by S. H. Jucha
Julien noticed Alex’s strong, relaxed stride. He matched it, projected an ancient tricorne hat, and issued the sound of fifes and drums to keep cadence with their steps.
The Daelon Independents had yet to become accustomed to Julien’s creative behaviors, but the SADE’s mannerisms made Alex Racine smile, and he’d freed them from their incarceration on the dead moon. Therefore, no sleep was lost over their wonderment.
Julien attributed Alex’s easy manner to the many pieces of his plan coming together, which allowed him to make gains toward his personal goal — locating the Nua’ll home world or, at least, the next Nua’ll sphere. That Alex’s people, who had supported him for years, were once again in close alliance with him allowed Alex to delegate with confidence, and it showed in his demeanor. To Julien’s eye, Alex seemed to have accepted the fact that a life of leisure and relaxation would not be his for many decades to come, if ever.
The pair entered a bay where Tatia stood by with four travelers, the ship’s pilots, and those who would accompany Alex planetside. It was an example of Julien’s previous thoughts. Alex told Tatia what he intended to do, and she took care of the details. She was the perfect interpreter between Alex’s needs and those of his people, who often had contrary opinions to Alex’s plans, especially where it concerned his safety.
“Going with us, Tatia?” Alex asked.
“I thought I should meet the Dischnya. Between your comments and the rumors circulating around the fleet, we might be working closely with the queens and their warriors,” Tatia replied.
“You never know,” Alex quipped and climbed aboard.
“That’s what worries me,” Tatia mumbled behind Alex’s back.
Julien, who heard Tatia’s response, smiled at her, and Tatia replied sarcastically, “Nice hat.” Julien, who had shut down his music in the airlock, returned to playing it.
The four travelers exited the bay, and, within a half hour, Darius Gaumata set Alex’s traveler down on Julien’s coordinates, and the other three pilots arranged their ships, as the SADE directed.
The warriors of the Tawas Soma, Nyslara’s nest, were busily preparing for the second Fissla, the queens’ conference, when they witnessed the landing of four Haraken shuttles, a fewer number than had previously carried the emissaries to invite the queens to the first Fissla.
Nyslara barked to Sissya and Homsaff, two queens whose nests bordered hers and had journeyed quickly to join Nyslara at the request of her emissaries. The three queens, with their wasats in tow, hurried to greet the Harakens.
“Only four ships, Dassata?” Nyslara asked.
“The giant ship above, the first ship I brought to Sawa Messa, and six shuttles, Nyslara, are all I own,” Alex replied.
“What of the other ships above and their shuttles, Dassata?” Pussiro asked.
“I’m not Haraken anymore, Pussiro. I’ve left the world of my people.”
The lips of the Dischnya principals wrinkled in confusion. Dassata is more alien than his own soma, Nyslara thought.
“If the Dischnya and the Swei Swee allow the Harakens and my soma to live on this planet,” Alex continued, “I have the necessary resources to build more ships and bring our technology to this world.”
Alex’s words calmed Nyslara. The queen realized that the Dischnya’s limited way of life had them thinking of technology as a constantly dwindling resource. In contrast, Dassata spoke of creating ships as easily as hunters and females gathered roots.
Homsaff eyed Tatia, her body shape similar to Dassata but expressing an obviously robust, feminine figure and topped by curls of fur in Nessila’s color. She whispered a comment to Nyslara and Sissya, which set Alex laughing.
When Tatia raised an eyebrow at Alex, he translated. “Young Queen Homsaff is impressed with you, Admiral. She believes that if you had tail and teeth, you could be a Dischnya queen.”
“Queens and wasats,” Alex said, “allow me to introduce Admiral Tatia Tachenko. An admiral is what you would consider a wasat, except that she commands our fighting ships and our warriors.”
The queens and wasats spared a second look for Tatia. A wasat, who commanded alien ships and warriors, was impressive. But a wasat, who commanded such power and was female, was astounding and yet delightfully illuminating to the queens. In that moment, Homsaff got a glimpse of her future — that of a warrior queen — and she chuffed in pleasure.
Tatia sensed the young queen’s favorable reaction to the introduction and smiled broadly in response, forgetting the admonishments concerning Dischnya amenities.
Two wasats bristled at the affront, but Nyslara growled a reprimand. In response to the admiral’s expression, Nyslara chuffed in humor and broke out her teeth.
Tatia’s teeth were no match for the queen’s. Instead, she made her point in her own way. She stepped forward and extended a hand to Nyslara, recognizing this time that she was ignoring another restriction and smiled again. Amid the wasats’ soft snarls, Nyslara glanced at Alex, who clasped his hands together and nodded.
Nyslara twigged to the admiral’s invitation. The female wasat was testing her, as queens often did to each other. She reached out her hand, and hard-nailed, furred fingers were enclosed by pink, hairless ones. Nyslara felt the crushing power of the admiral’s grip, which stopped short of hurting her. Her lips curled even farther from her teeth, crediting the female’s display of strength. “Admiral,” Nyslara acknowledged with a dip of her head.
“Chona,” Tatia replied, dipping hers.
“If you two are finished with your female bonding,” Alex commented drily, “I have business to conduct,” which caused both females to give him their version of smiles — both eerily similar in their lupine nature. “Are you ready, Nyslara?” Alex asked.
“We are, Dassata,” Nyslara replied. “My emissaries need only know when the Fissla will be held, so they might inform the queens.”
“Later today, Nyslara,” Alex replied.
When the brows of the Dischnya wrinkled in confusion, Alex added, “The emissaries will invite the queens and their wasats to board our ships and return here. Your tents and preparations must be ready by then.”
“Dassata is in a hurry,” Sissya said.
“There is much to do, Sissya,” Alex agreed.
Pussiro stepped back a few paces and barked commands at his warriors. Most blinked in surprise at the orders, but then they hurried to obey. A warrior loped over to an open tunnel hatch and relayed the command. Soon, more soma poured out onto the plains and hurried to help set up the tents.
Tatia eyed Pussiro when he stepped back into the group and nodded politely, and Pussiro nodded in return, accepting the admiration of one wasat to another at the competence of command.
“When Dassata is ready, my emissaries will board his three ships and collect the queens,” Nyslara said. “Have you an idea how long this Fissla might last?”
“The queens will be returned to their nests by the setting of Nessila on the following day.”
The answer was entirely unexpected, and the queens exchanged glances of concern. But Nyslara sought to support the sense of urgency. “The emissaries will be informed, Dassata. We will travel with you to request Posnossa join us before we speak to the seven queens who chose not to join the last Fissla.”
When Alex nodded, Pussiro stepped back, barked a series of commands, and thirty Dischnya warriors pou
red out of various tunnel entrances, carrying their oversized, blue and white, jagged-striped, emissary masks. They lined up at a respectful distance from the queens, and Nyslara addressed them. Her instructions were clear and simple, but that didn’t stop a good many, great-clawed feet shifting in discomfort.
Nyslara was about to bark at her warriors, but a touch of Pussiro’s hand on her elbow halted her. The wasat glanced toward Alex, who had monitored Nyslara’s orders.
Alex was frowning, recognizing the hesitancy of the emissaries to direct the queens and wasats of other nests to board alien craft to attend a Fissla. They were simple messengers, not equals to the exalted Dischnya they would address.
“Might I say something, Nyslara?” Alex asked, responding to Pussiro’s implied invitation. When the queen agreed, Alex stepped over to walk the line of assembled emissaries like he was addressing troops, and the twins kept pace with him.
“A queen will need to hear a valid reason from you to climb aboard our ships to come immediately to this Fissla. In this case, your message is simple. Please tell a queen that the choice is hers. If she wishes an end to the fighting among the nests; if she wishes to bring her soma out of the tunnels and into Nessila’s light so that they might live in comfort; and if she wishes to possess the facilities, which we can offer, then it’s necessary to board the ship now. And you have one final message for any queen who chooses not to agree. If the Fissla is short one queen, Dassata will take his soma and great ships and be gone before Nessila rises again, and all will be lost to the Dischnya.”
The queens’ sharp intakes of breath caused the wasats to stare at them with concern. Nyslara glanced toward the admiral, whose returning stare was stone cold.
Nyslara walked over to stand beside Alex, who had finished walking the line of emissaries. “Your chona adds these instructions,” Nyslara said. “If a queen fails to heed Dassata’s request, you’re to inform his soma, and they’ll communicate this to him. Then the queens will pay a visit to this foolish Dischnya female.”
The lips of the emissaries wrinkled in humor in response to Nyslara’s comments. The underlying message was that every queen would attend the Fissla, one way or another.
Nyslara divided the emissaries into three groups and sent them to board the shuttles that Alex pointed out to her.
The warriors raced across the ground to the waiting ships, and Tatia took note of the speed with which they moved. When she commented to Julien, the SADE sent back,
When Nyslara rejoined the other queens and wasats, she whispered to Pussiro, “Dassata’s command of the Dischnya tongue has greatly improved. Yet, he’s been gone from us.”
Pussiro tapped a dark-nailed finger to his head. It was their equivalent of the means by which the Dassata’s soma spoke through their minds. They had discussed this concept many times, late into the evening. It was their opinion that if the aliens could communicate their thoughts, then they could learn that way too. In fact, the two Dischnya supposed that more than words might be shared. Pussiro had chuffed at Nyslara, saying “A wasat could be a great commander with this technology.”
Nyslara had replied, “But who would you be fighting, my mate, if peace comes to Sawa Messa?”
“None on this planet, my queen,” Pussiro replied. “But who does Dassata intend to fight? He speaks of the great sphere that landed on Sawa Messa before the Dischnya came.”
“You would fight for Dassata?” asked Nyslara, a combination of interest and trepidation in her voice.
“I’ve been a warrior all my life, my queen. The soma who report to me are warriors. When peace comes, what will we do? I’ve given this much thought. The Dischnya’s future lies with our hunters, our females, and their pups, who will learn the Dassata’s technology. Who knows what worlds they will visit and what cultures they will create? But for many of us, who’ve spent our lives fighting other nests, what life is there for us in peace?”
“Warriors without a war,” Nyslara lamented.
* * *
When Julien requested guidance to Posnossa’s nest, Fossem Soma, Nyslara informed him that it was the place where her emissary, Haffas, was killed by the former queen. Julien accessed the Sojourn’s data archives, pulled the coordinates, and relayed them to Commander Gaumata.
The trip to Posnossa’s nest was quick. When the traveler landed, only Nyslara and Pussiro exited the ship to wait in its cool shadow. Sissya and Homsaff stayed aboard with their wasats. It wasn’t long before Posnossa bounded out of a lookout tunnel hatch and stretched her long legs to cover the distance to the ship. Her wasat loped beside her.
After a brief conversation, Posnossa barked a few commands to her lookouts. Then Posnossa and her wasat followed Nyslara and Pussiro aboard the shuttle.
Alex then directed their flight to the first of the four nests whose queens had acquiesced to the alien’s presence, even though they’d refused to attend the first Fissla. When Darius set the traveler down at the nest’s edge, only the queens and their wasats exited the hatch, and the eight Dischnya waited until the resident queen, her wasat, and several warriors climbed carefully out of a tunnel entrance.
The two groups met in the middle of the open ground and a lengthy conversation ensued. The nest’s queen argued with Nyslara, and her warriors tightened their hands on their weapons. Finally, the resident wasat barked several commands and the warriors retreated. Now, five queens and five wasats stepped quickly toward the shuttle, although, at the last moment, the local Dischnya did need a bit of coaxing to climb aboard.
And, so it went, for the next three nests, the original four queens and four wasats would exit, a discussion would take place with the local queen, and then she and her wasat would join the group. Each time, Nyslara returned aboard with the newly enrolled Dischnya, she’d march to the front of the ship, stand beside Alex, and deliver a feral grin of success.
At the first of the three nests whose soma fought against the alien invaders until the Harakens retreated, Alex changed the procedure. He joined the queens and wasats when they exited, standing beside Nyslara while they waited. The twins stood slightly in front of Alex and Nyslara, as there was no room left between the two leaders.
The wait stretched for nearly an hour before fully twenty warriors, armed with crossbows, leapt out of a tunnel hatch and arrayed themselves against the invaders. Slowly and carefully, a grizzled warrior eased out of the lookout opening and gazed around. The view was intimidating. Arrayed in front of them were queens, wasats, aliens, and a strange ship. The local wasat stepped free of the hatch to help an aging queen and a young female climb out.
When the warriors advanced alongside the nest’s elderly queen, Pussiro barked harshly and the group halted. Nyslara added her commands, and the tableau was frozen. The queens with Alex thrashed their tails, impatience exhibited in the frenetic motions.
In Homsaff’s exuberance, the young queen, who stood at Dassata’s side, swung her tail dramatically and its tip struck Dassata’s calves. She knew the strike would mark his flesh, despite the coverings he wore, and her eyes were wary and wide as she gazed up at him. To her relief, Dassata bestowed his strange baring of teeth on her and laid a hand on her neck, shaking it lightly in remonstration, but not in a hurtful manner. Afterwards, Homsaff was careful where she swung her tail, not wishing to repeat the offense. She considered the possibility that Dassata might not be so forgiving the next time she marked him.
A decision made, the nest’s elderly queen hissed at her wasat, who handed off his weapon, and his warriors backed away. Three local Dischnya came forward alone, a queen, a wasat, and a young female.
The local queen attempted to rise fully on her legs, but they shook with the effort and she had to be content with settling back down. A soft snarl of disgust issued from her muzzle. “I’m Chona Seelam, Mossnos Soma,” the queen said. “This is my heir, Choslora, and my wasat, Hessmas.” Both Dischnya rose to thei
r full heights at the introduction. “It was my fear that you would return,” Seelam added, and her stare was directed at Alex.
“Chona Seelam, I’m Chona Nyslara, Tawas Soma. This is Dassata, leader of the aliens. We come to invite you to a Fissla to end the fighting and lift our soma out of their tunnels.”
Seelam directed her rheumy eyes to Nyslara, who had been gracious enough not to rise on her hind legs to announce herself. “So, I heard from your emissary the first time, Chona Nyslara, and still I chose not to attend.” Seelam returned to observing the alien leader. “I feared many of my warriors dead when your kind raided my tunnels, but they recovered. I knew then that your weapons were more powerful and yet more kind than the Dischnya’s, but I’m much too old to embrace your ways, Dassata.”
Seelam hissed to Hessmas, her wasat, and the battle-scarred commander, unclasped the queen’s robe and drew it from her shoulders, exposing her frail body. “Choslora, attend me,” Seelam directed.
The young queen turned to face her mother, warmth and pain in her eyes at the sight of a mother she knew would soon be gone.
“I pass the robe of power to you, Chona Choslora,” Seelam announced in a wavering voice. The queen waited for Hessmas to drape the robe over her heir’s shoulders and connect the bone clasp. “Hessmas, I charge you with the safety of our nest’s queen. Protect her, as you have always protected me. To you, Chona Choslora, I say, join this Fissla and listen carefully to what is said. Our nest’s future is in your hands, but don’t be afraid to embrace a new way of life for our soma if what Dassata offers has value.”
Mother and daughter embraced briefly, and Seelam hobbled back to the tunnel entrance. An old warrior dropped his bow and hurried forward, offering his arm to Seelam to lean on, which the elderly female gratefully took.
Hessmas watched his queen leave. They had grown up together, and he was torn between what he felt and what he knew he should do. Seelam’s last command had called him to a new duty, and he turned to his new queen, Choslora, and nodded his obeisance.
