by Alma Boykin
Tartai shook himself back to the present. Well, if Dak-lee and I are going to get back to Drakon IV with our hides intact, we’ve got to do something soon. He could feel the tension building among the ordinary Azdhagi as he visited the markets: sideways glances and lowered voices around the Peacekeepers and off-duty Imperials, reptiles turning so that he couldn’t get a glimpse of their faces, more people wearing loose robes that concealed their markings . . . . Tartai walked back to the palace district with one eye open for trouble and the other on his route. Too bad I can’t go bask in the park, he sighed. I’d probably wake up to find someone had painted an insult on my flank. Or perhaps not, since Kalaki had ordered the Peacekeepers to guard the park after someone had hung pink mourning clothes over the statue of King-Emperor Seetoh as a protest, along with erecting a mock memorial to wise government.
Tartai showed the Imperial on guard at the palace gate his purchases. The soldier rolled his eyes and made an apologetic gesture, after looking around to make certain that a particular sergeant and officer couldn’t see. Tartai strolled past the barracks and wondered what was going on. He couldn’t hear the usual sounds of commands and mock-combat from the practice ground. He went on alert, staying relaxed but ready for trouble.
He entered the palace’s guest section through a side door, climbed up a half-ramp, rounded the corner, and all but collided with Leesarae. “Oh, I’m sorry great lord,” she babbled. “Terribly sorry. I should have been looking. My apologies,” and she pressed something against his forefoot, then backed away, bowing. “Would you prefer light refreshments in your chambers or in the breakfast room?”
“The breakfast room, if it’s not too much trouble.” He’d begun staying in public as much as possible, to allay Kalaki’s paranoia about a possible conspiracy between him and Dak-lee.
“No, no trouble, great my lord. Again, I apologize for my clumsiness,” and she all but fled. He watched as the dark-brown-and-yellow-blotched chatelaine trotted down the dim hallway, staying close to the bare plaster wall. She almost bent in the middle as she dodged around the next corner and out of sight. He narrowed his eyes in a frown—that was not the Leesarae he’d met upon arrival. Tartai slid the folded page she’d slipped him into the palm of his footcover and continued walking.
He preferred the back route to his quarters. Fewer people blocked the narrow corridors, and instead of decorative niches and hiding spaces, paintings of stylized plants decorated the cream-and-white plastered walls.
He rounded the corner, climbed up a treaded ramp, then turned another corner to find Dak-lee pacing in the hallway, an agitated servant hovering out of talons’ reach. “Is there a problem with my dinner?” Tartai called.
The servant seized the chance to escape. “Oh, no my lord, I just needed to inquire if you preferred tea or beer.”
“Tea this time, please,” Tartai ordered. The smaller male bowed and slithered out of sight, radiating relief like the sun radiates heat. Tartai waited until Dak-lee turned back his direction before inquiring, “Are you trying to wear out the carpet so your honored uncle will have an excuse to replace it with something in black or grey, Your Highness?”
“What?” Dak-lee looked down at the sturdy brown-and-orange weaving that took up most of the width and length of the wooden floor. “No. I missed the morning run and I’m trying to get four kliqs in today.”
Right. And Seelah has taken up lace making and meditation because Tarlak is so quiet and attentive to her wishes. “I see.” He put his purchases in his room, noticing that the door had been unlocked yet again. He returned to the hall, eased around the larger male, and went to the breakfast room. He helped himself to the generous spread of light meats and food, carried the dishes to the table, and dropped a small bread loaf onto the floor. It rolled under the table. “Blast it,” he growled, ducking and squirming to pick up the food. He found the bread and pulled the message out of his footcover, reading it quickly. Tartai backed out from under the table to find Dak-lee and an unfamiliar servant staring at him.
“I dropped this,” he held up the bread. “My dam told me I’d spend a week in hell for every piece of food I wasted.”
The servant made a warding-off gesture and shivered. Dak-lee grunted his understanding and heaped some greens with enough meat and high-protein grain to feed a trio of juniors. Tartai wondered yet again where Dak-lee put all the food he devoured. After setting out the tea and cups, the servant left.
“Trouble,” Tartai grunted.
“More? You’ll get fat,” and Dak-lee pushed the tea-oil at Tartai. They’d agreed to assume that Kalaki had bugged their quarters.
Tartai added a few drops of oil to his cup before adding the tea. “Sheenaki’s not taking new orders for at least the next moon. Seems he has his forefeet full with his new mate—and not in that way, Your Highness,” he scolded Dak-lee.
Dak-lee tried to look innocent. “Oh? Is she ill?”
“No, but there are rumors of a pending death in Tek-Zhi’s family.”
Dak-lee put the names together and suppressed a snarl. “That’s too bad. But Lineage comes before business,” he said, mimicking Kalaki’s most pious tones.
“Indeed, Your Highness.” They finished their snack in silence.
Dak-lee wiped the sides of his muzzle, in case something had leaked. “My honored sire sends his greetings and suggests that we conclude our investigation as soon as possible.” With the other forefoot, he mimicked grasping and breaking something. “It seems that there are two accessions to Lineage titles, one expected and the other sadly early.”
“Ah. Great Lord Kirlin?” Everyone with eyes and a nose knew the old reptile would die during the winter, so that wasn’t a surprise. Tartai blinked. “He and your honored uncle Seedakh were the last survivors, weren’t they?”
Dak-lee made an affirmation. “And Daesarae. A tree fell on him.”
He saw Tartai fighting to suppress a laugh, and frowned. “Your pardon, Your Highness, but there is a stupid logger joke about whether falling trees make any sound, and I was going to ask if Daesarae had made any sound. It is totally inappropriate to the situation and I apologize.”
Dak-lee could imagine the sounds Daesarae would make if a tree fell on him, given how much noxious gas the arrogant crook-tail had produced over the years. Do not laugh, do not laugh, he warned himself. “You are correct, it is inappropriate.” Funny as hell, but totally inappropriate. “I am needed back on Drakon IV to serve as part of the regency for Daesarae’s heir.”
Someone made a grunting coughing sound just outside the open door. Dak-lee turned to see a servant and two of the Palace Guard standing there. “Imperial highness, my lord, Prince-Governor Kalaki requests your presence in his public office at once.”
Fewmets, the crown prince swore silently. Was this it? He’d overheard strange rumors from the Imperials while Tartai had been out wandering the streets and studying trees. The soldiers treated Dak-lee with the respect due his rank, but stayed clear of him, unlike how they’d acted before. As he and Tartai walked down the halls to Kalaki’s office, Dak-lee wondered if they’d been ordered to avoid him. Even the officers he’d identified as “political animals” shunned him. Did they blame him and Tartai for their not having been mobilized to face the Morinci fleet?
As they entered the waiting area, Dak-lee saw that someone had removed the benches for those waiting for the governor. The wall hangings and even the king-emperor’s portrait had vanished as well, leaving cold bare walls and the dark floor. Tartai glanced around and rumpled his tail. More guards flanked the door ahead of them, armed with blasters and pole arms. Dak-lee caught a glimpse of the little boxes containing personal shield projectors clipped to their armor and felt himself starting to shift into battle-awareness. Did Tartai recognize those innocuous little boxes? The door opened and Dak-lee led the way into the governor’s office.
Kalaki stood on a dais. No, Dak-lee saw, he’d pushed the worktable back out of the way, so it only looked as if he stood on a ro
yal dais. “You will be happy to know that the rebellion will end today,” Kalaki announced. “The leader of the rebel pack has been arrested and will be executed in an hour.”
“Congratulations on your and your men’s swift work, Your Highness,” Tartai called, making a small bow to Prince Kalaki.
The brown-and-gray prince stared at Tartai, his tail making broad sweeps behind him. “What do you mean?”
Tartai looked surprised. “Your pardon, Your Highness, but did you not say two days ago that you had not found a trace of the agitator? Perhaps I misunderstood your words.”
As Dak-lee watched, Kalaki relaxed, his tail sweeps slowing. “No, you heard just before we trapped the storm-catch.” He took a deep breath, his flanks expanding and contracting faster than they should have. The prince’s skin looked too smooth for some reason, and Dak-lee wondered if his uncle was ill.
Kalaki continued, and his next words froze Dak-lee in place. “It is too bad that the traitor’s entire family was involved. Or perhaps not. It seems his brother-by-mating used his business as a front and a way to channel funds to the rebels, and his sister-by-mating provided cover for other conspirators.” Kalaki gestured and the soldiers moved closer to the crown prince and Tartai. The governor stepped down from the platform and advanced to a few meters from his nephew.
As Kalaki watched, Dak-lee began breathing hard. Oh, the young male hid it well, but Kalaki knew that he’d caught his insane nephew out. Tek-zhi refused to talk, but it had not been hard for someone with Kalaki’s experience and skill to sniff out the hidden trail leading to the rebels’ den. And it explained why Dak-lee spent so much time with the light-tailed pleasuremate, Shizara. Kalaki had to admit that the female had a certain appeal, if you thought with your mating toy and not your brain. Unlike his nephew, Kalaki used his mind.
Tek-zhi and Sheenaki’s conspiracy explained to Kalaki why he’d gotten the furnishings so easily. Sheenaki used them as a way to ingratiate himself with the governor, then using the governor’s own monies to undermine him. “Oh, I was furious, I admit,” Kalaki heard himself saying. Had he been speaking aloud? It did not matter if he had. “To have lulled me into complaisance by appealing to my sense of design. I put that in my report too. But this will all end when Tek-zhi’s blood runs over the pavement. Tahdak will be pleased. Especially when he learns that I’ve taken a mate, so he can revert the inheritance back to what it should have been.” Dak-lee backed a step, eyes wide with horror.
“Yes,” Kalaki said. “The mad strain should have died out with our brother, but no.” He pointed to Dak-lee. “That spot tells the story, the one on his strong-side hip. Black, like Deathtouch, black like the remains of Central City, black—the sign of a carrier. I’m clean, but Dak-lee isn’t.” He saw Tartai shift, as if pulling away from Dak-lee. “You’re safe, Tarkeela, with your light colors.”
Then Kalaki froze as the realization struck him. He stared at Tartai as he saw the truth for the first time. “You would have been safe, unless you’re a bleach.” He spat the words. That made sense—there’d been whispers about Tartai’s sire exploring the remains of Central City and becoming contaminated. “You’re a bleach, aren’t you? One of the corrupted bleach-brains, the chemical mad.” He’d have to kill Tartai of Tarkeela. Too bad—he had more sense that the mad prince did, but the Pack couldn’t survive such foolish mercy as letting a bleach brain breed.
A messenger burst into the chamber, interrupting Kalaki’s thoughts. “Your Highness, prince-governor,” he panted. “Lt. Beekhar tried to call you. There’s a mob coming to the palace and they seem to be armed.”
“Good. Let them see the wages of treason. You,” he pointed to the messenger, “Have the prisoner brought to the plaza. He’ll die there.” Kalaki turned to the guards beside the mad prince. “Dak-lee I’m sorry, but I can’t allow you to contaminate the Pack with your insanity.”
“If you have roused the Pack, honored uncle, who will defend Pokara against the Morinci fleet? The Imperials are under-gunned without the Pokaran defenders being released to fight.” Dak-lee kept his voice calm and quiet, but he couldn’t deceive Kalaki, not any more.
He gave Dak-lee an incredulous look. “What fleet? There is no fleet,” Kalaki stated. “There never was a fleet. The rebels conjured the threat up in order to distract the Peacekeepers and me from our duty. Just like the scientists tried to placate me, to distract me with their petitions while continuing with the banned abomination despite my requests, and the city scum tried to distract me with tables and benches.” He’d begun panting even harder, and Tartai took another step sideways, pivoting slightly.
“If there is no fleet, honored uncle, why has my honored sire ordered the Imperials to leave Sidara and Teelkan to form a screen at the edge of our space?”
“Lies!” Kalaki’s spines snapped up and he rose onto his hind legs. “The rebels infiltrated the communication systems, stole my reports, put false messages into the news feed. There is no fleet, only traitors. You are the carrier, you have the tainted seed, not me.” Kalaki’s voice rose to a shriek. “The female lied. She was a carrier, not me. Kill him! Kill Tek-Zhi!”
Dak-lee sprang as Tartai spun. Tartai’s tail knocked Kalaki off balance before the young male jumped onto the closest soldier, grappling with the surprised trooper. Dak-lee landed on his uncle’s chest, talons out, but Kalaki wriggled just enough to avoid the killing blow. The two royals grappled, wrestling, rolling, and fighting across the floor, scattering reptiles as they went. Talons tangled, they tried to overpower each other. They reached the edge of the low platform and Dak-lee saw a chance. He reared back, heaving Kalaki up with him, and grabbed his uncle’s head. He slammed the older male’s skull against the edge of the wood and stone, arched his back again, and repeated the blow. Kalaki lacerated Dak-lee’s flanks, but the young male kept pounding the madman’s head against the stone until blood, then brains spilled out, and the tan-and-gray body sagged, limp and still. Flanks heaving, Dak-lee wrenched his talons loose from his uncle’s hind feet and turned to face the room.
Tartai held a blast rifle in one forefoot and a pistol in the other. “Does anyone else care to register a protest with his Imperial Highness?” Blood dripped from Tartai’s tail and strong-side shoulder, but he held the weapons steady. Their previous owners appeared to have shed bits of their anatomy, adding to the mess.
“No, great my lord,” the messenger said.
“Release Tek-zhi,” Dak-lee snarled. “Now, before riot turns into civil war.” He turned to the other soldiers. “Get a Healer, bring them here,” he stopped. “Belay that. Healer goes to the Imperials’ command center. There’s a hostile fleet heading for Pokara and I don’t intend to let them land without a fight.” No one stirred and he rose onto his hind legs. “Damn it, you fewmets-for-brains, move,” he roared.
They moved.
“Catch,” Tartai tossed him the rifle. Dak-lee caught it, confirmed the charge, and slung it over his back. “You’ve got a lot of den-cleaning to do, Your Highness,” he stated.
“Looks as if it’s already started,” Dak-lee pointed to the dead soldiers. “Both yours?”
Tartai slipped the pistol into his carry harness and fell in behind the prince. “Nope. Just the little one. Sergeant got the big one for me and tossed me the pistol. That sergeant that’s the blade instructor? Him.”
Dak-lee paused, rocking from forefeet to hindfeet. “Fewmets. I need to deal with the mob.”
“Crowd, not mob,” Tartai corrected. “Think of them as a crowd, Your Highness, until they act like a mob.”
“Good point. I need that damn hover thing.”
“I’ll get it organized, Highness. You see about the Imperials and getting that patched before Leesarae shreds your tail for dripping on her floor covers.” Tartai hustled off out of sight before Dak-lee could bit off his tail tip.
Dak-lee hauled himself down to the command center. Now that the battle rage had worn off, he felt as if he’d been beaten with cleaning bats, rolled ov
er rocks, and tried to squeeze through a flint cave. The purple-robed female on call took one look at him and pounced. “Stop.” She opened a jar of something and began painting blue smelly stuff on his wounds. The familiar sting of spikerush shocked him out of some of his post-fight torpor.
“Ow! Damn it, that crap stings,” he snarled.
“That means it’s working,” she snapped back, just like every Healer he’d ever tangled with.
“Where’s Beekhar?”
“Here, Your Highness,” a tired voice called. The dull grey-green reptile’s scales looked even duller and he sounded exhausted. “How may I serve?”
“Contact the planetary commander of the Imperials and bring them to combat stand-by, extra-atmospheric attacker,” Dak-lee told him. “Bring surface defense batteries to ready-alert. Despite the late governor’s beliefs, there is a potentially hostile force just outside the Empire’s borders and it is travelling this direction.”
Beekhar snapped to attention. “Imperials to combat stand-by, surface defense batteries to ready-alert, yes, sir.” Dak-lee could see the communications tech on duty relaying the orders. A new bustle filled the room as soldiers, quick and calm, moved to get their weapons and armor, and to take up their duty stations. Satisfied that his orders were being obeyed, at least for the moment, Dak-lee turned around and hurried as best he could to the vehicle depot.