Renaissance: A Novel of Azdhag Survival

by Alma Boykin

  “Here, Your Highness,” Tartai called. “And, with your permission, I think a show of evidence would not be a bad idea.”

  “What evidence?” Dak-lee grumbled as he climbed onto the hover platform.

  “Evidence of the governor’s removal from office.” Tartai gave him a look that suggested Dak-lee had been dropped on his head at least twice before his first growth phase.

  The fog cleared. “Do it. Propriety be damned.” With that he adjusted the controls and the hover rose a meter, then two, and the prince maneuvered the vehicle to the exit.

  He blinked in the hazy light. Was it smoke? No, just high clouds dimming the afternoon sun. Dak-lee listened, then guided the hover out to the plaza to meet the mob. Crowd, not mob, he corrected himself. They are an unhappy crowd that you have to stop from becoming a mob.

  The deep, long rumbling growl that greeted his appearance terrified him. Dak-lee had heard stories of the Pack, but had never seen what happened when hundreds of Azdhagi all fixed their wills onto a single purpose. He could almost feel the force of their anger and emotions. The plaza and the roads leading to it overflowed with Azdhagi. Males and females, young, old, all snarling and determined to see justice done—their justice, not Prince Kalaki’s warped idea of justice. What the fuck do I do now? He took a deep breath and shook himself. He did what he had to do.

  Dak-lee turned on the loudspeaker, mindful of the electronic squeals he’d generated last time, and pulled the hover platform up to three meters above the ground, tipping forward enough so that the others could see him clearly. “Citizens of Pokara, members of the Azdhagi Pack, Prince Kalaki has been removed from the governor’s seat,” he announced, tracking straight to the prey. “Tek-zhi has been released.”

  The growling faded to a low rumble. Thousands of pairs of eyes glared up at the crown prince. Then one voice, and another, and another began chanting in unison, “Prove it. Prove it,” louder and louder, until the will of the Pack pounded off the walls and the windows surrounding the stone-paved plaza with near physical force. “Prove it. Prove it.”

  “Proof is coming,” he replied, fighting the urge to run or to attack. Hurry your tail up, Tartai, he pled.

  “There!” Someone pointed as Tartai and a group of Imperials dragged an anti-grav platform with Kalaki’s body draped over it around the corner. They dumped the remains unceremoniously onto the ground. Dak-lee saw that someone had put one of Kalaki’s robes of office on the body, easing identification.

  Instead of chants, silence filled the plaza. The silence had a presence and weight that drove the breath out of Dak-lee. The Pack watched, judging him and all that he stood for, or so it seemed. Dak-lee felt his skin twitching and fought to keep his spines down. As Tartai and the men withdrew to stand behind Dak-lee’s hover, a female approached the body and poked it, then sniffed and inspected it.

  “That’s him! That’s the tyrant,” she called. A second person, then a third came up to see for themselves. The mood of the crowd shifted and grew even more focused, and Dak-lee retreated to the wall, floating above and beside Tartai and the soldiers. A ripple surged through the crowd and a hundred Azdhagi stormed up and over the body. Within a minute only a faint brown spot and a few bits of unidentifiable tissue remained of the king-emperor’s second brother. A sigh flowed through the crowd. The Pack dispersed, streaming away like rain off of back scales. Dak-lee waited until the last reptile departed before landing near Tartai.

  The other male seemed stunned. He opened and closed his muzzle several times before sound came out. “I never want to see that again,” he managed at last. “Your Highness,” he added as an afterthought.

  “No argument here.” Pokara won’t be leaving the Pack, he realized. Pokara is the Pack.

  Dak-lee watched the feed from the remote observers as the Morinci fleet approached the edge of Imperial space. It was not live, of course, but even a few hours advance notice would give them time to launch the trans-atmospheric interceptors and to get the anti-ship artillery up to full power. He’d confirmed the readiness of all the Imperials on Pokara. Now all he could do was watch and wait. The predator in him yearned for the fight and the kill. The civilized part hoped that some deity would make the fleet vanish.

  He also wanted Tartai here in the stuffy, cold command center. He’d come to lean on the other male’s calm pragmatism. “No, Your Highness,” Tartai had said. “I’d just be under feet. I did my time with the Defender ground forces, not the Imperials.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  Tartai had grinned, infuriating Dak-lee. “Get a beer. Possibly two, maybe even three. I like the summer white beers, and since your honored sire is so generous as to provide access to them, I most certainly do not wish to seem ungrateful by failing to take advantage of his hospitality, even by proxy.” Translated: Tartai liked the local beer and the king-emperor’s expense account in equal portions.

  No, thank you, Dak-lee decided. This is what I want to do. He watched and listened as the hours passed. The Morinci ships failed to respond to calls for identification and information. A flash of light from the visible warning shot lanced across the dark screen. As quickly as momentum and velocity allowed, the Morinci ships, grey diamonds on the black of space, began turning, diverting away from the Imperial picket ships. Several hundred little diamonds shifted course, turning ninety degrees to the Azdhagi line. Such a maneuver was suicidal, given what Dak-lee thought he remembered about Azdhagi armament and what the Morinci supposedly had. Was it a trap?

  No, it appeared that the Morinci wanted no part of a battle with the Empire. At last, Lt. Beekher made a noise like a sigh. “Imperial Highness, this could have been avoided if they’d just talked to us.”

  “Can they?” Dak-lee looked around the command center and met rumpled tails. No one knew, and he did not have access to the full intelligence databases from this position.

  Actually, he groaned inwardly, until the computer security people can tear into the governor’s palace systems and find all the taps and back-doors that Kalaki—and his predecessors—installed, I’m better off not even trying to look.

  A day and a half after the confrontation in front of the palace, Dak-lee finally got some sleep. He’d left Tartai in charge, too tired to do more than blink at the light-colored male’s expressions of glee. I’ll probably wake up to find out that all export tariffs on lumber and wood products have been cancelled and that only females from Tarkeela Lineage are permitted to compete in beauty contests. Instead, he awoke to find Shizara studying the news feeds on the display in his quarters.

  “Wha—? What are you doing here?”

  She sniffed. “Nothing, since you were so sound asleep that I could have painted your genital flap purple and strung orange beads and bells on your spines without you waking up.”

  “Um, let me rephrase that.” He finished waking up all of his brain cells. “How did you get into my quarters?”

  “Acting Governor Tartai let me in. He said you needed help packing.” The courtesan sidled up to the now quite-baffled crown prince and hissed, “He’s right. And since I’d been saving up to go on a shopping trip to Drakon IV, it only seemed reasonable that I offer my assistance.” She began stroking his tail with hers, suggesting that shopping was not the first thing on her mind.

  Some time later, Dak-lee emerged from his quarters to find Tartai sitting beside the governor’s worktable, reading messages. “No,” he tapped the data entry board with a talon. “No,” another tap, “Maybe if they get their ideas better organized,” he tapped a different part of the board. “Yes, yes, yes—oh not if he was the only living soul on this planet, yes, yes,” he looked up. “Good afternoon, Your Highness.”

  “Good afternoon. Hard at work?”

  Tartai made a half-negation. “Yes and no. Yes, I am sorting through the lists of candidates and organizations interested in participating in the governance of Pokara City and a few of the other non-Lineage settlements. No, I’m not officially eliminating anyon
e yet, just sorting them into ‘yes they can run,’ ‘need more information,’ and ‘so dumb they get lost in a room with one door.’ Here.”

  Dak-lee studied Tartai’s lists. He was not surprised to see that about half of the groups defined themselves by location. “Neighborhoods as Lineages?”

  Tartai moved away from the worktable and stretched, first his forelegs and then his hind legs. “Why not? Everyone knows everyone else, they share common interests, and a large number of them have been very stable in the sense that not a lot of people move in and out in any given year.”

  Dak-lee started to argue, then rumpled his tail. He could see a hundred flaws with the idea. He could also see the bloodbath if he tried to prevent the people of the cities from sorting themselves out as they wished. And half the groups on the list were Lineages. That would balance the neighborhoods on the councils, especially on the advisory councils, where more Lineages than cities had representatives.

  “What about the research center?” Dak-lee inquired.

  Tartai exhaled in a loud whunf. “That, Imperial Highness, is a mess. A ten-talon tangle of mess at least, in large part because the deceased owned the Imperials stationed near there outright.”

  “He what?”

  Tartai switched the screen to a new file before backing well clear. Dak-lee started reading and stopped half-way through, so furious that his vision began fading to red. “That is inexcusable.”

  Kalaki had coopted over half the garrison. He’d used them against the Ag Research center, destroying the crops that had already been approved by the Imperial science council. They’d also killed the trees at TarKili, as Tartai had suspected, because they were hybrids.

  “I shudder to think what he might have done had you not caught him, Imperial Highness,” Tartai ventured.

  Dak-lee shuddered as well, because he could imagine the progress all too clearly. First the crops, then Tek-Zhi, then Imperials firing on the crowd while Kalaki’s agents hunted down anyone who opposed him, and those he though might be carriers of the genetic modifications. It would have been war on Pokara, and could have spilled onto the other colonies.

  Tartai rocked from leg to leg. “What?” Dak-lee asked.

  “Your Highness, what did he mean by ‘the female was a carrier, not me’? None of the Imperial lineage ever received the treatment.”

  Dak-lee had been wondering about that too. “I think—and this is just bits of memory from what I overheard when I was young—but the deceased had a concubine who died. The rumor pack whispered that she’d delivered a male with Deathtouch and died after the delivery, and a few hissed that Kalaki had killed both the junior and dam, or allowed the dam to die while he disposed of the junior. But no one knew for certain.” Tartai made a warding-off gesture. “She was from Blee Lineage. Kalaki’s dam was Ro-diit’s daughter, so she might have been a carrier, meaning that the junior got the gene from Kalaki. The madness is the Imperial male line.”

  Which explains why the imperial lineage mates out, unlike some, Tartai realized. That’s not a bad thing. It keeps the blood fresh, and since a common-born concubine’s junior can become king-emperor if he’s good enough, there’s always a tie back to the majority of the Pack. Which didn’t change Tartai’s opinion about the majority of the nobles, but did improve his thoughts about the Imperial Lineage.

  “On a more fruitful track,” Dak-lee said, pouncing on new prey. “What is this idea that Sheenaki has been talking about?”

  Tartai called up the file for Dak-lee to read. “Imperial Highness, this draws on the ideas presented by the deceased governor, but follows a different final trail. The rural areas and Lineage lands remain as he proposed. The cities and unaffiliated towns will organize by neighborhood or Lineage, with each section electing a representative. Two sixes of representatives plus one will form a municipal council. The council will decide local matters, and will elect one representative to the planetary council. The Governor will draw from the planetary council, or elsewhere, for his advisory council.”

  Dak-lee considered the proposal. “What do you think?” he asked.

  Tartai made a mixed gesture with his weak-side forefoot, part swirl and part rocking motion. “I like that they choose and that they are not bound to the Lineages. I suspect, from what I’ve seen, that in a few generations, the Lineages will dominate, and that includes new Lineages native to Pokara.” He rumpled his tail. “A large number of Azdhagi prefer living in Lineages, even here.”

  “We are pack-predators, after all.”

  “Yes, we are, Imperial Highness, as much as I hate to agree with you.”

  Dak-lee forwarded the proposal to his sire, then left the office to Tartai. The pale, striped reptile paced back and forth. He faced two dilemmas and neither appeared to have an easy solution.

  A double-moon later, Tartai followed Dak-lee out of the transport ship. Honored sire, I am not leaving this planet again unless it is destroyed under my feet! Tartai swore. He’d been away from his family too long. He smelled the first damp hints of spring on the wind. He heard murmurs of appreciation as Shizara emerged from the transport ship. After much negotiation, including one spectacular fight, she’d agreed to let Dak-lee purchase her contract from the pleasure house. I can hardly wait until he tries to take a formal mate, Tartai snickered silently. Shizara’s as independent as her brother. He looked around and saw Seelah waiting on the other side of the safety field, holding the end of Tarlah’s safety tether. A horrible thought struck him: Seelah and Shizara could compare notes, and likely would. Oh fewmets. I’m doomed.

  Doom waited until the next day. Tartai faced the planetary council. Prince Ahksi sat in Daesarae’s assigned place, acting as head of the regency for Daesarae Lineage. Shah-Kirlin, still wearing the pink of mourning, occupied the junior place at the table. And an empty seat waited for Tartai. He found a place off to the side instead. He’d join the council, but on his own terms.

  All rose when Tahdak lumbered in, Dak-lee trailing behind. After he took his seat, Tahdak called the meeting to order. “The first piece of business is the official recognition of Tartai of Tarkeela Lineage as Lord Tarkeela.”

  Tartai steeled his nerves. “Imperial Majesty, my lords, I think you for the honor but I cannot serve as Lord Tarkeela.” He raised a forefoot before the room could erupt. “As some of you know, my sire intended for Tarkeela Lineage to end with him. I intend to honor that wish. I will serve as head of Tarlek Lineage, thus taking up the duties demanded of me without breaking faith with my sire’s desires.”

  Kaeshare rumpled his tail. “Sounds reasonable. I don’t care to be haunted by Tarkeela’s spirit.”

  “Me either,” Ro-diit agreed. “Lord Tarlek it is.”

  Sheedak looked up from the data display in front of him. “There is no legal precedent for such a decision, but there is none against.” Several people braced as he took a breath to continue. “Where are Tarlek’s lands?”

  “There are none per se,” Tahdak informed the council. “Lord Tarlek will reside near NightLast, but will serve as the speaker for the Free Towns.”

  Before Sheedak could launch a protest, along with a half-hour recitation of the legal history of independent settlements, Tartai replied, “I accept, Imperial Majesty.”

  “Good.” No one appeared willing to challenge the matter, which suited Tartai and Dak-lee quite well. Tahdak continued, “And Dak-lee will take Shizara of Pokara as junior mate.” He flashed a toothy smile, “She and Lady Tarlek seem to share many interests.”

  Tartai wanted to roll off the bench and die. I’m dooooooomed.

  Dak-lee mimicked his sire’s grin. The grin faded as Tahdak announced, “Now, about the budget for the Imperials this year-turn.”

  Empire saved, disaster averted, but the budget will never die, the prince groaned to himself. I wonder if I can abdicate? No, my sire would kill me.

  Ambassador Plenipotentiary Charles Bolton of the Sapient Republic managed to hide his frustration, but it was not easy. He did not pull his
red hair out, if only because he had so little of it left, but it took effort. He took a deep breath and spoke to the screen. “They absolutely will not consider any genetic modification technology, additional nanotechnology, or climate modification tools, nor will the Azdhagi allow them on the throneworld, Secretary Koizume. They made that very clear,” Bolton repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time.

  The S.R. Secretary of Commerce frowned. “Mr. Bolton, that means that they cannot move beyond their current diplomatic and trade status. Are you certain the Azdhagi leadership knows and understands what that means?”

  “Yes, they know and understand very, very well.” Bolton dropped the formality and let his frustration show. “Kimbo, they won’t tell me why, but the Azdhagi are absolutely set on this. No compromises, even for medical material or the most basic agricultural products.” The redhead wondered how often his bosses would have to hear it before they believed him.

  A few more times, apparently. “Find out why Charles,” the secretary ordered. “Then we’ll have a way to persuade them to accept our trade proposals.”

  Lesser Audience Chamber, Imperial Palace, Drakon IV

  Lords Reh-Dakh, Shu, and Li-kss knelt as King Emperor Huan-di entered the least formal and smallest of the audience chambers. The medium-sized quadruped settled down on his throne, draping his tail over his back. “You may rise,” he informed his ministers and Lord Defender. The two Azdhagi and the Wanderer-hybrid came to their feet and awaited their overlord’s pleasure.

  “You are aware of the pressure the Sapient Republic is exerting on Us to open certain trade options,” Huan-di began without preamble. His courtiers nodded and he continued, “We have no desire to move beyond the current treaty limits, but neither do We wish to antagonize the Sapient Republic unnecessarily. We have given this matter some consideration and desire your suggestions for dealing with the difficulty.”

  Vizier Shu spoke first. “Imperial Majesty, might it be possible to tell the S.R. why the Empire forbids nanotech on our homeworld? With that information they might see reason and stop pressuring us.” It was a very reasonable suggestion, Reh-dakh thought, her black tail swishing as she considered the proposal. But there was one major difficulty.