"These humans barely eke out an existence," Hudhafah sighed. He stared at the picture of the Catoplebas soldier whose actions were at the moment under review, a creature humans would compare to a large rooting mammal they called a boar, with a similar temperament. "It will earn resentment if our troops overburden their families any more than we already do by demanding tribute. We should wait until our crop specialists get here to teach them how to increase their crop yields."
"What if we order the soldiers who stay with them to act as second-sons?" Kasib asked. "To arise early and help out with the family chores? And to help them on rest-day the way their own sons would put their shoulder to the wheel? It would alleviate the overcrowding problem, and it would keep our men too busy to get into trouble."
Hudhafah looked at the ever-growing pile of disciplinary reports. If he were to punish them all in accordance with Sata'anic law, he'd need four brigs, not the single holding facility they'd carved out of a stone temple too rickety to hold them if their men took the notion into their head to riot.
"How in Haven can I mete out discipline when I'm out of room in the brig?!!"
Hudhafah stood and nearly knocked over his chair. He paced over to a large map. The satellite image was full of colored pins laying out the resources they'd already brought to bear on this world. Also marked were all the petty kingdoms they would need to subdue before they could roll out Sata'anic rule.
"I've never gone this long without some kind of troop rotation from the Empire!" Hudhafah ran his greenish-brown claws over the pins. "Even after the armada arrives, we're under orders to remain incognito until we've built up a large enough presence to fend off incursions by the Alliance."
"This could be a test project, Sir," Kasib said. "A little mini-rollout of Sata'anic rule while we're waiting for the rest of our fleet."
Hudhafah tasted the air, his sensitive split tongue testing for Kasib's earnestness. He rubbed the scales behind his ear holes, deep in thought.
"You, more than any of my men, seem to have your claws on the pulse of what makes these humans tick," Hudhafah said. "What do you suggest we give the humans to make them cooperative? Besides gold? The Ubaid front is draining the funds from our treasury."
Kasib pulled out the little glow light he had fished out of the supply room. The device operated on a harmless biochemical reaction and could be tied around one's wrist or a piece of equipment to give a low level of illumination. Each one lasted several weeks before it needed to be replaced, but it could be turned off to prolong the battery.
"They seem to like these," Kasib said. "They pose no danger to our men if they fall into the wrong hands, and if we run out, the humans have oil lamps, so we have an alternative light source within our own barracks if we need it. If we send our men with a few of these to give as gifts to the head of each household and enough grain to feed each soldier plus an extra measure to help the family, I think the humans will accept us without revolt."
Hudhafah grabbed the folder he'd left open on the desk and tossed that folder in the 'disciplinary action' box.
"Do it."
"Thank you, Sir." Kasib moved to back out of the room.
"Oh, Kasib?" Hudhafah called. "What's the status on that Angelic?" He pointed to a group of white pins clustered around an area of a large river, surrounded by blue, yellow and green ones. Scattered around the map were other colors, but each of those had a reassuring red pin in the center, confirmation they had made contact with elements within these kingdoms, the first step in any Sata'anic annexation.
"Our Amorite allies report they've got the target narrowed down to a six-village radius," Kasib said. "Once we've got the exact location, should I order a strike?"
Hudhafah looked at the pile of 'disciplinary action needed' folders and sat back in his chair, his tail twitching as he thought it over. It was a tempting solution to the disciplinary problem. Send out men with too much energy to have a little fun.
"How many men did the Amorites say he killed?"
"Seventy-six," Kasib said. "Give or take a few. You know how these primitive people like to exaggerate."
Hudhafah ran his claws over their own cluster of red pins, distressingly tiny compared to the thronging masses he'd so expertly manipulated to move against each other instead of them. They had advanced technology, but without boots on the ground, the humans could wage a guerilla war which would make them bleed if they ever got the notion into their primitive minds to move against them instead of each other.
"Until that armada gets here," Hudhafah said, "I'd just assume pay somebody else to go get killed instead of expending our own. We can always send our men later. After our allies have weakened them and reduced their numbers."
"Yes, Sir," Kasib saluted. Pride flared in his chest. The general was a brilliant tactical commander. Unlike other generals who really did view their lower-ranking soldiers as cannon fodder, Hudhafah made sure his men got what they needed, even if he had to bend a few rules. He did not throw their lives away needlessly unless he had no choice.
Kasib finished up his duties and then bid the general goodnight. What he did now was not because he did not trust his commanding officer, but rather his lack of trust in the chain of command which lay above him. Showering and putting on a clean uniform, he grabbed a pack of glow sticks and some other items and headed out to the village beyond the base.
"Lieutenant!" the guards saluted him as he passed out the gates. Lieutenant was not a particularly high rank, but every man on this base knew he was Hudhafah's go-to man.
"At ease," Kasib saluted back.
The village beyond the base was nothing spectacular by the standards of the Sata'an Empire, but with a population of nearly 8,000 humans, for this world Ugarit was a thriving center of trade. Situated where the waters of the Akdeniz Sea met with several important trade routes that connected the kingdoms clustered around the sea with the inland kingdoms served by two enormous rivers, like most sentient worlds Kasib had seen Shay'tan annex it followed a familiar evolution of trade. Long before the Sata'an Empire had found this world, the Kemet traders had run trade caravans through this port.
Guards patrolled the streets to keep the peace, but humans had finally begun to grow accustomed to their presence. At least they no longer shrieked in terror every time he walked by. Normalcy had begun to return to the city. Traders from outlaying farms had returned to hawk their wares and children were allowed back onto the street to play.
Kasib glanced over towards a group of women gathered around the communal well. Most were either very young or very old. Parents hid their daughters of marriageable age, hoping to keep them out of the Sata'an female training academies. The whistle of inertial dampeners slowing a shuttle as it cruised in for a landing drew his eyes upwards. Soon that would change. It would be the women of this world, all trained to indoctrinate their offspring into Shay'tan's armies, who would transform this world from a primitive stone-aged culture into a thriving, fully performing tributary of the Sata'an Empire.
A matron moving to obscure view of her marriageable-aged daughter caused an uneasy feeling to settle in Kasib's gut. Given the complaint Lieutenant Apausha had filed about the treatment of human women at Lucifer's hands, perhaps hiding their daughters was wise?
He wandered through the narrow streets until he came to the house which was his destination. Unlike houses in villages they encountered inland, most houses in Ugarit were constructed of rocks plastered together with a mud-brick mortar. He sheathed his claws as much as possible before he knocked.
"Alo?"
"It's Lieutenant Kasib," he hissed in the Kemet language, careful to enunciate the alien 'T' and 'K' sounds. Kemet was the lingua franca of trade on this world, and the one all Sata'anic lizards had been ordered to learn as a bridge-language until they had enough forces here to retrain the humans to speak in the language of the Empire.
The door was opened by Donatiya, Niqmepa's wife.
"Kasib! Welcome!"
Kasib looked do
wn so he would not make contact with Donatiya's unveiled face, a liberty his species considered disrespectful to another man's wife.
"Is Taram here?"
"Yes, come in," Donatiya said. "Nipmepa! Kasib is here."
"Alo, Kasib," Nipmepa spoke clearly so Kasib could hear the unfamiliar sounds so many Sata'anic lizards had trouble even hearing as those sounds did not have a counterpart in the Sata'anic language. "Come. Sit. We are soon to have supper."
"I shouldn't," Kasib said. "I do not wish to burden your family any more than I already have."
"I insist," Donatiya interrupted. "We have enough."
A gaggle of children ran in from the courtyard in the small backyard and clustered around him. Since most Sata'anic lizards came from large families with many hatchlings, many from the same clutch, the sheer number of Nipmeqa's offspring had always reminded him of home. He curled his tail around his torso so it wouldn't inadvertently get stepped on.
"Kasib! Kasib! Did you bring us any more dates?"
Kasib reached into his satchel and pulled out the packages he had pilfered from the mess tent, a measure of grain to offset Taram's upkeep and small items which would not be missed, but adequate to purchase him some good will.
"They had no dates today," Kasib said. "But we had a shuttle return from the east. This fruit is called mango. I'm afraid I was only able to get one, so you will all need to share."
Donatiya took the mango and used the tiny steel paring knife he'd pilfered when he'd first brought Taram here to deftly skin and slice small squares off of the enormous pit. The children oohed and ahhed over the brilliant yellow-orange color and aroma while their mother slapped away their fingers and told them they must wait until after supper.
The scent of a delicious porridge tickled his nostrils. These people were nearly as carnivorous as the Marid, but most Sata'anic lizards bordered on vegetarianism … at least the lower-ranking ones. His hosts had quickly learned he really didn't want them to slaughter a goat in his honor every time he came to dinner, but to simply keep a crock of porridge simmering on the oven with a handful of fruits and nuts thrown in to feed him whenever he stopped by. It made him feel like he was back at home, with his mama, his sister-mamas, his brothers, sisters, half-brothers, half-sisters, and of course his father.
"Did you approach your general with your idea?" Nipmepa asked.
"Yes," Kasib said. "He agreed to it. It would be better if the host families were willing, so get me a list and I'll try to pair up honorable men with good families."
"Are you sure this will work?"
Kasib glanced out to the courtyard, where he could hear Taram chattering with the children as she finished up her work weeding the tiny kitchen garden these people kept. Most of his people viewed humans as little more than animals, a primitive species with little to offer the Sata'an Empire. If that report he'd anonymously filed with the Sata'anic Secret Service ever wielded an investigation, he wanted to be sure his fellow soldiers spoke of these people as sentient creatures, not simply some problem Shay'tan needed to subdue, so they wouldn't be so anxious to ship them off-world into the Alliance barbarian's hands.
Hashem's bushy eyebrows!!! What Lucifer did to those poor women was wrong!
"Kasib!" a light, musical voice called. "Two days in one week? I am honored you care so much for my well-being."
Taram held her arm out in front of her as she stepped carefully through the room until she got to the table, laughing as the children warned her of a basket and moved it out of her way so she would not trip. She looked past him, not right at him, but she found him anyway even though he did not speak. Taram was blind, but scent was one of the senses she used to compensate for her lack of sight. Rather like he did. He hoped his scent was pleasing for her.
"H-h-hello, Taram," Kasib greeted the woman who had been dumped into his care. Her sister and cousin had been shipped off to Lucifer … but Taram's blindness made her unsuitable as a mail order bride. Afraid the Amorites would abandon her in the desert to die, he had housed her with Nipmeqa and his family, hoping to figure out where she had come from so he could get her home.
Five months later, and Taram was still here…
"Have you brought word of my sister?" Taram asked. "Or my cousin?"
Her fingers slid across his features to confirm his face matched his voice even though there was no mistaking his Sata'anic features for those of another human. A thrill ran down his dorsal crest and made his immature yellow dewlap turn the reddish color of a higher-ranking male. Her touch was not prurient in nature. She was blind. It was necessary for her to touch him in order for her to see. Her expression tender, her fingers lingered on his cheek to smooth out a rough scale.
"All I know is they were sent to marry husbands who have technology so advanced that it would be like a dream," Kasib lied. "I am sure they are well taken care of."
He did not have the heart to tell her about Apausha's heart-wrenching report. Were any of those women Taram's family? Or had they been lucky and sent off-ship before Lucifer had gotten his hands upon them? Would the other Alliance hybrids treat the women any better?
Shay'tan told horror stories about the way the Eternal Emperor treated females in his armies. Making them fight and birth babies in the heat of battle! Forbidden to marry and forced to give up their offspring at birth! Their names thrown into a hat and prostituted out to be impregnated by a different male every time! It was … horrifying!
If he was ever adjudged worthy to take a wife, he would worship the ground she walked upon and keep her sheltered from the world where no harm could ever come to her. Such was their way. Sata'an men did not treat their women thus!
Nipmeqa called his offspring, "children! Come to eat! Wash your hands first!"
Donitaya set down the urn of porridge along with some fresh-baked flat bread, a paste made of chickpeas and garlic, a salad which Taram had just harvested from the little garden she tended to supplement her keep, and the mango Kasib had bought. Eight children crowded in to devour dinner. The grain Kasib brought each week to pay for Taram's upkeep, what was considered a measure of grain for a single Sata'an soldier, would feed six humans for a week. A Sata'anic lizard bringing a double measure of grain would be welcomed once the families realized how generous that portion was.
"Tell us a story! Tell us a story, Kasib!"
"I want a story about the sky ships!"
"I want to hear a story about the evil winged men!"
"I want to hear the story about the big, red dragon!"
"Yes, Kasib," Taram laughed. "Do tell us a story."
Kasib looked up into those sightless eyes, even though he knew it was disrespectful of him, and tasted the air for the human counterparts of scent pheromones which he was learning to discern. Taram enjoyed it when he told her stories of far-off empires, gods, strange worlds and wondrous devices.
"I have a good one tonight," Kasib said. "One of the oldest songs in the universe. It's called the Song of Ki."
"Sing if for us, Kasib," the children begged. "Please!"
"This song is about the two high-gods who rule even old gods such as Emperor Shay'tan and Emperor Hashem," Kasib said, "and the mother-goddess who birthed them all. Ki. The essence from which all matter arises."
They had settled into a routine, Kasib's weekly visits and his efforts to show them his people were not just conquerors. With the light tapping of a drum, Nipmeqa encouraged his children to keep the percussion using rattles and shells. With a deep, throaty voice no human could match because they did not have the extra vocal range granted to him by his dewlap, Kasib began to sing the ancient song.
In Ki’s most sorrowful, desperate hour,
When all was lost to blight,
Ki sang her Song of Creation,
And enticed Darkness to protect the Light.
Primordial Light, the architect,
Ki’s daughter, She-who-is,
Spun the darkness of He-who’s-not,
To create life, All-That-Is<
br />
But then one day, the sickness returned.
Moloch. Enemy of Ki.
The Evil One. The ex-husband spurned.
Collapse. Entropy.
He spread his evil, throughout the worlds,
Undoing all in his path.
Devouring his own children,
To make Ki feel his wrath.
But He-who’s-not, the Guardian.
Lord Chaos. The Dark Lord.
Sang the Song of Destruction,
To protect the Light he adored.
She-who-is wept bitter tears,
To see her playthings broken,
The Dark Lord could not bear her grief,
And offered his mate a token.
To keep the balance so he could protect her,
They would play a game of chess.
She-who-is would create new pieces.
He-who’s-not would reclaim the rest.
But both must remain ever-vigilant,
Against Moloch’s eventual return,
He sends forth Agents to pave the way,
To escape the hell whence he burns.
When Moloch gains a foothold,
And desires to be fed,
She-who-is shall appoint a Chosen One
To warn of Moloch’s spread.
HE shall send a winged Champion
A demi-god fair and just,
A Sword of the Gods to defend the people,
And raise armies from the dust.
As Moloch corrupts Agents to do his work,
So shall Ki appoint Watchmen to do HERS,
From the ashes of despair,
When all appears lost,
Hidden Agents shall choose to serve HER.
True love will inspire the Other One,
To pierce her heart upon a thorn,
And bring back hope where there is none.
For agape can access Ki’s Song.
When all the players have made their moves,
And the Morning Star shines bright,
Sword of the Gods: Prince of Tyre (Sword of the Gods Saga) Page 43