by Leslie Chase
Lots of components had burned out. No surprise, when the power supply got destroyed the power surge must have been tremendous. Aggravating, though, when I didn’t have many spare parts to work with. I routed around the problems where I was able, cannibalized damaged parts to fix the rest, and cursed under my breath.
Lost in my work, I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard the gunshot. Sharp, loud, piercing, the sound of a laser superheating air was unmistakable. I grabbed my heaviest wrench and ran towards the opening before I had time to wonder if that was a good idea.
Fanwell stood just outside, laser rifle in hand and shaking. I didn’t blame him: far too close for comfort a strange animal lay dying. Dark blood pooled under its chest, pulsing weakly from the singed hole a laser blast had torn through it, and tentacles writhed in front of its face. Still it pulled itself forward, grasping at Fanwell until he recovered enough to put another shot through its head.
“What the hell is that thing?” His voice shook as much as his hands did. “That wasn’t in any of the briefings. And how in the name of Odin’s singular bollock did it get that close with Killer’s ultrasound?”
Arcadia, the instructors told us, had no large predators that would bother humans. There were dangerous animals, that’s why we had ultrasonics, but this was no territorial herbivore. And Fanwell was right, the ultrasound ought to make Arcadian animals run away. I swallowed, wrench trembling in my hand.
“That’s… the scouts can’t have missed a predator that size, can they?”
“Maybe the Colony Company conned us? Arcadia isn’t the wonderful new start they promised?” Fanwell laughed awkwardly before his mask of disdain slid back over his features. A pity — frightened of a deadly predator, he’d almost been likable.
His theory seemed unlikely, but I didn’t have a better one. Unless… Mouth dry, I looked, really looked, at the trees around our crashed pod. Until now I’d focused on the crash and my work too much to pay them any attention.
Now I frowned, bit my lip, remembered our training. “Kitty Fantastic, can you bring up the Arcadia flora and fauna guide, please?”
My companion obliged, a holographic document appearing in front of us as she joined me in checking the plants. None of them matched — worse, none of them were even close.
“What are you doing?” Fanwell asked, his back to me. His gun steadied as he swung it this way and that, searching for targets in the strange, purple-blue foliage.
“I don’t think…” I let that sentence trail off, wondering if I should put my suspicion into words. No, it was more than a suspicion, and Fanwell deserved to know. “I don’t think we made it to Arcadia. We’re on the wrong planet.”
2
Zarkav
“The fires fell from heaven everywhere,” the Eldest said, exasperation showing in the amber flickering across his ssav, the scales that show a Zrin’s emotions. “They are enemies of the Sky Gods, slain and cast down. We must avoid them, go not into the forests where the nearest landed.”
Around the stone table, a dozen tribe leaders listened with various degrees of skepticism. The table itself was ancient, and legend said the Sky Gods cut it from the rock on their last visit. A reminder of the age and power of the Temple Tribe, and our connection to the gods. It sat at the top of the temple itself, so high that I could nearly touch the cave roof overhead.
Another not-so-subtle reminder of my tribe’s power. From here we looked out into our vast cavern, one of the biggest known. The freshwater river that ran through it, clean and fast, and the mushroom farms at the far end, made us less dependent on the world above than most tribes. One reason my position of hunt master meant less than it once had.
“The warriors must hunt,” Heash of the High Mountain Tribe said, red and amber patterns showing on his ssav. Privately I agreed, though I kept my own a neutral blue. Even if I didn’t agree with the Eldest, undermining him in public would be bad for the tribe I served. Besides, an emotional display would not help. Showing anger at this meeting only made Heash look rash.
But he had reason for his concern. The Southern forests were full of game that fed both our tribes, and if the priests barred anyone from entering, we’d have to brave more dangerous hunting grounds. And that meant pushing into other tribes’ territory; there would be misunderstandings and fighting, and some Zrin would die.
Around the table, the rest of the hastily assembled council nodded reluctantly, their scales rippling with unease. Leaders from nearby tribes had trekked for days to consult the Sky Temple’s elders after the rain of fire. None of them wished to disturb demons, but we all hunted these forests. We all needed to eat.
“Are we not to approach the fallen stars, then?” Gi-Ozek rasped in the language of her White Hills Tribe. I didn’t know that language, but that was the strength of the Temple Tribe and why we hosted the meetings. Our tribe kept the relics of the gods, including Ahsha-Peren, the Gift of Words. The golden disk sat in the center of the table and in its presence we all understood each other. A magic blessing of the Sky Gods, one that made us the central power of these scattered tribes.
“Under no circumstances,” the Eldest said firmly, the relic relaying his words in ten languages. “We must leave them undisturbed. The Old Ways are clear on this.”
That made my tail flex, though I kept my color under control. He glanced in my direction, eyes narrowing.
“Yes, hunt master Zarkav? You have something to say?”
I absolutely did not, and we both knew it. Once, the hunt master and the temple’s Eldest had been equal in power in our tribe, with the Eldest commanding the priests and the master ruling the rest of the tribe. Those days were long gone now, remembered only in the bitter tales of my predecessor.
Now, the Temple ruled as we awaited the return of the Sky Gods and the time of testing they’d bring upon us. I still held the right to join this council, but to side with another tribe against the Eldest? No.
Nonetheless, he was in error. I needed to find the right way to phrase that, one which wouldn’t stir up trouble between us. A risky, delicate thing, politics. I’d rather hunt a zsinz alone and without weapons.
The Eldest’s eyes bored into me and I considered just leaving the matter be. That would be the easy way, and probably the wise way, but not the truthful way. The temple priests raised me and I did not remember any mention of avoiding falling stars in the old texts.
Which didn’t mean there weren’t any. I hadn’t read them all.
I stood, spread my arms, and spoke as calmly and clearly as I could. “Eldest, you know the Old Ways better than anyone here. If you say these fallen stars bring danger, then we must stay away. However, many will fear the demons’ presence — should we not send a scouting party to see what they are doing?”
Our guests drummed their tails on the floor in approval. The Eldest glared at me, though his iron control did not slip enough to show in his scales or his tail. Only someone who knew him as well as I did would spot the change in his attitude.
I realized too late how invested in this decision he was. Whatever the Elder’s game was, I’d blocked it. Unfortunate, but the Old Ways also teach that we have to stand up for what we believe and fight for it. I’d stated my position — it was on him to counter my points.
“Demons are insidious,” the Eldest said after a long silence. “They may slay any who go too close, or worse, corrupt them. No. We will heed the Old Ways and stay away.”
“I think not.” Gi-Ozek thumped a fist on the table. “Your hunt master’s plan is good and my tribe needs food. I will send my boldest daughters, and they will find out if demons lurk in those woods. If they do, we all stay away. If not, then why should we avoid the best hunting ground?”
Tails thumped stone in agreement once more and I suppressed a groan. The Eldest’s anger was incandescent now. I had to make it right… and, if I stalked the prey subtly, arrange to see these ‘demons’ for myself.
“Honored Gi-Ozek,” I said, bowing to the matriar
ch of the White Hills Tribe, “do not risk your daughters. This is a matter for the Old Ways and the Temple Tribe. Let us take this risk — and as it is my idea, I volunteer for this journey.”
There. The elders would send an expedition and we’d know for sure. Priests would be the best able to resist any demonic wiles, I’d get to see the demons, and the Eldest would keep control of the situation. Everyone won.
Despite that, the Eldest’s nod seemed reluctant. “There is wisdom in what you say, hunt master. Yes. We will send an expedition, and then make a final decision.”
That satisfied the rest of the meeting and took attention off me. I lost myself in thought, trying to imagine the enemies of the Sky Gods. Were such things real? I’d long thought them to be a story, something made up to threaten the youngsters with.
The meeting droned on — while the falling stars were the reason they’d come all this way, with all the local tribes represented everyone had other business to settle. Finally it was over, our guests leaving to prepare for the journey home.
The Eldest’s iron control left with them, ripples of warning red running down his arms in angry patterns. “You come to these meetings to support me, hunt master. Not to speak of things about which you know nothing.”
It took an effort to keep my own ssav a neutral blue, and my claws sheathed. He was a scant two years older than me and we’d studied the Old Ways together. Perhaps once the title of Eldest had been literal and the elders would elect their wisest to the post, but now politics governed. The previous Eldest had been even younger at his ascension and used his long lifetime to gather ever more power to the office.
I gritted my teeth, forced my thoughts back to the matter at hand. “You asked my opinion, Eldest. I gave it.”
“Zarkav, you are supposed to be my friend and ally,” he snarled, red deepening and tail lashing. “I expected you to back me up. Instead, you throw out ideas before checking them with me.”
It took him a visible effort to calm down, but the red faded back to blue before he spoke again. “There is no help for it now, I suppose. I must eat the carrion in front of me, not the prey that escaped the hunters. Speaking of that, the tribe will need food while the Southern hunting grounds are forbidden. Take your hunters North and return with meat.”
“What? No. I will go see these demons, Eldest. I volunteered.”
“You did, but you forget yourself again, Zarkav,” he said, dangerously quiet. “This is a religious matter, so you do not make these decisions. I do. You will remain behind; we do not need you causing us more trouble.”
Not giving me time to answer, he turned and stalked into the temple. I sighed and made my way down the great stairs at the front of the pyramid to the bridge that connected the temple to the city. Beneath it the black waters of temple lake lay still and placid. My reflection stared back at me, offering no answers.
On the far side of the bridge, the hunt master’s tower waited for me. Probably the second strongest building our tribe owned, it served both as my home and the tribe’s armory. Our hunters had their own weapons, but here were spears enough to equip every Zrin in the tribe.
Inside those bleak stone walls I tended to my gear, making sure that everything was as it ought to be. A trip to the North would be long and difficult, and I did not want my weapons to fail me so far from home.
While I worked, the meeting gnawed at my mind. Fireballs had fallen from the heavens, the very home of the Sky Gods, and the elders were interested only in keeping us away. How did that make sense?
By the time the gong rang to announce evening meals, I’d replaced the binding on my spear and axe, patched my rain skin, and sharpened my knife. A productive afternoon, but my dissatisfaction remained, and I knew I had to figure out what was going on. Instead of eating alone, I crossed the bridge once more to join the priests for dinner. By long-standing tradition, the hunt master had the right to eat at the temple’s table, as the Eldest had the right to eat at mine.
Not that he’d ever taken me up on the offer. I scowled at the thought, wondering how we’d drifted apart so. Perhaps when I decided my destiny didn’t lie in the temple but above ground, hunting?
Entering the dining hall, I collected a bowl and found a seat, watching the priests and guards come in. There had to be someone who’d talk to me, someone who’d share. But no one joined me, even when the other tables got crowded and tempers frayed. Had they been warned off me?
I sighed, spooned stew into my mouth, and wondered if even the temple cooks would soon have the ingredients to make such food. The gree meat came from the South, in the lands we were now forbidden to hunt.
“This is stupid,” El-Ensha said, startling me out of my thoughts by sliding onto the bench beside me. “Have you heard who the elders are sending?”
Always better at gathering gossip than me, El-Ensha was my window into the inner workings of the temple. We’d grown up together, both orphaned by the same terrible plague and taken in by the elders. Everyone assumed we’d end up mated, but our ssavs never matched and she was more like a sister to me.
Her seeking me out at dinner and whispering into my ear wouldn’t do much to convince people of that. Already some priests cast knowing looks in our direction.
“I’ve been over the water,” I answered quietly. “Now I’m back and no one wants to talk with me.”
El-Ensha nodded in the direction of the elders’ table. All four of our venerable leaders sat there, but unusually they each had a guest with them. Mi-Zrak, Carnor, Izdril, and worst of all Marakz. I suppressed a growl.
The temple took in orphans of all sorts, and I couldn’t fault them for doing that. But some fitted in better than others. Marakz and his crowd were bullies through and through, and we’d had more than our share of fights growing up together.
One memorable time, he’d tried to push me down the temple steps when I refused to give him my dinner. He still had the scar I’d given him, three claw marks over his right eye. Since then he’d avoided me, but somehow he had the favor of the elders so he kept his place in the temple. More than kept it: while El-Ensha struggled to ascend the hierarchy, Marakz had been initiated above her twice.
The other three were his little gang, and they followed his lead. Possibly, without Marakz’ influence, we might have been friends. But they chose him over me, and that was that.
“Why in the skyless depths would the Elders send them?” I asked. El-Ensha shook her head.
“Because that way they can control what the expedition finds,” she explained with long-suffering patience. “Do you think Marakz will tell the truth about whatever they find out there?”
I grunted, eating a mouthful of stew to buy me time to think. It was hard to accept that the elders were this scheming — temple politics were a part of life here, but faking the results of an investigation into the Sky Gods? It went far beyond what I’d have expected of them.
What did they want to keep hidden?
There is only one way to find out. I didn’t like it, but there it was.
“I shall follow them,” I said, deciding on a plan in a moment. “Whatever’s out there, whatever they want to cover up, I will find out what it is.”
Green patterns of happiness wound around the ssav on El-Ensha’s arms and she grinned. Her work done, she turned her full attention to the stew. So did I, but my mind was far away, wondering what we’d find in the forests of the South.
3
Tessa
“—unknown world,” the radio spat between waves of static. Finally, after a week of work, I’d gotten it working well enough to find a broadcast on the emergency channel, and what it had to say was horrifying. “Prytheen—czzk—crashed hard, beware—czzk—wrong frequency, use 415—”
I dialed down the volume, head pounding, and looked at my notes. Fanwell and I had listened to the recording repeat over and over, picking out as much as possible from the static. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, for the full message. What we’d gleaned from it was ba
d.
“Prytheen? The goat-sucking Prytheen attacked the Wandering Star?” Fanwell snarled. “Those plagueborn blue pirate bastards can kiss my hairy balls.”
“We’re allies now,” I reminded him, unsure what to make of that. Yes, they’d attacked our ship, the Wandering Star, and forced it down. God knows how many people died in the crash. But the broadcast we’d just listened to came from the Joint Colony of Crashland, Prytheen and human crash survivors working together.
“And the devil’s taken up ice skating,” Fanwell said, unconvinced. “We’re not going anywhere near them.”
I turned and looked up at him, frowning. “Orson, you aren’t in charge here. You’re not the boss. If you want to stay here in this, this tomb, feel free. I’ll get in touch with the colony and get out of here.”
His face darkened. Every day we’d been here, he’d pushed that line a little further. Claimed a little more authority. Pushing back wasn’t easy, because with only two of us a democracy wasn’t possible. And, well, he had the only surviving laser rifle.
Not that he’d ever threatened me, but it was always there, a reminder of the possibility that he might. To be fair to him, he’d also proven himself a skilled hunter with it. That was the skillset he’d brought to the Arcadia Colony Corporation, there being little demand for actors on Arcadia. He’d made no bones about his ambition to create ‘Arcadia’s premier theater’ once we arrived, though, and I’d doubted his skill at hunting.
That turned out to be a mistake. Every day he set out, every evening he brought back badly needed food. The pod’s matter processor was a casualty of the crash and fixing it was beyond me. With it, anything organic could be turned into food — without it, we relied on whatever he brought back and the few ration packs we’d found in the emergency supplies.
That he used the rifle to feed us both didn’t mean he had to wear it all the time, though. Even now, safely behind one of the doors that still locked, he kept it slung over his shoulder and fidgeted with the strap whenever I annoyed him. Like now.