Today I ask each of you to set aside our regional squabbles, which have divided our great people for far too long, and unite in order to ensure our very survival. As you know, my daughter Pulchra was slain by the griffin while attempting to give birth almost ten years past. Our enemy’s focused campaign targeting our women, while cowardly and immoral, has none the less achieved its purpose. The deteriorating female birth rate we’ve experienced for centuries combined with the need for our young to spend their first week above the surface made us susceptible to such a strategy, and now the last of our fertile women has been lost.
While our sustained counter attack with our raptor allies to the south has dealt the griffin staggering losses of their own, the gravity of the situation we face has forced us to consider taking unprecedented and controversial measures. That is what we have gathered here today to discuss. After years of painstaking work, our engineers have successfully rebuilt and opened the Ice Sea portal, the only one left even partially intact.
The crowd erupted in a wild frenzy at the news. A few members of adversarial regions attacked the closest rival to them while far more people raced toward the exits. The enormous contingent of court guards immediately closed in, preventing anyone from leaving and bringing a quick end to the skirmishes.
Once everyone was escorted back to their sections the king continued. I’m well aware of our history, my brethren, and the reasons why the gates were destroyed. I promise you that no weapon of any kind will be taken from Earth. To ensure no such atrocity is committed, a portal security contingent will be formed with battalions from all six regions. It’s been almost a thousand years since soldiers outside of our territory have been allowed to be stationed here. I hope this decree helps bolster your trust.
An ancient member of the Western Region, which bordered the griffin hatching grounds, swam out from the second floor balcony reserved for our most honored dignitaries and bowed to the king. May I speak, my Lord?
Celandor yielded the floor to him with a jovial wave of his hand. Maelafor, my dear friend, you look as fit as the day we scorched our first griffin nests together. Please speak your mind.
The old man’s features softened in an almost youthful smile. A fond memory, indeed. Your decree will go a long way toward ensuring my region that your intentions are honorable. But how will reopening the Ice Sea portal assist us with producing offspring?
Based on all the nods and side conversations, the majority of the room was wondering the same. The king raised his arms, palms facing outward, and called for silence. Leave it to my wise old friend to cut right to the heart of the matter. Our scientists have been conducting in-depth stem cell and genetic research over the past decade, and have developed a means—in theory at least—of transforming human females to be able to survive in our environment and bear our young. A combination of surgical procedures and specialized stem cell treatments will be used to provide them with gills and merge their legs together into a makeshift tail, replacing their feet with oversized flukes. Even with the enhancement, I fear they will be a great deal slower than our eldest, most sickly females, but without it they would certainly be feasted upon by the first cutterfish that crossed their path. Their fragile skin will be covered with protective scales similar to ours, and we’ll modify their reproductive organs so they are capable of giving birth to our much larger young. Once their gills are operational, we’ll remove their lungs and reroute their tracheas to the fanashial flap inserted between their shoulder blades, so they can draw air to speak while at the surface.
As for their ability to assimilate into our society, while there are certainly significant nuances in the dialect, Americans and the Syreni both primarily speak English, which should make it far easier for them to adapt. We know from history we can project our thoughts to their kind. There’s even a chance we’ll be able to promote the development of rudimentary telepathic speech by injecting receptor cells into their brains so they aren’t forced to rely on simple gestures and scribing to communicate while submerged.
But above all else, under no circumstances will these mutated females be allowed to bear hybrid young. The eggs harvested from our elder females will be fertilized by our generals, screened to select healthy female offspring, and implanted into their wombs. The women will live with their chosen general and spend their days working as servants. If all goes as planned, each of the six regions will receive a breeding female, but all of the women will be prepared here.
In closing, let me just say that the timing of this proposal is not by chance. The human Olympic swim trail finals are scheduled for tomorrow. There is one race in particular that features four world record holders, providing us with the most accomplished aquatic specimens their species has to offer. If our plan is approved, Aristos will use the looking glass to open the portal just as the leaders reach the wall, and will leave it open until we have the six females we need. Once the portal is closed, he will personally guide the disoriented women to the surface.
Celandor paused and slowly turned to take in the entire room before shifting his focus back to the seven council members. The motions before the Throne of Nine today are to approve the opening of the Ice Sea portal, the creation of the portal security contingent, and the acquisition and mutation of human females for the purpose of propagating our race. What say you?
This was the moment that had plagued my nightmares since I’d first heard of Celandor’s plan. My only hope—and it was a slim one—was for five of the members voting before me to kill the proposal, which would end the roll call and keep me from casting a vote against Pulchra’s father. Of course, the vote could pass prior to reaching me as well. I didn’t even want to think about that possibility. As the member proposing the motions the king’s vote was assumed, and since I was the newest council member, I’d be voting last.
The Western general, Sheriolac, shared a private conversation with Maelafor then turned to address the king. The Western Region supports your proposals, my king.
As does your neighbor to the East, Gherian, the East Arctic general announced.
Given that they were our two closest neighbors their votes weren’t exactly surprising, but that still left me needing all four of the remaining council member votes to avoid a tie—which would be resolved by the king.
This proposal is blasphemy, Bulrigaard growled, slamming his heavy fist on the table. The Ceraspian Mountain Region votes nay.
Here! Here! Lanipas, the general of the bordering South Central Region proclaimed. May the Gods strike you down for even suggesting this.
Quinn, the Far East general, was tugging at his shaggy red hair, and looked just as tortured to find himself in this position as I was. His father had once commanded Celandor, and most of his region still felt like they’d been passed over for the throne. However, we’d recently sent thousands of soldiers to their aid to repel a major griffin offensive targeting their underwater iron mines. The constant bombardment of heavy stones from above collapsed three of the ancient cave openings before we finally beat them back. No doubt he was contemplating the effect on our future response time that a nay vote would carry. You have the Far East Region’s support, my king.
And with my vote the measures are passed, Chancellor Venerack added. I will inscribe them and distribute tablets to each of the regions.
Whether I’d been allowed to vote or not, it was time to put an end to this—or at least my involvement in it. I called out privately for Celandor several times, hoping to avoid a public spectacle, but he was purposefully ignoring me. When the king turned to leave with the Chancellor I panicked, lunging across the table like a raging cutterfish. The aggressive maneuver caught the attention of the entire court, including several of the elite guard who quickly closed ranks around the king. Wonderful. At times like this I thanked the Gods I wasn’t just another of his generals. Even so, openly confronting Celandor was beyond suicidal. If he’d only been asking me to do anything else.
My king. I mean no disrespect, but I will ne
ver betray the sanctity of my Pulchra’s bedchamber. Taleoek and Sennika have ascended. Surely they are better suited—
The all too familiar sensation of his trident’s steel prongs against my throat brought an abrupt end to that line of thought. Celandor towered above me with a look of such hatred in his pale green eyes that I truly believed he’d kill me.
You will do as you’re commanded, General. I’ve tolerated your sulking long enough. You wish to compare your loss to mine? In my hundred-and-twenty-two years, Pulchra was my only daughter, and the last child my compar, Brenn, ever had. I watched her grow and mature from a spiteful little hellcat into a brilliant, remarkable woman before I mistakenly bound the two of you together. To think the soldier I loved like my own son and trusted above all others would turn out to be a selfish coward who’d fail her so completely.
He withdrew the weapon from my throat and formally turned his back to me, a sign of disrespect typically reserved for those found guilty of a capital offense and sentenced to death. Either open the portal and complete your mission or don’t return at all.
With one mighty swipe of his tail he was gone.
CHAPTER THREE
Olympic swimming trials: 100m Free Final
* * *
“Good luck, baby.” My mom gave me yet another bone-scrunching squeeze before stepping away and wiping her tanned cheek on the back of her hand. It was hard to believe, looking at her now, that she was almost twenty-five when she had me. She was in such jaw dropping shape from her career as a park trail guide that most people thought we were sisters. I’d all but grown up in Joshua Tree National Park. It wasn’t hard to see where my athleticism had come from.
“Let the poor girl breathe, Anne,” my father joked, pulling me into a suffocating hug of his own. “You stay right on Tara’s ass the first fifty and she’s yours. Her turn’s weak, and she doesn’t close worth a damn when she’s behind.”
My father, always the coach. It drove my Stanford and Olympic coaches nuts, especially since I was far more likely to take his advice than theirs. He broke down my technique and my opponent’s weaknesses with the precision of a forensic scientist. Which made sense, I guess, since that was his day job. “Got it, Dad. Thanks.”
I walked over to where my younger sister Caylee sat in her wheelchair and bent down to give her a kiss on the cheek. “I need you to cheer extra hard for me today, okay?”
As always, there was no change in her distant, unfocused expression, but I still believed she could understand me. Born with cerebral palsy and severe mental retardation, she’d never even attempted to utter a word, so I just about jumped out of my skin when her lips moved. “Nnnot. S-sff. Dd-ddd-ntt. Ge-ggo.”
My parents converged on us in a microsecond, keeping me from falling backward on my ass, but whatever spark of cognitive ability she’d had disappeared as fast as it had come. Caylee made no further attempt to speak in spite of all of our prodding, and didn’t display any indication that she was any more aware of her surroundings than she had been for the last twenty years.
“What did she say!” I screamed at their backs. Thinking about what it sounded like she’d said made my skin crawl. My whole body was shaking.
“It was just gibberish, honey,” my dad tried to assure me, taking a firm grip of my shoulders. “Now get your head back in the game. Maybe she was trying to wish her big sister good luck.”
“Steven, it sounded like she was warning—” My father’s so-not-helping-here glare cut my mother off quick, but it wasn’t like I couldn’t complete her sentence.
I broke free from his hold and scrambled toward the bathroom before opting for the much closer trash can to vomit in. Our little scene wasn’t private anymore. The sound of the country’s leading Gold medal hopeful puking her guts out less than thirty minutes before qualifying drew my coach, both trainers, an IOC representative, two camera crews and half the team.
“Everyone stand back!” Coach Everly shouted, already guiding me toward the training room. She didn’t even break stride as my next mouthful went down her right pant leg. Within a couple minutes I was flat out on a table with an I.V. of saline and IOC approved anti-nausea medication in my arm.
“Your temperature’s normal,” Amanda, our lead trainer said as she started to take my blood pressure. “What have you eaten today?”
I tried to sit up, but she pressed her hand against my chest to stop me. “The same catered breakfast as everyone else. I’m fine. Really. I need to get to the pool.” There was no way my Olympic dream was ending like this after I’d worked my ass off my entire life. I’d fight my way to the pool if I had to. Thankfully, before I went all Bruce Lee, Coach Everly stepped in and convinced the others to let me go to warm ups once the I.V. bag was empty.
The crowd rose to their feet and erupted in cheers when I emerged from the hallway and entered the center pool. My eyes searched for Austin, hoping to catch even a glimpse of him among the chaos to help me settle down, but I was too distracted by all the microphones being jammed in my face. Ignoring them unfortunately wasn’t an option if you had any intention of landing sponsors, so I plastered on a smile and assured everyone I was fine—that it was just a case of nerves—before making my way to the warm up pool.
Tara, Gentry and Vanessa—the only three I had to worry about—were already finishing up their pre-race routines when I stepped down into the 84 degree water. Tara was seventeen, and I’d only met her twice. The other two were close friends I’d known for years.
Vanessa wrapped her arm around my shoulders and leaned her head in close so the TV mics wouldn’t overhear. “You good, Kerrbear?”
I gave her a little peck of a kiss on her black as night cheek. “I’m good, Ness—just trying out a new diet plan.”
That got a genuine laugh out of her. “Girl, that’s just wrong!” We wished each other luck and broke apart just as Gentry approached.
Gentry and I completed our complicated handshake ritual that we’d been doing since swimming in juniors together, ending with a shoulder bump, and the camera crews ate it up. “Try not to get lapped today, huh?” she teased.
“I’ll do my best,” I said with a snort. “How big of a head start do you want this time?” Trading digs was kind of our thing, even though it led to some stupid article being printed from time to time about how we were frenemies. You’d think the fact that she was one of my bridesmaids would kill those kinds of rumors, but hey, who ever let facts get in the way of a good story?
Tara waited patiently for Gentry to leave before giving me a somewhat awkward pat on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re feeling okay, Kerrigan. Good luck today.”
“Thanks Tara. Just swim another race like your semi’s and you’ll be fine.” While she was primarily a 50 meter swimmer—which explained her less than optimal turns—she still had the second fastest preliminary heat behind my own. And unlike me, her place on the team was already assured by winning the 50m freestyle final earlier today, knocking over half a second off her own world record. Her immergence on the scene two years ago had pretty much cut my chances to qualify in half, but I couldn’t make myself resent her. She reminded me too much of myself at her age.
Ten lengths at an easy pace followed by a series of stretches and calisthenics was all it took for me to get loosened up, which is a good thing, since they were calling us to the blocks when I finally padded up the steps. Austin’s decision that morning to let me have a private moment with my family seemed like such a sweet thing at the time, but that was when I thought we’d have a few minutes alone together afterward. Thanks to my little puke-a-thon, I wasn’t going to see him at all now. Could this morning be going any shittier? First my sister goes all poltergeist on me and predicts my doom, then I puke on my coach, and now I wasn’t even going to get my good luck kiss.
The sound of raised, agitated voices caught my attention, and I turned to find Austin standing just outside the pool entrance in a heated debate with a security guard. I had no time left to spare but there really
wasn’t a choice—I needed him. Screaming “Two minutes!” at the closest judge, I took off at a quick jog across the cement floor and leaped into his waiting arms. His lips brushed against mine before his tongue slid between them and our kiss shifted into an open mouthed full out attack. I’d never been so voyeuristic before—the entire world was watching—and yet all I could think about was the smell of his Amen cologne and the deliciously abrasive feel of his three day scruff of a beard against my throat. He was mine. “I’m here, Kerr,” he whispered. “Now get out there and win this thing before they disqualify you.”
That sobered me up in a hurry. I tore myself away and all but sprinted to lane four, almost biting it as I skidded to a stop on the wet pavement. Usually I’d go through an elaborate arm shake out routine, adjust my swim cap, and do some final leg stretches at this point, but I’d just gotten my goggles into place when they called us to our marks. Bracing my left foot against the raised back portion of the block, I placed my right down with my toes on the edge, leaned far forward and wrapped my fingers around the front lip. This was it.
The bell sounded and I drove forward off my left foot, adding an additional spring with my right and arching my hands out in front of me for a clean entry into the water. Seven powerful dolphin kicks later I was at the surface, just under a third of the way down the pool, and shifted into my crawl. It felt like I’d reacted well and gotten off to a great start, so when I turned my head to the right for my first breath four strokes later, I was stunned to find myself already looking at Tara’s wake. Fuck.
I threw every ounce of my strength into each kick and stroke of my arms, the closing push I normally reserved for the last twenty meters of a race, and by the three quarter mark I was at her shoulder. My muscles were on fire and I was already growing short on breath. There was no way I could sustain this suicidal pace, but I’d done as my father suggested, and now we were headed into the turn.
Kerrigan's Race (The Syreni Book 1) Page 2
