Hoven Quest

by Michelle Levigne

  “For one thing, every theory has scientific backing. This paper was presented six years ago at a symposium attended by the top biologists, historians and anthropologists on the planet. They all read and approved the results of the report.” I wondered if she guessed that this work was mine, and found it reason enough to fight every centimeter of the way. “These theories are based on logic and solid fact from nature."

  If the truth was to be known, I had left out a good deal of fact of Hoven physiology and culture because even though it was the truth, I had nothing to back up my assertions. Nothing but getting up on the platform and transforming in front of everyone, thereby proving that I most certainly did know what I was talking about, from personal experience.

  Chiara couldn't refute what I said. Especially when I looked around and saw glimmers of smiles in some of the faces at the table. She made no effort to be friends with anyone, blatantly unconcerned about the political game-playing that went on at the network. Uncle respected her, and said that almost everyone did, despite the fact that she wasn't someone that people thought of when they made out guest lists or exchanged gifts at the holidays. Chiara held her position because she was the best. Once she became involved in a project, she supported it two hundred percent. Not a single project for FAN had ever failed while she was involved with it. We needed her. We had to weather the few lunars of struggle it would take to win her over to our side.

  After Chiara gave over, gracefully, we went on to the ‘simple’ task of piecing my stories together into one cohesive unit for the launch episode, and for the next ten after that.

  * * * *

  “You left out a good deal, you know.” Chiara's voice startled me, coming from the shadows outside the back entrance of the Network building.

  I was by myself, leaving just at the moment the lights were turned off for the night. I had worked late, to tire myself out so I could go straight to bed when I got home. Uncle had left a message for me that he would be out of town on business for a few days, so I had to take our flitter home by myself. Likely the out-of-town business had to do with preparing for the hopeful flood of contacts from lost Hoveni, but he could not tell me something like that on the office message system.

  “Left out a lot where?” My voice stayed relatively even and calm, despite the start she gave me. For a moment, I had a vision of her coming after me with some weapon because she was a descendant of the Set'ri.

  “In the background of Hoveni, of course.” She flashed me a wistful, sad little smile before her face settled into sternness, like she faced doing a particularly unpleasant chore. “You should have done your homework better. Where did you dig up that half-baked report, anyway?"

  “As I said in the meeting, from the symposium on historic Hoven reality."

  “You're really into that garbage, aren't you?"

  “It's not garbage, it's reality. Historical fact."

  “It's not fact unless you have a Hoven as proof.” She stepped closer to me, shaking. For a moment, I thought she shook in fear, not anger. But everyone knew Chiara Tesden never showed fear, much less felt it.

  “This is the Fantasy Adventure Network. A lot of things are shown here that don't have the slightest sliver of fact to support them. Why should it matter if all the facts about Hoveni aren't shown here? We can't know everything because, as you pointed out several times in the meeting, if there ever were any Hoveni, they vanished centuries ago."

  “You're still a child. Barely out of school. What do you know of the real world?"

  “Why do you refuse to believe in Hoveni?” I shot back. Instead of being afraid of her, I was getting angry. A sure sign that I needed some sleep desperately. If my brain had been working on full power, I would have been more conciliatory.

  “Who says I refuse? I believe more than anyone, for more reason than you could ever fathom, little girl.” She leaned so close to me, I could feel and smell her breath. I expected it to be hot and rancid, like her reported personality, but it smelled like she had just eaten tangberries. “I'm only fighting because you don't know what you're doing with this show. I always thought Amaxus Fyx had more sense—Oh, it's just hopeless, trying to convince you that this show should not run. Ever!” She stepped away from me, her face darkening in impotent fury, her voice breaking on her last few words.

  “Uncle says, you never know what you can do until you try,” I offered. Instinct began to whisper to me, telling me something important was about to happen. I could not let Chiara Tesden get away until she had made everything clear.

  “Oh, there is something I could try...” A low, angry chuckle burst out of her.

  She looked around, as a few more lights automatically turned off in the backside of the Network building. I wondered that she could still see me at all. My eyes automatically adjusted to see in infrared when the light became too dim for normal vision, just like Hoveni ears adjusted to hear in the sonic range, but ordinary Humans had a hard time past that point.

  It occurred to me about then that I should have felt afraid. Even the most controlled people have breaking points, and Chiara obviously felt strongly about the show not running. What could I do, after all, if she snapped and got physically violent?

  There was nothing to stop me from changing shape into something better able to defend itself—nothing but the chance that someone might believe Chiara's story in the morning. I could not kill her. Hoveni would never have gone into hiding when the Set'ri first began to hunt us, if we had been able to kill beyond reactive self-defense.

  “What can I do to convince you that this show will do more damage than you could ever dream?” she growled. I have the feeling she was talking more to herself than to me. “You can't know so much about the Hoveni without feeling something for them."

  “You have no idea my feelings,” I interrupted.

  “What would you do if you had proof they really existed, that they still exist today?"

  “Short of seeing someone transform right in front of me?” I laughed. The only alternative to laughing was bursting into angry tears. I wanted so badly to transform, but the danger of it halted me. Only pure desperation could drive me to shift shape in front of a non-Hoven. “Do you think anyone would believe, even if they saw it for themselves?” Honestly, that was part of what Uncle and his team were depending on, that we could tell the entire truth about the Hoveni, about our history and our present situation, and no one would really believe. At least, not believe until they were fully indoctrinated and made sympathetic to our cause.

  “See? Who ever really understands what they see? Tell me, little girl, have you ever seen this?” She stepped back and raised her arms to the sky in one swift, sharp motion.

  Light from the waning moons above seemed to pour out of the sky and gather on her bare, white arms. Her shape melted, changing color, growing smaller, thinner. Chiara Tesden was not a fat woman, but statuesque. That vanished into a whip-thin form. Her upraised arms turned into wings, two meters wide each, moon-white, and tipped in red and green feathers. She grew a long, naked tail like a whip, tipped with a poisoned sting. It rattled and hissed as her tail switched back and forth. She had become a gurhar, a creature few people on Gemar saw nowadays because it was so reclusive and violent. Her clothes melted with the rest of her form, her bare legs growing scales, the toes elongating and multiplying, sprouting talons. Her body was covered in rock-hard, knife-sharp feathers. She was an avenging creature, a tool of justice.

  All I could do was stare. Flight would have been easy, because I knew the gurhar's wings were made for battering an enemy on the ground, not for flying. I knew the shape and function of many flying creatures that could move at the speed of sound, and how to become any one of them at a moment's notice.

  I nearly fell down laughing, as the reality of the situation came clear to me. Laughter touched with tears, at the irony of the coolness and altercations Chiara and Uncle had endured from each other all these years, when they could have been allies instead.

&nbs
p; “You're insane!” Chiara rasped. She showed her skill in transformation by being able to talk in that form. “You should be terrified. Don't you know what I am?"

  “Not even my father could take the shape of a gurhar, and he was the most talented and controlled of all our people, when I was a child. I salute you.” I bowed, touching my forehead with both index fingers, allowing my hands to drop in a sweeping motion, in the ancient salute of respect and tribute. Before I had stood up, Chiara began to change back. She was crying as she regained her normal face.

  “Don't you understand what this series will do, to all the Hoveni who still exist? You're the scholar—and a good one, I have to admit.” She stopped, hiccupping as more tears streamed down her face. “Girl, if the Hoveni managed to survive all this time, don't you think the Set'ri have, as well? They'll see it, and they'll come running, and the genocide will start all over again."

  “But don't you see, this program will also attract the attention of the scattered members of our race? They will come to us, wondering, asking if any of their kind can still be found. There is still so much that needs to be done, especially if you could work all these years with Uncle Max and keep him from realizing what and who you are.” I laughed again, for pure relief.

  “Our race?” She stared at me, shivering. This time, I knew it was that kind of fear that wanted to believe, but simply couldn't take that final step.

  In answer, I changed into a vri-hawk and flew circles around her, five times. When Chiara slowly sank to the ground, weak-kneed and on the verge of fainting, I landed and transformed in time to catch her.

  * * * *

  “You have no idea.” Chiara shook her head, gazing around the room with tears in her eyes and a brilliant smile on her face.

  It seemed that one phrase was all she could manage. I brought her home and contacted some of the members of the circle, explaining the emergency situation I had found myself in. They all arrived. I had had the presence of mind to contact elders, men and women in their tenth decades and above. Instinct told me Chiara would not appreciate being told about the function of the circle and our long-term plans by someone many decades her junior.

  “Then may we assume you will support what we are trying to do through the series, instead of hindering it?” Arvid Schul asked. He was Uncle's assistant, head of costuming, and someone Chiara had worked with many times before. When he arrived at the house and she got a good look at him, they both laughed and pretended to be angry, and lamented their mutual obliviousness.

  “If the higher powers don't approve the series, I know quite a few strings to pull and favors to call in.” She grinned a more normal, almost vicious grin, and wiped her eyes. Chiara chuckled. “Oh, you people have no idea what it feels like, to discover you're not alone in the world, that you don't have to live in constant vigilance. What you're doing...” She turned to me. “I don't know whether to hug Amaxus when he comes back, or strangle him out of pure jealousy."

  “Is anybody hungry?” I asked, deciding this was the best place to break up the maudlin and repetition. “Family reunions always make me hungry, and I'm starving right now."

  Good, wholesome, humorous laughter greeted me, and everyone trooped into the kitchen to help me cook. We basically raided the refrigerator, taking pot luck. I made a mental note to send a message to Uncle, as soon as everyone left. We had a special code, just between the two of us, to indicate whenever we thought we had found a lost Hoven. I wished I could see his face when he got the code word attached to Chiara Tesden's name, but something this important could not wait.

  While we ate, we finally got Chiara's life story from her. She had lived feeling isolated from the rest of the world because of her ancestry, putting on a tough armor, refusing to hope. Some people I had met in the same situation had retreated into themselves. Chiara was too strong for that, deciding to turn her hurt outward, forcing the world to meet her on her own terms. This was a much more healthy reaction than others, even though it didn't help her become popular.

  Her parents had been killed when she was only in beta level schooling. Her family lived in a relatively unsettled part of the planet, tending a wildlife preserve. She had been home on break from school and had found her parents only moments after the attack had finished, drawn to the spot by the sound of gunfire. The official report said poachers had killed her parents, because there were several skinned animal corpses close by, but Chiara had not believed them. She had grown up in fear of the Set'ri or Gen'gineers discovering the existence of her family. What if her parents had been killed for the sake of genetic purity? Or worse, the radicals had tried to capture them, and had turned violent when they couldn't get what they wanted. Gen'gineers were never known for their sense of fair play.

  Chiara had fled the area, took on a new name, new identity, and settled down to live alone. Both of her parents had been orphans, who had wandered the planet, until they discovered each other by accident. There was no one she could go to for help, no one who would understand her developing abilities. The little she knew of Hoveni came from the stories her parents had told her. Chiara had devoted herself to rising to a position of power and influence, and somehow finding the Set'ri, both to protect herself and get revenge.

  “But this is an even better revenge,” she said, settling down in the thick cushions of a couch once we had finished supper. Her voice took on a purr of satisfaction. “The Hoven nation will be reunited, in secret, and the Set'ri will never know. They couldn't wipe us out of existence and they couldn't scatter us.” She turned to me and raised her glass in a toast. “To Hoven Quest. May it prosper and win many awards, and last so long, Meruk will marry and become a father and grandfather."

  “Try explaining Hovenu physiology and reproduction to a non,” I muttered. Which sent the rest of the group into fits of laughter.

  * * *

  Chapter Three

  Uncle didn't even bother pretending to be concerned when Casting didn't send over any prospects for the part of Meruk. Everyone else began to worry after the first round of auditions went by and no one had been found who even remotely fit the part. Of course, I knew why he was so relaxed, why he didn't care if Casting sent anyone to his office. I was waiting for Kel Brent myself, if only to be sure I had been right the first time I saw him.

  Casting sent nothing. Not even a name or description. I didn't see the memo Uncle sent, detailing what he wanted, so I couldn't be sure how tough he was making it for anyone to take Kel's place in the role of Meruk. Maybe, I speculated, the show was not meant to be. Or maybe someone in casting was Set'ri, realized what a drawing point the series could be for the scattered Hoven race, and was doing everything possible to keep a star from being found.

  A second lunar-quarter went by. Headquarters wanted progress reports. Everything else was set for pre-production. Costuming merely needed the star's measurements to finish their preliminary work. Special effects needed weight and size configurations to start plotting graphs and estimating the equipment needed to pull off the ‘tricks’ they would have to perform. Everything hinged on Meruk. And we had no Meruk, because his presence hinged on Kel Brent. He hinged on a contract not yet signed because he hadn't gathered enough experience points to apply to the network. I hated the whole situation.

  When I read the reports from Casting, I couldn't fathom what could be so hard in finding an actor. If the man fit physically, the ‘feeling’ that Casting got from him was wrong. His philosophy, his past experience, didn't fit some strange criteria. True, Casting employed empathic-gifted people, to help in selecting the best possible match between actor and role, but he was an actor. He was not supposed to be the person he was playing in front of the cameras.

  Then I started to feel guilty. Maybe I had written a character who was impossible to cast. But what about Kel Brent?

  “The moment I saw him, I thought I was looking at Meruk,” I told Chiara, as we labored one night over one of the final scenes for the script. She was the only one I had dared confide
to about Kel Brent and how Uncle and I had found him. She had softened and mellowed faster than I had thought possible. Likely, she was the closest female friend I had had in years, and there were two decades between us.

  “Rules are rules.” She shook her head and tilted her lap screen so I could see what she had come up with. “How does that strike you?"

  “So far, so good.” I read through the lines of dialogue, between Meruk and his foster brother, one more time. “It's not half so dramatic as my original story—thank goodness. I can just hear Kel speaking those lines.” I sighed. “You know, for someone who hasn't hit real puberty, I'm sure having trouble with my hormones."

  That got laughter from Chiara. “It's the society we live in. It gives us ideas about how we should be acting, even if our own body clocks disagree. I was sighing over handsome Tri-V actors when I was your age, too, even though I wasn't quite sure why."

  “All the other girls my age are running around looking for a bed to fall into,” I retorted. “That gives you enough ideas even if your body isn't cooperating."

  “You know, Kendle...” She shook her head, looking away. A twisted grin won the battle for her tightly pressed lips. “If your uncle knew what I'm about to tell you, he'd probably have me shot.” Chiara frowned. “Then again, who's to know what that man really does know?"

  “He's already given me the basic lecture on reproduction and our physiological schedules taking longer than the normal Human's."

  “Ha! The great Amaxus Fyx doesn't know everything after all. He never told you about the acceleration drugs?"

  “No ... wait a minute. They're the opposite of what everybody else takes, right?” It took me a while to recall what he had told me.

  On Gemar, everybody took therapy and medicines to stretch their lifespans and slow their maturing. Hoveni, who lived to be over three hundred Standard years old, needed to accelerate their maturing so that the people around them would not guess what they were. Or at least, that was the way Uncle had explained the situation to me.