Date Point: 15y6m3w AV
Governor-General’s residence, Folctha, Cimbrean, The Far Reaches
Gabriel Arés
Dinner with the Governor-General was, okay, an opportunity to eat some truly excellent food in sumptuous surroundings… But it wasn’t a luxury. It was an excuse to hold a very serious meeting about a very serious subject.
The Governor-General’s residence wasn’t some opulent waste of public money, nor was it a throwback to Edwardian Britain and the height of Empire. It was large, yes, and well-appointed with what was in Gabe’s opinion a perfect balancing act of classical character and modern cleanliness.
Okay, there was a bit of an art-gallery, showroom feel to the whole thing, but that was because he was in the official residence: the part of the building that was for entertaining guests and VIPs. There would never be a pair of discarded boxers hanging over the back of one of these chairs, nor would the gleaming stone-and-brass restrooms ever be graced by a half-finished book. That all happened in the real residence, at the back.
Hard to think of himself as a VIP, though. But he was. He was the kind of VIP who got summoned to “dinner” where he would sit at the same table as the Prime Minister and whoever else, and…
Well. They’d see.
Sir Jeremy Sandy GBE was an… interesting figure in these moments. Folctha had a written constitution, unlike the United Kingdom. But that constitution recognized the primacy of the Crown, which had an avatar on Cimbrean in the form of Sir Jeremy.
But the nature of the Crown was that its authority was a paper screen with a shadow puppet theatre going on behind it. There was no substance there, just an elaborate charade of power. Sir Jeremy didn’t make the law, he almost literally rubber-stamped it. His job was to give it the seal and finality of Royal Assent, in the absence of any actual royalty.
The actual legislative authority belonged to the Right Honourable Annette Winton, Prime Minister of Folctha and leader of the New Whig party. And she was not happy. She’d had a bad day. And while she was usually not the sort of woman who liked to spread her bad days around, in Gabe’s case she seemed to be making an exception.
Not, Gabe had to admit, an unjustified one. It was his job to prevent exactly the sort of thing that had happened today.
God, and they were only on the starter course, too.
“Well as one of my analysts put it, Prime Minister, we can’t work with intelligence we don’t receive.”
“Surely part of your job is generating intelligence?” Winton asked. To her right, the Rt. Hon. Timothy Neech—Folctha’s defence minister—nodded.
“That’s… uniquely difficult in our case, Prime Minister,” Gabe explained. He took a sip of his soup before explaining. Broccoli and Stilton was a combination he’d never have invented himself, but there was no way he’d let it go cold. “All communications traffic between Earth and Cimbrean comes through a specialist jump array. Every message, requested file, download and upload is buffered in a bank of memory drives, and it can spend anything up to half an hour waiting there before the Array fires, then the incoming drives connect and transfer their contents onto the datanet.”
“So there’s a single choke point in the network,” Neech observed. “Wouldn’t that make it easy to observe?”
“Which is exactly why everything is encrypted. And modern encryption is for all intents and purposes unbreakable. Millions of files come through every hour, every single one is impenetrable and we have no way of knowing which ones are, uh, a website update, which ones are an email from somebody’s grandma, and which ones are a terrorist cell’s secure internal communications on their custom-made app.”
“They have a custom-made app?”
Like a lot of people who were a little out of touch with technology, that thought seemed to surprise the Prime Minister. Gabe just nodded. “It’s called Dire-1. Unfortunately for us it’s pretty well-designed: when the attacks were over and we captured their phones, the keys had all changed and the message histories were deleted. Forensics are going over it, but if they thought they could actually get anything they’d have been a lot more enthusiastic.”
Sir Jeremy caught Gabe’s eye and gave the subtlest of headshakes. Wrong approach.
“Still, surely you can find–” Neech began.
“With respect, Minister, I’ve said all I can on this subject,” Gabe put his soup spoon down. A real power move, at this table. “We’re less than twelve hours since the attack began. You will be informed of every development as they happen. As soon as I know exactly who dropped the ball, when, where and how? You will too.”
Sandy nodded subtly and sipped his soup. Right approach.
“There’s a matter I wanted to raise, actually,” Gabe said, picking up his spoon again. “Were you aware that two of the intended victims today were Allison Buehler and Xiù Chang?”
Winton and Neech glanced at each other. Clearly they hadn’t. “I hope they’re unhurt…” Winton ventured.
“They aren’t. Chang suffered a knife wound—not a serious one, thank God—and Buehler shot one of the attackers in self-defence.”
“Shot him?” Neech looked… startled? Appalled? “She had a gun?”
Gabe nodded firmly. “She has a class one firearms license. One that I personally authorized.”
“Why?”
Gabe gave him the same look he gave his officers when they were being slow. “Because, as today proves, she needed it.”
“So what exactly is the issue, Mister Arés?” Sir Jeremy asked.
“The issue is, the prosecutor is adamant that she needs to have her act of self-defence, ah… reviewed. By the judicial system.”
Winton obviously saw what he was driving at instantly. Neech didn’t.
“And? If it’s a clear-cut case of self defence, what’s the problem?”
“Have you considered the optics of one of our highest-profile celebrities being hauled in front of a judge and forced to justify shooting the man who stabbed her partner, Minister?” Gabe asked. “Have you considered, in particular, how that will look to prospective colonists from the USA who are trying to choose between coming here or going to Franklin? Or indeed to recent Folctha immigrants who’ve only just arrived and don’t yet have any real ties to our city?”
“…We need that case dropped,” Winton decided. Gabe fought very hard indeed not to give a relieved sigh, until Sandy cleared his throat.
“I feel I must remind you, Prime Minister, that the prosecutor is an independent body.” The rules here were strange, but the Courts stemmed directly from the Crown’s authority, meaning the Governor-General—and not the Prime Minister—had direct oversight. He also didn’t actually run them, which left Sir Jeremy in the position of defending an institution he kept at arm’s length.
“Yes,” Neech agreed. “And for a very good reason. We can’t just… interfere with the justice system whenever it suits us!”
“Democracy is about give and take, Minister,” Gabe reminded him. “In order to be just, the law must be judicious: The difference between law and tyranny lies in compromise and common sense.”
“And it must be free from executive meddling,” Neech retorted. “Otherwise it becomes a tool of state oppression.”
“You’re right. And I’m n ot suggesting the government should have the explicit, hard power to tell the prosecutor what to do…”
“But a, er… gentle prompting to remember the bigger picture certainly wouldn’t be inappropriate,” Winton said.
“They’re gonna be very busy in the near future anyway,” Gabe pointed out. “Why overburden themselves?”
“Exactly,” Winton agreed. “Prosecuting an unquestionably innocent woman is hardly an efficient use of their energy and time.”
“I don’t like it,” Neech said, digging his heels in. “Surely you’re not proposing that we can just allow a woman to shoot a man dead in the street and nothing more comes of it?”
“She was the victim, minister. She just turned out to be very good at defending herself. Are we going to charge Xiù Chang with assault as well? She did beat two other men unconscious. Never mind the idiot who tried to take on Myun at the Commune.”
“Is that for us to decide?” Neech pushed his soup bowl aside. “I have a great sympathy for her situation, I’m in no doubt that she did the right thing… and I’m also in no doubt that the law agrees. But we are not the judiciary. And the judiciary must remain independent.”
Sandy cleared his throat again. He’d long since finished his soup, and was just sitting there with his fingers interlaced on the table in front of him, thumbs resting lightly against each other. He gave Neech a nod. “I admire your principles, Minister. And as you know I must remain neutral… but I would like to draw your attention to a factor you may not have considered.”
“…And what would that be, Sir Jeremy?”
“Both Buehler and Chang are the darling poster girls of MBG. Do you know how much of the money currently invested in Folctha belongs to Moses Byron?”
Gabe watched Neech’s expression carefully. It didn’t change, exactly, but it did become a little more… detached. As though his face was stalling for time as his brain did some hasty thinking.
“…Rather a lot,” he said after a while.
“Quite.”
“He very literally owns the bank,” Winton declared. “Look, Timothy, I think we all agree with you on the principle… But I have to say, if you think about the simple equation of what harm will befall Folctha each way then I’d say you’re putting rather too much weight on one side. Nobody here is suggesting anything untoward or that will do lasting harm to the independence of the judiciary, but…”
“But if we lose colonists and investments…” Gabe left the thought unfinished.
He watched Neech wrestle with the impossible calculus of practicality versus principle for a few seconds, until finally he nodded reluctantly.
“…We’ll need to fix the system so that this kind of thing can’t arise again,” he grumbled.
“Good idea,” Gabe praised him, though on the inside he was whooping and clapping his hands.
“And we should definitely look into extracting ourselves from Byron’s influence,” Neech added.
Winton nodded fiercely. “Agreed. We’re supposed to be on the road to full status as an independent sovereign nation, not a corporate fiefdom,” she said.
On the pretence of finishing his soup, Gabe bent his head and caught Sandy’s eye. The Governor-General shook his head imperceptibly. Pick your battles.
Fair enough. Gabe had secured a victory here. A victory he should never have had to fight for, but he’d take it.
“Very well,” Sandy said, and that seemed to signal the end of the soup course, which the butler replaced with a genuinely excellent roast beef. “Now, back to the matter of the APA, I think…”
All in all, Gabe found, he’d had worse dinners.
Date Point: 15y6m3w AV
Whitecrest Clan Enclave, Wi Kao City, Gao
Regaari
Whitecrests weren’t prone to emotional outbursts. It was a trait the Clan both selected and then trained against. So the gasps and alarmed yips as Genshi entered the room were enough to have Regaari spinning around even before the Champion called his name.
When he saw what had happened, Regaari barely contained his own shock.
Genshi’s handsome face was a mess of sutures. One of his ears was down to a ragged stump, the other would forever bear a notch. There was a triple-streak of deep gouges across his muzzle, one of which had come perilously close to his eye and only one person on all of Gao had claws like that.
The Great Father, it seemed, had made his displeasure known. Genshi was never going to look the same ever again. Certainly there was a slightly hunted look in his eye as he gathered what dignity he could and stalked across the room to where Regaari was reviewing the latest batch of candidates to send to Cimbrean for HEAT training. He was pleased to note that a couple of young males who’d once climbed the HMS Sharman water tower for a prank were on the short-list.
Right now, though, something altogether less pleasant was looming in his immediate future.
“…My Champion?”
Genshi stopped and paused. Clearly he was in quite a lot of pain, despite that the medic must have given him a hefty dose of painkillers and regeneratives.
“…The Great Father is in my office,” he said carefully. “He wants a private word with you.”
Rather than reply, Regaari duck-nodded solemnly and put his work down. Genshi clapped a paw on his shoulder as he stood, and sank into Regaari’s vacated seat.
It wasn’t a long walk to Genshi’s office, but it felt like twenty miles. Regaari had to keep reminding himself that he’d accepted this consequence: he’d done what he felt was necessary for the Gao. He’d done his duty, and whatever happened next he’d steeled himself for it.
But he was still trembling.
Daar was prowling Genshi’s office with an air of chilly fury radiating from him. He remained on fourpaw as Regaari closed the door behind him and stood bolt upright at attention.
“Father Regaari of Clan Whitecrest reporting as ordered, My Father.”
Daar gave no initial response. Then he flicked an ear, lumbered forward and heaved himself up onto twopaw and loomed over Regaari, who kept staring straight ahead even as his old friend’s vicious muzzle snuffled and sniffed around his ears and throat.
“…Y’know what my problem is?” Daar asked after a painful silence. The question was rhetorical, so Regaari didn’t answer. “I’m too Keeda-fucked loyal to my friends. Damn it, Cousin…”
Regaari flinched. He’d been ready for claws.
“If you an’ Genshi were anybody else, I’d be nailin’ yer pelts to the wall right about now an’ keepin’ you alive so’s you could watch,” Daar snarled. “What am I, Regaari?”
Regaari’s gaze never left the distant, unfocused infinity in front of him. “You’re the Great Father.”
“‘Yer right. An’ what are you, Regaari?”
“I’m a Father of Clan Whitecrest.”
“Does that mean you outrank me, Regaari?”
“No, My Father.”
“You’re fuckin’ right it don’t. Now I gave you an explicit order about not meddlin’ in the affairs of other species. Didn’t I, Regaari?”
“Yes, My Father.”
“And you prompted the Humans to return ‘ta the council an’ bring Kirk with ‘em. That was your scheme… Which meant you went an’ disobeyed my direct order, didn’t you Regaari?”
“Yes, My Father.”
Daar’s muzzle moved the least little bit closer, until his teeth were almost touching Regaari’s throat.
“Are you sorry?” he growled.
This was a test. And Regaari didn’t doubt that his life was on the line. “…No, My Father.”
“Hmph.” Daar sniffed, duck-nodded so shallowly that the movement was almost undetectable, and took a step back. “You think you know better than me.”
That wasn’t a question. Regaari didn’t answer it.
“Dumb ol’ Daar, all thinkin’ with his muscles an’ his dick,” Daar continued. “Too blinded by his Stoneback sensibilities an’ his inflexible code of honor ‘ta take the opportunities that Gao needs. Y’think I’m hidebound. Y’think ‘yer smarter’n me. Y’don’t trust me to lead right, so y’went behind my back and did what you thought was best for our people, against the wishes of the man you bent and bared your neck to and swore to trust with our future.”
Regaari struggled to maintain his bearing, which the Great Father ignored.
“An’ now, you two took a pair o’ really fuckin’ sensitive hairballs o’ problems with the only alliances we have that actually fuckin’ matter, an’ tied ‘em together at the tail! You made our maneuver space way smaller, all ‘fer a short term gain. It never seemed ‘ta occur ‘ta you that maybe I was thinkin’ bigger. It din’t seem ‘ta occur ‘ta you that I can. An’ that’s just fuckin’ insulting.”
He growled and shook out his mane. “I dunno what’s worse, Cousin: that you’re an oathbreaker, or that y’think so little of me.”
He stooped until his nose was almost touching Regaari’s, who was shaking with the effort of keeping his composure. “Look at me.”
Regaari met his gaze… and was sorry. Genuinely, deeply, agonizingly so. This was worse than being scarred or even executed: The look in Daar’s eyes was that of a Brother betrayed by his oldest and closest friend. A quiet, heartfelt keen whined its way out of his chest and no amount of self-control in all the universe could have stopped it.
Daar held his gaze. “…An’ the most fuckedest part is, y’might even have been right about the Council an’ the Humans an’ Kirk. Even Great Fathers can blunder.” A claw prodded Regaari’s chest. “But it’s my job to make those calls, to maybe fuck up. That’s a burden I took so ain’t nobody else would have to, an’ Father’s don’t get ta’ overrule th’ Great Father. You undermined me, Regaari. You. ‘Yer someone I trusted with great office, an’ you decided to flaunt that trust in front of my Champions! This ain’t some petty thing ‘bout tactics an’ situational omission. How could I let this slide, Regaari?! What would happen if my Champions thought they could ever disobey me without consequence?”
Daar heaved a massive sigh and turned away. “…I thought I could trust you.”
He might as well have castrated Regaari where he stood. Regaari’s whole body was crawling with pain and sorrow, but Daar still hadn’t asked him a question or invited him to speak. And right now was not a time to step out of line.
Finally, Daar turned around. He sized Regaari up, sighed again, and then reached up with one paw. His claws delicately snipped off the very tip of Regaari’s right ear, which was the most token, merciful scar he could possibly give. Regaari barely felt it… but he felt the last stab in the gut, which came in the form of an order.
“Get outta my sight… Cousin.”
Date Point: 15y6m3w AV
Folctha, Cimbrean, The Far Reaches
Julian Etsicitty
Julian didn’t even get the chance to take his boots off. Hell, he didn’t even get the chance to properly step through the door. He got a double-barrel ballistic hug the moment it opened, and frankly he was so overwhelmed with relief at seeing Allison and Xiù that he forgot how to stand up anyway and sank to his knees so that they all wound up on the floor.
They were safe. He held them both close and fixed that thought in his mind. All three of them, still alive and safe.
“Hey.” Allison was the first to speak. “Say something.”
Julian tried. Honestly he did. He just… couldn’t. “I… You’re… When I heard…”
He gave up and squeezed them so hard they both had to protest and plead for air.
“Bǎobèi… I love you, but you smell horrible,” Xiù told him.
“Didn’t get a chance to shower yet,” he half-grumbled.
“We can tell.” Allison’s dry remark was just… it was perfect. It was home. He laughed and finally got his head somewhere kinda-sorta normal.
“…Christ. They came after all three of us, huh?”
She nodded. “Yeah. And a lot more. Steve Lawrence is dead.”
“You’re shitting me!”
Xiù swatted Julian on the ass. “Upstairs. Shower. Maybe shave, too.”
“Getting rid of me that quick, huh?”
“Julian…” she warned.
“Heh. Yes ma’am.”
Apparently that was exactly the right thing to say, because it looked like Xiù let out some tension too. A broad smile crossed her face. “Good boy. God I’ve missed that!”
Actually, Julian had to admit, the shower felt like a rebirth. He did it properly, scrubbed up, shampooed, did the whole shaving ritual with that special sandalwood shaving foam and the soft brush the girls had got him, brushed his teeth, flossed and mouthwashed, and even applied some moisturizer.
He pulled off his foot and scrubbed that down, too. It was starting to show wear already, he noted dispassionately. Sure, he was rough on it but for what he’d paid, he wasn’t getting his money’s worth. He’d grumble about that later. For now he was clean, in that deep and slightly tingly way that was only achievable after too long spent travelling.
Apparently somebody—Xiù probably—had snuck into the room while he was showering and laid out some warm clothes for him, fresh out of the dryer: an older pair of too-snug jeans and a medium t-shirt. Never mind that Julian found a double extra-large too tight across the shoulders nowadays, she’d laid out a medium.
…Why did they even have a medium? He hadn’t worn anything that small in years. He grinned ruefully, carefully pulled it over his head, somehow managed to squeeze into it, and took a look in the mirror.
…Okay. That was why they had it.
Well, what his spacebabes wanted, his spacebabes got. He went back downstairs with his hair still damp, and got a gentler but no less warm welcome when he reached the kitchen, after the girls had shared a high-five. There was coffee, comfort food and a space at the table.
“I needed that. You were right.”
“Charmer,” Allison kissed him as he sat down.
“Hey?”
“Do you have any idea how sexy the words ‘you’re right’ are?”
“Hah!” Julian grinned and poured himself a coffee. By his own clock he’d been awake for… actually he didn’t know. It had been afternoon back in Canada, here in Folctha it was late evening… probably he shouldn’t have caffeine before bed, but somehow he doubted there’d be sleep anyway. Not at first.
“She’s right, you know,” Xiù nodded.
“Now you’re doing it!” Allison fanned herself with a grin. “No ganging up!”
“Ohh no. This is one case where we’re allowed to, right Julian?”
Julian grinned. “You’re right.”
Allison snorted. “You’re both evil, and I love you for it.”
“Wǒmen yě ài nǐ, Shǎguā.”
“Love you too, dummy.”
Comfortable silence, the sound of relaxation and just… basking in each other’s company for a few minutes. Still. There was an elephant in the room and none of them were chicken. They got around to it just as Julian was finishing his coffee.
“…So what happened?” he asked, setting the empty mug down.
“Five assholes with knives. Literally tried to kill us in broad daylight on the street.” Allison shook her head and stared distantly through the table as she recalled it. “Guess they never figured Xiù would kick their asses.”
Julian raised his eyebrow at Xiù, who shrugged. “It was your gun that made the difference,” she said.
“…Yeah. Kinda wish I hadn’t had to, but…”
Allison’s expression said everything. Slowly, Julian reached out and took her hand. “…One of mine died,” he said.
“…Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you okay?”
“Like you said. Kinda wish I hadn’t had to, but…”
“But I’m glad you did.” They both looked at Xiù, who pulled a face and shrugged. “I know it’s not a nice thing to say, but…”
“I get it,” Julian nodded. “Hoeff talked me through it after. He said the whole thing was their fault, not mine. Not sure how much it helped.”
“…Y’know, it was an APA cell that torched your grampa’s place,” Allison pointed out. “That’s who Alex fell in with. Imagine if we’d been home then and it turned out like this, me shooting one of them in self-defence, and it turned out to be…”
“That’s a what-if.” It was Xiù’s turn to reach across the table and take her hand. “And it didn’t happen that way.”
“Still. The guy I shot had a mom too.”
“Alex wasn’t involved in all this, was he?” Julian asked.
“Nah. He’s on an FBI watchlist or whatever, so the APA ditched him. He’s safe at home with his dad, I checked.”
“That’s good, I guess.”
“It’s a silver lining.” Allison stared into the distance a while longer, then sighed and shrugged. “Hoeff’s right, though. Their fault, not ours. And yeah. I’m glad to still be here.”
“Yeah.”
“Onto happier subjects?” Xiù suggested.
“I guess,” Julian agreed. “Probably wind up talking about it again later, but for now…”
“So what now? I guess Yan and Vemik went home?” Allison asked.
“Yup. Hoeff went with, make sure Daniel and the other scientists are alright. I’ll prob’ly head over there first chance I get, just to check up on ‘em. But I’ma take a couple days off first, get my head sorted out… and I need to get my foot serviced.”
“You know Nofl’s the best man in town for that, right?” Xiù pointed out. She saw his expression and giggled. “I know, I know. But he managed to arrange life-saving surgery for one of the Dauntless crew. He’s alright.”
“…Okay. I’ll go talk to him,” Julian promised. “But only because you vouch for him.”
She smiled at him. He’d really, really missed that smile.
“There’s… something else we need to talk about first,” Allison said, slowly. Her fingers traced a circle around the rim of her coffee mug.
“What?”
“Apparently the law in this town is really, really dumb.”
“How d’you mean?”
She explained. And she was right.
Date Point: 15y6m3w1d AV
Planet Akyawentuo, Ten’Gewek Protectorate, Near 3Kpc Arm
Vemik Sky-Thinker
“Atwa! Atwa!“”
The little one had learned how to call for his mother while Vemik was gone, and it was the best homecoming Vemik could have asked for. It meant they’d be Naming him, soon.
Too bad the reason he was calling for his mother was because he wasn’t so happy at being held by his father. Oh well. There’d be plenty of time for them to get to know each other.
For now, it was good to be back among his tribe. Earth had been fun, but confusing in more ways than he could count. He’d go over a lot of it with Professor Daniel later on.
Speaking of Professor Daniel… Heff had had a quick, quiet, intense conversation with all the humans over at the bunker camp after they jumped through. It turned into a longer conversation, still quiet but more… the Human word was ‘cerebral.’ Whatever the ‘eggheads’ were chewing over, Heff very obviously ran out of patience with it.
Eventually he stood up and announced “Look. I don’t care what y’all thinka their manifesto. You can pick that shit apart all day, don’t change the fact that they killed folks, an’ this ain’t the first time neither. Fuck ‘em, an’ fuck everything they stand for.”
…And then he’d stalked off to go sit on a log and jam some of that vile ‘dip’ stuff behind his lip and amuse himself by carving some wood.
Vemik and Yan had gone home, back to the village.
It felt good to climb trees again. Vemik hadn’t noticed how tight his shoulders and back had been feeling until finally he got himself up a Ketta and moving from branch to branch. By the time they reached the village he felt half a finger-length taller, and much more comfortable.
They picked up a Werne on the way home, a young solitary bull who’d only just been exiled by his herd. Lone bulls could be canny, but only with experience. Against two skilled hunters, the Werne didn’t stand a chance. Yan scared it, Vemik dropped on it as it fled under his perch, and jammed his knife into the base of its skull. It bucked once, and died instantly.
It was healthy and well-fed too! A fine kill to bring home to the tribe, and to his family.
Now, he was sitting around while the Singer cooked and tried to encourage his son to relax and learn to say “Tawa” for his father. With some success, too. The little one had picked up that his mother didn’t object to this man holding him, and was chewing on the end of his tail while considering Vemik with big, curious eyes.
The Singer, meanwhile, was puzzling over the attack.
“That… doesn’t make sense. They call themselves [Alien Protection] yes?”
“Yes.”
“But… we are the… ‘ aliens’. Why attack you?”
“It all seemed to make sense to Professor Daniel… Tickle!” Vemik fluttered his fingers up the baby’s spine, who wriggled and made a high-pitched trill. He still didn’t have a crest yet, just a downy yellow fuzz. “He says, they see us as traitors to our tribe.”
“…They don’t get to choose that, though.” The Singer scowled and twitched her tail as she added the Werne’s kidneys to the stew. “It’s up to us if you’re a traitor.”
“Heff said they’re crazy. …Tickle!”
“That makes more sense,” she agreed, and trilled softly as the baby grinned at Vemik. “I think maybe Professor and his friends Sky-Think about it too much.”
“That’s what they’re for,” Vemik said. “Can you say ‘Tawa’ for me? Ta-wa?”
The little one stared at him for a moment, then pointed at the Singer. “…Atwa!”
The Singer trilled “Yes, I’m Atwa. And he’s Tawa! Go on!”
“…Atwa!!”
Vemik gave up, but he had a huge smile in place at least. “Have you thought of a name?”
“I though Vemun?”
“Hmm. Vemun u Vemik n… How do you name the child of a Singer?”
“There’s a special name. Song-Child. Didn’t you know that?”
“I was still climbing all over my father when the Old Singer’s children were Given.”
The Singer smiled, and gently plucked the baby out of Vemik’s hands. She rested little Vemun on her hip, and wrapped her tail around to hold the baby snug and secure while leaving her hands free.
“…There’s something Human women can’t do,” Vemik realized. “They have to make a sling, or something like that.”
“I know, Shyow and Awisun told me. They’re strange too. I know they want babies, but they keep talking as if the perfect time to get pregnant is just a season away.”
“I think, they worry about too many things. And they like fucking Jooyun too much!” he trilled.
She trilled too. “He’s nice. Too scrawny, though.”
“Is not! He’s strong!”
“Strong for a human. You’re stronger.”
Vemik grinned toothily, stood up and wrapped her up in a tight hug. “Maybe a little.”
She nipped playfully at his cheek. “But this idea of theirs, of sex without the baby. That’s very strange. They use powerful sky-medicine to make it happen, too.”
“Well…” Vemik thought. “I suppose. They like to fuck just like we do. But they are very many Humans. Hands of hands of hands of hands and more than that! And they don’t lose babies young anymore, not mostly.”
The Singer glanced down at her second child, who was cuddling into her side, and sighed. “…That sounds nice.”
Vemik suddenly didn’t know what to say, but he did know what to do. He wrapped his tail tightly around Singer and baby, and hugged them to himself even tighter.
“…Maybe I’ll talk to Professor Daniel about this Vack-Seen magic.”
“Vack-seen? What’s that?”
“I heard about it on Earth. They argue about it, but from what I heard, they find whatever evil spirit makes a sickness, almost kill it, and somehow…use that to teach your body how to fight it off. I think. But they’ve stopped very many evil sicknesses that way. One like the water-sickness, too.”
“…That sounds like powerful magic. I think Professor Daniel would say we aren’t ready for it.”
“Maybe. Maybe we aren’t, because think of what would happen if suddenly babies didn’t die! There would be so many of us so fast!”
She nodded. “I think though, this would be something he’d have a hard time saying no to. He’s a kind man, he won’t be happy saying that babies have to die.”
“The Humans would say yes, I think. And…godshit.” Vemik looked at Singer apologetically, “I think I just burdened you with something.”
“With what? Of knowing that things could be better?” She shook her head. “That gives me hope! Especially if you can get him to share it.”
“And what if I can’t? Could you be happy, knowing medicine like that is out there but your baby will never be given it?”
The Singer glanced down at her son again, and went very still and distant for a few heartbeats.
“…I’ll… just have to pray,” she said eventually.
Date Point: 15y6m3w1d AV
Whitecrest Clan Enclave, Wi Kao City, Gao
“You’re stepping down?”
Genshi had called a meeting of the Fathers. His face wasn’t healing well at all: apparently he’d forbid himself the use of cosmetic surgery or regenerative medicines.
The logic, when he’d explained it, was flawless. Everybody knew what had happened: there was no sense in hiding it and every sense in wearing his scars as a reminder. Daar had in fact been very, very merciful by the standards of Great Fathers. Showing any disrespect for that esteem would have been…unwise.
“The Champion of this Clan can’t be in the position I am now. He needs the Great Father’s ear and trust. He needs to stand at the high table and not be an object of suspicion. I’ve squandered that.”
“May I ask why?” Father Garaaf asked.
Garaaf’s return had been big news among the Clan, and it was a testament to what he’d endured that Genshi was only the second most scarred Father in the room. Those who’d known Garaaf before his capture claimed he was more solemn now, less playful. All Regaari knew was that, now that Garaaf had a cybernetic eye in place and had thus regained the full use of all his faculties, it’d be a foolish ‘Crest who chose to tangle with the old man. Anybody who could survive Hunters like that had earned a healthy measure of respect.
Genshi’s gaze met Regaari’s. “It was… a moment of enthusiasm and righteousness. And maybe a little rebellion too. All the Clans are groaning under the weight of the Great Father, all the Clans want a little more of the freedom and power we once had. To my shame, I was the first to crumble under that pressure.”
“The Clan gave up those freedoms and powers willingly,” Garaaf pointed out. He hadn’t been around when the Clans bent the knee, of course. Regaari got the impression he didn’t approve, nor was he particularly happy about the Great Father. Of course, nobody was. Especially the Great Father.
“Yes. A cub raided the pantry, and Mother saw.”
Regaari clenched his teeth. His feelings were rather different to Genshi’s, who’d effectively just declared that he was less sorry about what they’d done than he was about getting caught. Which was a classic Whitecrest attitude, he had to admit, but…
…Balls. Daar knew. That was why he’d nearly mauled Genshi to death, and spared Regaari. He could smell the difference between embarrassment and shame. The weight of just how utterly he’d underestimated his best friend grew unbearable.
“Sometimes Mother knows best, Champion. With respect.”
Genshi stared at him and flicked the stub of his ear. It must have pulled at the suture, because he winced. “Father. Only Father, now. We must decide on a new Champion, and…I think I have the perfect candidate.”
It wasn’t Regaari. A few weeks ago it might have been, but Regaari was in no doubt now that his association with this fiasco meant that the rank of Champion would never be his… which was acceptable. He no longer wanted it.
“Who?” Garaaf asked.
“Someone the Great Father will appreciate, and someone nobody would ever expect. It will involve depriving the HEAT of a fine Brother, however…”