by S. L. Viehl
Vtaga Central Transport appeared empty of ships and people. There were more of the glowing green globes that I had seen from the launch. “What are those things?” I asked, pointing at them.
“Heat reservoirs,” my husband said. “Hsktskt cannot naturally regulate their body temperature.”
“So they are slaves to warmth, as we were.” I filed that away for future reference. It seemed ridiculous now, how unprepared I was for this new place. I spotted a group of towering reptilian beings in metallic silver uniforms waiting at the end of the dock area. They were giants. “You will not leave me alone.”
“No.” His hand tightened over mine. “Not for a moment.”
At the very front of the group of Hsktskt was the tall, brutal figure I remembered from the preliminary negotiations with Teulon at Akkabarr.
“That is TssVar,” I said to Reever, who nodded. My voice sounded odd, like I was whispering instead of speaking. “Does the air also make me talk like this?” I was going to have to shout at everyone if so.
“The acoustic dampers do.” Reever pointed to what appeared to be a wall of writhing black foam. “They provide a sound barrier for the city and convert captured waves into displacer energy for Transport’s operations.”
I knew little of such technology, only that League worlds used light-based pulse energy for their needs, while the Hsktskt and their allies used sonic displacer power. Neither was superior to the other, as sound and light were plentiful, often inexhaustible fuel sources.
“It is one of many fundamental differences,” my husband murmured as we approached the Hsktskt. He was reading my thoughts again. “Such evolutionary dissimilarities have kept colonial and slaver species at odds with each other for centuries.”
“Like shafts, I suppose,” I muttered. “Males on Akkabarr are forever bickering about who has the largest and hottest.” I realized the ambiguity of my words and glanced at him. “I mean the vent shafts used to provide heat for the iiskars.”
He didn’t smile, but his eyes warmed. “Males argue about the size and heat-inducing qualities of the other variety of shaft as well.”
As our guards stopped moving, so did we. Reever shifted and stepped in front of me at the same time the tallest and broadest of the Hsktskt stepped away from his companions. My husband and the reptilian met in the space between the two groups and, for a long moment, simply looked at each other while I held my breath.
“I should have properly greeted you, SubAkade,” Reever said, “when last we met.”
“When last we met, I should have properly gutted you.” TssVar showed every tooth in his jaws.
“When were you elevated to the ruling level?” my husband asked, as if not staring into five rows of razor-sharp teeth.
“When my superiors died in the war, but it came after I had been demoted for my role in the Catopsa incident. I might have been an Akade by now, if not for you.” The Hsktskt held up a clawed hand as if he meant to strike my husband, and then brought it down slowly to touch his shoulder. “For the sake of my people and Teuton Jado, I exonerate you of all crimes against the Hsktskt, HalaVar.”
I kept my hand on the hilt of the blade at my waist. Diplomatic words and ensleg gestures were not enough to reassure me.
Reever bowed his head in an odd manner and TssVar released him. My husband turned toward me and gestured for me to come forward. I did so, feeling very conscious of Qonja hovering behind me. If I had to stab the Hsktskt, he might interfere.
“My mate has come as you requested,” Reever said, taking my hand in his as I came to stand at his side. “She will help the Hsktskt if she can, but she must also be protected while she is on Vtaga. There is the matter of the blood price still on her head.”
“Her … death … on Akkabarr satisfied that debt. I have also persuaded the Hanar to personally guarantee her safety while she is on Vtaga.” TssVar’s enormous yellow eyes swiveled down as he studied me. “Do you wish additional security, Dr. Torin?”
According to Cherijo’s journals, I had delivered this male’s five children on K-2. At gunpoint, no less.
“I have brought my own.” I nodded toward the Adan surrounding us. “I am told they will kill anyone who presents a threat, verbally or physically, to me or any member of our group.” I waited a moment before I added, “So will I.”
“You have changed,” TssVar said. “We shall have to be very careful of what we say and do while you are here.”
I studied his expression. Reptilian features appeared harsher than most humanoids’, and when he spoke I saw the rows of jagged, sharp teeth that lined his jaws. That, combined with his size, was enough to terrify anyone.
Yet there was something else about this Hsktskt that slipped around my fear. He reminded me of the jlorra: a ruthless and efficient killer, to be sure, but only when necessary. I could see the shrewdness in his eyes and hear the weariness shadowing his voice. He was resolved, but he was also afraid.
As I was. “I am not here to kill, SubAkade TssVar,” I told him. “Neither, I think, are you.”
“I am happy to agree, Dr. Torin. Come.” He inclined his head and gestured toward a waiting land vehicle. “You are first to be presented to the Hanar.”
SEVEN
We traveled from Transport to the center of the settlement, Lauc-Hanarat, which Reever told me meant “City of the Hanar.” Being presented to the ruler of Vtaga seemed unnecessary—I had journeyed here for the benefit of the sick, not to be paraded like a tithe woman—but it seemed prudent to begin my visit without objecting to the reptilians’ customs.
Reever told me of some of them. “Upper houses of lords and lower houses of free citizens contribute to the government, but the Hanar is the empirical ruler. High and low bloodlines serve as soldiers for ten to twenty years. The resident population is merchants, hunters, free raiders, scribes, doctors and architects, masons and carpenters, jewelers, clothiers, and potters. Higher bloodlines own huge family estates away from the city, and keep houses in town only to conduct business. Lower lines still manage to own homes, small gardens, and some animals, kept on leased lands. Products are sold via electronic market and spaceshipment. Economy is free and private property is the rule.”
“I understand how a slaver society functions.” The Toskald would have enjoyed this world.
“The Hsktskt are not like the windlords, Jarn,” my husband said. “The basic unit of the Hsktskt society is family. Love, respect, and mutual obligation bind them together. Marriage is arranged by the parents, who select a bride based on quality of bloodline.”
“So the females are repressed, as we were.”
“Female Hsktskt have the same rights as males, but choose to remain home as breeders or go into occupations that will not take them away from the planet. Females maintain strong ties to their offspring. As for the juveniles, they live under absolute authority of their parents, but are indulged and even cherished.”
I hmphed. “I thought as reptiles they had no feelings.”
“They are more like us than they care to admit.” He looked through the view panel at a pair of centurons escorting a third male, who wore a curiously marked garment. “There is an obligant.”
The male’s clothing looked like that of a servant, not a soldier. “What does that mean?”
“There is no word in Terran for it. No Hsktskt can ever be made a slave, but debts can be declared that put them under certain obligation to each other. Those who owe the debt and are compelled to satisfy it are called obligants.”
“A fancy word for slave.” I looked away from the males and instead studied the buildings that we were passing.
Lauc-Hanarat had appeared large from the launch, but from ground level it might have been a settlement of giants. Structures of stone and alloy had not been built as squat shelters, as I had assumed, but soared hundreds of meters above the wide, smooth vehicle paths. All were fashioned in towers and rectangular shelters that had been grouped together and joined by clear, squared walkway tubes. T
he effect reminded me of hide-wrapped snow blocks pierced by icicles.
The vehicle, which had comfortably accommodated both parties, stopped before a structure so tall I could not see the top of it.
This Hsktskt-made mountain consisted of eight wide alloy towers ringed at each level with circular transport pads, to which were docked hundreds of scout and raider vessels of various sizes. At its base were many smaller dwellings and more of the green domes I had seen around the city and at Transport. Ornate walls formed an outer barrier around the main structure, and they had been fashioned of smooth stone fused together with alloy seams. Huge columns disguised struts that further reinforced the walls, and formed triangular recesses in which stood armed centurons. The three-sided design was repeated in geometric motifs and depictions of Hsktskt and strange animal figures chiseled into every large stone surface.
This was not a place to be idly admired. Along with the guards stationed in the recesses, dozens of uniformed Hsktskt carrying many weapons patrolled the battlements of the walls. Between the tops of every third and fourth strut were displacer cannons mounted on targeting platforms.
“This is the Palace of the Hanar,” TssVar said as his guards left the vehicle. “The center of our government.”
From the manner in which he gazed at me, I guessed he was waiting for me to comment. “It is very … tall.”
“The Palace is the largest, tallest, and most important building in the city. It rises above all, just as the Hanar does.” He turned to gaze down at my husband. “There are other matters troubling him now.”
“We are only here for the plague victims,” Reever said.
“A band of lineless has been raiding the outer settlements,” TssVar told him. “They will be found and executed.”
My husband nodded once. “Sooner than later, one hopes.”
“Hope is a rare commodity these days. Keep her close to you, HalaVar.” The Hsktskt followed his men out.
I looked at Reever. “Close makes it easier for them to shoot us.” With the number of centurons and weapons poised around and above us, we would never have a chance to even run away.
“TssVar does not lie,” my husband said. “Even if he did, the Hanar does not permit any executions to be carried out in the Palace.”
That gave me little comfort. “I hope he does not make another exception.”
We did not simply walk into the Hanar’s Palace. At the entryway, which was a series of three air locks, we were required to undergo biodecon and surrender all that we carried except our garments, footgear, and translation devices. The latter were removed and thoroughly scanned, as were we. They even took from me the headband monitoring device the Senior Healer had given me to wear. I started to protest, until I saw that TssVar and his men had to do the same.
“The Hanar does not permit anyone to bring in weapons, I suppose,” I murmured as one of the reptilian guards returned my headband and waved us through the last lock and into the courtyard surrounding the Palace.
“This Hanar is very cautious,” Reever said. When a guard made a low growling sound, he added, “Yet he need not be, for he is most exalted, and receives the tributary of all the lines. He restored Lauc-Hanarat to its former glory, and brought back dignity to this world.”
The guard stopped looking as if he wanted to take a bite out of my husband and moved toward the back of our group.
“One does not criticize the ruler here?” I asked softly.
“No. This Hanar has little patience and no humor whatsoever,” Reever said. “Stay beside me and speak only to answer direct questions.”
We had to walk across the courtyard, but the first fifty meters of the Palace had no entryways. Instead, TssVar directed us to a small vessel, which we boarded and that rose directly up to the center portion of the main tower, where more armed guards were waited on the docking pad.
Once we disembarked from the lift-vessel, we were again made to pass through an air lock, biodecon, and scan search before we were permitted within the Palace’s interior. Once my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I saw smaller versions of the green heat domes set into the smooth stone walls of the round entry chamber. Like giant icicles of stone, tall, narrow pillars had been placed every fifty meters around the circular room, and shed a white mist through their intricate carvings to dampen the hot air. Tiny emitters attached to hover drones floating above our heads provided a scant amount of light.
TssVar and his guards led the way, and we followed. The Jorenians seemed to adjust almost at once to the heat and humidity, as did Reever. After a few moments of uneasiness, so did I, but I hoped we would not spend much time here. The Palace was too dark and sticky and strange for my comfort.
There seemed to be no corridors in the place, only a series of chambers, connected in a straight line, that grew successively larger and warmer as we passed through them. Carvings like those on the mist-shedding pillars began to appear on the walls, as did long, narrow, woven fiber mats arranged to form geometric shapes on the floors.
TssVar came to walk beside me. “This is the Hanar’s vestibule. Beyond are—” He said several words that my wrist machine would not translate.
“They are types of shrines to the Hanar of the past, soldiers and important citizens,” Reever explained. “SubAkade TssVar’s people hold their ancestors in high esteem.”
“So I see.” I stared at two larger-than-life-size Hsktskt that flanked the doorway to the next chamber. They had been carved from stone, then gilded, painted, and dressed with real garments in such a way as to make them look alive.
They must have appeared very grand to the Hsktskt. To me, they were ten-meter-high monsters from nightmares I never wished to dream.
TssVar stopped before the final entryway. Beyond him I could see more guards than I could count, standing in long rows around a hunched figure perched on some sort of glowing bench.
“After the Tyryr ascended to the stars,” TssVar said, “GesVar became Hanar, one above the blood. Line GeVar reigned for twenty-eight thousand eight hundred solars, unto MilulaVar, whose line reigned for thirty-six thousand solars, unto UdireVar, whose line reigned forty-three thousand two hundred years, unto AnallaVar, whose line reigned twenty-eight thousand eight hundred years, unto IzumudVar, whose line reigned thirty-six thousand years, unto KaralVar, whose line was weakened and then destroyed during the Wars of Tyryr.”
Reever’s fingers threaded through mine, just as his thoughts did. What he recites is part of their ritual of presentation. This honors the dead and justifies why the old ways are no longer followed.
“The loss of KaralVar brought need, and the blood answered.” TssVar made a simple, encompassing gesture. “So by free citizens were selected the first Hanar, SubHanar, Akade, SubAkade, Over-Lord, Lord, OverMaster, Master, OverSeer, Seer, OverCenturon, and Centuron to serve the blood. The Rule of Death became law. No one line shall rule the blood, nor shall the blood place the obligation of rule upon one line.”
The Rule of Death is the method of advancement in Hsktkt society, my husband thought to me. One takes the place of another higher in rank who has died.
Could this rule be involved with the plague? I wondered.
Do not pose such a question to the Hanar or any other Hsktskt. Reever’s mind voice changed, becoming urgent and stern. To imply one of them would kill to attain rank is an unforgivable insult.
Knowing males, that probably meant a number of them actually did kill to acquire more rank and power.
“Wait here,” TssVar said, “until I summon you.” He walked into the Hanar’s inner chamber and halted a long distance from the hunched figure. Four guards encircled him and subjected him to remote scan, and then stepped back. “By the life of Hanar, exalted above all others, as long as days exist and words are spoken, no matter at whose command or at whose request, if I break the vow by which I am sworn, then may the flesh be flayed from my bones and burned while my skeleton is left to crumble to dust atop the nameless sands.”
The hu
nched figure did not move. “I recognize the SubAkade TssVar, blood of the line of OrulVar.” The voice was a low, uneven rasp of sound in the otherwise silent chamber.
“Your heart is unfathomable and profound, Supreme One,” TssVar responded. “Command me until the fates devour the last of the Tyryr in your midst.”
“You have brought the warm-blood?”
“I have, Supreme One.” TssVar turned to look back at us and beckoned with one quick gesture. “I present Dr. Torin and the medical team from the Jorenian vessel Sunlace.”
Reever and I walked in, stopping when guards immediately surrounded us and subjected us to the same brief scan TssVar had experienced. When they stepped back, we continued until we stood behind the big Hsktskt.
“Bring the warm-blood here so that I may look upon it,” the Hanar said.
TssVar put a clawed hand on my shoulder and brought me with him toward the glowing bench.
It was hard to know what to think of the Hanar. Toskald princes kept themselves young and physically beautiful by putting themselves in machines that erased all signs of age from their outsides. The Iisleg rasakt did not, but they too took pains never to display themselves as old and infirm. When an Iisleg became too elderly to perform their function within the tribe, they walked out or were taken out on the ice and left to die. The skela did not sacrifice their older women to the elements, but the hard life did not favor the aged.
All of those reasons made me unable to blink as I beheld the Hanar, who had to be the most ancient living thing I had ever seen.
The Supreme One sat on an open-sided bench of the same glowing green material as the heat domes. Instead of great or ornate garments, the Hanar wore a plain, fitted garment of silvery material. It provided some manner of thermal insulation, I guessed. His head was massive, but the hide covering it seemed riddled with bumps and craters, like the surface of a moon. His scales did not gleam with the deep, vibrant green of the younger males, but had darkened over time to a gray-green black. The yellow of his clouded eyes appeared to have darkened as well. One pair of his eyelids drooped, making him appear as if he were assessing everyone through a suspicious squint.
