Date Point: 14y3d AV
High Mountain Fortress, The Northern Plains, Planet Gao
Champion and Stud-Prime Daar of Clan Stoneback
“How are they?”
“Shaken and angry.” Powell sighed and scratched at his arm. “My Lads weren’t gentle.”
Daar shook his neck out. “Couldn’t be helped. We get everyone?”
“No. Most of the major Western Clans are here, but the minor ones, or the ones based out east in enemy territory…”
“Right. My thanks. I…need you to leave.” Daar looked around at Clan SOR and nodded solemnly. “All of you. This is a Champion’s business.”
“Aye. We’ll hold our end up. The ground war’s on you now.” Powell extended a hand. “Whatever happens, wherever the future takes us, havin’ you in my command was a privilege I shan’t forget.”
“And bein’ under ‘yer command was a privilege I’ll remember.” Daar echoed. They shook, hand to paw, and Powell turned away down the old stone fortress’ stairs.
Daar took a deep breath, shook his fur out, and turned to the Great Hall’s huge iron-reinforced wooden doors. The historical direction of the Gaoian people had been decided many times over behind those doors. There was nowhere more solemn, more significant or more potent for moments like these.
He turned the latch and shouldered his way inside.
There weren’t just Champions inside. Several had a Father, Grandfather or important Brother at their side, and Yulna had Myun with her as always. It occurred to Daar that he still hadn’t heard his daughter speak in the last couple of days, and a moment’s worry fretted at him that maybe the injury to her mouth was going to cause lasting trouble for her.
But now wasn’t the time for worrying about that. His claws clicked sharply on the stone as he stood tall on two-paw and marched to the head of the table. For once, the appearance of dignity and civilization actually mattered. The buzz of nervous conversation dropped away to nothing.
Champion Reeko spoke first. “…We heard you were back,” he said. “It’s good to see you, Champion Daar.”
Daar acknowledged him with a duck of his head. “You won’t think so when you hear what I have to say,” he predicted. Reeko’s ear flicked, but he duck-nodded and rested his paws casually in front of his belly, listening attentively.
Daar glared around at all of them to ensure he had their attention, then spoke in his deepest, most solemn growl. “It’s time to go on the offensive,” he said. “Right now we’re on the run, retreating, recoiling. That can’t go on, or we’ll be crushed up against a wall and picked apart. Up until now we’ve looked after our own Clan interests. Secured our records—” he glanced at Loomi, “—our secrets—” he directed that comment at Genshi “—and our projects.” Meereo’s enormous ear flicked as Daar looked in his direction.
“That ends now.” Daar snarled. “Whatever unfinished business our Clans have, it’s over. Unless it contributes directly to the survival of our species I don’t give a shit about it, you can pick up the pieces later when we’re alive. As of this moment, we are an army, and you are my generals.”
Stoneback’s allied clans responded predictably. They duck-nodded and held their peace. The more neutral Open-paws, Goldpaws, Green-tooths and Shortstrides hesitated, glanced at each other, and decided not to object.
Even the Ironclaws surprised him. Clan Ironclaw and Clan Stoneback were well-established rivals, the thinking laborers versus the industrious engineers. They competed for the same kinds of male, the same females, the same resources, contracts, work and niche. But Champion Mayru simply looked Daar inquisitively in the eye for a moment, then duck-nodded imperceptibly and settled his ears into a posture of deference.
That left only the One-Fangs and Firefangs: traditional rivals of Stoneback and also among the most heavily augmented Clans. While Champions Hiyel and Halti were both implant-clean and briefed, the prejudices they’d collected over long years pickling in a heavily infiltrated Clan environment weren’t going to evaporate all at once.
“To achieve what?” Hiyel asked. “Our fleets are lost, Champion Daar. The enemy claimed what they didn’t destroy, and the humans wiped out the rest. Almost all of my Clan’s Brothers, assets and ships are wrecks in orbit now. What can we achieve without orbital support?”
“Orbital support is being addressed,” Daar said cryptically. “What I find more important is your defeatist attitude. Is this gonna be a problem?”
“I don’t have a Clan to give to the cause, Daar!” Hiyel objected. “Everything we are is gone. Whatever we have left is yours, but—”
“That’s all I wanted to hear,” Daar interrupted him before he could qualify his support. “What about you, Halti?”
“My Clan is worse off than the One-Fangs,” Halti said, shaking his head. “Eighty percent of our pilots were implanted, and the rest were slaughtered by the biodrones. Our ground-crews and support brothers all lived and worked on One-Fang stations, or at facilities that have been bombed to dust. If I contribute anything to your cause, my Clan dies.”
“Your Clan dies anyway. We all do. This isn’t a fight for territory, Champion. We are fighting to exist.”
“I have to safeguard the future of my Clan, Champion Daar! If this can be done you’ll achieve it, but I can’t—!”
Daar decided a warning threat was in order. He leaped over the table and got in Halti’s face fast enough that he could barely react. In his most menacing growl, “My Clan’s purpose is to preserve the Gaoian race, Champion. I don’t give one watery shit about your sinecures or your privileges. Obey, or pay.”
Halti didn’t take the hint. “Daar,” he pleaded desperately. “If I give you anything then Firefang is gone forever. I can’t—!”
Daar tore his throat out.
It was a quick death, at least. Relatively. Halti fell, choking and fountaining blood from his neck, and was probably unconscious before he slumped to the ground.
Daar spit the blood from his mouth and turned on Ruuli in one smooth motion. He was the Firefang Grandfather and had surged to his feet to avenge his fallen Champion. He charged and leapt onto Daar in a pounce that would have felled lesser males…but Daar simply brushed him aside and let Ruuli stun himself in the collision.
Daar let him get to his feet and gather his wits; he deserved his dignity. Ruuli shook out his pelt, met Daar’s eyes, and nodded solemnly. Daar nodded in return. The Grandfather of Firefang made his peace, swallowed, flattened his ears, and charged.
Daar gave him a quick death too. One swipe of his paw shattered the old male’s sternum and likely ruptured his heart, and another disemboweled him from neck to groin. There were shocked noises and groans from the other Champions as Ruuli sagged, fought desperately to hold onto his own innards, and then slipped out of consciousness and out of life.
Daar stood up, allowing a feral growl to bubble menacingly at the back of his throat.
“Now,” he challenged the stunned, silent survivors. “Is there any other business of command to attend to?”
Not a soul dared take a breath. Good.
“The survival of our species is at stake. Does anybody wanna stand in the way?” he repeated, driving his point home.
The air stank of intimidation and shock, behind the sharp metallic tang of blood and the musty scent of spilled guts. Nobody volunteered.
“Outstanding. We are going to fight back.” He turned to the shell-shocked Highmountain honor guards. “You two. Take care of this.” He gestured toward the corpses, blood still dripping from both paws. “Make sure Ruuli gets full honors.”
Daar didn’t comment on what to do with the former Champion. He trusted them to figure it out. The taller one duck-nodded nervously, glanced at his fellow, and the two stepped out to fetch aid. Daar paced the room while they attended to the matter.
It didn’t take long. Ruuli was hoisted onto a litter as neatly as could be managed, while Halti was dragged out by his rear paws; a failed Champion earned no dignity.
Daar watched them mop down the floor and ambled towards the table head as they bustled out of the way. Only when they had finished did he slowly put his claws away without bothering to wipe them clean.
“No more of that I hope. As ‘fer anyone who’s unlucky enough to have ‘plants, they die or they go in stasis,” He stated plainly. “No exceptions. No excuses. I don’t care if they’re your own bestest Cousin. I don’t care if they’re the Mother who nursed you. I don’t care if Great Father Fyu himself comes back, if he’s got an implant I’ll tear the old fucker’s throat out myself!”
Nobody said anything. He’d managed to shock all the surviving Champions and Grandfathers into total submission.
“So. First thing’s first. We gotta organize an army, and we gotta go kill these Hierarchy fucks…You.” He aimed his bloody paw at a random Firefang. “Name.”
“G—” the younger male choked on his own name, then rallied. “Goruu, Champion.”
“That’s Champion Goruu now. Your Clan needs one. Be worthy of it. Name your Grandfather. Now.”
The newly appointed Champion Goruu was either a quick learner or a good listener. Either way, he came out with a name instantly. “Yaakiya.”
“Congratulations,” Daar told him, with a gallows humor only a Human could match. “You’re young-looking, so learn fast and don’t get killed. As for the rest of you…”
He rounded on the gathered leaders of the Gao. Many hadn’t made it, either because they were dead or they simply didn’t get the message. He caught Reeko’s eye, who seemed to be about the only Gaoian left in the room who had enough courage to meet his gaze.
…No. Yulna did too. For the first time in a long while, he granted the Mother-Supreme a modicum of grudging respect—Whatever her failings, the woman had iron balls.
“You know what bein’ a Male is about,” he told the room in general, via Reeko. “It ain’t just the Stoneback motto, it’s what we all are. Protect and Provide. That is Stoneback’s ancient Contract and mantra, the secret we’ve kept for so long because you were not ready. Well, now you’d better be. And Keeda burn my balls off, I will not allow mine or any Clan to fail that mission. We are gonna win, we are gonna survive, and we are gonna kill the Motherless pieces of shit who did this to us.”
“That’s going to involve slaughtering a lot of people, Champion,” Reeko stated.
“Yeah. It is. I’m told implantation runs to five percent of the whole species. Five percent of twenty billion Gaoians is damn near a billion.”
Daar let the impossible number sink in for a moment. The rest of the Champions needed time to process the implications of that statement, but not Reeko. He winced, his ears flicked flat along his skull for a moment, but then he rallied and stared Daar in the eye a second longer before standing up to his full height and duck-nodding firmly. “…Straightshield is with you.”
Goldpaw’s champion, Sheeyo, surprised Daar by being the second to speak. “Whatever Goldpaw can provide, you shall have,” he promised.
The newly-anointed Champion Goruu was third to speak up. “If it means the end of our Clan, so be it. So long as it’s not the end of the Gao.”
Daar gave him a token nod of respect as the remaining vows flowed in. One of the guards brought in a bowl of water and a towel, so Daar cleaned off his paws while the remaining Champions competed amongst themselves with ever-grander statements of enthusiastic compliance.
Cowards.
“Good,” he said, once the last of them—Genshi, not a coward and thoughtful as ever, and who knew he could be the last without scandal—had voiced his restrained support. “It’s a start. A whole lotta gaoians are gonna die in the coming years and you gotta prepare ‘yerself for that. Yes, years. Spend some effort to preserve the spirit of your Clans an’ send some enclaves to Cimbrean, because none of us are gonna be much after this. Until we have orbital superiority we can’t do anything but meet these fucks on the ground, and no offense, Champion Wozni, but I sorta doubt ‘yer Clan-Brothers know how t’properly fight.”
“You’ve never seen them argue over a bag of ‘Cheetos’,” Wozni replied with a nervous chitter. The Shortstrides were programmers, masters of automation and computer technology. For all Daar knew, their contribution to the war might be negligible, or pivotal.
He favored Wozni with an amused set of his ears—He couldn’t afford to be completely menacing. “Eh, nachos are better. But this goes for all of you. You need to pick and choose who is truly essential to your Clan’s purpose and who can be sent to the lines, because the ones that do are gonna be trialed by fire. Got it?”
They all duck-nodded furiously. They were beginning to understand.
“Good. Here’s the rough outline of the strategy. First, we contain. Nobody gets in or out of a city, on or off this planet without us knowing about it. Critical infrastructure must be secured, engineering disasters averted. My Grandfather is already working on the foundational stuff Stoneback controls but we’re small in number compared to the Old Days. Round-up and recruit as many Clanless as can be trusted to help. Give them a reason to help your Clan. Consider how that may bolster your Clan’s ranks long-term, too. We’ve got a small network of secured locations we can work outward from so we can start there. We advance, we secure, and we contain. Got that?”
More nodding.
“Excellent. The second thing we do once we’ve got a foothold of containment and survivability, is we slaughter. This is gonna focus almost entirely on rural areas and small communities, ‘cuz they’re way easier to clean out and keep afterwards. There’s cropland, there’s every part of foundational industry, there’s favorable terrain and there’s clean drinking water. The countryside controls our dams, our mines, our foundries and our industry. It’s indispensable. We get it free of biodrones, we’ve won. And that leads me to our final act.”
He paused, and took a breath. “Ideally, we get the bulk of the biodrones trapped in-city where they can’t do much. If we can do that, we could of course lay siege and starve them out…but after the initial die-off, that’ll take years. They’ve got stasis fields and Gaoians are carnivores, so they can just slaughter each other and the unimplanted, stasis the corpses, and eat.”
“Secondly,” he continued, ignoring the nauseated looks from the others, “Urban warfare is a special kind of hell. It takes years to get a ‘Back trained properly and I only have, as of this morning, seven hundred and forty-four properly trained Fang-Brothers left. I can’t afford to spend ‘em like cheap peshorkies and I’m not gonna send millions of Clanless into a meatgrinder they ain’t gonna survive. Which makes the solution clear. We nuke ‘em from orbit. All of ‘em, all at once.”
Highmountain’s Champion Loomi looked appalled. “You’re talking about destroying thousands of years of heritage,” he observed. He caught the look in Daar’s eye and swallowed. “…I just want you to be aware of the scale of the damage. If it’s necessary…”
“It is.”
“…Then it’s necessary,” Loomi sagged. Daar couldn’t blame him but now wasn’t the time for sentiment.
“Blame the Hierarchy,” Reeko reminded him. “We’re just doing what it takes to survive.”
“…For a depressing definition of survival…” Loomi muttered. He scratched at his whiskers and straightened his back. “…By any means necessary. I understand.”
Daar nodded consolingly. “Maybe we can be more judicious when it comes to it. Depends on what we have at the moment and what the Humans can provide…but I can’t guarantee any particular outcome. We need to be prepared to lose everything.”
“We should…discuss the particulars,” Loomi said, and waved a despondent paw at globe and maps in the middle of their table.
The conversation delved into the minutiae. Where the food was going to come from, where the refugees could be gathered, morale, recruitment, transport. Lines of communication, both for messaging and for logistics. Where to dig in, where to evacuate, where to abandon. Two gruelling hours resulted in a comprehensive strategy which left Daar feeling almost hopeful.
It was grim, callous and ruthlessly pragmatic…but there was nothing wrong with it. So long as the Humans could keep the Swarm-of-Swarms from landing on their collective heads, it might even work.
“Very well,” he decided once it had reached the stage where the further details could safely be delegated to the discretion of the individual Clans and their Fathers, and he was certain that they were all invested in and understood the plan. “We’re agreed.”
Sheeyun looked skeptical. “I’d still prefer to find a patrol boat for the river Shyun, if we can—”
“We’re agreed,” Daar repeated, firmly. The Goldpaw was correct, of course. Certainly when it came to logistics and the movement of goods and people there wasn’t a finer Clan in all of Gao, and if he said that river would be vital, it would be vital. But that particular question could wait.
Sheeyun glanced at him, his ears flattened slightly, and he duck-nodded.
“…We’re agreed,” he conceded.
“Good. You all know what your role is, you all know what is expected of you and your Clans. I won’t detain you any longer. Get out there and make this happen. Dis—”
He was astonished to be interrupted…By Yulna.
“There is…one other matter.”
She met Daar’s glare with a cool, level gaze of her own then took a moment to look around at all the other males. She was now the focus of their interest and attention, and she duck-nodded slowly and pulled her robes regally around her as she stood up.
“We need something more, Champion Daar,” she said. “Gao needs more. This is a pivotal moment in our history, and we need something bigger than champions to stand at the front of it all. You called this Conclave, pulled resources none of us have to arrange our transport, slaughtered incompetence the second it appeared and dictated our way forward as if we were young cubs at our teacher’s feet. None of us dare challenge your authority. Only one thing remains, and that is to ensure there are no repeats of what happened at Wi Kao.”
She cleared her throat, and looked around, wearing a curiously mixed expression of shame, grief and determination.
“One of my dearest and closest Sisters is dead because of my blunder,” she said, quietly. “When it mattered most, she could not trust Clan Stoneback because I had poisoned my whole Clan against them through a public display of mistrust. We must correct that, or more blameless females will suffer for my failure. More blameless males too, for that matter.
“Champion Daar,” she announced, turning to face him directly. “Out of fear, ignorance and paranoia I made a decision which I now know was profoundly unwise, the ramifications of which have already harmed the war effort and will continue to do so unless we act to restore trust between our Clans. I cannot atone for my shameful error in judgement, nor will any apology I make ever be sufficient…but I think there may be a way to mend the rift.”
She looked around at the Conclave again, taking in the set of ears and the solemn, interested body language of the gathered Champions and Grandfathers. “There is one privilege reserved exclusively for the Mother-Supreme,” she informed them. “None of my predecessors have ever invoked it in all the years since Fyu, Tiritya and the Great Reform, but I invoke it now: I name Daar of Clan Stoneback as Great Father of the Gao, the unquestioned leader of our people.”
Daar didn’t get the chance to object. The entire room barked their approval before he could even open his mouth. By the time the clamor died down, he’d realized he had absolutely no idea what to say.
“You are a rare creature, Great Father Daar.” Yulna gave him a thoroughly appraising look. “We’ve not had one like you since Fyu, nor a collective trial so terrible. You…you are our only hope. From this moment forward, you shall be honored as such.”
“Well.” Champion Loomi once again decided to speak. “Congratulations…my Father.” He did a thing, then, whose true meaning only Champions understood: he sank to one knee and duck-nodded so low, his nose was level with his waist. “I suppose a coronation is out of the question, but…Highmountain gives you its eternal allegiance.” He turned his head sideways to expose his throat, completing the ancient ritual. “We submit.”
That gesture, somehow, drove home the weight of what had just happened to him more than the words itself. Yulna followed suit, and added yet more crushing mass to the moment. “My Father, the Females choose to renew our ancient Contract. May we never again falter or weaken in our loyalty.” Yulna, too, exposed her throat. “We submit.”
Daar still had no idea what to say. He stood there in mute shock as, one by one, the great Champions of the Gao bent knee, exposed throat, and did a thing not even Fyu had ever demanded; legend had it that the gesture happened spontaneously on the battlefield by a defeated Clan’s leader, suing Fyu for mercy. He got it. Rather than the hundred-cut or some similarly inventive form of execution, Fyu had instead torn out his throat, right then and there.
For all of Fyu’s great wisdom, his love of cubs, of flowers and poetry, of wisdom and peace…his wrath was genuinely legendary. None had ever been so terrible on the battlefield nor so ruthless as a leader, before or after. None would have ever dared.
Daar would need to be just as unyielding and remorseless to live up to that title. Which, as he began to realize to his growing dread, he already was. Everyone else knew it already. He was the last to realize the truth.
He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
“The fate of our species is in your hands,” Genshi observed once he too had exposed his throat to Daar. Not even he had managed to work any dignity into it. It was submission, abject and terrible.
“May we never need another like you,” Meereo agreed, fervently.
They fell silent and looked to Daar expectantly, awaiting the historic first words of Gao’s second ever Great Father. He was now a male that would go down as a titanic figure in their species’ history no matter what, and there was only one thing Daar could think to say in response.
“…Fuck.”