Zayshul made a few notations on the keyboard, then looked back at him. “Now what?”
“I’m recalling them for the day,” he said, heading up to the front of the vehicle. “I need to review their training schedules.”
*
Back at their quarters in the City, he found a message waiting for him. It was from one of the young males who’d become part of the group that liked to gather round him when he had to attend Court functions every few days, and he was requesting a meeting with him.
Annoyed with himself for failing to predict the problems he was having with his young trainees, he wasn’t disposed to go, then the name tweaked a memory. One or two of them had made the odd comment against the current administration under Emperor Cheu’ko’h. Nothing much in themselves, but added together, he’d detected a definite undercurrent of dissent among them. He’d said little either way in return, but had decided to keep an eye on them. For that reason he’d employed four of them to help him train the young Warriors, using them as spotters as he had today, to mark their progress through the various courses he’d devised. This Q’akuh hadn’t turned up today, claiming he had pressing business in the Court.
He sat looking at the message, tapping his claws on the desktop, considering the matter. Q’akuh was older than the others in his little group, around thirty in age. He was an attaché with the newly formed Cultural Exchange that had been set up following their alliance with the Sholans to coordinate the training of the twenty Warriors currently on Shola. Now their brief was broader, encompassing the true exchange of culture such as music and performing arts. If the dissident movement hadn’t died with Chy’qui on the Kz’adul, and he had every reason to suspect it hadn’t, then who better than this young male to approach him with a view to recruiting him to their cause?
“What is it?” asked Zayshul, coming in from the bath room, a warm toweling robe wrapped around her.
“Nothing,” he said, typing in a quick reply and sending it before deleting the message and closing his communications unit. He still wasn’t sure enough of her loyalty to himself to take her into his confidence. “I have to go out. You’ll go to your Medical Director about accelerating the other Warriors?”
“I said I would, but you know I’m supposed to be on leave right now,” she said, making her way to the drinks dispenser.
He swung his chair round to look at her. In the robe, she looked even larger than before. “Call him,” he said abruptly. “You will rest from now on. I told you I want you to take no risks with your health at this time. You only have three weeks to go. Has your physician said anything about the size of the egg yet? Will it be too big?”
Collecting her hot drink, she made her way to the sofa. “If it grows any larger, I’ll have problems,” she said, holding onto the arm of the sofa as she eased herself down.
“Why in the name of all the God-Kings didn’t those TeLaxaudin do something about reducing the size of the eggs when they were helping you breed yourselves out of extinction?” he demanded angrily, getting to his feet.
“They did. They helped us develop the growth tanks and the techniques for using them.”
“That’s no solution!” he hissed. They needed breeding stock, females who were larger and could carry the eggs without risking their lives. The genetic meddling of the last two thousand years hadn’t bred a better race, it had destroyed them! They needed to turn the clock back, return to the time when they were one caste, before the Matriarchy had started selective breeding. Even as he thought this, his mind froze for an instant, leaving him wondering how he’d acquired this ancient knowledge. Then a small seed of an idea began to grow in his mind as he looked at her.
“Call Zsoyshuu,” he said. “I told you I won’t have you risk your life over this hatchling.”
She looked up at him, a strange expression on her face. “Getting sentimental over your brood female?” she asked. “Not like you.”
“Common sense,” he said, trying to pass her comment off. Then he hesitated, aware that she needed more if he was ever to gain her trust. “I do have an affection for you,” he admitted awkwardly. “You’re like a colleague, someone I can talk to, not like a female at all.”
“Thanks. I think,” she said dryly. “And I thought I was just head of your unofficial hareem.”
He made an impatient gesture, turning away from her. “They are bed companions, nothing more. They don’t have the qualities I need in my offspring, I’ve told you that. They don’t carry the scents that mark them as breeders.”
“Excuse me?”
“They have too much drone in their ancestry. They can’t breed true for me,” he said. “That’s why your hundred in the tanks will be a mixed blessing at best. My wife was a daughter of the Emperor, of good breeding stock, not chosen randomly the way you chose their mothers. Now I must go.”
CHAPTER 12
AS he crossed the Great Courtyard, he glanced up at the sky, seeing the rain clouds dispersing now that the storm was over. No drop of water had fallen here though, the City of Light was protected from the elements by force fields.
The establishment where he was to meet Q’akuh was in the small commercial section at the far side of the courtyard. Not one of the more exclusive houses of refreshment, it still provided a reasonable degree of quiet and luxury for those who had business at the Court.
Great fans studded the high ceiling, turning slowly to freshen the air. At the four tall windows, employees were busily adjusting the blinds, partly closing them again to protect their customers as the sun came out. As he walked over to the table indicated by the steward, his senses lurched briefly as he experienced an attack of déjà vu. He knew the place, had used it during visits to the Court in his own time: little had changed, except the people.
“General Kezule,” said Q’akuh, getting up as he approached. He indicated the other seat. “I received your message. I’m delighted you could come, and so early. Did the weather drive you in?”
Kezule ignored what was probably an unintended insult and pulled out the chair, turning it so he could see most of the room before sitting down. “A little rain never hurt anyone,” he said. “There was another death. Bad for morale.”
Q’akuh made sympathetic noises and glanced up at the waiter hovering at his elbow. “Can I get you a drink, General?”
“Kheffa,” he said. “Large.” He could do with a hot drink after his soaking, and the herbal drink was both refreshing and stimulating.
“Two large kheffas,” Q’akuh said then looked back to him, waiting until the waiter had left before speaking. “Your escort,” he said, nodding in the direction of the black-clad Palace guard hovering by the entrance. “Is he necessary?”
Kezule had grown so used to them following himself and Zayshul around, he often forgot they were there. “They have their advantages,” he said, nodding to the already returning waiter. “Doesn’t do any harm to advertise my royal connections. Besides, I had ours reprogrammed to suit my needs.” He relaxed back in the chair, resting his elbow on the padded arm and surveyed the younger male. Q’akuh exuded a slightly anxious scent, no more. Obviously the presence of the guard didn’t worry him overly and he wasn’t concerned about being seen in public with him.
“General,” murmured the waiter, serving him with his widemouthed cup first. “Complimentary sweet biscuits from the manager,” he added, putting a plate of them in the center of the table before serving Q’akuh. Then, with a low bow, he was gone.
“I chose here because I thought a familiar place would put you at your ease, General.”
He frowned, the skin around his eye ridges creasing. “I’m at ease anywhere in the City, Q’akuh. You forget, for me, very little time has passed since I was last here. All places have a familiarity.”
“Of course,” murmured Q’akuh, picking up his cup and sipping from it carefully. “I meant only that this place is pleasant enough as well as public enough not to bring attention to us meeting here.”
�
��Is there a reason why you should want to avoid attention?” he asked, picking up his own cup. He took a moment to smell the drink first, enjoying the fresh scent of the herbs. It tasted as good as it smelled.
“I have been asked to approach you with an offer of help.”
“Help?” He arched one eye ridge. That did surprise him. He put the cup down. “Why would I need help?”
“Not for you, but for your wife,” said Q’akuh, leaning slightly closer. “I take it you’re aware of the risks she takes now she’s one of the royal family.”
“I’m aware of them,” he said shortly, his amusement at the ineptitude of this would-be plotter vanishing. “What business is it of yours?”
“None, General, but my contact wishes to be of help to her, medical help, should either you or she wish it.”
He had to fight the impulse to lean across the table and throttle him where he sat.
Q’akuh pulled back instantly, aware he’d offended Kezule. “Hear me out, General,” he said hastily. “My friends deplore the practice of making the royal family carry their own offspring. It puts lives at risk, lives more precious than those tended in the growth tanks every day! They’re offering their help, should you or your lady want it. Nothing more.”
Expressionlessly he looked at the male before him, every sense suddenly on the alert. Yes, dissidents, and those with powerful resources and contacts if they would risk offering him this illegal help— help which they must know he wanted.
“How would they accomplish this, given its illegal nature?” He forced the words out as calmly as he could.
Q’akuh leaned cautiously forward again. “A simple matter. Our physician is above reproach. No scandal is attached to him, no one is watching what he does. You bring your wife to us in two weeks’ time, sooner if she goes into premature labor, and he’ll safely remove the egg. Your wife pretends to be still carrying it, and on the appointed day, she calls in our physician who will arrive with the egg already in the incubator and pretend to deliver it naturally.”
“How can it survive if you remove it early?” he demanded.
“There is a way to continue nurturing the egg and keep the shell soft until it reaches birth maturity, but it isn’t widely known.” He dipped his head to his shoulders in a shrug. “There’s no call for it to be known when only the royal family bear their eggs.”
“And the penalty for doing this?”
“Ah,” said Q’akuh, sitting up again. “The risks are high. Destruction of the egg, revocation of royal status for the parents, and imprisonment for all concerned.”
“And what do your— friends— want in return?”
“Not a great deal, General. Just your ear to some other proposals they want to put to you, ones advantageous to yourself and your new family, and your word that you’ll not reveal our conversations to anyone.”
Abruptly he got to his feet. “I’ll consider your proposal,” he said tightly before turning and leaving.
On autopilot, he began walking, his mind almost numbed. He remembered nothing until a hand touched his shoulder and he looked round to find himself sitting on the edge of a fountain in the ornamental gardens at the rear of the palace.
“I didn’t expect to find you here, Kezule,” said the gentle voice of Empress Zsh’eungee.
He rose rapidly, bowing low. The hand touched his shoulder again. “No need for that, Kezule, we’re private here. What brings you into my garden with such a thoughtful look on your face?”
“Nothing, Empress,” he murmured, trying to hide his confusion. “I hadn’t realized this was your garden. I used to come here when…” He ground to a halt, keeping his gaze on the ground as was the custom in his time.
She laughed. “Me, too! The sound of the water is so soothing, isn’t it?” She sat on the rim of the fountain, gesturing him to do the same. “Sit! Be comfortable. Come here when you wish, Kezule. After all, you are part of our family.”
He looked up now that she’d reminded him he’d no need to avert his gaze. Wearing a simple dress suitable for the hot weather, she looked like any of the females he could see about the City.
“I’m sorry I intruded,” he said hurriedly, beginning to back away. “This is your private garden, isn’t it?”
“Don’t go,” she said. “There’s no need. I get very little chance to be informal, and there are very few I wish to share that time with.”
He hesitated. In his day, he’d not been welcomed into the inner royal family like this. There were many others with a greater familial claim. “I’d better go, Majesty,” he said.
“Then I’ll walk with you,” she said, getting up. “I hear you’re working with the new Warrior caste.”
“Yes,” he said, falling in step beside Zsh’eungee.
“I’m grateful to you for endorsing my son’s request to go to Shola.” She looked at him. “He was so anxious to go and take part in the Warriors’ training so he could understand for himself what it’s like to be one. We’re very proud of him.”
Kezule stopped dead. “The Enlightened One is still on Shola with the Warriors? I thought his visit would only be a short one.”
She frowned, iridescent skin crinkling gently at the edges of her eyes. “Didn’t I just say so?”
“Bring him back,” he said urgently. “Recall him, Majesty. His life is at risk among them. These aren’t officers, Majesty, they’re common soldiers, M’zullians. They have no respect for anyone except for superiors of their own caste.”
“Our advisers have assured us that they’ve been bred and educated to be loyal to the royal family. They wouldn’t turn on their Crown Prince,” she said firmly. “I appreciate your concern, Kezule, but my son will stay there. He’s the first Prince to train as a Warrior since the Fall and he’s gaining respect in the eyes of the Court and our people by doing it.”
“It’s a scent…” he began.
“Kezule, we will not speak again about this. When you come next, bring Zayshul, your wife, with you,” she said, smiling too brightly at him. Inclining her head, she turned and left.
“Damn!” he muttered, watching her retreating figure. He’d spoken to the wrong person. What could she know about the technique they’d used to breed the Warriors? The only reason he knew they’d gotten it wrong was because he knew what motivated the ordinary soldier, what scent commands they obeyed— unless the Primes’ tampering with their genetic memories had altered even that.
His communicator buzzed and he reached into his pocket for it. “Accept,” he said, waiting for the image on the screen to resolve. It was Zayshul.
“Zsoyshuu wants us to meet him in his office,” she said. “I had to tell him you knew about your hatchlings. He needs to discuss your theory with you.”
“Coming,” he said, heading for the exit out into the palace. “I’ll meet you there. Get your guard to call a floater, don’t walk. It’s too far.”
*
“You’re saying that unless these twenty are controlled by an officer class more mature than themselves, they’ll rebel against us within days?”
“Yes,” said Kezule. “You have perhaps five days at most, that’s all, unless you’re prepared to keep them sedated. You couldn’t know that there’s a genetic scent that differentiates the two Warrior castes. It creates controls, prevents them from wiping each other out. They know who’s superior to them, who is untouchable. You can’t just re-create the Warriors and put them into your society, Zsoyshuu, it won’t work. You Primes smell alien to them— hell, you even smell alien to me!” he said candidly, leaning back in his chair and surveying the Medical Director. “In my time, only the officers were allowed on K’oish’ik, never mind in the City of Light. Every soldier in the City was an officer, no matter how lowly his position, because we didn’t look for weaknesses in our superiors and turn on them in their hour of weakness! You’re basing your understanding of all Warriors on the officer caste.”
“We did tests, computer simulations, showing that the merging of M�
��zullian genes with those of Intellectual females would lead to more intelligent Warriors,” objected Zsoyshuu.
“Life doesn’t work that way,” said Kezule dryly. “I know nothing of medicine or genes but I know if you strip the M’zullians of their genetic memory and give them yours, you’ll get grunts who know how unprepared the City is for any determined Warrior. These come from stock genetically modified thousands of years ago to enjoy killing, Zsoyshuu, and they’ll see a target ripe for the taking.”
“Why didn’t you pick this up sooner?” Zsoyshuu demanded. “You’ve been working with them for over a month!”
“They were still developing. Now that they’re fulfilling their purpose in life, learning to fight and kill, they’re maturing and their adult scents are kicking in.”
Zsoyshuu looked at Zayshul. “You agree with his prognosis, Doctor?”
She inclined her head in an affirmative. “I’ve watched them alongside my husband, Director. They’ve definitely become more aggressive among themselves. And the fifty M’zullians due to be birthed in ten days were selected for aggressiveness by Chy’qui. He had them culled specifically for that.”
“What do you suggest we do, General?”
“I’ve told you. Accelerate the hundred from my line, so that when you birth them, they’re more mature than these. Then they’ll have a fighting chance. Literally,” he added. “And my advice on the other fifty is to do something if you can about their racial memories. They need Warrior ones, not Primes. If you can’t, then terminate them, or leave them without any.”
“Without?” The director sounded scandalized.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you no longer have drones, do you?”
“No. No drones, only Workers and Intellectuals with drone ancestry.”
“So how do you pass on racial memories these days? You’re grown in tanks without shells, birthed at any age from hatchling to fully mature, so how do the racial memories get passed on from generation to generation?”
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