by Alma Boykin
He’d always assumed that if he left Central City it would be a tail tip ahead of some of Four Claws’ talon males, or evading the bodyguards of an irate noble. Or, he snorted, making a one-way trip to interview the Lone God. Instead, Lord Tarkeela had offered him a place on Tarkeela’s new property on Likhala, the northern continent. Cheerka still could not quite believe that he’d taken the offer.
Lord Tarkeela’s blunt words had caught the story-catcher off guard. “The cities are going to explode, Cheerka. The media have kept the real extent of deathtouch under cover thus far, but the truth will break cover soon, and when it does every pack will be looking for prey. You’ve seen urban riots,” the noble reminded his associate, and Cheerka’s spines rose at the memory. Yes, he had, and had been on both ends of them, once as a peacekeeper in his younger days, and once while trying to do a story about that breakaway worship faction Roshee led. The professional part of Cheerka’s mind told him to stay put so he could cover the biggest story of his lifetime. His survival instinct ordered him to take up Tarkeela’s offer and run down that trail as fast as his legs would carry him. I’m a coward. But who will be paying for stories if things get as bad as Tarkeela thinks? Tarkeela knew people, not just nobles and story-catchers, and had sounded deadly certain. So Cheerka packed his things. It had not taken long, since he had no mate or juniors to persuade.
A quiet “ding” and thump told him that the auto-drive had engaged. He’d decided to push on, driving as far as River Bend. The light night traffic allowed for higher speeds and Cheerka wanted to get to Sea Gate quickly. As he watched, the road cruiser accelerated to almost twice the daylight limit, matching pace with the big cargo vehicles in their reserved lane. He stretched a little, letting his mind wander a bit while monitoring the vehicle’s performance. Auto-drive did not guarantee a breakdown-free trip, he reminded himself again. Especially when driving someone else’s vehicle.
Well to the east of River Bend, Roshee studied the two moons. One very obscure commentary on the Signs insisted that a third moon’s arrival would herald the beginning of the True Prey’s arrival. The priest snorted with derision, as he had when he’d first read the tale. A hobby-astronomer before he’d been called to the Lone God’s service, Roshee knew very well what would happen to Drakon IV if an object of that size passed close to the planet. Flame-throwing mountains and poor fish catches would be the least of the Azdhagi and True-dragons’ worries should a new moon suddenly appear. He swept his tail in amusement, recalling one of the most famously bad disaster holos. He no longer indulged in such distractions, but he wondered if each generation felt the same compulsion to create new versions of cheaply made entertainment.
Terrible hologram files would soon be the least of Drakon IV’s woes, Roshee reminded himself, turning his thoughts to the day’s events. When Shu-kara and her mate joined the Faith-keepers, they had been only the first of a growing number of Azdhagi turning back to the true trail. Roshee’s small temple could barely hold everyone who wanted to attend worship, and some new and old packmates began attending on alternating days, making space for all. Earlier that very afternoon Roshee had visited a new, larger temple, purchased through a third party. He would consecrate it in two days, in time for the next Twelfth-day worship. The new location also sat outside the municipal territory, a major benefit, especially after the afternoon’s events.
Shu-kara started it, indirectly. She’d introduced a select few other members of noble clans to the congregation, first a male from Shu-in-exile (as they thought of themselves), then Zlee-Kae. In the process, Shu-kara had revealed her story, and Roshee’s spines still snapped up at the unfairness of how Clan Shu had treated her. Shu had ordered her out of her and her mate’s home after she delivered a male with deathtouch. The Clan Lord had “generously” allowed the pair to settle in New Southdown and work at the Shu cargo facility as long as they had no more juniors. As Shu-kara discovered, and her mate confirmed, they were not alone.
The females that went with Roshee to visit Tsae in Central City all shared similar stories. Zlee-kae had driven them or their mates out of the Clan lands because of deathtouch or dead-born juniors, sending them in search of work in New Southdown and other places. The injustice stung Roshee, especially since royal law permitted the Clans to administer their own law, short of the death penalty, on Clan lands. Zlee-kae and Shu seemed to be the worst offenders, although Roshee, Shu-kara, and Tareshah suspected that others were just as bad. And still the officials refused to do anything!
Roshee and his packmates heard the Lone God’s call and answered it. That afternoon, he, two sixes of females, and a few of their mates drove to Central City to hear the chief forensic scientist give a public statement about the rising number of junior deaths. The females grew angrier and angrier as the scientist explained that, “in all probability it is a recurrence of a version of junior-jump, caused by uncontrolled breeding among the out-Clans. That is why we are seeing the deaths in the urban areas and not on Clan lands.”
“That’s not true,” one of the Zlee-kae females had whispered, her tail tip shaking in disappointment and building anger. “It stalks the Clan lands as much as the cities!” She’d lost a male junior and hid her second pregnancy, only to deliver a dead-born female. “What you say is not true, sir,” she’d repeated more loudly, and the other listeners had growled in agreement.
From there the press conference had collapsed into chaos. Roshee’s packmates were not alone in their complaints, but the females from Zlee-kae had pushed the hardest, demanding that the pathologist list the number of juniors dead on Clan lands. When Tsae refused, citing Clan right, even the story-catchers had begun hissing their displeasure. The females had started hissing in unison and Tsae departed quickly. His security staff had locked the door behind the pathologist, and then herded the audience, story-catchers and all, out of the building. Roshee’s tail twitched with impatience at the memory.
“No wonder the Clans are afraid,” Roshee breathed aloud. “They are hiding the truth of their folly and blaming the out-Clan when all have lost the true trail.” Roshee’s pack knew better, or at least some of them did. Roshee and Tareshah had brought Shahkay and Shu-kara into their confidence, trusting them with the truth and the Sign. For Roshee knew the true trail now, knew that the time of the Great Hunt drew very near. A vision, without pain or muscle spasms, had showed him the Lone God’s desire and how to help herd the Great Prey. Roshee turned from the moons and went inside his dwelling, humbled and energized by the task that lay before him and his blessed little pack.
Roshee was not alone in seeking a trail through the thickets and shadows. Three sixts after Tsae’s first news reached him, Seetoh invited his primary mate, Tahshi, and Captain Deek of the Imperial household guard to review some data with him. His Lady-queen set aside her customary duties to the household and joined her mate in his working chamber, where Deek already waited. “What you see does not leave this chamber. Do you so swear?”
“By my tail tip, I swear,” light brown Tahshi affirmed.
“On my talons I swear,” Deek hissed.
The King-Emperor entered his security code and called up a data display, enlarging the map of Seekhala enough that all three reptiles could see it easily.
“Black marks show the cities with more than a million residents, brown shows those with more than 500,000 and so on,” and the appropriate squares appeared on the map. As one would expect, the largest cities lay in a long scatter along the humid coast of the southern continent and on a few of the major rivers. A few exceptions, such as the research center at the old capitol of Central City, and the space-transport facilities at New Southdown, stood out in the interior. “And here are the Clan lands,” Seetoh added. Red lines and shading revealed four sixes of land claims and territories still held by the various lineages. “I’ve omitted the Clan towns.”
Captain Deek tipped his head to the side, puzzled. “Imperial Majesty, where is Raetee? They haven’t dissolved, have they? Not that it would
surprise anyone if they did, Imperial Majesty,” he added quickly.
Seetoh answered with a second projection of the southern lands. “The orange marks where more than half of the newest generation are dead or dying, the purple a quarter to a half.”
Tahshi gasped at the swath of color along the coasts and over the interior of the landmass. “All of Sseekhala?”
“By the Lone God’s talon, what happened?” Deek snarled. The imperial couple turned, appalled at his blasphemy. “Ah, forgive me Imperial Majesty, Lady-Queen,” he stammered. “The scale… what kind of weapon was it?”
Jaws that gulped more than the throat could hold, Seetoh thought. Aloud he corrected, “An experiment, Captain, not a weapon. Although it might as well have been a weapon.”
“Wait, my lord,” Tahshi said, pointing to the bottom of the second display with her tail. “This says that this is two year-turns from now.”
“Correct, except for Raetee,” and the King-Emperor turned a control, enlarging that portion of the death map that showed Clan Raetee’s old holdings. “As of the first day of this sixt, they’ve suffered seventy-five percent population loss among the youngest Clan members. The archivists have already marked Raetee as a dead Clan, with Lord Raetee’s acquiescence, and the Crown claims their holdings in Sseekhala and Likhala both, as well as on Pokara.” He gave his mate and guard a bitter look. “The Makers had forecast no more than a five percent fatality rate from their experiment, with no fatalities after the fourth generation.”
“My lord, what happened at Raetee?” Tahshi asked quietly. She knew already, or suspected, but had to hear for herself.
Seetoh turned back to the maps. “An experiment lurched off the trail and led the pack into deathlands. Lord Raetee himself terminated the creatures born alive but that could not survive. Of the lineage, perhaps a double forefoot of the new generation are untouched, or seem to be untouched.”
Tahshi made a warding sign with her strong-side forefoot and Deek cringed, neck-spines slamming up in instinctive defense. It was the iron law of the pack, going back to the era when hunting bands of Azdhagi roamed Sseekhala, before agriculture, before modern technology. The pack protected juniors at all costs, but only healthy juniors. Over the past hundreds of year-turns, more mis-born had been allowed to live, especially if their minds functioned, but never the grossly malformed or brain-shrunk. Tahshi ventured, “My lord and mate, how great is, ah, was, Raetee?”
Deek answered before Seetoh could. “Fifty thousand, lady-queen. It was the smallest of the founding lineages, shrunk by close-mating but with members in all the other great lineages.”
“The Imperial lineage absorbs the greatness of Raetee, Captain Deek. The Clan treasures and archives are en-route to the Palace as we speak, lest any scale or talon of their memory be lost.” Seetoh’s sire’s son, Seedak, had arranged to make room in the record chambers for the material.
Deek made another warding sign. “Ah, Imperial Majesty, is that safe?”
“Yes. This is not a disease like junior-jump, Deek. It only passes from sire or dam to offspring, like black-blood used to.” Seetoh thought that the only good news he’d heard from Central City had been that information. “The reason I am telling you this, Captain Deek, Tahshi, is two-fold. First, so you will be ready for the news as it spreads among the Clans and can keep separate the true tracks from false trails. Second, Deek, is Clan war.”
Deek rubbed under his blunt muzzle, considering the security aspects of the looming disaster. “Imperial Majesty, is it known which other lineages are hardest hit? Or is it the lineages?” The three reptiles studied the maps, and Deek answered his question. “It’s the out-Clan Azdhagi who are worst affected, if the maps stay correct. If pack discipline remains strong, Clan war won’t happen.”
“And that could be used as a caution, my lord mate. Suggest that the good judgment of the Clan leaders is why they have fewer deaths,” Tahshi offered, thinking hard.
Seetoh heard his brother Tsarli’s voice in his head, snorting with exasperation and saying as he frequently did, “Just what the pack-kings need, Sire’s son: an excuse to claim power over the loose-born.” Damn but Tsarli will be right for once, the black-green monarch thought.
All he said aloud was, “A good thought, that.” Then he dismissed the two, closed the map projections, and turned to the next pressing piece of business, reviewing intelligence reports before meeting with Lord Sheedai, the Minister of Conquest.
Captain Deek lumbered out of the Imperial chambers, down a raw-smelling corridor, and out into the unseasonably chill late-summer air. He started to go toward the strong-side gate that led to the temporary outdoor weapons’ training area, then stopped. I need the worst case, he decided, turning instead weak-sided and walking toward the new barracks and offices of the Azdhagi military forces. At least the heat works, the broad reptile noted with satisfaction as he pushed open the archaic wood and ceramisteel door, kicking it shut once he’d pulled his tail inside.
“Lieutenant Ahslee, I’m borrowing you,” he informed a dark grey soldier. “Come with me,” and Deek turned, leading the way to his new office. Office my hind talon: storage cubby is what this is, Deek grumbled. He barely had room to settle onto his bench without hitting something. Ahslee found a space in front of her commander’s work-surface and waited.
“Plan a defense simulation,” Deek began. “An unknown enemy launches a bio or nano weapon on the throne-world that only affects Azdhagi before their second growth period. The weapon has a,” he rubbed under his muzzle with a talon, thinking. Ahslee waited, talon over scratchpad, until he continued. “An eighty-five percent lethality rate among the juniors affected. No, give me two simulations, one as I just described and one with an eighty-five percent rate among loose-born juniors and a fifty-percent rate among Clan-born juniors. Assume that the enemy will not attack until at least three double-moons after the first junior dies.”
Ahslee noted everything and repeated it back, then raised the tip of her tail in inquiry. Deek gestured for her to go ahead and she asked, “Is there a spread rate for the disease or weapon, sir?”
“Negative. I want worst case, a simultaneous outbreak. Don’t worry about heavy graphics at this point, Lieutenant, just give me the basics.”
“Very good sir,” and she made more notes before easing backwards out of the “office.” There literally was not room enough for her to turn around.
After the simulation developer left, Deek reviewed the hideous news and tried to imagine best and worst-case situations. A planetary invasion would be the absolute worse, of course, which made it likely, in Deek’s gloomy view of the universe. The Lone God would do something like that, he sighed. Next worst and equally likely would be utter chaos on Drakon IV, followed by loss of the colony worlds. Pokara needed time and more bodies, Teelkan the same. He didn’t want to think about the situation on Sidara. The gloomy officer set his speculations aside and turned to work on something more concrete, such as reading the latest excuses for why the defensive batteries for the Palace-Capitol’s spaceport defenses remained unfinished.
Lt. Ahslee set to work creating the simulations, and then stopped as she tried to enter the death rates of the juniors. On the third try she managed to finish typing the algorithms correctly, despite her racing heart. She had no juniors. That was the price of a profession—no one could carry and raise a clutch of juniors and have a profession, so females in industry, the trades, skilled professions, or the military bore no offspring unless they had a clutch before they started work or after they left the working pack. But the exercise reminded Ahslee of her brother and sister-by-mating, who had just lost a fourth junior out of seven, this time to an autoimmune disorder. There had been more problems with junior deaths recently, and the Makers promised that they were looking into all possible causes, from previously undetected radiation, to chemicals, to some virus or new disease. Ahslee shook her head, glad that her other siblings had healthy, if small, clutches. Northerners tended to be that wa
y: fewer, larger offspring. She shook herself a little and returned from cloud-stalking to finish her assigned task.
Keerstown, Sseekhala, Seven double-moons BGR (2659 Old Style)
Great Lords Kirlin, Peitak, and Beesh waited impatiently for Great Lord Blee to arrive. Green-striped Peitak rustled on his bench and grumbled, “A slowworm moves faster than Blee does.” The two younger nobles exchanged glances but kept silent.
Outside, a steady warm rain beat the sticky soil and Kirlin wondered if the usual places would flood. We can conquer star systems but not the weather or drainage, the mottled brown soldier marveled yet again. Actually, they had conquered drainage once, and then discovered the hard way that flood plains existed for a reason, as did river terraces and swamps. It was easier just to let the rivers go their way and to move the Azdhagi than to try and fight the wet season. Thinking of other wet season matters, Kirlin drew a data pad out of his sash-bag and called up the water-grain harvest forecast. He grunted with satisfaction at the numbers on the little screen.
“Is Blee nearby?” Peitak asked, looking up from his own large sheet-screen.
“No, but prices for watergrain should decline in the next solo moon or so.”
Peitak growled, “Damn, that will drop the price for goldgrain as well. The gods must hate my lineage.”
Light brown Beesh’s tail swung in a disrespectful gesture just below Peitak’s line of sight. Kirlin jabbed the younger noble with a hind-foot talon, warning him as Blee stomped in, dripping water. The senior noble grumbled as servants helped him out of his rain-drape and foot covers. The servants served tea to all the lords and then Peitak made a forefoot motion, signaling that they were to leave. The steward bowed and shooed the others out of the chamber, leaving the four nobles alone.
Blee heaved his aging bulk onto a bench, gulped some tea, and demanded, “Why did you call me out in this soggy morass, Peitak? I don’t see invasion ships landing and you have no female juniors you need mates for. Unless,” the grey-brown reptile’s eyes narrowed, “a branch fell onto your head and you’ve come to your senses about that section of river forest?”