Dawnwind 1: Last Man Standing

by George R. Shirer

  John glanced at the others. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “They produce a neurotoxin that’s released during physical intimacy,” explained Vesu, looking down into his teacup.

  “Oh.” John blinked, and then frowned. “That’s why people are so uncomfortable around the devotees? Because they can kill someone by having sex with them?”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” said Olu. “Because of what their ancestors did, what the devotees can still do, most people consider them tainted. Spiritually and physically.”

  “I don’t understand,” said John. “If this is a genetic trait, can’t the Health Authority filter it out? I mean, they do the same thing with birth defects. Right?”

  “It’s a low probability trait,” explained Vesu. “Less than three percent of the population ever expresses it.”

  John did the math in his head and frowned. “That’s still over a billion people!”

  “It’s a complicated issue,” admitted Vesu. “With ethical, political and spiritual dimensions. I think there’s even an Assembly Sub-Committee devoted to studying it.”

  “So why has Lewij gone into this cloistered community now? What’s changed?”

  Vesu hesitated, glanced at Olu. “It’s . . . well. . . . Although Lewij tested positive for the trait, it didn’t fully express itself until recently. Her pheromonal secretions. . . .”

  “It wasn’t safe for her to remain in the outside world,” said Olu, plainly. “For her or the people around her.”

  “All devotees eventually join a cloister,” said Ito. “Instructor Lewij has just done it later in life than most.”

  “I traveled with some devotees,” said John. “A pair of girls, younger than you, Ito. They were part of a group going to establish a cloistered community on a Colony world. I always wondered why people were so distant to them.”

  “And now you know,” said Olu.

  “Given their history,” said Vesu, “most people don’t talk about the devotees. Discussing them isn’t considered polite.”

  “Well,” said John, “I’d still like to see Lewij.”

  Olu frowned. “If she’s cloistered. . . .”

  “I’m an alien,” said John. “Do you really think these pheromones will have an effect on me?”

  “Even if you’re immune to their influence,” said Olu, “they still may not let you speak to Lewij, John. They might consider it cruel. You could be viewed as a reminder of the world she’s had to leave behind.”

  “Maybe,” said John. “But that’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

  * * * * *

  Polumet Province was surprisingly mountainous terrain, dry and harsh, its scrub forests peppered with small, brackish lakes. Communities dotted the land, sprouting like fungi along the lakes, at the bases of the mountains.

  The devotees’ community was called The House of St. Neful. It was located far away from the province’s normal travel routes, in a shallow valley surrounded by mountains.

  The cloister was as much statue as shelter. It resembled a thickset woman, on her knees, leaning forward with her arms extended in supplication. The entire structure was made of smooth, blue rock. Within the space of the house-woman’s arms was a large courtyard.

  John studied the House as the transport dropped toward the courtyard. “Do all of your cloisters look like this?”

  His escort, a wizened old man called Sigus, shook his head. “Each is different. But the image of our goddess tends to be prominent in all of our Houses.”

  “It’s very impressive.”

  Sigus grunted, shifted in his seat. “The first House of St. Neful was built almost eleven hundred years ago, in this same spot. Ours is the fifth iteration of that original House.”

  “What happened to the others?”

  “Time,” said Sigus. “Wear and tear. Our iteration has stood for a little over six hundred years.”

  The transport landed, and Sigus clambered to his feet, gestured John to follow him. Outside the transport, the air was cool and sweet. A trio of figures approached, a small elderly woman in the lead, accompanied by two younger attendants.

  “Proctor Emis,” murmured Sigus. “The leader of our House.”

  The proctor had reached the transport. She welcomed Sigus, warmly, the two devotees brushing hands. Turning to John, the old woman merely inclined her head. Sigus had warned him that cloistered devotees would not touch outsiders. John returned the gesture, taking the opportunity to study the proctor.

  She was, he judged, younger than Sigus, perhaps in her seventh or eighth decade. Her white hair was thick and short, falling to brush the collar of her gray robe. Curiously, the proctor was the only person present wearing eyepaint. A silver ribbon was painted across the old woman’s eyes, bisected by another strip running from her forehead to the tip of her nose. John had never seen any other Junian wear eyepaint in that style. He wondered if it was a religious thing?

  “Welcome to the House of St. Neful, Mr. Epcott.”

  “Thank you for allowing me to come, Proctor Emis.”

  She nodded, turned. “Walk with me.”

  The party drifted across the courtyard. Ahead of them, the face of the stone woman looked down, seeming to watch their progress. John saw that the eyes seemed to function as windows. Her stone arms rested on colonnades, their tiled paths kept in perpetual shadow. From this perspective, the House of Neful appeared much larger than it had from the air.

  “How many people live here?”

  “The number fluctuates,” said Proctor Emis. “At the moment, we have a community of over five hundred in residence.”

  “Is that all? Your cloister is so large, I would have expected more.”

  The proctor glanced at him, amused. “The House is only the hub of our community, Mister Epcott. There are over six thousand devotees in Polumet.”

  “The highest concentration of our kind on the planet,” added Sigus, from the rear.

  Proctor Emis nodded. “Just so. There are eleven other cloisters scattered across the province. Service houses, retirement communities, crèches. . . .”

  “Crèches?” said John.

  The old woman nodded. “Yes. We have children among our number, Mr. Epcott. You didn’t know?”

  “No, I had no idea.”

  She studied him. “Does it offend you?”

  He returned her frank gaze. “Should it?”

  “It’s easy to forget that you’re an alien, Mr. Epcott,” said the proctor. “Many Junians are disgusted by the thought of children among us.”

  John frowned. “Do they express the traits?”

  “No. None of us flower until after our lifechange.”

  “Then how do you know these children have the traits? I was told scanning for them isn’t part of the usual prenatal screenings.”

  “It isn’t,” explained the proctor. “But some people, usually those with other devotees in the family, request special scans. Those children who test positive are sent to our order when they are born, to be raised among their own kind.”

  “The ones that aren’t terminated,” said Sigus.

  Proctor Emis shot the old man an irritated look. She raised her hand, gestured sharply. “Leave us. I will escort our guest alone.”

  Sigus bobbed his head and stomped off, across the courtyard. The proctor’s attendants watched him go, rolling their eyes.

  “You two as well,” said Emis.

  John saw the startled expressions flash across the attendants’ faces. One looked as if he were about to protest, but his companion touched his arm and pulled him away.

  “Why do I think this isn’t the way things are usually done here?”

  “Lewij was right. You are perceptive.” The old woman tucked her hands behind her back and picked up her pace. “And this entire visit is highly irregular, Mr. Epcott.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes, but Lewij believes you could be useful to our order, in the future.”

  “Does she?”r />
  “She does.”

  They had reached the entrance to the House, a shadowed doorway that existed between the stone-woman’s breasts. Through the rounded doorway, John could see pale blue walls and floors.

  “So, you’re cultivating me?”

  Proctor Emis chuckled. “Like darkwater fruit.”

  “Isn’t darkwater fruit poisonous?”

  “You never know,” said the old woman, “until you harvest it and remove the rind.”

  * * * * *

  Proctor Emis led him into a cozy room, lit by a single spherical illuminator in the ceiling. A greenwood table had been set up for tea, with three chairs arrayed around it. Imiro Lewij occupied one of the chairs.

  John’s first impression of Lewij was that she looked tired. Her face had lost some of its plumpness and her yellow hair looked dull and lank. Still, when she stood to welcome him, her smile seemed genuine.

  “John, it’s good to see you.”

  The proctor nodded John toward the seat opposite Lewij, while she settled herself midway between the two.

  Lewij eyed the older woman. “I don’t think a chaperone is really necessary, proctor. Do you?”

  “Yes,” said the old woman. “This is your first full flowering, Lewij. It would not be wise, or appropriate, to leave you alone with an outsider.”

  Lewij snorted, shrugged. “As you wish. Shall I serve?”

  “Please,” said Emis.

  “I thought I was resistant to your pheromones?” said John.

  Lewij poured yellow tea into a cup and passed it to him. “You are, but . . . .” She hesitated, glanced at the proctor.

  “When we flower,” said the old woman, blandly, “we devotees enter a state of intense sexual arousal.” She gave Lewij a pointed look. “It can affect our judgment.”

  John blinked. Across the table, Lewij’s fingertips were rosy. She looked as if she couldn’t decide whether to be embarrassed or angry. John sipped his tea. It was bittersweet and warm.

  Emis accepted a cup and promptly dunked a savory stick into it. “Bitter is better,” she explained. “I can barely taste sweets any longer.”

  “Proctor Emis says that you’re cultivating me,” said John. “Like a bush.”

  Lewij snorted. “I wouldn’t have put it like that.”

  “I didn’t,” protested the proctor. “I compared him to darkwater fruit.”

  “Better,” admitted Lewij.

  “Whatever you compare me to,” said John, “I think you’re overestimating my influence.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Lewij. “Look at the people you casually associate with, John. Lol Kitos. Jata Fex. Odosu Sufo. Uqqex of Zerrax. And, just the other day, Talala Esomo.”

  John stared at Lewij. “I just met Esomo the other day. How did you know?”

  Proctor Emis frowned at Lewij, who had the good grace to look embarrassed.

  “Your movements are followed.”

  “Lewij!” Emis sounded genuinely shocked.

  “Not by me,” said Lewij. She glanced at John. “By your admirers.”

  “Ah.” John fiddled with his cup. “Them.”

  “Who?” asked Emis. “I feel like I’ve walked into the middle of this conversation.”

  “My stalkers,” said John.

  The proctor’s frown deepened. “What?”

  “Xenophiles,” clarified Lewij. “John is a popular subject among them.” Her smile grew teasing. “Especially since Uqqex released her latest work.”

  “Uqqex has a new book out?”

  “A collection of poems, actually,” said Lewij. “One of them is dedicated to you, John. It’s called The Solitary Lover.”

  “This is the first I’m hearing of it.”

  “It’s very sensual,” said Lewij.

  John blinked. Lewij was looking at him with frank, sexual appraisal. He fought the urge to squirm.

  Frowning, Proctor Emis reached across the table and touched Lewij’s arm. “Imiro.”

  Lewij blinked, seemed to come back to herself. Her fingers flushed with blood and she dropped them into her lap, beneath the table.

  “Oh! I’m...I don’t know what came over me. . . .”

  “You’re still flowering,” said Emis, kindly. “Perhaps we should end this meeting?”

  “Perhaps,” admitted Lewij. She stood, a bit unsteadily, and John rose from the table as well. “It was good seeing you again, John. I wish . . . .”

  He smiled, inclined his head. “It was good seeing you again too.”

  “Proctor Emis will take care of you,” said Lewij. She nodded at the older woman, and then hurried out of the room. John sat, a thoughtful look on his face.

  Emis sighed, reached for the teapot. “Poor woman. It’s worse when the flowering happens so late in life. It’s almost as bad as going through the deph-mog.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “She’ll manage,” said the proctor. “We’ll see her through it. And, if she can bend a little, she might actually enjoy it.”

  “Really?”

  The old woman nodded. “Oh yes. I find that there’s nothing like a quick tryst to get the blood singing. More tea?”

  Amused, John offered his cup. The proctor topped it off.

  “You’re aware of the toxin our bodies produce?”

  He nodded, sipped his tea.

  “We have to purge it, or it starts affecting us. The most efficient way to do that is sex.”

  John’s tea almost went down the wrong way. He put his cup down. “I . . . had no idea.”

  “Not many outsiders do. Most of them just think we’re debauched.”

  “Can’t medical implants counter the effects?”

  “To a degree,” said Emis. “But not indefinitely.” She grinned at him. “The traditional way remains the best way.”

  “Well, that information certainly isn’t in the public infobases.”

  “Most would consider it too prurient.”

  “Funny,” said John. “I wouldn’t expect Junians to have these kinds of hang-ups about sex. You’re all so affectionate, always touching each other and hugging.”

  Emis laughed. “You’d be surprised.”

  “I’ll defer to your experience,” said John. He grinned, in spite of himself. “But I’m curious, proctor, as to how you and Lewij think I’ll be able to help you? What, exactly, do you want?”

  “A Colony of our own, Mr. Epcott.”

  He frowned. “I don’t understand. Surely you can muster enough devotees to found your own Colony?”

  “Easily. The problem is getting the Colonial Authority to cede us a world.”

  “Ah,” said John. “I take it your reputation precedes you?”

  “Very well put. There is that and fierce competition from other groups. Choice worlds are few and far between.”

  “So, what do you want from me?” asked John, genuinely puzzled.

  “Many guardsmen who retire from active military service, often take positions with the Colonial Authority,” said Emis.

  “I don’t know anyone in the Colonial Authority.”

  “Not yet,” said the proctor. “But, you will. And, if they should happen to ask for your input on assigning colonization rights to certain groups. . . .”

  “Ah. You want me to talk up your order.”

  “It would be appreciated,” said the proctor. “And, we would be grateful.”

  “I’m not for sale, proctor.”

  “Of course not, Mr. Epcott. We would never think to offer you a bribe. Just our thanks.”

  “Really?” He didn’t bother to hide his skepticism.

  “Lewij seems to think you wouldn’t need anything else. She described you as a man of good character. Given what I know of her background, that’s high praise indeed.”

  “Flattering,” said John. “Who else has she brought into her web?”

  “Why, Mr. Epcott! You make it sound positively sinister.”

  “This does have a certain clandestine feel to it,
proctor.”

  “Let me assure you, this is all perfectly normal. Most colony groups recruit supporters for their cause.” The old woman snorted. “As you can imagine, this is something of a problem for us.”

  “I imagine it would be.”

  The old woman regarded him for a moment. “Will you help us?”

  John considered the question for a few moments. “If I can, but I’m not making any promises.”

  Proctor Emis smiled. “All we ask is that you keep an open mind.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  She nodded, studying him with dark, thoughtful eyes. “I’m sure you will, Mr. Epcott.”

  * * * * *

  The city of Seven Lakes was one of the oldest on Juni, its history stretching back millennia to when Junians first began to settle into stationary communities. Its age was apparent in the buildings of the First Quarter, which had grown into a tangled, ivory-colored knot. Domed towers reached toward the sky, connected by aerial walkways. The city had a complicated mass transit system that left visitors dazed and wondering. Scattered throughout the metropolis were the original seven lakes, considered sacrosanct by the locals, their shores crowded with temples and shrines.

  John thought he had a good idea as to what a Junian city was like, based upon his experiences in Ted Dov. Seven Lakes, however, was much older and much bigger.

  The provincial transport hub was his first warning. Travelers thronged the building’s concourses and galleries. It was a noisy press of bodies. As John stepped into it, he fought down an unfamiliar burst of panic.

  He made his way to the transit station, where he caught a float-train heading toward the First Quarter. As crowded as the transport hub had been, the float-train was worse. In the lozenge-shaped cars, people were literally pressed belly to back. The atmosphere was warm, fragrant and noisy.

  John wiggled off the train in the First Quarter, and found a groundcar station. He climbed into the back of a vehicle and gave the auto-driver the address of his hotel. The groundcar shot away from the curb, merging seamlessly with the heavy, local traffic.

  The First Quarter’s streets were narrow and winding. The groundcar whizzed along them at breakneck speed. John found himself clutching the armrest and double-checking his restraints. Ten minutes later, the groundcar slid to a stop in front of a tall red tower with lavender balconies. A bright yellow display around the main entrance identified the building as the Hotel Tako.