The Queen's Daemon (T'aafhal Legacy Book 2)

by Doug L. Hoffman

  “So, Bear2, tell us again how you took down that fearsome sea monster and saved the fair Ahnah.”

  Umky grunted in response.

  “Don't be shy. Tell us how you dispatched your foe and whether Ahnah rewarded her rescuer in the traditional manner.”

  This brought snickers from some of the others.

  “Come a little closer, primate, and I'll show you.”

  “Hey, don't be like that, Brother Bear,” chided Vinny. “You're the only one of us to see any action in almost a year—we want details.”

  Umky grumbled but acquiesced.

  “I went after them, but if Ahnah hadn't fought back and slowed the squid thing down I never would have caught up. Good thing we had the techs put claws on the pressure suits or we would have been squid chow.”

  “So you both went after the predator with your suit claws?”

  “Hey, that's what we had. No weapons.”

  “Railguns probably wouldn't have worked very well,” commented Kato. “Water is a lot denser than normal atmo or vacuum.”

  “Anyway, Ahnah managed to hack off a few tentacles and slow the beast down. When I caught up I tried to sever its spinal cord and then jammed an arm into one of its eyes.”

  “That killed it?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Good improvisation, Umky,” said the Gunny. “This is why I want the rest of you mutts to study the physiology of different animal species.”

  “So we can kill squids?” asked one of the Jumbos.

  The Gunny sighed.

  “No, Private. So when you face some alien creepy-crawly you might have a clue as to where its vulnerable spots are. Umky disabled the sea monster with a smart attack, guessing that it would have some kind of spinal cord running down its back from its brain, which was probably close to its eyes.”

  “Oh.”

  “Of course, jamming three knives into someone's eye has got to slow them down a bit,” quipped Hitch.

  “The point is, we might face all sorts of strange beasties kicking around out here. It ain't enough to be good at killing icicles, we have to be ready to fight anything.”

  “Join the Marines and travel the galaxy,” said Jacobs.

  “Meet strange new creatures,” added Bosco.

  “And kill them,” finished Vinny.

  Umky and the rest of the squad laughed.

  “All right you clowns,” the Gunny said, shaking her head. It was an old joke. Caesar's legionnaires probably said something similar about meeting new barbarians.

  “Back to the ship, two fireteams with bounding overwatch. Move!”

  Sickbay, Peggy Sue

  Doc White insisted that Ahnah report to Sickbay for a checkup after the predator attack. The 250 kilogram she-bear complied with minimal complaint and now lay on an oversized examination table, her vital signs painted in multiple colors on the display over her head.

  “Where's that oversized roommate of yours? I asked him to come in for a checkup too.”

  “He's out having fun with his Marine playmates, something about live fire exercise outside the ship.”

  Betty harrumphed.

  “Anything having to do with shooting weapons or blowing things up is irresistible to males—of both species.”

  Using a hand tablet, Betty examined the bear's skeleton and connective tissues, looking for signs of fractures or tears. Polar bears are a tough species, and under natural conditions collect such injuries as a matter of course—the cost of being a large predator who hunted sizable prey, none of which became polar bear chow willingly.

  “So what do you think, Doc? Am I going to live?”

  “It looks like the only damage is some bruising on your rib cage and some strains and contusions.” Betty lay the tablet down. “Let me see your paw.”

  Ahnah's paw was the size of a dinner plate; short toes tipped with sharp black claws the size of steak knives. Smart bears had more articulation in their forearm toes than normal dumb bears. The toes could almost be called fingers, being more individually movable than those of their non-talking cousins. The inner toe on either paw could bend sideways, independent of the other toes, almost like a thumb in a human.

  That wasn't the extent of the differences between talking polar bears and “normal” bears. There were subtle differences in their skeletons and musculature; they were more flexible than dumb bears and could walk upright more easily. The biggest differences could be found in the vocal cords, voice box, and the size of the cranium—with speech came larger brains.

  They were related to non-talking U. maritimus more closely than humans were to chimpanzees, but more remotely than horses and donkeys. While crossing the latter produces offspring, mules, they are almost never fertile. Talking bears and normal bears cannot interbred at all. Talking polar bears were really their own species, Ursus sapiens—the wise polar bear.

  “Not even any hairline fractures, I'd say you are none the worse for wear.”

  “I was wondering, Doc, how hard would it be to take out the birth control implant you gave me?”

  “Not hard, why do you ask? You and Umky getting serious enough to have cubs?”

  “I'm not sure about wanting a relationship, but I am beginning to think he wouldn't be a bad sire for a litter of little ones.”

  Betty stood back and put her hands on her hips, giving the white she-bear a look. Despite being of different species, there were strong similarities and bonds between the two females.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “Yes, no, I mean, not today. I just want to know what my options are.”

  “It's a simple outpatient procedure, I can do it anytime you want. Just remember why you had me implant it in the first place.”

  If bears could blush Ahnah would have.

  “It's just that there are so few of us, and Umky is fairly intelligent for a male. Plus, I don't know if I agree with this nuclear family stuff.”

  “You are a different species, so take this with a grain of salt, but two parent families are much more conducive to civilization than raising kids on your own. Recent history in the USA proved that—no fathers and boys run wild on their own.”

  “We she-bears have always raised our cubs on our own, but I hear what you're saying. Polar bears have a lot to figure out if we ever do get a planet of our own.”

  “Your own planet? Now you're thinking big.”

  “Maybe I shouldn't have said anything,” Ahnah said, looking around the room. “Umky has been talking about us eventually getting a planet to settle on. Some place with a lot of ice that can be seeded with seals and walrus and other tasty animals.”

  “And no humans.”

  Ahnah looks a bit embarrassed.

  “Yes, no humans—two apex predators in the same ecosystem never works out well, not for one of the species anyway.”

  “I'm not judging. I think you ought to be able to find your own destiny. I'm sure most of the humans on board would agree—the ones who know bears and have a half a brain in their heads anyway.”

  “So you don't think Umky is crazy?”

  “Not at all, honey. Go for it.”

  Betty, who was surprisingly strong, helped the she-bear up from the exam table. Ahnah dropped gracefully to the deck.

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  “No problem, I pronounce you fit for duty. And if you want that other matter taken care of just let me know.”

  Ahnah gave Betty a bearish smile and padded across the sickbay to the door, toenails clicking on the hard deck. The Doctor watched her go, thinking deep thoughts of her own.

  I wish you bears luck, she thought. I remember what it's like to be in an oppressed minority, and to long for equality and real freedom.

  3rd Deck Hydroponics, Peggy Sue

  The top deck of the Peggy Sue was seldom visited by most members of the crew. Other than the airlocks for boarding the attached shuttles, storage space and launch bays for observation probes, there was nothing to bring people to the 3rd deck. Unless
you worked on the ship's hydroponic gardens.

  In the far reaches of the ship UV light strips glowed and hissing jets of water sprayed fine mist into the air, creating the proper conditions for growing plants. There were rows of lettuce, cabbage, cauliflower, egg plant, zucchini, squash, and tomatoes. Also mixed in were dwarf trees bearing apples, pears, oranges, lemons, limes, cherries, and bananas. Between the larger plants grew herbs: parsley, dill, rosemary, oregano, basil, and many others. Different sections were at different phases of growth, staggering production and ensuring a continuous supply of consumables for the hungry crew.

  Alexis Garner was one of the technicians assigned to the care and feeding of the plants that provided the crew with fresh fruit and vegetables during their long trip away from home. She was a big boned girl from a farm in Washington state. Auburn hair, wide clear eyes, and a splash of freckles across her nose and cheeks gave her a wholesome, natural look.

  Intending to join the family business, she attended Washington State University's College of Agricultural, Human, and Natural Resource Sciences. While at CAHNRS, she participated in research aimed at improving fruit quality and disease resistance of crops in the rosaceae family—apple, blackberry, peach, pear, strawberry, sweet cherry, and more—some of the principle crops of her home state. She never thought that she would be applying what she had learned on a starship light-years from Earth.

  To some extent the plants helped to clean the air in Peggy Sue's closed environment, but CO2 scrubbers and oxygen generators mostly took care of that. Even so, Alexis thought that the air smelled best in the hydroponic section, surrounded by growing plants.

  Another member of the crew who agreed with her was Jimmy Tosh, the ship's Rastafarian cook and bartender. He visited the 3rd deck frequently to see what fresh ingredients were available for inclusion in his daily culinary creations. Rastafari like things simple and natural, though Jimmy created dishes by blending a number of cuisines with the cooking of his native Jamaica.

  There was another reason he frequented the remote sections of the ship's garden spaces, one that also reflected his religious heritage. The crew received a daily booze ration—two drinks each that could not be saved or accumulated for a future bender—but Rastas don't drink. There is, however, a recreational chemical they do partake in—marijuana.

  Ganja, weed, God's plants, Mary Jane, whatever it was called, marijuana was the recreational drug of choice for Rastafarians. To them, it was not just an intoxicant, it was a religious sacrament. Unsurprisingly, when Jimmy signed on for the voyage he carried with him a few packets of selected seeds, seeds that Alexis had happily helped him plant and cultivate in the far reaches of the hydroponics spaces.

  “Dat is a beautiful plant!” Jimmy gushed, stroking the leaves of a four foot high cannabis plant. The plants being inspected spent two months under near constant sunlight being fed all the nutrients they could absorb. They were about to enter their flowering stage, when the desired buds would be produced. All the male plants had been already culled, so that the females would not be pollinated. This would result in sin semilla buds, from the Spanish for “without seeds.” Buds without seeds have higher THC content, the main psychoactive chemical in marijuana.

  “You need to be patient, Jimmy. You can only rush nature so much,” said Alexis, watching the enamored Rastaman with amusement. “We will still need to top them and tie off the stems to get more even light exposure.”

  “I know, Alexis, dat one of de lessons Jah teach trough his blessed plants—patience.”

  The pair had been producing a continual supply of the hallucinogenic plants since the first days of the voyage. Early on their agricultural endeavor was noticed by the ship's computer, which monitored every nook and cranny of the Destroyer sized starship. This brought a summons from the First Officer, the imposing Beth Melaku.

  The First Officer had stoically listened to the two plead their case, that they would only use the harvested bounty of their crop sparingly, in the same way that the daily ration of alcohol was consumed by others on the crew. To their shock, the First Officer agreed to let them continue to grow the marijuana plants, as long as there was no adverse impact on food production and the resulting drug was not abused.

  It was the opinion of both the Captain and First Officer that the crew needed release from the tedium of a long space voyage and there was little practical difference between ethanol and THC. The company rules did not forbid drinking or other recreational drug use on board. There were, however, strict rules about rendering oneself unfit for duty, so restraint was called for. Eventually a half dozen other crewmembers opted for herb over brew in the recreational drug department.

  “We need the plants to bud and form resin for us to harvest. Then we can turn the resin into marijuana concentrate for use in vape pens.”

  The main problem with using marijuana was that smoking it was hard on the lungs and it stunk up the part of the ship where the weed was being smoked. There was also no ready supply of rolling papers, and though the engineering section's 3D printers could whip up any number of fanciful pipes, the consumers of pot soon turned to vaping. The joint and the bong were consigned to history as those so inclined went smokeless.

  “Dat still bothers I, for true. I miss de fragrant smoke from burning ganja. Notin' like rolling a big Bob Marley spliff and passing it around among friends.”

  “Jimmy, you know that was part of the deal with the First Officer—no open flame on board. Besides, burning stuff releases all sorts of toxins and other gunk you do not want in your lungs. Vaping is much healthier for you.”

  “So you say. Why would an occasional toke hurt anything?”

  “You know that the ship's computer monitors everything. Do you want to explain to the Chief and the Captain why the fire alarm went off? Plus, the polar bears can smell a lit joint anywhere on the ship, even with the air scrubbers. I for one do not want to get on their bad side.”

  For reasons unexplained, the ship's polar bears disliked the smell of burning cannabis intensely.

  “I glad we had no polar bears in Jamaican, mon.” Jimmy surrendered—the same argument happened every time a new harvest drew near. The outcome was always the same, the new crop transformed into marijuana oil for use in e-cigarettes.

  No matter, for Jimmy Tosh life was good. He was safe, got to cook every day, which was a joy, and had enough ganja to keep him happy. He prayed to Jah that it would stay that way.

  Lower Deck, Peggy Sue

  Ahnah descended the companionway from the 2nd deck, where she had been for her examination by Doc White. In her mind she was still mulling over the events that took place deep under the icy moon's surface; how Umky had come to her rescue without a second thought; some of the things he'd said. Thus distracted she dropped the last few rungs to the deck—though not often called on to climb ladders, polar bears were as capable as other bears in scaling obstacles. Looking forward toward the crew quarters, she sighted two familiar humans approaching.

  “Hello girls, how are you today?”

  “Hi, Ahnah!” came Dorri's happy greeting. “How are you?”

  “Yes, hello,” Shadi added. “How are you doing since your fight with the sea monster?”

  Ahnah crinkled her long black nose and tilted her head to the left—the polar bear equivalent of a shrug.

  “The Doctor just gave me a clean bill of health. Other than a few bumps and bruises it was the most fun I've had in a while. Where are you cubs off to?”

  Ahnah's maternal instincts asserted themselves, even though the two sisters were not of her own species. Seven years old, Ahnah was a fully mature female polar bear. In the wild she would have already borne her first litter of cubs. The fact that Dorri and Shadi were 14 and 16, respectively, was immaterial—they were still cubs to the she-bear, the only ones on board. Ahnah's instincts told her to nurture them, protect them as if they were her own.

  “We are headed to engineering for a class in gravitonics,” Dorri exclaimed excitedly.r />
  “Ah,” said the ursine scientist. “That's pretty advanced stuff.”

  “Yeah,” said Shadi, “we've already done electronics, photonics, spintronics, and a few other -onics I can't remember.”

  Dorri made a face at her sister.

  “Don't listen to her, we are both having fun. By the time we get back home we will be able to fix deck gravity, repulsors, shields and maybe even the main engines,” the younger girl enthused.

  As they spoke the three passed by the spacesuit storage lockers and entered the lower crew airlock. It provided access to the cargo hold, even when the hold was depressurized. Currently, both doors were open, providing unhindered access. As Ahnah paused to let the girls go first she caught the scent of something out-of-place. Looking back at the suit storage locker Ahnah's eyes narrowed.

  “You cubs go on ahead, I think I forgot something in sickbay,” the she-bear told the sisters.

  “OK. See you later, Ahnah!” the always bubbly Dorri replied. The two young women passed through the open airlock and into the cargo hold, heading aft.

  With the natural stealth of a large predator, Ahnah turned and moved quietly down the hallway. She stopped beside the spacesuit locker door. As the door slowly opened a crack she pounced.

  Ahnah burst through the door and pushed the man hiding in the locker roughly against the inner bulkhead. It was Raoul Mendez.

  Ahnah placed one dinner plate sized paw against the man's chest and leaned on him. He made a sort of wheezing, squeaking sound. A low rumbling came from the she-bear's chest.

  “What are you doing here, lurking?”

  “N-n-nothing,” the man stammered, eyes wide with panic.

  “You were spying on those human cubs, stalking them.” It was not a question.

  “No, I swear! I wasn't!”

  Ahnah leaned in close, her nose almost touching the human's face. Her lips curled, revealing an impressive array of predatory dentition.

  “The next time I catch you around those cubs, I will cripple you, then drag you back to the polar bear quarters and I will begin eating you while you are still alive.”