you?” he gasped.

  She shook her head. “A far-ranger. See to your ship,” she warned him. He turned, giving her time to run the last few meters to the ‘Hart. It had been calculating the micro jump necessary to reach the unattached cargo pods as soon as Rada entered their location into her data pad. She flung herself into the pilot’s seat and shut the door before the scout could catch her.

  She and the symbiote meshed minds for the most difficult jump of their lives thus far. Rada focused on the pods as the creature pulled energy into the ship while avoiding the energy draw from the Rakla and the other scout vessels. Together they and the computers maneuvered the ‘Hart past the other scout ships and under the pod, as the Rakla moved around them. The entry thinned and Rada darted out, slapping the pods’ interlocks into the exterior surface of her vessel. She caught a quick glimpse of the scout trying to reach his own ship, or perhaps to catch her, but she dove back inside the ‘Hart and began an emergency jump sequence.

  Three years earlier and tens of light years away, Rada opened her eyes. The computer display showed that they’d landed on a planet with a nice oxygen-rich atmosphere, standard gravity, and no large animals nearby. The symbiote opened the entrance, revealing a meadow. The Wanderer-hybrid emerged from the ship and peered around. The pods remained affixed to the Dark Hart. On closer examination, she found that no one had yet put claim chips or tags onto the pods, rendering them untraceable. Rada bounced up and down in a little victory dance.

  All at once she dropped to her knees, retching. The local time threads twisted and warped as another scout ship appeared too close to the ‘Hart, causing a violent physical reaction in Rada’s gut. Before she could recover, the grey-eyed scout stormed up to her. “What did you think you were doing? You could have,” he stopped and backed up as she retched again. Rada swallowed against the foul taste in her mouth and looked up at him, her eyes streaming. “You OK?”

  She shook her head, teeth clenched against another wave of illness. She sensed the symbiote’s own misery and it made her feel worse. A hard jump, followed by an emergency jump, and then the other ship’s arrival, hurt both pilot and symbiote. The Trader scout retreated, much to Rada’s relief. She braced her hands against the cool, damp ground and hung he
r head, waiting for the latest wave of nausea to subside. She heard footsteps returning and the Trader said, “Here, drink this.”

  Rada shook her head again. “No, thanks. Can’t risk it.” She concentrated on breathing through her nose, telling her stomach that it could stop writhing now.

  “It’s just mint water.” He waved the bottle under her nose. “You know that you need to drink something.” Rada sat up, shaking her head. The man stared at her. “Your eyes. What happened to your eyes?”

  Rada blinked. Oh fewmets, my contacts washed out! Even in pure Wanderer form, her eye color gave her away. She prevaricated. “Long story. Sorry about the bad jump. I’ll make repayment once the Rakla is safe and all is calculated,” she promised. Should she plead with him not to tell anyone? Or should she kill him? He wouldn’t be expecting an attack, not now, and she could kill him clean. She eased her hand back until it rested on the butt of her holdout gun.

  The scout’s next words shocked her into immobility. “You’re not a Trader, are you? You’re a Wanderer under contract, like me.” He spoke in Wanderer, the source language for Trader, and Rada struggled to follow his words. He reached up, undid something behind his ears and tugged his hair loose, removing a wig to reveal short, dark, gold-streaked brown hair.

  “Yes,” Rada managed, seizing the explanation. “Too much hair for a wig so I use bleach.” And false external ears, and contact lenses, and gloves if necessary, she added well behind her shields.

  The scout peered into the Dark Hart and waved at the symbiote. An orange-brown blob pressed against the side of the tank before disappearing again into the translucent life-support fluid. “Ugh. That’s the barest interior I’ve seen in quite a while. Are you in debt?”

  “No, just between refits. Although I may well be in debt after my rapid departure.” I’m in Debt over my head, which is worth as much on its own as it is still attached to the rest of me, Rada snarled to herself. Not that the Debt Collector would bother with me.

  He shook his head and offered Rada a hand to stand, along with the bottle of mint-water. “At least five of us bailed out. The tightwads on the Rakla didn’t provide enough emergency gear for the scouts and the crew. Once the hull breached, everyone who could fled in every direction, back and forwards. No collisions yet, thanks be.”

  Rada swallowed some of the mint water and shivered. “I’ve felt the aftermath of a collision. Once was more than sufficient.”

  The two agreed on their stories, should anyone from da Malnavi or da Kavalle track their ships. They did not exchange names. He did not offer and Rada didn’t inquire. Rada returned the empty bottle. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He gazed down at her face again. “You have such pretty eyes. Good travels and quiet wandering,” he told Rada, turning to go.

  “Bright stars, smooth threads, and quiet wandering,” she replied. Rada entered the Dark Hart and closed the door, letting the ship act as shielding from the scout’s departure. Then she programmed a mid-distance jump to another safe destination, staying well clear of any tracks or traces of other time ships.

  As Rada inspected the transport pods again later, she wondered why she’d trusted the Wanderer. She should not have. She should have killed him as soon as she could, to protect herself and the Dark Hart, be he Wanderer or Trader. But something about him had seemed familiar. She mulled over the scene before filing it away in her memories. That was twice she’d trusted strangers, and but it would be the last time.

  Far on the outer edge of the same spiral arm, a Wanderer scout thought about the woman with silver-grey eyes. She reminded him of something another scout had talked about, something to do with the planet they called Ka’atia. Perhaps he would go visit Ka’atia once he finished his contract with da Malnavi and see what he could see. Or perhaps not. He turned his mind to other things.

  4: Pack Law

  Drakon IV – 768 AGR (3668AD)

  The recall caught Rada by surprise. “Teetasha hates me,” she thought aloud. “So why does he need to meet me, and why there?”

  After dropping Zabet off at a Mart, Rada had originally intended to visit Master Thomas and catch him up on her latest doings. Instead, as she programmed the route into the Dark Hart, an urgent message appeared on the primary computer display. “Commander Rada Lord Ni Drako, Lord Defender, your presence is urgently required on Drakon IV. By my talon and seal, Great Lord Teetasha, Minister of War.” A list of precise coordinates followed. Teetasha wanted Rada to come to the northern edge of the Kirlin lands, ten years after she’d departed Drakon IV.

  Rada hesitated. “I’m not being paranoid: they are out to kill me,” she told the creature that helped run the timeship. However, since Teetasha called her in his role as Minister of War, it could well be something important. But why not the Palace-Capitol, if matters were critical? “Because the King-Emperor is also paranoid,” she sighed. No, not paranoid in the way she was, but very sensitive to challenges to his position. He’d never forgiven her for learning about the Southern Continent, and after that she’d found it easier to perform her duties from afar, relaying information to the Minister of War and to Defender Kai, her second-in-command, as appropriate. However, if Tateesha needed her, then duty demanded that she return to Drakon IV.

  Rada landed on Drakon IV and emerged from the Dark Hart fully armed and ready for an ambush. Instead she found two very concerned Great Lords waiting for her, both unarmed and without their usual retinues. “Good,” Kirlin growled. “You are the last witness we needed, Ni Drako.” He thumped his tail onto the sandy ground and gestured toward a ground transport vehicle. “We’re meeting in the hunting house.”

  Before she could ask, Teetasha explained, “We are the quorum of the Great Lords, Lord Defender. You are a neutral party who needs to be present to observe.”

  Rada folded her arms across her chest. “I will have no part of treason,” she warned the two Azdhagi.

  A humorless grunt escaped Teetasha’s oddly narrow muzzle. “No fears in that segment, Lord Ni Drako. There is no treason possible when the Pack meets.” Something about his words raised the fur on her neck.

  Rada followed the two Great Lords to their transport and levered herself into the back, bracing with her walking cane since the safety straps were too long for her narrow torso. As the vehicle lifted up and began moving, Rada sorted through some mental files.

  The ideogram for “pack” remained unchanged since long before the Great Relocation, or so she’d learned decades ago. One strong central upstroke and a crossing stroke two-thirds from the top of the line dominated the character. Below the cross stroke, six smaller up strokes, three on each side, angled in towards the crossing point. “This is the root,” the Palace archivist had explained, using his talon to circle the central strokes. “It means, hmm” he had leaned back, rubbing under his muzzle. “Unity of decision, but not in the sense of an individual making a decision. The supporting figures reinforce that, with an understanding that they are also under the, not protection exactly, and more than authority because it includes an aspect of mutuality...” He’d rumpled his tail in a shrug and made a vague, waving forefoot gesture. It had no translatable meaning, like so many of the oldest Azdhag words.

  Kirlin spoke to the forward view screen. “Ni Drako, what do you know of the Pack Law?”

  “I know that it exists, great my lord,” she replied. “Azdhag internal governance has never been a topic to which I have given much study.” The words came out awkwardly. Rada knew that she needed to stay in better practice with Azdhag; once forgotten, the language did not return easily.

  “You explain,” Teetasha told Kirlin. “You are more familiar with the traditions than I am.” Rada’s eyes widened at hearing a great lord admit weakness of any kind.

  Grey-green Kirlin whunfed out a deep breath. “Pack law is the oldest law. It,” he stopped. “You must understand, Ni Drako, Azdhagi arose from pack-dwelling ancestors. The pack was all. It decided life and death, supported pack members, govern
ed territories, settled disputes, everything. The strongest male acted as pack leader, later as pack lord once the packs became lineages.”

  “That makes sense, great my lord,” Rada agreed.

  “To condense several thousand years of history, after the Great Relocation, the packs faded in importance.”

  Teetasha interjected, “The King-Emperor and the needs of the reduced population eclipsed the packs. ‘Many Azdhagi, one Pack’ was the proclamation.”

  Kirlin continued, “Be that as it may, to this day Pack Law undergirds and supports Azdhag civil and criminal law. Pack Law supersedes royal edict.”

  That made Rada blink. Before she could ask, the hovercraft sank into a landing slot beside a brick and wood building. “And here we are,” Kirlin announced. “Sunblast’s hunting house.”

  Rada followed the two nobles inside the very old building. She wanted to study the structure, the first brick building she could recall seeing outside the Azdhagi cities. Instead she found herself facing the entire cohort of Great Lords, all seated in a large circle. She bowed.

  “Well met,” old Lord Blee grated. “Now we are complete.” He gestured with his long tail to a low, square table with a cushion on it. Rada took the hint and sat as Kirlin and Teetasha took their places on benches. “To review. Shai-lak refuses to name an heir from among his offspring or near male relatives. Such uncertainty endangers the stability and order of the Pack.”

  Rada thought hard, trying to recall the ages of the King-Emperor’s offspring. The oldest would be, what, twelve year-turns? Yes, that would be it.