Alien Chronicles 1 - The Golden One (2 page)

One of the enforcers pulled out a rope from his pocket and shook its coils free. The rope curled and straightened as though alive, suspending itself above the ground. A loop formed in one end. Dry-mouthed, the mother stared at it.

“No,” she panted. “No!”

“Get back,” the Viis said harshly to her. He pointed at the wall near the door. “Stand over there and be quiet.”

She knew what they wanted then. It flashed over her like heat. Growling, she flung herself across the bed to protect her cubs, but the Toth moved faster.

He tossed the loop at her, and the rope settled itself over her head and throat. At once she felt a sharp pulse of energy enclose her throat, then a sizzle of pain.

Clutching the rope, she screamed.

“Hold her!” the Viis commanded as she struggled. “Take care, you fool! Don’t hurt the cubs.”

Despite the tightening of the noose, she fought harder. Through the roaring in her ears, she could hear her babies crying. Their helplessness and danger enraged her past all caution, and she roared with fury as she lunged for a floppy Toth ear, bit it hard, and tried to tear it off.

Oaths filled the room, mingling with her shouts and the screams of the cubs.

“Now!” the Viis said.

Another noose settled over her head, and the two enforcers dragged her bodily off the bed. She hit the floor hard enough to knock the wind from her weakened body. Lying there, she shook her head and tried to raise herself, but the Toths held her pinned, both of them sitting on her with cruel disregard for her condition or the pain they were inflicting. The Toth with the bitten ear shook his head, slinging splatters of blood, and huffed to himself. The Aaroun mother could still taste blood and hair in her mouth. She spat, wishing her teeth had caught his shaggy throat instead.

Helpless and seething, she was forced to watch as the Viis grabbed each of her babies in turn by its scruff and carried them over to the light by the open door. He dumped them on the floor and examined them one by one, checking fur quality, conformation, and tiny milk teeth. Instinctive infant growling filled the air, and the mother pressed her face against the dirty floor and wept in sheer frustration.

“Stripes,” the Viis said in disgust. “Ordinary stripes, just like all the other cubs in this birthing row. Ah, but what are you?”

The mother heard the change in his tone, the keen interest, and her heart constricted. She saw him lift her golden child, her only daughter, high into the air to examine her thoroughly.

When he lowered the golden one to chest height and cradled her against him, the mother knew she had lost.

Grief consumed her. She howled until one of the Toths tightened the noose and choked off her cries.

“An extraordinary find,” the Viis said. Although his voice was muffled by the hood, smug satisfaction registered in his tone. “This one will do very well. She’ll bring a good price at market for Festival.”

Stroking the golden one, who was trying to growl and cry at the same time, the Viis chuckled to himself. Stepping over the other infants, still squirming helplessly on the floor, he walked out into the street.

“Let her up,” he called over his shoulder. “Stun her if she tries to follow.”

The mother felt as though she had been shattered inside. She held herself still, defeated now, knowing that she had no choice in this theft, no recourse. But the Toths hurt her anyway as they stripped off the charged restraint ropes. She didn’t rise, didn’t try to regain her feet, but they beat her and kicked her until her pain was like fire, blazing around and through her body.

“Stupid Aaroun,” one of the Toths mumbled. His wide, long tongue flicked up into one of his broad nostrils. “Always fight. Always lose.”

The other one bellowed a laugh.

They stood over her a second more, as though expecting one last show of defiance from her, then at last lumbered toward the door. One of them clumsily kicked the infants aside, making them scream anew.

The mother tried to pick herself up, tried to crawl forward to the babies she had left. Although the bonding was new, it was so strong she felt as though they had torn part of her body away and stolen it.

“My golden one,” she said, moaning as she dragged herself toward her tiny sons. They came to her, tottering and weak, seeking comfort.

But although they were soon pacified and settled, there was no one to comfort the mother, left bleeding and bereft on the floor, never to see her daughter again.

Carrying the golden one in the crook of his arm, his coat concealing her, the Viis strode through the squalid streets of the abiru ghetto, his hired enforcers lumbering behind him. A block away, his transport hovered on park a half meter above the unpaved street. Three more Toths guarded it with sidearms illegal for civilians. The Viis, however, had little fear of encountering a city patroller down here in this end of the ghetto.

Smiling to himself, he pulled off his hood and tucked it in his belt. The warm afternoon breeze blew across his skin and ruffled his rill, which itched after being confined in the hood.

“Hey, Poal,” another trader called, walking up. “Any luck?”

Poal glanced around to see Tynmez, his chief competitor, hailing him. Stiffening, he checked surreptitiously to make sure the golden Aaroun was well-hidden beneath his jacket, then turned to face Tynmez with a false smile.

“Greetings of Festival,” he said, using a tone that made the formal words a mockery. “May you fertilize many eggs.”

Tynmez bowed, but his purple eyes kept straying to the lump hidden beneath Poal’s jacket. “Luck?”

Poal flicked out his long, narrow tongue. “Not much.”

Tynmez smiled and gestured behind him at the two Toths carrying laden crates of young Aarouns, Kelths, and Myals. All were crying with fear. Their cries, plus those of their anguished parents, made a din that echoed off the mud hovels. This was the very poorest end of the abiru ghetto, with the worst housing and most squalid conditions. Only the most desperate or greedy traders ventured into this area, but Poal now knew it was worth it. The Aaroun in his arms would fetch a handsome price. He had never seen her equal in all his years of trading.

“Your air sacs are full,” Tynmez said. “You must be happy with your catch.”

“I am.”

“Show me.”

Poal backed closer to his enforcers, glancing at them to see if they were alert. Two were gaping at something in the distance, chewing cud and flipping their ears at flies, but at least one seemed aware and on the job. Poal might need them all if Tynmez ordered his thugs to rob Poal’s catch.

“You’ll see my wares at the premarket selection,” Poal said. “Until then, I don’t show what I’ve got.”

“Stupid,” Tynmez said with irritation. “I might pay you well for your stock.”

“I’ll do better at premarket.”

“You think those market vendors will deal fairly or generously with you?” Tynmez said with derision. “They are thinking of their markup. You and I are males of understanding. Let us come to terms.”

“You would buy something you haven’t seen?” Poal countered.

“If it has value. I see the smugness in your eyes,” Tynmez said. “And I have looked at the stock on your transport. Oh, don’t raise your rill at me,” he said sharply as Poal glared at him. “The crates aren’t opaque. I have eyes, do I not?”

Poal glanced at his guards, knowing now they were useless. Tynmez had bribed the fools. Poal would have to fire them and hire more, providing he escaped this situation with his hide intact.

More of Tynmez’s enforcers appeared. They, like Poal’s thugs, were armed with illegal weapons, all aimed at Poal.

Gall poured through Poal, and he could feel his neck rill quivering with defeat.

“Will you force me to sell?” he asked.

“You have a good catch,” Tynmez said, and now it was his turn to smile. “You are an excellent judge of conformation and pelt quality. You are much more selective than I.”

“Yes,” Poal said with a sneer as he watched his crates being loaded onto Tynmez’s already-laden transport. “You would glean even Skeks from the sewer if you thought you could profit from them.”

The insult bounced off Tynmez without effect. His smile broadened, and he jerked his head.

His enforcers moved fast, surrounding Poal in an instant. Poal’s own hirelings made no move at all.

Seething with rage, Poal held the golden Aaroun tighter, hearing her faint sounds and knowing that he would never see the fortune this small creature was worth. More gall soured his mouth. With all his soul he damned Tynmez.

An enforcer stepped close and jammed the blunt snout of his weapon into Poal’s ribs. “Don’t move.”

Poal obeyed, glaring at Tynmez with the blackest hatred.

Tynmez walked up to him and gently reached beneath the jacket. There was a bump, and a yip of rage drowned out by Tynmez’s own hiss of breath.

He yanked back his hand and shook it.

Poal laughed. “Did she bite you?”

Tynmez backed up, glaring back. “You fool. You can’t sell a fighter anywhere but the ring. And even the Bizsi Mo’ad won’t take abiru this young.”

As he considered the famous gladiator school and the high prices it sometimes paid for quality trainee stock, Poal’s spirits lifted. “Ah, but when she’s bigger, I’ll have her to sell, won’t I?”

Tynmez was still shaking his hand and examining his bitten finger. Poal did not think the skin was even broken. His confidence came back. If he played this right, he could get rid of Tynmez and salvage this situation.

“Still want to rob me?” he asked. “I didn’t know you had stooped to stealing gladiator bait.”

“Bait?” Tynmez’s eyes dilated in suspicion. “Or fighter?”

“What do you think?” Poal said, trying to keep his tone light. “In this wretched end of the ghetto, we are competing for the dregs. If you expect to find something better then may I sell you a cloud, or perhaps part of the sea?”

“Why cover this one, if it is of such poor quality?”

Poal flicked out his tongue, pretending indifference. “She bites and scratches like a cornered Skek. As you discovered.”

Tynmez scowled at him. “You’re a fool, wasting your eye and discernment on gladiator bait. Especially now, just before Festival. It doesn’t make sense that you’ve sunk to such a low. I suspect you of trickery.”

He was one to talk, after bribing Poal’s guards and trying to steal everything in sight. Poal held down his anger, aware that he was still outnumbered and unprotected. Curling his tongue inside his mouth, he met Tynmez’s eyes, hesitated, then placed one digit between his nostrils and sniffed.

Tynmez’s eyes widened. “You?” he said in surprise. “You, caught by the dust?”

Poal flicked out his tongue, even as he despised Tynmez for being so eager to believe the worst about him. “When a male has debts, he must do everything possible to cover them.”

“In debt for dust? A third time I say you are a fool.” Tynmez backed away from him and gestured at his enforcers. “Finish unloading his stock. Quickly!” He swung back to Poal. “The two spotted Aarouns I saw in your crates will recoup what I’ve spent in bribes. The rest are no better or worse than what I found.”

“Then leave them,” Poal said. He tried to speak lightly, but there was an edge in his voice.

Tynmez must have heard it. “I will leave you your gladiator bait and a curse to go with it. May it bite you and turn on you. May your wounds go septic. May your brain grow riddled with abiru fever, that you wander the streets forever, witless and gibbering to shadows only you can see.”

Poal drew in his breath to retaliate, and felt another warning jab of the weapon pressed to his side. He held his breath instead, fuming too much to feel relief at having tricked Tynmez. When his transport was stripped of its cargo, Tynmez and his guards departed in a whoosh of jetted air and flying dust.

Poal stood in the street, coated with dust, his neck rill at full extension. When he could finally command himself enough to speak, he turned on his enforcers with a glare, and flicked out his tongue.

“You’re fired, the lot of you.”

The Toth whose ear had been bitten by the mother of the golden Aaroun glared back at him. “I got no bribe. I—”

“Then make your brothers share with you,” Poal said viciously. He brushed by the brutes, who stared at him with their mouths open, and climbed aboard his transport so fast he made it tip and scrape one edge on the ground.

Dropping the Aaroun on the seat beside him, Poal revved the engine and lifted it straight up just as the Toths finally figured out he was serious about firing them all. He roared away over their massive heads, leaving them bellowing insults in his wake.

Not until he flew under the curving arch of new dock construction bordering the side of the ghetto and tucked himself into the general stream of traffic did Poal relax his death grip on the controls. His temper calmed down, and he began to mentally add up losses. They were plenty. He had lost the wages squandered on his enforcers, plus their stun-sticks, restraint ropes, and sidearms. He had lost a day’s worth of stock, good stock, all of it, despite what he’d said to Tynmez. He had nearly lost his life.

It was a heavy blow, especially coming this early in the year. If not for the prize still in his possession, he would be facing ruin right now.

Poal glanced over at the Aaroun crouched fearfully in the seat beside him. Her dark eyes were enormous in the light mask across her face. Her paws clung to the cloth with instinctive desperation. He could see her little sides heaving.

But, ah, that perfect fur. The broad shoulders, heavy with muscle and bone already, the sleek loins, and the balance of exquisite proportions. She was a beauty, as Aarouns went. Had he not lost everything else, she would have meant his fortune. Now she meant his salvation.

As a newborn, however, she presented him with a problem. She was too young, yet, to go long without proper care. Aaroun cubs could be slow to get started. Poal was not prepared to keep her for a few days, to hand-feed and pamper her.

Right now, freshly plucked from her mother, she looked in prime condition. Her pelt was shiny and soft, and her sides were plump. In a day or two, she might collapse from fright and grief. Often Aarouns this young failed to thrive away from their families.