The Sarran Plague (The Sarrans Book 1)

by A. C. Katt

  “They were looking forward to Boaz’s graduation from the academy. The courses had been accelerated, because of the crisis. Their joint suicide took place three tides before we were scheduled to leave Sarran. This mission was scheduled to be home in time for all of us to be there for the cadets. The atmosphere there is bleak, the cadets think they are the last of us.” Tonas’s eyes glittered with unshed tears.

  “The Elders offered us a replacement. We refused because we felt there would be insufficient time to run a full background check. You were truly Goddess sent, Mark,” explained Jonal.

  “MMMMerow Meow Mrrrrrrr Meow.'' Tigger was doing a tap dance on the table. He had not budged, despite Tonas’s earlier command. His paw was worrying a piece of laptard tusk inlay. He pulled and pulled with his front claws. Jonal reached over to nab him.

  Tonal shouted, “Tigger, you’re going to gore that table, Beast…” With one mighty tug and pull, the laptard tusk wretched free. Jonal picked up the ivory-like inlay and examined it. A glint of metal, thinner than a razor blade and no longer than a needle caught the starlight from the dome. It had a tiny head. Jonal tossed the tusk to Mark who grabbed it out of the air.

  Jonal put out his broad hand and began to pet Tigger from furry head to sleek tail and slapped the table with the other, “Tonas, the Beast found a Goddess be Damned transmitter.” Tigger dove under the table for cover. ::Stop shouting and banging on the furniture, Firefly, you’re scaring our hero,:: Tonas replied. Aloud, “Mark, what do you make of this?”

  “It’s a listening device, but not one made on earth—frankly, we have better miniaturization technology in the most industrially challenged centers on Earth. That toy doesn’t look like it can carry a signal too far. Let me see it.” Mark held out his hand. He examined the device, turning it over, “Definitely not Earth technology, and crude. Who do you boys know that can come after you with tech just this side of shoddy?”

  “I know where it is made,” Jonal snapped, pulling the tiny pin from Mark’s hand. He broke off a piece of tusk, freeing it and took it over to the in the magnetic destabilizer for destruction. This is a Zyptz device. I’ve cleaned up after them before. Who, on this ship would want to cooperate with the Zyptz after what they did? Do they have agents on Earth?”

  “Wait, Jonal, before you trash that, let me look at it again,” Mark asked. Jonal passed the small pin back to him.

  “I think we may be able to turn our tiny problem into an asset,” Mark said.

  “How so?” Tonas asked.

  “This is not a long distance transmitter. It’s a local device. A distance device would have been too risky, someone on the Bridge might have picked up a stronger signal. This little sucker is transmitting to a recording device located nearby. Find the device and we overwrite the recording feeding the traitor bogus intelligence.”

  “Mark, could this have been planted by your government?” Jonal asked in a blunt fashion.

  “Off the record,” Mark sat down across the table. “I don’t know. But I wouldn’t put it past our bureaucrats or our military, or for that matter, the opposition party to have a hand in this,” Mark grumbled.

  Mark got up to pace. “As you know, I agreed take this assignment as a one-off, to protect the welfare of the women from Earth, who were in danger from a spy in your midst. They deserved an advocate and more protection than they were getting. I made it clear at the time to my government that I didn’t agree with the way this went down.”

  “Neither did we,” intoned Tonas, the sarcasm had more of a sting coming from the less volatile of the two Sarrans.

  “I know. I’ve come to admire Sarrans and the way you people do business. It reminds me of the way my country used to be. Everything changed. This is no longer a cover story for me, gentlemen. Bane says he is my mate. He gave me the ampoule when Anya was transferred to your quarters. I was down for three days.”

  Tonas signed. “You took a very big chance, Mark. But what is done, is done. So now, you know.”

  “Yes, I know. Sarrans Warriors are almost genetically identical to Earth males. The only difference is the forced opening of a permeable channel from the top of the rectum to the vas deferens through to the scrotal sac. It enables the sperm to from both partners to inject into their fem. Do you have any idea if the difference was genetically manipulated?”

  “I wondered that myself at times during this mission. Jonal and I think there is a chance that it was an evolutionary mutation the geneticists used as a prototype to counter the perpetual shortage of fems. By promulgating the mutation, the amount of fems necessary to keep the Warriors from blowing up the planet was halved. Our history shows that most of our wars were fought over the scarcity of women,” Tonas ruminated.

  “The majority of Sarrans believe it was genetic manipulation, we are an ancient people who have been to the stars and been knocked out of them many times. Civilizations have rose and fallen. Even so, we were always stalwart librarians. The truth is probably buried in the stacks on Sarran in Ulnas City, if it isn’t in the fleet archives. Our librarians have spent cycles trying to get all of recorded history on crystal. Just as their forbears tried to get it down in whatever format they used. We have over one hundred millennia of recorded history, five millennia in the current era. We think we were one of the first star faring planets, but there could have been others that destroyed themselves or were destroyed by natural means before us. Now, you are officially one of us. Just so you know, Mark, we considered you one of our own before Central Park,” Jonal said.

  “Welcome to the Sarran Warrior Brotherhood, Mark.” Tonas reached out his arm to clasp and receive Mark’s. Jonal did the same.

  “If you trust me enough, I’ll take the position of security chief, covertly. Once we land on Sarran, that part of my life is over, agreed?”

  “Agreed,” the Warriors conceded.

  “You must wonder how we survived so many millennia by trusting strangers. You have much to learn about Sarran and her people. We have good instincts, we know who to trust—it’s our own that trip us up. By the way, you do not have to hide your talents, unless you wish to do so for the mission. Tonas and I were aware of them and their intensity as soon as we met you and shook your hand. I assume you realized we also carried the gift,” Jonal said.

  “Yes, of course, although it took me a bit longer than a handshake. I’m not used to being around other talent, except Anya. And Anya was raised to believe that her talents were not a gift from God, but an abomination that came from the evil one. She has overcome so much in such a short time. Don’t give up on her, she’s worth it,” Mark said emphatically.

  Whoosh…''Meow, Merow…HISSSSSSSSS,'' clunk.

  Tigger came back into the StarRoom carrying a small box. It reminded Mark of the old Earthen matchboxes. He stood to examine the prize.

  ::Your turn My Light, what is he into now?::

  ::Speak well of our hero, Firefly, for I believe he has fetched us the recording device. He worked while we discussed philosophy.:: ''What do you plan to do with this, Mark?” Tonas asked.

  ::I don’t care what they think, this animal is intelligent and psychic. If he could only brush his own Goddess be damned coat,:: Tonas sent to his mate.

  “How is it that the Goddess be damned Beast can find things that we can’t, Mark? You know more about these ‘cats’ than we do,” Jonal asked.

  “On Earth there was some research about animals hearing at different frequencies. Not my field. But the devices could have been tuned to a frequency that resonated and he just followed the noise to kill whatever was bothering him,” Mark answered.

  ::He is as resistant to the belief that Tigger could have psychic gifts as the other Eathern are to the fact that he has them. A paradox, My Light,:: Jonal sent.

  Jonal smiled sheepishly at his mate and said, “Go and get the Asta from our private supply, Tonas. Let us toast our new Warrior. Get that tu’na tin from Anya’s things. Beast deserves it, despite the smell.”

  “Does t
his make me EarthClan?” Mark queried half kidding, half serious.

  “No, not you. But there is an EarthClan now. Sarrans derive their clan from their Mother. All of the future Mothers are now from Earth. Our generation is the last of the Clans Fire and Light.” Tonas turned and left the StarRoom.

  “He’s going to the quarters to get the Asta. You’ll like it,” Jonal said.

  There was a short silence with Tonas out of the room. Then Jonal said, “Mark, Juraens isn’t security backup. He is what your former fellows called Secret Service. We have had an elder traveling with us incognito. Even we have no idea whose identity he assumed. The elders appointed TeZarron to witness. His isolation is intentional. He and TeBron, his BondMate, lost their fem and their femspring to the Ipz.” Jonal put up his hand, motioning Mark to silence. “Before you ask, they have an offspring, Nafer, he is but six cycles and barely knew his mother. TeBron is with him. They couldn’t risk their offspring on such a dangerous and uncertain mission. There has been so much loss.” Jonal voice tightened.

  “Mark, you need to watch Flagen. There is a history there. He almost challenged me for Tonas. Tonas doesn’t believe this, but I know it for fact. I don’t like that our Triad Ritual remains unfinished. But we cannot force the issue. However, if Flagen finds out…Anya already has the genes in her system, but I will not risk her, not when she is just over being so ill. I’ve lived in fear of losing Tonas for ten cycles. Now Anya has come and my fear has become terror.”

  “I understand, Jonal. To me, Anya is family. Rest assured I will guard her with my life. I would like to lay low and scurry back to Sarran as fast as we can move our asses forward to ensure the safety of all of the fems. We know about Communications and we have a hook to get to the guys who left this little calling card thanks to the Beast’s sharp ears. Flagen has something up his sleeve, no doubt. It may not be treason, but it sure the fuck is ugly. We’ll find out who and what, and then,” Mark’s voice became very cold, “we’ll deal with them.”

  Chapter 8

  “And the day came when the risk it took to remain tight

  inside the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”

  —Anaïs Nin

  Sarran Calendar: Cycle 9435.B114

  Earth Calendar: June 24th

  Anya peered into the cleansing area. The Admiral’s Quarters were endlessly fascinating. What the Sarrans called a cleansing unit would put a bath at a five star resort to shame. She paused to admire the details she missed in haste the day before. The walls had been upholstered in maroon, watered silk, and on her left stood a burnished chrome and brass heating cabinet with a three stacks of absorbent toweling in the lower unit. The giant-sized towels were no surprise, considering the size of her Warriors.

  Her Warriors, where did that come from?

  The beveled glass was acid etched with an opaque outline of the now familiar three-pronged tree. Encased behind the upper doors of clear glass were bottles of bathing lotions. Anya chose a small flask of fine porcelain. The artisan depicted two men engulfed by passion in such exquisite detail she felt the pangs of their hunger. She held the stopper under her nose; the cinnamon-musk was redolent of Tonas. A ruby glass jar encased in a filigree of fine wrought silver sat on the second shelf. She returned the flask with care and reached for the filigree base of the jar. It popped up at her like a jack-in-the-box, activated by the heat of her hand. This scent spoke of fresh washed linen with a trace of vanilla, bright and clean. Anya recalled line after line of rumpled cot sheets waving in the breeze of a city rooftop. A swirl of her finger and the texture on her wrist said shaving soap and Jonal. She inhaled, breathing deep in her lungs the perfume of both men. These aromas had begun to symbolize her vision of haven and harbor.

  A three-sided bathing pool bisected a fifteen-by-fifteen square area tucked away in the right corner of the room. The bubbles gurgled and sang a bewitching song. At St. Brigit’s, water had been the ever-present chug-chug of the industrial washing machine. Anya giggled. How had the lush sensuality of this place brought her mind to St. Brigit’s washroom where fifteen little girls with hair pulled tight, in Peter Pan blouses and plaid jumpers shared three sinks, three commodes, and two tubs in a cold and damp basement. Seven bathed on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, eight on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Bathing took precisely fifteen minutes. Sunday morning, libations began two hours earlier than usual, at 5:00 A.M. Everyone arrived bathed for Sunday Mass.

  Anya shook her head and came back to the present. The shower stood a smidgen to the left of the far wall. Shaped as a six-sided star, the jets were mounted in twelve chrome and gold columns that sprayed mist from thirty-six nozzles.

  A second paneled entry stood directly to her right. She popped in for a brief peek and stood frozen to the floor. The chamber stunned her with its delicate artistry and femininity. In the far left corner, a vanity sat, be-curled and gilded as ornately as a piece shipped directly from Versailles. A stuffed ivory boudoir chair sat before it and resting atop, a three sided holographic projector masquerading as a fine antique mirror with beveled edges. The walls shone with low luster mint stripes, alternating with lines of orchid-like ivory and pink flowers running parallel to pencil thin gilded stripes. A large glass-bowl sink mirrored the two on the other side of the partition. It sat atop a second heating cabinet unit. The towels within were the color of aged lace edged with ribbons of pink and green. A selection of Earthen perfumes and cosmetics exactly duplicated her own, down to a new lip gloss. Added were high-end varieties of her drug store brands of hair and skin products. Beautiful bottles of exotic style and color yielded florals and musks with delightful, if unfamiliar fragrances.

  A low “meow,” brought Anya’s attention to the cushioned cat bed, one of many strewn about the quarters. Beyond Tigger’s bed was a floor-to-ceiling mirrored wall. A perfect circle of light was cast on the floor in front of the mirror from a fixture in the ceiling. She walked to the wall and placed her hand on the polished surface. Her reflection shimmered, and then disappeared. Another holographic projection, she mused. Someone went a bit overboard on the Versailles thing. Anya winced at her bratty tone. But this was the most difficult, most emotionally jarring experience of her life. Her Warriors’ loving tenderness completely overshadowed the overwhelming prospect of hot monkey sex with two men. Jonal and Tonas saw her, Anya. They knew her. This room, over-feminized and fussy as it was, came directly from the locked doors of her most hidden self. Somewhere among things she wasn’t permitted to even admire, let alone desire, was a place inside her that yearned to be a girl, not a contributing member of the community nor an upstanding example of womanhood, but the pampered darling of doting parents enveloped by a sea of chintz. “Foolish frippery, froth, and feathers,” Sister Edwana had called it.

  Here her dreams were displayed before her like a banquet for a starving peasant—rack upon rack of hand finished garments, in both Earthen and Sarran style. Heels, strappy sandals, cogs, boots, slippers, and sensible flats in every color occupied back-lit cubicles. Clear plasticine drawers displayed bras, camisoles, panties, and boy pants, silk decorated with finely wrought lace, satins, fine lawn, cottons and linens in every color and all her size. Everything from gowns to jeans, cashmere sweaters to plain white tees arrayed in elegant order—and so very obviously for her and her alone.

  As a child, Anya had spent many hours indulging this fantasy. Her rear pinned to the punishment chair, her fingers on her lips and eyes on a saint, she daydreamed whole afternoons away imagining this very scene. She examined her bounty and found herself unmoved. After twenty-six years, she finally probed into the reality behind her illusion. Anya never needed gifts; she needed a giver. She sunk to her knees on the cushioned floor of her wardrobe, put her head between her arms, and began to sob.

  * * * *

  Jonal recognized the change in his heart rate. Panic was not a familiar sensation, but acknowledged, if still unacceptable. Terror contorted time, collapsing tines into seconds or contorti
ng seconds into risings. The doors opened into the corridor. He sprinted the last few yards from the transport to quarters. The computer opened the private entrance. He flew past the living and slumber chambers without a glance and flung himself into Anya’s dressing room. He found Tonas on the floor with their Anya sobbing in his arms. ::Is she all right? Goddess, I couldn’t read her. Tonas, do we need Mark?::

  ::She’s fine, physically. Take a breath, Firefly.::

  ::I was in engineering. I never felt such desolation and anguish, I pictured…::

  He dropped to the carpet and gathered them both into his strong arms. ::Tonas, I couldn’t read her.:: Jonal closed his eyes; sweat gleamed on his upper lip and forehead. He drove back the terror, wresting control of his body from the black cold fear. Torture had always had one definition in Jonal’s emotional lexicon, losing Tonas. Now there were two.

  ::I felt a fissure open beneath my feet, creating a fathomless canyon. I clung to the side, the rock and soil loosening beneath my fingers. I began to fall. I struggled, and I as I fought, my eyes looked up and we were there, Tonas, you and I. I realized then that it was Anya falling and I went cold and I ran. My Light, you were right, we took away her choice, we did everything wrong.::

  “No, my loves,” Anya replied. “You have done everything right.”

  Jonal and Tonas exchanged expressions of simultaneous confusion. Anya had heard their entire psi’d conversation and answered without noting their conversation had been unvoiced. She was distraught, unhappy in their trust, yet believed they had behaved with propriety and honor?

  “Hold me, please, both of you,” Anya asked. Tonas cuddled Anya to his chest. Jonal drew them both tighter into his embrace.

  “It’s from before, when I was in school. I need to explain this to you and then you’ll hate me.”

  “Anya, there is nothing that you can say now, or have done in the past that could make either Tonas or I hate you. When the Bond formed we saw deep into your heart. You have lived all of your life in service to others who used you badly. They envied your quick mind, your outer beauty, and your perfect soul. It held no malice, no envy, just sorrow, and even that would not reside there still. But it was cultured, and tended and reinforced every time you fell within their web,” Jonal said tenderly. “You are beautiful and you are loved.”