by R. L. Wolf
The class laughed as Rex climbed on a bench. "Oh wait, I lied yesterday when I poked a hole through the bull's-eye of my target and told everyone I shot it."
Cora, not to be outdone jumped up on a table next. "Alas, but wait," said Cora, jumping up and rocking back and forth theatrically. "I lied when the teacher asked me last week if I cheated on my history test."
The students roared with laughter, most of them cheated on their history test.
Garth stood and banged on the table. "I too must confess. I lied five minutes ago when the cook asked if I had already been through the chow line."
Another round of laughter followed Garth's confession. Everyone knew he usually went through the line two or three times.
"We love you, Duke!" shouted one of the students.
Duke sat back down at the table, his Merits not joining in the laughter.
"Is that what we are to you?" asked Gideon, "just filthy deputies?"
"You misunderstand," said Duke, the engines of a ship landing outside interrupting him. He dropped his head. Only his father would ignore the landing pad and land on the roll-call field.
Students rushed out the door to see the arriving ship. Duke got up and followed the other students. A Dart Fighter, heavily marred with blast marks from many battles, was sitting in the middle of the roll-call field. Duke waited in the back of the crowd, his Merits standing around him with mixed feelings, unsure what to think. Duke always treated them good, why was he ashamed of his father being a deputy?
"Oh my gosh, do you see that?" shouted a student.
Painted on the side of the Dart ship were the words, Gunslinger Team Wrath Vengeance, and painted under that was the name Fatal.
The canopy on the Dart ship lifted, and an extremely large Daemi in a black leather flight suit jumped to the ground and walked toward the crowd of students. The students pushed back out of the way of the fierce looking Daemi.
"Holy ancestors," whispered Wes. "Is Duke going to be that big when he’s fully grown?"
"Probably,” replied Colt. “If they had horns they would look just like the legends of demons, it’s not a wonder everyone is afraid of the Daemi.”
Duke's father called out in his native language. Duke lowered his head and eyes, and his Merits dropped to a knee behind Duke in submission to their Dominants Hatching Father. Deputy Fatal stopped in front of his son and spoke in the low growling language of the Daemi.
"And The Dragon be with you, father," replied Duke, in Imperial Standard
Gideon couldn't contain himself any longer and interrupted. "Duke, your father is First Deputy Fatal, the most famous Deputy ever!"
"That is what I was trying to tell you," said Duke. "I was not saying filthy deputy. I was trying to tell you I am a filthy Sacu half-breed."
"Still with that are you?” asked Fatal, shaking his head and speaking in Imperial Standard. "Your grandfather and his damned prejudices."
"But, you can't be a half-breed, you have a tail, and you’re not small like a Sacu," said Gideon.
Deputy Fatal looked down at Gideon and frowned. Speaking out of turn for a submissive was a minor social faux pas.
“Foolishness,” replied Deputy Fatal. “The Sacu are not small because they are inferior Daemi. We have created the race of Sacu by starving them from birth and preventing any medical care to them. My son is of mixed race and suffers from none of the Sacu ailments that plague them.”
“But…but…he has a tail?” asked Gideon.
"I got my tail from a gene-tank on Pyra when I was eight. My human grandfather paid for the surgery, to lessen his embarrassment at having a Sacu for a grandson," said Duke.
Gideon rocked back on his heels, reeling from the revelation. This was so much more than anything he could have imagined. His tail flattened on the ground, the sign of a Daemi during moments of extreme distress.
“Move aside, let me through,” said the Marshal, pushing past the students to the porch of the dining cabin. “Well, well, there you are, you old lizard, you look well.”
Deputy Fatal waived and carefully stepped over Gideon’s tail. The old worn porch groaned under the weight of the large reptilian.
“Ah, my mentor, greetings,” replied Fatal. “Do be careful, this snow is slippery, falls at your age can be dangerous.”
The Marshal laughed and locked arms with the large reptilian Daemi. “And how is Wrath?”
Fatal lowered his voice and tipped his head slightly. "It is dark times on Daemia, there are still many supporters of Prince Destroyer hiding among us, and Wrath doesn't use that name anymore, he is Prince Vengeance now."
"So I heard," replied the Marshal. "There was a bit of a backlash within the Order at having a Gunslinger overthrow a planetary government."
"Well then, let us hope it doesn’t set a precedent," said Fatal. “Is there somewhere we can go to speak?”
“Of course, let’s go to my office,” replied the Marshal.
The students filed back into the dining cabin, and breakfast continued.
"So what's going on with Duke?" asked Wes.
"Just a guess," said Austin. "He probably had it rough on Corvus, being Sacu, and then he got here, but nobody knew he was a Sacu because he’s so big and has a tail. Everyone just looked up to him because he’s a real House Lord."
"And the lie just grew," said Wes.
"I think it's much more than that," whispered Garth. "Half-breeds are the lowest social class on Daemi."
"I'm going to do something about this," said Colt.
"No, wait, you might make it worse," said Garth.
Colt was already headed inside.
"Too late, this should be fun," said Wes.
Colt jumped up on a bench and shouted for everyone’s attention.
"Okay, so Duke is half-Daemi," said Colt. "If anyone calls him any name, you will face me."
The students cheered at the unnecessary threat, and some patted Duke on the back, and breakfast continued. The students talked loudly among themselves, moved through the chow line, checked their homework. The entire issue was already forgotten.
“That’s it?” asked Wes.
“I thought there would be trouble,” said Garth.
“I expected someone to say something,” said Colt, climbing down from the bench and looking a little confused that there hadn’t been any trouble. Austin was sitting at the table writing in his notebook with an amused grin on his face.
“What’s so amusing?” asked Colt, still looking for a fight.
Austin looked up. “You guys are. It’s probably because you guys are from the country. When a scandal happens in the country, everyone is spread out, and it takes time for it to work its way around, so the scandal lasts awhile.”
Wes sat down at the table and tried to peek at what Austin was writing. “Yeah, so?”
“Everyone here is together, just like a city, when a scandal happens in the city, it gets around fast, and then it’s over, and everyone starts looking for the next scandal. And really, Duke’s scandal isn’t very interesting.”
Garth frowned. “I’m going to get some breakfast,” said Garth, patting Duke on the shoulder as he left for the chow line.
Gideon watched Garth walk past and then back at Duke. He flicked his tail rapidly upward and then made a quick tight circle with the tip: “You can’t speak Daemi, can you?”
Duke kept his normally calm demeanor and replied in Imperial Standard. “I can understand what you say.”
“No, speak in Daemi,” said Gideon. Duke’s eyes narrowed, and his tail quivered in agitation. Gideon held his ground under Duke’s glare, but pulled his tail to his chest in an instinctual display of submission: “Beat me if you must, but I won’t speak to you unless you speak in Daemi.”
Duke held Gideon’s gaze for a long moment, then turned his head away and tapped the table twice with his tail: “Not can river bowl run.”
“Yes, you can. You know the words, you just don’t know how to put them together. I understand n
ow. You got lucky, and your grandfather spent a fortune to have a tail grown for you, but you didn’t live on Daemia and had nobody to teach you to use it correctly.”
Duke crossed his hands facing outward with the thumbs upward in the shape of a bird, and touched the side of his head with the tip of his tail: “Bird egg white fly me shame brush.”
Gideon looked at the others for help.
Cole raised his tail and tipped it back slightly: “I think he said something about a bird flying.”
“Isn’t the Daraian word for fly also the same word for teach?” asked Aaron, flipping his tail to the side and motioning across his body and to his head.
Gideon nodded: “Oh, of course, a bird, the Daraians.”
Cole slapped the table: “Egg white is a white bird. His grandfather would have hired the best teachers, and they come from House Swan.”
“That makes sense and explains where he got that flowery talk. A Swan teacher would only have taught him the most eloquent way of speaking,” said Gideon.
“Yeah, but a Daraian could never teach the Daemi language. Nobody has ever translated it correctly,” said Cole. “How’d he learn so many words?”
“House Swan also makes movies, even Daemi movies. He watched movies,” replied Gideon.
“That’s impressive,” said Cole.
Duke twisted his tail and flipped the tip downward: “Smelly gray zoo bells.”
Gideon shook his tail once and tapped it on his shoulder: “We’ll help you learn to talk like a real Daemi.”
“There is still the issue of me being a Sacu,” said Duke, switching back to verbal language.
“It is hard to accept, and I am very angry at you,” replied Gideon.
Duke nodded. “You know what you must do.”
Zane shook his tail rapidly: “No, no, no, we’re not doing that again. Getting beat up once by Duke was enough.”
Gideon stood. “I’m sorry, but Duke is right. He won dominance from us through a lie. That alone forces me to challenge him. If he wins again, the sin of the lie will be forgiven, and he will be our true Dominant.”
The four reptilian Daemi Merits stood, raised their tales to their waists in a fighting position, and struck at Duke.
Deputy Fatal ran his hand across the shelves in the Marshal’s office, wanting to ask a thousand questions, but knowing the Marshal would never answer them. The room smelled of dusty books, old leather, and musty carpets. The shelves were carefully stacked with first edition books that hadn’t been in print for hundreds of years.
He smiled fondly at an ancient radio sitting between a volume of The Histories of Carina and The Siege of Gala. As a boy, he had been mesmerized by the radio every time he had come to this room to answer for some offense. He knew what the radio was now, having researched as many of the artifacts as he could remember after leaving the Academy. The radio had been standard equipment for a Cettise soldier during the Cettise Dynasty. He continued his thinly veiled clandestine inventory and stopped at a ringed piece of metal. He had forgotten this object, but he knew what it was, having recently seen one in an old ship graveyard when searching for parts for the Daemi fleet. The metal ring was the navigation coupler to a Cettise Battleship computer. Fatal shook his head, the entire room was a museum and hid enough secrets that would keep historians busy for decades.
He picked up an old worn Marshal’s badge and looked at it. The badge was corroded and nearly too worn to make out. Fatal stared at the badge, his eyes sparkling with discovery. The word on the badge was spelled Marshall. After leaving the academy, he had tried to find some reference to where the Marshal General had come from. He remembered seeing a photo of a slave boy bearing a strong resemblance to the Marshal standing behind the deposed boy emperor, Sionnach. The slave boy’s name had been Marshall. He had searched the name and found it odd that not a single recurrence of the name was registered on any world. The slave boy had been the only person ever to possess the name, Marshall. Fatal glanced at the Marshal, had there been a language shift and his name had become a title?
“Leave it,” said the Marshal, his eyes dark and cold.
Fatal dropped the badge back on the shelf. It had been thirty years since he had been the Marshal’s student, but he still had a trace of boyish fear of the man. Or maybe, it was a fear of a mystery so deep he couldn’t understand.
He sighed and walked over and settled into a big comfortable chair, and put his feet up on the desk.
“Do make yourself at home,” said the Marshal, settling into his chair.
“I don’t recall this desk being so small, did it shrink?” asked Fatal, a hint of mischievousness in his voice.
“You and Wrath certainly spent enough time standing in front of it when you two were students. Get those demon hooves off my desk.”
Fatal pulled his feet down and grinned. “That seems so long ago now,” said Fatal. “And yet you don’t appear to be a day older.”
“Have you decided to take the teaching position?” asked the Marshal, deflecting Fatal’s predicted question. Fatal had been trying to discover the Marshal’s age since he was a student and found an old forgotten photo of the Marshal standing next to Jon Black the Gunslinger, three hundred years ago.
“Only for the rest of this year, I wish to spend some time with Duke,” replied Fatal. “His grandfather can no longer prevent me from seeing him.”
“I’ve had the tunnels re-opened, they are ready,” said the Marshal.
“Did you have any problems getting them opened?”
“It took the entire teaching staff, and I had to chase dazed teachers all over the woods for three days to do it.”
“Really?” Fatal leaned forward, hoping he might have just cornered the Marshal into revealing some of his secrets. “That’s odd, the tunnel defenses are only intended to keep those with Kesune genetic markers in their DNA from entry,” said Fatal.
“You know full well most of the staff comes from Corvus, a Kesune colony world,” replied the Marshal. “Kesune ancestry is common. Speaking of which, when was the last time you were on Corvus.”
Fatal sighed, the Marshal wasn’t going to give up any secrets. "Duke’s grandfather has a restraining order against me, besides, that whole planet should be pushed into a sun. It’s filled with racial extremists from the Church of Enlightenment."
"Not all are extremists," said the Marshal. "Over the last several years I have seen our Corvus youth abandon those views once they are removed from that influence."
"You think the Caelum priests are losing their hold on Corvus?" asked Fatal.
"The Raunians successfully led the way, and now the Carinian and Daemi people are in revolt. It is only a matter of time before more planets rebel," replied the Marshal.
"We are not having a pleasant little revolution for racial and religious freedom," said Fatal. "We are desperate. It is far worse than you can imagine."
"What is occurring?" asked the Marshal.
"The Caelum are openly rounding up citizens and executing them, and they are no longer pretending to abide by the anti-slavery laws," explained Fatal. "We have reports of hundreds, maybe thousands, being sold off-world."
"The Daraians?" asked the Marshal.
"They dare not pull their fleets from the defense of their world," said Fatal. "We stand alone and hold, as always." Deputy Fatal stood. "Dragon's Breath is being prepared. It should be ready next year," whispered Fatal.
"Ancestors mercy," cursed the Marshal. "You must stop Prince Vengeance from that madness."
Fatal shook his head. "No, we have suffered enough. The open genocide of our people has begun. We will release the Dragon's Breath—it is the only way."
The door crashed open, and David ran into the room. “Marshal, the Daemi are fighting in the dining cabin!”
The Marshal stood, but Fatal raised a hand to stop him. “I knew it was going to happen the moment I arrived and realized Duke had been lying to his Merits. You must let them solve it in the Daemi way.”
“And who’s going to pay for all the broken furniture?” asked the Marshal, his eyes blazing with anger.
Fatal waved a hand dismissively. “Send the bill to his grandfather.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Trust
"Across the sky to desert end on feathered wing thou doest seek to flee justice," said Duke, sweeping his arm across the audience. "Nay, never shall I rest whilst even one such injustice is born on evil’s dark wing."
"Thou shall not in iron bind me," replied Colt. "On sun and wind, I ride to my evil plan."
Colt, the ancient evil outlaw, stood atop a rock prop on the stage in the dining cabin. He held his bag of stolen gold in one hand, and the arm of his hostage, Ella the Damsel in distress, in the other. Duke, the Ancient Gunslinger Hero, rushed across the stage to bar the evil outlaw's escape.
Duke spread his arms apart dramatically. "Fear thee not, my helpless Damsel." The audience roared with laughter at Ella being called helpless. "I shall not let harm come to thee so long as breath I have," continued Duke. "I confess my love for thee. Mountain nor sea nor evil heart shall keep us apart." Duke strode across the stage, drew his revolver, and pointed it at Colt. "Surrender, evil outlaw, thou hast no further foul shadows to hide within."
Colt threw down his bag of gold and raised his hands. "Alas, my days of evil are at an end," cried Colt. Ella reached her hand out for Duke to help her down from the rock.
"Ha ha ha, thou art a fool, Oh Hero of the Gunslingers," shouted Colt, and pulled a gun from behind his back. "I make done with thee, for I am the greatest outlaw." Colt fired a blank round at Duke. The audience booed at the treacherous outlaw.
Duke dramatically clutched his chest and staggered back. "I have been fiendishly struck down, avenge me, my brothers." Duke took his time falling and made his death as theatrical as possible. His tail thumped and quivered on the stage for a full half-minute, to the great amusement of the crowd.
"Who is brave enough to answer thy call, Fallen Hero," cried Colt, while Ella knelt next to her fallen love, her arm across her eyes and weeping loudly.
Four deputies on hobbyhorses galloped out onto the stage and circled the treacherous Colt Outlaw before dismounting. The audience, being that most of the class were Merit deputies, jumped to their feet and cheered thunderously.
