Staré: Shikari Book Two

by Alma T. C. Boykin

  An hour later, the cream-colored wombow fussed, not wanting to get into harness. Rigi held his head while Makana tacked him out and together they coaxed him into the shafts of the cart. The gelding still fussed, acting almost lively. “Has someone been reading you leaper stories or horse books?” Rigi demanded of the round headed beast. At least she’d worn an apron so she wouldn’t have white hair and slobber on her dress and trousers. Was there something in the Book of Guidance about neoTraditionalists having to use pale-colored animals as a way of maintaining proper humility about outward appearance? Everything she owned showed wombow hair. “Martinus, come.”

  Shona hop-ran up to them and handed Makana a list. Oh dear, she hoped they would have room. Otherwise she knew who would be walking back from the market. Makana said something and Shona replied, and she caught a whiff of //distaste/irritation// from both males. Rigi settled into the cart as Makana climbed into the Staré seat and clicked the wombow into motion. The cart jerked forward as the wombow lurched from standing into a fast trot. Even he wanted to be somewhere. Flitter would have been faster, or runabout, but Rigi couldn’t get a license yet and Makana did not have one. Turning eighteen held increasing appeal. She was tired of having the duties without the privileges and rights.

  High clouds peeped over the trees in the west, suggesting that the first hints of the coming wet season might be nigh. Or perhaps not, given how late the dry had waited to settle in this year. Perhaps the wombow sensed a weather change, and so did everyone else. The students in school with her had always acted restless just before a weather change, and Mar had complained that her fur itched before a storm came through. That had also been different this year, Rigi realized—no wombeast migration around Sogdia. Had there not been one? Or had she missed it? She’d probably just missed it, since she’d been in the Plateau. She petted Martinus’s head and blinked. He seemed odd, something not quite right with his optic sensors. Rigi opened the panel in his shoulder and checked the basic diagnostic read. Huh, he wasn’t getting the full spectrum of communications frequencies. Had something gone wrong with him, or did the problem come from elsewhere? Every other diagnostic read in the green, so she closed the panel and locked it, patted him, and sat back.

  Two hours later, Rigi did her best to look calm and patient as Makana bought one more thing for Shona and two for Siare. Her fears about no longer fitting into the cart just might prove to be correct, and Martinus wouldn’t like walking, either. If Shona had not ordered eggs, then she could have had Martinus sit on the load, but his hundred kilos of mass probably wouldn’t improve the quality of twenty raw hard-shelled eggs and two kinds of delicate fruit. And she wasn’t supposed to be bringing home raw custard. Hmm, could they just clean out the cart and cook whatever they found in the bottom? No, it might be a touch crunchy, like the proverbial story of the new bride and the scrambled chicken eggs. Rigi giggled quietly behind her hand. Martinus tipped his head to the side, exactly like a confused bio-dog. “Not you, Martinus. Good boy.” His bare tail tapped the pavement tink tink tink. The Staré and handful of humans going by gave them mild looks, and she didn’t smell or hear anything out of the ordinary, aside from a whiff of burnt something. Given how often the fryer-watchers overcooked the white-root at some of the food stalls around the edges of the main market, not smelling burnt something would have been odder.

  Makana needed a pull cart to bring everything back to the wombow parking. Rigi kept quiet as he studied her, Martinus, and the parcels and baskets and such. After much internal murmuring and some puffs of //frustration/puzzlement,// Makana’s ears flopped sideways in opposite directions. “Miss Auriga, I fear I must ask you to ride on the rear bench. Martinus as well.”

  Thanks be that she’d worn loose trousers under her dress. Rigi waited until he and a fifth Stamm female finished loading everything into the cart, then she pointed to a cube of plas-crete. “Martinus, fetch.” He nosed it, then pushed it toward the back of the cart, stopping where she pointed. “Good dog.” She used it as a mounting block and climbed onto the seat rather than trying to boost herself. Martinus jumped up beside her, making the cart creak. But the bench held. Makana’s helper returned the block to its starting point and he tipped her, then got into the driving seat. The wombow moved more slowly than before as he discovered that the cart now required him to work instead of bouncing along. Once pointed in the correct direction, he didn’t quite plod, but the spring had most certainly gone out of his step. Makana rested the go-faster stick in its holder beside his left forefoot, seemingly as content as the wombow to roll along at a slow but steady pace.

  They passed the main human market in the district, and the road that would take them to the temple if they turned left. The air felt warm and a bare whisper of a breeze shifted the leaves. Rigi loosened her scarf a teeny bit and opened her collar just a millimeter. The brim of her sunshade kept the main brunt of the sun’s blast off of her head, but it didn’t feel all that much cooler. At least it was not the hot wet yet. That made even wombows mean. Rigi patted Martinus and sneezed. She sneezed again, as did Makana. Something irritated her nose and made her eyes itch. Without thinking she brought her scarf up and wrapped her lower face. That’s what she’d been trained to do on board ship if she smelled anything acrid or overly-sweet. Makana sneezed again, then coughed. The wombow made a wet noise that Rigi took for his version of a sneeze, and stopped.

  She heard a murmur of sound, not a happy murmur. It had an edge to it and seemed to be growing louder, shifting into a growl. Rigi couldn’t see anything to the left, but on the right she saw hazy green white. “Makana, gas of some kind. Can we get upwind?”

  “Negative, Miss Auriga. Trouble comes from upwind.” He tapped the wombow with the go-faster stick and it leaned against the harness, then grunted and started moving again.

  “Martinus, down and follow.” If the cart weighed less, and Martinus had enough charge, it might help. He’d been at eighty percent that morning just before they left, so he couldn’t shoot, but she had her hand-shooter with her. The cart accelerated and Martinus walked quickly, keeping pace with the vehicle. Rigi loosened the special flap on her bag and unfastened the safety tie on the shooter. Please, Creator and Creatrix, may I not have to use it. The commotion grew louder and the wombow sped up, but not fast enough for Rigi.

  “Halt!” Rigi risked standing and caught sight of Staré in uniform. But something seemed off—seventh and eighth Stamme in uniform?

  “Who are you?” she called in Staré.

  “Civil defense force, stop in the name of Staré.”

  Makana called something that sounded rude and the wombow stumbled into a trot. The group of Staré and a human began running after them, and Rigi drew her hand-shooter. She triple-checked that it was on stun—large animal. “Come no closer,” she called back. “We want no trouble.”

  “It’s the traitor, grab them!”

  Rigi fired at the closest Staré. He fell and the one behind him tripped and tumbled, shrieking as he did. The cart lurched forward and Rigi lost her seat, falling. Creator be praised she landed on her feet. Martinus stopped beside her. “Martinus, guard.” Do not make me kill, she begged silently, please dear holy ones do not make me have to kill. I can’t do it, not again. The remaining four pursuers hesitated, then retreated several meters. Rigi spun and ran toward the disappearing wombow cart, Martinus beside her. She didn’t call to Makana, saving her breath to run. At least she’d worn good shoes.

  She’d come within a dozen meters of the cart when she heard more Staré voices, and a male human shouting in Staré, “Protect the wise one!” Rigi glanced to the left and saw a man in military riot gear, twenty or more Staré with him, all second and third Stamme. Four of the Staré turned and hopped toward her, covering the ground faster than a bird flew. Rigi slowed.

  “Martinus, at ease.” The cart seemed to be retreating less quickly as well. Oh dear, she hoped the wombow wasn’t hurt.

  The first Staré drew close and bowed to her. “Wise
one, follow, please.”

  “I follow. Martinus, come.” The four made a box around Rigi and Martinus and they hurried to where the human stood, directing the other soldiers and some civilian security personnel. Rigi guessed and said, “Lt. Prananda, my thanks.”

  “You are welcome, Miss Bernardi. What are you doing here?”

  “I fell off the back of the wombow cart, trying to get away from trouble.”

  “How long before you are missed?” He sounded distracted, probably by whatever was happening up the road.

  “I suspect not long, because the cart is rather lighter than it was at the last major intersection.”

  “Good,” he grunted. “I need you to stay out of the way. Are you injured?”

  “No, sir, but I stunned a Staré who claimed to be part of a Staré defense force and who wore a uniform.”

  What she could see of Tomás’s face and his clenched hand suggested that he wanted to swear. “Thank you for that information. Subala Hlee, protect Miss Bernardi. Her guard should arrive soon.”

  The roar ahead of them and the swirl of green and white and grey seemed to coalesce into a thing, like a smoke monster or creature out of Staré legend. Then silence. The hair on Rigi’s neck and arms stood up, and she put one hand on Martinus’s shoulder. He turned, and she looked behind them to see two Staré soldiers helping Makana. One shoulder hung wrong, and she smelled //pain/anger.// “Makana, are you injured?”

  He stopped on her other side, opposite Martinus. “Slingshot with metal balls. Missed head, got shoulder. The wombow is secured and browsing.”

  “Thank you.” What else was she supposed to say? She couldn’t think of anything appropriate. The silence seemed to be coming toward them, if that made sense. Tomás moved to stand beside Martinus. The spreading stillness had taken on a weight and the Staré around her and Tomás drew up to near attention, shooters or long stun-sticks in their forefeet. She heard rushing steps and looked over to see, of all people, Mrs. Debenadetto hurrying toward them and waving one arm. Tomás didn’t quite muffle his groan, a sound Rigi echoed for her own reasons. The human woman stopped a few meters away from the soldiers, watching ahead of them, panting, one hand on her side as if she had a stitch from running. Rigi glanced at her shoes and winced inside. Mrs. D’s feet must hurt in those thin little heeled slippers.

  The smoke thinned and Rigi saw a ripple of motion as Staré bowed and backed away from a group of a dozen individuals, including a single human with a rifle. She didn’t recognize the tall man in armor—he wore a full gas mask, as did those with him. Once clear of the smoke, he and the rifle-wielding Staré beside him turned around to face the crowd while the rest of the group continued into the clear before turning as one and removing their masks. All had dark pelts and stocky builds. One or two bore the white-tipped ears of the very old. Rigi had never seen so many first Stamm Staré together in public. The ten first Stamm Staré stood motionless as the smoke thinned out. As it did, Rigi saw more and more Staré crouching in homage, and smelled a wave of //confusion/anger/distress/respect// that made her want to sneeze. She envied Tomás his mask.

  Just as she thought that, he removed it. “I do not know what is going on, but I need to have an open face,” he murmured into her ear. She took the hint and unwrapped her scarf.

  “Enough,” the ten first Stamm Staré called in unison //stop/urgency.// “Enough we say. We who direct the Staré of all Stamme and clans say cease. Harass the humans no longer. Justice is being done as we speak.”

  “What are they saying?” Mrs. D demanded.

  Rigi put her hand on Tomás’s arm before he said something rude. His head moved in a sort of acknowledgment and as she lifted her hand, he explained, “They are calling for peace and assuring the crowd that justice is being done.”

  “Who are they?”

  “They are the senior Staré in Sogdia, probably the entire continent.” Tomás nodded toward an especially small, dark figure. “He is from the other side of the continent, and is as old as old can be.”

  “At last! This is what we’ve been waiting for!” Mrs. D’s eyes almost glowed. “We can speak to them directly and explain why they need our help liberating Shikhari.”

  “And if they do not speak Common, Mrs. Debenadetto?” Tomás asked.

  “Miss Rigi will help me, won’t you?” She reached toward Rigi as if to take her arm, but two of the soldiers blocked her. “What’s going on? Release her this instant.”

  “Lt. Prananda, do you think this might be an opportunity to calm matters?” Rigi didn’t want to interpret, but if it would ease trouble and prevent more harm, she had a duty to use her talent for the greater good. And maybe the Elders would tell Mrs. D to go jump into the Arctic Sea, maybe please.

  Lt. Prananda tried to call in, probably for orders and someone to help him decide. He tapped his ear-piece, then turned to the subala beside him, a Staré with more antennae on his backpack and helmet than most transmission centers Rigi had seen. He tried several things, and Rigi caught the bitter-sharp scent of //frustration.// Rigi said, “Martinus was not receiving general comm in this area earlier, Lieutenant.”

  Tomás bit his lip, then nodded. “Go, with Makana.” The soldiers shifted, allowing Rigi, Martinus, and Makana to follow Mrs. D as the portly woman almost ran in her haste to reach the Elders. At least she stopped at the proper distance and didn’t try to shake their forefeet, Rigi grumped as she followed.

  Rigi saw and heard everything clearly. She bowed to the Elders, then stood just behind Mrs. D. The trees around the intersection shimmered as her eyes watered from the lingering smoke, and masses of Staré of all Stamme lined the sides of the road, crouching down, a few ear-bowing as well. The few humans she could see, aside from the tall stranger and his third Stamm shadow, hung back, watching but not saying or trying to do anything. The shade of the trees tempered the sun, at least where Rigi stood, and a confusion of smells irritated her nose. “Introduce me,” Mrs. D ordered.

  Rigi bowed again, as did Makana, who then crouched. “Honored Elders, pardon my poor skill. I have been asked to introduce Mrs. Elaine Debenadetto, a human of good will who seeks to free Staré from undesired human authority.” Mrs. D marched up and stood directly in front of Rigi. Rigi shifted just a centimeter or two to the left, so she could see the Elders.

  “Greetings, noble Staré,” Mrs. D began without giving the Elders time to respond. “I and my fellow humans understand your troubles, and we have come to help you free yourselves from the Corporation and to regain proper control of your world.” She stopped, and Rigi interpreted.

  The centermost Staré Elder twitched her ears. “Who asked you to come to Shikhari and meddle?”

  Oh dear. Rigi twisted inside. Literal words or polite words? Almost literal. “Who asked you to come to Shikhari and intervene?”

  “We heard the pleas of many Staré, and I have seen for myself how miserably treated, overworked, and oppressed the lowest of your people are, those who have been forced into the lowest castes.”

  Rigi translated as best she could. “We heard the calls of many Staré, and I have myself seen the poor treatment, the excess work demanded, and the,” she didn’t have a word. Rigi hesitated, then tried, “the removal of Stamm of those who have been punished by being placed in the lowest Stamme.”

  One of the males beside the elder speaker said something out of the side of his mouth and Rigi caught a thick whiff of //disdain/stupid.// Oh dear. The speaker twitched her ears. “We, the Staré, do not want humans to leave.”

  Rigi translated exactly.

  “Please, please, I understand, truly I do,” Mrs. D begged, wringing her hands. “You have benefitted a little from humans being here. I understand. But you will not lose those benefits after the humans go. You will have full control over everything once more, and no one will be permitted to order you around or to follow human laws. The caste system will go away. My friends and I will see that all can be educated, that all will receive justice for the harm done by
humans. Your brothers and sisters on the Indria Plateau have shown that they want humans gone. Surely you can see that humans are nothing good. They are corrupt and twisted and they abuse you!”

  Rigi held up her hand. “Let me translate, please, then you may continue. I don’t want to make a mistake.”

  “What? Oh, very well. Be quick.”

  Once more Rigi translated exactly. Her head had begun to ache, and she needed Martinus’s presence to help keep her calm, him and Makana.

  The Elders ears began to twitch as she spoke, and when she reached the part about “the Stamme will go away,” two burst out laughing. Rigi kept going and the laughter faded a little, into Staré guffaws.

  Mrs. D didn’t give them time to respond, “You see, you understand, we are here for you. We want you to have justice, to stop being victimized. You don’t know your rights as sapient indiginies, but we do and we will help you regain those rights. There will be no more killings of Staré by humans, no more assaults on Staré by humans if you just allow us to help you.”

  Before Rigi got half way through, Martinus alerted, Makana whipped around and slammed his ears back, and Rigi sensed trouble. She heard Staré screams. The human in armor backed toward them, the first Stamm—or was it third?—at his side doing likewise, and both had weapons up.

  “Rigi duck!” a voice called. Instead Rigi dropped flat, hand-shooter ready, aiming at a dark-brown-haired man who held something pale and bloody in one hand.

  “Kill the stinkies! They killed my family I’ll kill them.” The man tossed a dark-green ball and moved away, moving smoothly and as gracefully as a striped lion, moving like the man at the dance!

  Rigi screamed, “Grenade!” She reached out and grabbed Makana’s ankle, somehow pulling him off balance. He fell. Bang-bloop. Gas grenade? She couldn’t risk it. “Get back, everyone get back,” she screamed in Staré. Someone else screamed, a female human? Rigi didn’t look, instead crawling backwards and trying to drag Makana. Instead she felt metal on her collar and Martinus started pulling her. She went limp and let him, hoping her dress wouldn’t tear. Then he dropped her and snarled.