Freeforce: The Gryphon Saga

by L. E. Horn

  Ewtk’fisk remembered her shock. She’d glanced at the surrounding Fara sitting in the gallery. Some sat with glazed eyes like they hardly paid attention. Others appeared as though they listened, but she remained unsure whether they actually understood. Fara were raised to have faith in the system. The elders would hear the superiors from each area of expertise before they retired to discuss and come to a consensus among themselves. Those discussions remained privy only to the elders. The decisions made were final and universally accepted among the Fara population as the result of the accumulated wisdom of many generations.

  Wisdom based on faulty information. Ewtk’fisk saw the process with new eyes.

  Within the Tlok’mk species, the Fara elders set policy and made the important decisions about future planning. The Tlok’mk breeding program, which relied on genetic manipulation, generated new Fara capable of making cool, rational decisions about every aspect of Tlok’mk life.

  Lately, the Chamber of Elders kept the leaders hopping, sending them to the techs with requests for information and resources, most of which assisted in the current war. Many various areas of expertise felt the pinch as their dwindling supplies were redirected to the prolonged effort. The technicians sent progress reports up the chain—they wanted the elders to know the ramifications of an ailing conflict.

  Ewtk’fisk sighed. In retrospect, she acknowledged the Tlok’mk breeding program should have been the first clue all was not well with her people. Physical sex within her species stopped long ago, well before the destruction of their home world in a civil war. All Tlok’mk were now born from artificial incubators, although they still sacrificed the occasional male to provide fresh genetic material. In the primitive days, on their dry, sandy home planet, the mated female would have devoured choice parts of him. The resultant surge of nutrition went into egg production.

  In modern times, artificially provided nutrition and carefully altered incubator temperatures dictated the sex of the offspring. Until recent times this worked without any issues.

  Artificially controlling reproduction proved an important step in the intellectual advancement of the Tlok’mk species. Fara of specific genetic lines were born to predesignated areas of expertise. Thus, young Fara followed in their familial footsteps. Newly generated individuals refreshed positions within the structure by moving older Fara up the responsibility chain until they could join the Chamber of Elders. As an aging Fara retired, a new one supplemented her familial line.

  There were several areas of expertise, and several family lines. The Tlok’mk control over the artificial reproduction of new Fara became so fine-tuned, they could forecast when new members would be needed for each line and arrange for their creation. Yet the success of the artificial reproduction process had regressed. First, the generated males showed smaller size and reduced mental abilities. When the problem was investigated, a more alarming trend surfaced: an increase in the number of deaths among the Fara embryos. The lab techs worked overtime with little progress made toward a solution.

  To make matters worse, Fara embryos began dying in a disproportionate fashion. Certain family lines experienced greater embryonic losses than others. Without familial replacements, several middle-aged Fara held influential positions for a long period of time. Ewtk’fisk now recognized this imbalance resulted in concentrations of solitary power where it never existed before.

  Yet why would these Fara spin the data to favor the war? Ewtk’fisk needed more information. She couldn’t understand what they hoped to gain by promoting its continuance.

  Working for personal gain should have been unnatural for any Fara. Since the earliest times, her kind had been selected to perform for the good of the species.

  She wondered if a genetic quirk allowed some Fara to take advantage of a complacent population. Perhaps smaller Farr and dead Fara embryos were not the only problems within the breeding program?

  Ewtk’fisk’s family line maintained the wards. They looked after the slave quarters in every aspect: feeding, cleaning, accommodation, training, and medical care. Her people specialized in slaves, which involved the assimilation of many foreign species. As the entire Tlok’mk race lived on the giant ships, they were vulnerable to contagion. All aliens brought on board not only underwent a rigorous sterilization procedure including the elimination of all internal flora but must also be supported back to health once they arrived. This was a complex process unique to each species and, over time, the Tlok’mk had become masters at it.

  Her job included coordination with the laboratory technicians that oversaw routine medical testing done on the slaves. During such collaborations, Ewtk’fisk befriended a lab technician in the testing area. They sometimes met to share a meal. She’d never, before now, visited her friend’s private quarters.

  At present, as she paused in the shadows, Ewtk’fisk felt another pang of uneasiness. Technically, she had no reason to skulk in the shadows, but she felt uncomfortable entering another section’s accommodation hub. Although private meetings were not outlawed, visiting between members of different areas usually involved public locales. Her friend seemed a little puzzled as to why Ewtk’fisk couldn’t wait until their next scheduled meal date, but she didn’t hesitate when Ewtk’fisk requested a meeting in her personal quarters.

  Straightening her broad shoulders, Ewtk’fisk stepped from the shadows and into the light.

  Chapter Seven

  “THAT WAS THE LAST EMPTY room.” Andrea sat in the lotus position on Lianndra’s only chair. She stared out the doorway as the ward supervisor escorted yet another disoriented newbie to their permanent quarters on the ship.

  I don’t know how she gets those legs folded onto the chair. Lianndra admired her friend’s casual pose. I can barely squeeze my butt in there. Even fit, her form still contained curves that Andrea’s body would never see.

  Lianndra returned her attention to the central foyer. The space within the slave area divided into the familiar wards and communal areas for meals, training—derisively called recitals—and exercising. The Fang permitted women to indulge in hobbies as long as they didn’t prove disruptive. Many of the possibilities on Earth were available here.

  Happy critters perform better, Lianndra thought.

  Andrea stared at her, and Lianndra realized she’d not yet answered her question. “Uh, yeah. I think ours is full now.”

  The taller woman frowned before unlocking her legs to let her feet drop to the floor. “They’re packing us in like sardines. I wonder what’s going on?”

  “I asked Marnie, and she was her usual communicative self—in other words, I learned nothing.” A ward consisted of twelve rooms arranged in a circle with a central foyer. Like all the ward supervisors, Marnie was the rarest of creatures—an old Dancer. A taciturn sort, Lianndra always found it hard to get any useful information out of her.

  Andrea resided a short distance from Lianndra and was overseen by a more talkative supervisor, one who liked to gossip. Andrea listed the ward supervisors, given in reverse order of the grapevine. “Kath mentioned that Judy overheard Trixie and Lesa talking about the Fang failing in their war efforts,” Andrea said.

  Lianndra followed the line of names and gossip. “Trix has been here forever. If anyone has an ear on what’s going on, it would be her.” She waved a hand toward the door. “How they will train these women is beyond me. It’s difficult enough now to get prep time.”

  “Well, I’m hoping it leads to less time Dancing.” Andrea reached for her drink and finished it in one gulp. “I wouldn’t mind a break in routine. Last week I did three, which is crazy.”

  Lianndra nodded. Considering how many newbies had arrived in the last few months, the experienced Dancers followed a brutal schedule. Slaves were disappearing—far more than could be accounted for by the dreaded private parties. Gone to the war? They’d always assumed the men went to the front lines, but if the war was going poorly, perhaps they were taking women there as well. Her stomach tightened. The Blooddances were bad
enough. But fighting an alien war? Is that what happened to Michael?

  She knew of another possibility. While the women slaves participated in the Blooddances, men and captured aliens competed in brutal fights in a place referred to as the Pit. Lianndra watched the Pitfights faithfully every night. So far, she’d not seen Michael.

  Is he already dead? Lianndra clamped down hard on her thoughts. She had to believe he was alive, even though she would likely never know. After all this time she still hoped for a way out of this place. As irrational as it may be, Michael’s memory remained linked to that hope.

  And what if the Fang don’t win this war?

  Lianndra never voiced the last question. The front lines of the war were on a planet called Tarin, a short distance from where the Motherships sat like great bloated fortresses in space. If the Fang lost, the war might come to the ship itself. They could die without ever leaving the bowels of this cursed Mothership.

  Or leave one prison for another. Lianndra shuddered. The Fang were at least a known evil. The aliens in the Pitfights seemed pretty nasty. Of course, you can’t expect to see their softer side when they’re fighting for their lives.

  She sighed before stretching out on her bed, adjusting her head position so the collar didn’t dig into her neck. Beside her, Andrea resumed her lotus position and meditated. Lianndra’s thoughts galloped down darker paths and reflecting on them would not bring her any peace.

  EWTK’FISK COULD READ THE CURIOSITY in Xoek’sank’s face as the latter triggered the door release. She tried to appear casual as she greeted the laboratory technician, but she knew her skin involuntarily adopted the pale red tint indicating tension. Genetically advanced they might be, but her people still had not conquered the tiny color enhancing pores covering the skin.

  Subterfuge is not considered a Tlok’mk trait, she thought.

  The technician’s quarters appeared even more austere than Ewtk’fisk’s own. As one of the areas most affected by the Fara embryo deaths, the technicians of Xoek’sank’s family area worked double shifts to keep up with the demands the war put on them. Xoek’sank likely spent little time in her quarters.

  Ewtk’fisk helped herself to a seat hovering in the central area of the tech’s quarters and accepted the drink her friend offered. Uncertain how to best broach this sensitive topic, she decided to first tread on more familiar ground. She began with a work-related issue: the slaves in the multigenerational genetic enhancement project, now headed for the manipulation lab.

  “I have authorized the preliminary genetic manipulation of the human female Tier-5s as requested,” Ewtk’fisk said. “We injected the first of them with the serum this cycle. I expect we will see results soon. Do you have space to accommodate them in the manipulation lab?”

  Polite by nature, Xoek’sank didn’t reveal any frustration with Ewtk’fisk for delving into a conversation best discussed during work hours. With her increased schedule, it was probably more unusual to have a casual exchange.

  The heftier Fara seated herself and took a sip of her beverage. “We have limited space. Once the subjects show the serum has taken effect, we intend to analyze, inject, and process them for the front lines as quickly as possible. War Coordinator Tark’tosk needs to get them trained since the fighting units have experienced heavy losses on all fronts.”

  Ewtk’fisk had never met the war coordinator, one of the few Fara involved directly in the war. At one time, the Farr had ultimate jurisdiction over wars. The decline in the quality of new Farr meant they could not replace any lost senior commanders from within the Farr ranks. The decrease in Farr abilities led to the recent formation of a new Fara initiative—battle strategy. For the first time in Tlok’mk history, a Fara managed a war.

  Ewtk’fisk liked the direction of this conversation. “I pray these new slaves will help turn the tide.” She kept her eyes on her drink while striving to keep her pores from flushing the deeper reds of uneasiness. “I attended the conglomerate meeting. The superiors recommend that the war should continue.”

  Xoek’sank shifted in her chair and Ewtk’fisk caught the barest flush of pink in the skin of her friend’s face. “I heard.” The pink tones deepened as the technician struggled with her feelings. “I suppose the elders know best.”

  Ewtk’fisk took a deep breath. “The elders can only act on the information given to them.” She met Xoek’sank’s startled gaze. “During our gathering with the superior, we spoke out against the war.” She locked her eyes with the tech’s, noting any reaction. “Yet our superior manipulated our information to speak in favor of the war during the conglomerate meeting.”

  She let the sentence hang as she observed the technician’s reaction. Xoek’sank looked uncomfortable. But not surprised.

  There was a long silence before Xoek’sank replied. “Our techs also made it clear we cannot meet the demands now placed upon us. The work on the Tier-5 females will take all our resources. We are modifying the genetics so fast that the subjects may not properly adapt to the changes, which means putting individuals in the field that could fail at crucial junctures of time.”

  “The humans have always been among the more resilient of our subjects.” Ewtk’fisk tried to reassure. The discomfort of her friend distressed her, and she had to force herself to continue. “It is strange the superiors have taken this approach.” It became easy to sound concerned. “Of course, they likely have access to information we do not. Perhaps the war situation is not as bleak as rumor indicates.”

  Ewtk’fisk sensed the conflict within her friend and sat quietly sipping her drink.

  Finally, Xoek’sank said, “All the reports validate that the war is not going well.”

  She’d almost whispered the words, and Ewtk’fisk could barely hear her. She sensed opportunity, and with an internal wince, continued. “They must be acting on information sources that we do not have access to.” She hesitated before saying, “As we know, private agendas have never been an issue. It is not part of our genetic programming.”

  Xoek’sank placed her beverage on a platform nearby and rose to move to her food console, punching in a code for a popular sweetmeat. Ewtk’fisk followed her, helping to arrange them on a platter. Her hearts were thumping, and her face must be bright pink by now.

  The technician took great care placing the sweetmeats, but Ewtk’fisk sensed the turmoil within her friend. Finally, she could wait no longer. “Xoek’sank, is there something you know that you are not telling me?” She reached out a taloned hand to touch her friend’s. “I would not ask, but this is important.”

  “Can you give me time?” Xoek’sank’s gaze seemed resigned. “I must talk this over with someone. Then I will contact you. I promise.”

  Ewtk’fisk thought both of her hearts might freeze on the spot. There is something going on here. I don’t believe it, but there is something.

  She forced herself to sound much more collected than she felt. “Of course, Xoek’sank,” she said, accepting a sweetmeat from her.

  As they seated themselves again, Xoek’sank took control of the conversation. She chatted about the newest additions to their program and the promise they held as slaves able to mine the deepest pits of metal-rich asteroids. Such adaptations would ensure top price in the slave markets, with minimal genetic manipulation.

  Ewtk’fisk conversed on yet another species conquest, but her inner thoughts were in chaos. What does Xoek’sank know? She felt as if she was standing on a precipice about to step off into the unknown, a feeling she’d never experienced. I asked for this. Now I must face up to it.

  THE FANG HAD NOT YET entered the Coliseum. Waiting, Lianndra tested her skrin, unfurling it before winding it in again. On a platform across from her, the nervous newbie copied her action, twitching her own skrin until it clung to a spar before she yanked it free. Lianndra winced, wondering how she would cope with this partner. She hadn’t trained with her. New girls dominated the training sessions, which meant Lianndra came into this Blooddance much less prepared
than usual. She would have to rely on her experience to get them both through it alive.

  This session, the most recent of many double sessions, transpired to train the newbies by pairing them with experienced Dancers. Instead, the extra bodies resulted in more injuries. Andrea remained on the infirm list after two weeks due to wounds resulting from a double Blooddance gone awry.

  The Coliseum had difficulty accommodating the acrobatics of two Dancers against two Farr. To top it off, most Farr off the war’s front lines remained unpredictable and savage. They often struck with unnecessary force, and many Dancers ended up injured, or worse.

  Lianndra used her skrin to swing over to the newbie’s platform. She knew this was only the kid’s second Blooddance. “Just try to hang back,” she told the frightened girl. “Watch me. Stay out of the way. I’ll tire them out as much as possible by myself. Move only when you must. Let’s just get through this in one piece.”

  The girl nodded, unable to verbalize—the young Dancer didn’t speak English well. Lianndra held little hope that once things got going the kid would remember. Lianndra suspected both of them would visit Tania afterward.

  She heard the hiss of the Coliseum door and moved. These war vets didn’t pause to pose; they always came in hot. Sure enough, the newbie gave a short shriek as the Farr’s skrins whistled past them, lifting the aliens into the air.

  These guys were good. Lianndra swung, climbed, and leaped, barely a stride ahead of the panting Farr. To give the newbie credit, she stayed out of the way, hovering on the corner platforms and only moving when necessary. Lianndra taunted the Farr until they both came after her, leaving the new Dancer alone. After an hour, Lianndra acquired several shallow cuts on her limbs, the result of close calls. She knew she approached the end of her endurance.

  The smaller Farr, featuring an ugly war wound along one arm, broke away from pursuing Lianndra to swing toward the girl watching from a high platform. Startled, the newbie dropped on her skrin, missing the platform she’d intended to swing to, which landed her straight into Lianndra’s path.