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Copyright 2019 by
Cover art by Jenifer Ranieri
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To lovers of strong heroines, brave heroes, and cats, everywhere, this book is for you.
“Get out, all of you! Let him die in peace!”
Tora had meant to yell, but her battle voice cracked mid-sentence. Her father deserved better than a bunch of posing courtiers as he lay mangled on his deathbed.
Steeling herself against the grief that threatened to overcome her, Tora opened wide the sculpted doors of the palatial bedchamber. Following her order, the imperial guests filed out peacefully. None of them would dare contest Tora’s authority. Even as she limped, her tall stature, and officer’s uniform, imposed respect.
The old healer squeezed Tora’s arm on his way out but didn’t meet her eyes. “He lost too much blood.” The man bowed in apology. “There is nothing I can do for such dreadful wounds.”
Well aware of her father’s desperate condition, Tora nodded. As she closed the massive doors on the last courtiers, the draft unsettled the candlelight, and shadows flickered on the gilded walls. Her father reclined on the pillows of the blue velvet bed. Thick bandages covered his shoulder, arm and flank, but they didn’t prevent large crimson stains from spreading, wet and shiny.
It pained Tora to see the old soldier in this pitiful state. How frail and vulnerable he looked without boots or sword. The sky-blue uniform, reduced to shreds and spattered with blood, had lost its regal luster. But in the determination of the moribund gaze, Tora could see a spark of her father’s strength. Even in his last hour, he remained General Tomaso, the fair and dedicated leader.
A spasm distorted her father’s features. He coughed, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth, then the matted head fell back onto the pillows.
“Are they gone?” Tomaso asked in a rasping whisper.
Tora could only nod.
“Come near.”
“Yes, Father.” She forced a smile and wiped the moisture from her eye with one sleeve then straddled the velvet stool by the bed, easing her right leg to the side. The fresh wound in her thigh still stung. “Let me send someone to the temple. Maybe the Godds can heal you with their magic technology.”
“No, child... It’s too late for me.” The old soldier wheezed as he gazed into her face. “You look so much like your mother... pale blue eyes... blond hair... except that she kept hers long and free, not short like a boy. But you have a strength she did not possess.”
When he paused to catch his breath, Tora didn’t dare interrupt.
“I’m happy I’ll join your mother soon. But before that, I must tell you...” He struggled to sit up.
Tora eased him back on the pillows. “Don’t exert yourself, Father.”
The old general grimaced, holding a veined hand to his flank as if to prevent the blood from escaping through the bandages. The smell of approaching death reminded Tora of the battlefield. But how could such death strike here, in the palace?
She took her father’s hand. “I don’t understand how a big cat could do this to you. Wild jaguars or panthers do not venture into the citadel, and a tamed feline would never attack unprovoked.”
“The beast obeyed its master’s order.” Tomaso took a ragged breath. “As I fought it off, a man watched in the shadows. The black devil didn’t let go until the master called it back. They left me for dead.”
Tora’s mind raced through her anger to make sense of the chaos. “But, why would anyone want to kill you?”
Tomaso sighed. “I was asked to betray the emperor... I refused.”
“A conspiracy?”
He nodded.
“Who are these murdering cowards?” Tora’s blood heated her veins.
“They are not important.” Tomaso’s eyes closed briefly. “The emperor is old anyway, and he has no heir.”
“But justice must be done. They should pay for their crimes. I beg you to tell me.”
Tomaso shook his head feebly. “No, child. Telling you would endanger your life as well. And forget about avenging my death. Don’t get involved in politics. Promise me you won’t.”
“I promise,” she said to appease him. But Tora vowed to herself to find her father’s murderer. She would bring him to justice and make him pay.
Tomaso motioned for her to come closer. “Three nights ago, I saw fire falling from the sky far to the south.” He struggled for breath. “The sign the Godds talked about in my youth... the coming of the Reptoids.”
“Reptoids?” Tora raised one eyebrow at the unfamiliar word. “Are they from the heavens, like the Godds?”
“They are the Godds’ fiercest enemies, devils of war...” Tomaso’s voice weakened to a whisper. “In my youth, the Godds said the Reptoids would come someday, with weapons that can pierce metal and even stone.”
“Stone?” Confused, Tora hesitated. “Why haven’t the Godds informed us?”
The old man managed a sarcastic smile. “The almighty Godds have secrets.”
“What about the emperor? What about the Mutants? Can’t they protect us from these Reptoids?”
“No one has ever seen a Mutant. Some say these benevolent children of the Godds are a myth...” Tomaso grimaced. “Our people will need you on the battlefield when war is upon them.”
“You know you can count on me, Father.” If neither the emperor nor the Mutants could help, Tora would have a difficult war ahead.
The old man winced. “One more thing... When I married your mother, I was an old man.”
“I know, do not torment yourself.” Tora blotted his clammy forehead with a handkerchief.
“Listen.” Tomaso seized her hand. “Your mother was already with child when I met her. She begged me to marry her... never told me who your true father was. I didn’t ask. After she died giving birth, I raised you as my own.”
Tora’s heart beat faster than in the heat of battle. Her world shattered at the shocking news. Her throat constricted as she struggled with the turmoil in her mind. The very basis of her value system, birthright, rank and blood ties, collapsed in that instant. If not from her father, from whom did she inherit her unusual talents? She glanced at her freakish six-fingered hands. Tomaso had taught her to hide them since childhood. Why? Who was she?
Returning her attention to the dying man, Tora didn’t fight the tears rolling down her face. “You are the only father I ever loved, the one who took care of me, who taught me everything I know, who made a soldier out of me.” Her throat clenched. “It doesn’t matter whose blood flows in my veins.” She meant it, but others would not accept her if they knew. In this world, blood was everything.
The shadow of a smile crossed Tomaso’s face. “You are a fine warrior... a loving daughter. You make me proud. I love you with all my heart...”
The cool fingers went limp in Tora’s hand.
“Farewell, child. I’ll see you in a better place,” hHe whispered with his last breath.
Blinking away the tears, Tora closed his eyes and uttered the ritual prayer. “May the Mutants guide your soul to its final resting place, the planet of our ancestors.”
Despite the sadness in her heart, Tora attempted to meditate to assist the Mutants and facilitate her father’s passing into the ancestor’s world. But the old man’s last words still rang in her mind. What if the Mutants were a myth? If they did not exist, how could she trust them to guide her father’s soul to the afterlife he deserved?
Tora took a calming breath and visualized her father as a young man. In her meditation, she guided him beyond the confines of New Earth into faraway space. Her spirit glided with his, toward the Milky Way of ancient legends. When they reached the blue orb, the planet called Earth, Tora smiled and waved as Tomaso’s soul went on to meet his ancestors.
Relieved at his safe crossing, Tora opened her eyes. She could now grieve for her loss. She would miss the dear man who had filled her life with love, honor and discipline.
When her tears dried up, she called the guards and let them know that the good general had crossed the gates of death. Tomaso’s body now belonged to the empire and to posterity. There was nothing left for Tora in the gilded apartments where she had spent so many happy years, so she left the imperial palace.
Her boots echoed in the still night as she crossed the cobblestoned esplanade, cursing the painful limp in her stride. Beyond the fence, she heard the gurgling of the marble fountain, then a bird shrieked high in the branches of the sacred oak. Tora glanced up.
The night sky suddenly brightened, and the familiar weather star flared like an oil fire. What was happening? Then the star exploded in a shower of bright sparks, like a hundred shooting stars at once. Then the embers blinked out and died. Tora’s heart filled with dread.
The weather star had graced the heavens for centuries. Created by the Godds, it softened the weather on the plains of Kassouk to allow farming. Without it, what would happen to the weather? To her people? Would winter reign most of the year as it did in the frozen wastelands to the south? Only predators survived there, wild beasts and their hunters, the savage tribes of the fringe.
Tora shuddered at the memory of the last skirmish and the fresh wound in her thigh.
As the smallest moon rose over the eastern mountain range, Tora remembered Tomaso’s warning about a Reptoid invasion, and a conspiracy against the emperor. Now the weather star had died. Could all these events be connected? Tora must find out.
She’d start by searching for Tomaso’s killer. It should lead her to the conspirators. And whoever they were, Tora would make them pay.
Under the sacred oak that towered over the palace esplanade, Tora shivered in her sky-blue parade uniform. Light duty in the emperor’s personal guard for the wine festival wasn’t her idea of military life. She missed active duty.
Despite the rays of the twin suns, the temperature had plummeted since the death of the weather star. The first snow had fallen too soon after the harvest, before the leaves changed color, and, for the first time in recorded history, flocks of birds had migrated over the mountains to the badlands and the desert.
But cold weather could not stop the festivals that abounded in Kassouk. Following tradition, this one took place in the Imperial Palace, built half-way up the hill between the temple and the lower citadel. On such occasions, the great hall opened its many doors and windows, and rippled with azure and white banners. The aroma of sweet-spiced meats, roasting venison, and smoked fish wafted on the cool air.
Both moons had waxed and waned since old Tomaso’s death. Tora’s discreet inquiries had revealed no clue about the murderer, and no evidence of a conspiracy against the emperor. At first, she thought about warning the emperor, but without proof, who would take her seriously? No. Secrecy would serve her best.
Beneath the giant oak, people and their large pet felines watched with the same vigilance. Could any of these aristocrats, hiding behind bland smiles and polished manners, have killed her father? Which of them might be plotting against the emperor?
After most of the guests had arrived, Tora moved to the crowded hall and took position with the other guards around the room. Fruit, cheese, bread, ale, and, of course, wine loaded the banquet tables. Most of the visitors browsed, ate, and drank while waiting for the delicious meats to be served after the traditional presentation of grievances.
Emperor Selig, a venerable man in white robes and white beard, presided on his high throne, paying scant attention to the two leopard cubs wrestling at his feet on the thick rug. Noticing the cubs, he waved to a beastmaster who led away the two young leopards on a leash.
As the custom allowed, the people of Kassouk now lined up in front of the high seat to request favors from the Godds through their Human representative, the emperor himself.
The first peasant in line bowed to the emperor. “Majesty, we cannot withstand a harsh winter like the one coming this year. Please convince the Godds to improve the weather. If nothing’s done, all our livestock will die in two months’ time.”
Emperor Selig adjusted his earpiece then closed his eyes in concentration to consult the Godds.
The Godds themselves rarely attended Human festivals, preferring to watch and listen from a remote room. Sometimes their voice boomed into the hall although they weren’t there. Other times, they dictated orders through the emperor’s earpiece. Most people didn’t notice, but Tora knew a few imperial tricks.
Having lived in the palace all her life, she had learned much from the old man she remembered fondly as her father. His position as advisor to the emperor made him privy to many secrets. And in Tomaso’s youth, the Godds hadn’t hidden their flying machines, weapons and magic technology from Humans as they did now. Tora wondered at their change of attitude.
Finally, Selig spoke. “The Almighty Godds refuse to change the weather at this time.”
A murmur of disappointment filled the hall.
“The Godds order all farmers to slaughter their livestock and give the Temple its share of meat. What’s left should suffice to survive the winter. Come spring, all will be fine.”
Tora read shock and fear in the peasants’ eyes, and she understood it. If they slaughtered all their animals, what would they raise in the spring? But no one dared contest the Godds’ decisions. The Godd of agriculture probably had some new breeding program in mind for next year.
In turn, the workers from the northern duranium mines lined up in front of the emperor and bowed. They wore the symbolic leather apron of their trade with obvious pride. Their representative complained of long hours and relentless demands to increase production.
Once again, through the emperor’s earpiece, the Godds failed to sympathize. Instead, they demanded more hours, praising the great honor of extracting the holy metal. When the workers protested, the Godds promised a special heaven for miners and their families.
That’s when Tora started doubting her religion. Did the Godds, who professed their dedication to the people, have a hidden agenda as Tomaso suggested? If there were such a heaven, why was it never mentioned before? And how convenient to introduce it now, when working conditions had just worsened.
But even the Godds’ lack of compassion couldn’t stop a festival. To the rhythm of tambourines and the melodies of bamboo flutes, hundreds of betrothed now lined up to pledge their hands to the service of the Mighty Ones, asking for a blessing in starting a family. Tora smiled, recalling the young happy faces a few weeks back when everyone joyously trampled the grapes with bare feet, knee-high in red pulp to press the new wine.
Returning her attention to the ceremony, Tora watched the young couples in their best finery as they stepped on the scanner two at a time in front of the emperor. The booming voice of the fertility Godd resounded from above, declaring them suitable for marriage. The crowd cheered as each couple received approval. The last couple, lagging at the end of the line, finally stepped on the scanner.
“You know you cannot marry within your own bloodline,” the divine voice thundered overhead. “Unknown to you perhaps, you are of the same blood. Your progeny could be marred by birth defects. I cannot allow your union.”
The great hall went quiet. Few dared to whisper as the unfortunate pair made their way out through the throng, heads bent in shame. Emboldened by the first snickers, a few others jeered. Such tragedies had happened before. Tora felt a pang of sadness for these two.
Judging by the way they held hands and the determination clenching the young man’s jaw, she suspected they wouldn’t look for different mates. If they chose to elope, the couple might join the tribes of Zerkers in the south and become killers, thieves and Godd-haters. They would compete with wolves and bears in the frozen forests of the fringe and live like savages in the harsh winter land. Someday, Tora might find the young man at the other end of her sword.
After the unfortunate pair left, the emperor addressed the happy couples. “Prosper in peace and bear healthy children.”
The crowd cheered and rushed to the platters of meat servants set on the trestle tables. Soon, songs echoed in the rafters, followed by boisterous storytelling. Tora couldn’t share in the merrymaking. The loss of her father still tormented her. She missed the old man. Last year, at the same festival, they’d shared a pitcher of new wine and retold battle tales. Escaping the festivities, Tora went outside on the esplanade to help set up the bonfires.
“Are you a soldier?” A little girl with dark straight hair and big brown eyes startled Tora. She couldn’t be more than eight.
“Yes, child, that’s why I wear the uniform.” Squatting, Tora propped the logs above the kindling.
“I want to be a soldier, too. Where are your children? I’d like to play with them.”
Tora smiled at the natural assumption. At twenty-five, she was well past marrying age and must be a mother. “I should find a husband first.”
The child frowned. “There are plenty here today. Why don’t you get one?” The brown eyes now stared, unabashed.
Tora glanced up at a group of young men talking and laughing by the low wall. “Military life doesn’t leave much time for romance, child. Besides, men are afraid of women officers. The scars on our souls run deeper than those on our skin.” Rising, Tora rubbed her thigh. “Too independent, too bossy, they say.”
She fetched a torch from a sconce on a nearby pillar.
The child scrutinized her every move. “Is it true?”
Tora touched the torch to the kindling. “Independent, certainly. Bossy, I really don’t know.” She blew on the fire then watched the flames flare bright. “But in any case, I never met a man I liked enough to marry.”
“Don’t worry.” The child patted Tora’s hand. “You’ll find one.”
Instinctively, Tora drew her hand behind her back to hide her six fingers.
The child shrugged. “I will be independent but not bossy.”
That clarified, the girl ran back to her games.
Tora watched the child’s retreating back. “That’s good, I think.”
Staring at the flames that licked the dry wood, she remembered her few romantic encounters, brief moments of passion snatched before a battle or at a victory celebration. None of them had lasted beyond the next morning. Despite its rewards, soldiering life sure felt lonely sometimes.
Alerted by the sound of hooves on the cobblestone, Tora glanced up. A messenger on horseback crossed the esplanade at a full gallop and rode into the great hall. She ran behind the horse into the hall, where the unexpected incursion elicited cries of alarm.
Lathering at the mouth, the steed rolled wild eyes and reared at the sight of the crowd, threatening to throw its rider.
The messenger, bundled up in white fur, slid down the horse and tossed the reins into a servant’s hands, then he approached the emperor’s high seat. With a respectful bow, the man handed the monarch a long wooden box.
When the emperor opened the lid, Tora sensed the urgency in his measured movements. This could only mean bad news. Emperor Selig snatched the parchment from the box, unrolled it and read silently while the crowd whispered. The emperor lowered his white lashes to consult the Godds in soft tones through his earpiece.
Opening his eyes, the emperor addressed the crowd in a strong voice. “Border scouts have spotted vast encampments on the southwest bank of White Lake. All signs indicate the barbarians are south of the great river, the Zerkers, are preparing an invasion.”
The news chilled the great hall more than the cold outside. The assembly hushed, as if waiting for reassurance.
Emperor Selig singled out the guards in parade uniform standing at attention along the walls. “Soldiers,” he declared. “The time has come to test your skills. We’ll need volunteers immediately. We must prevent this invasion.”
Tora’s mind reeled with the news. The Zerkers, although fierce and dangerous, had never dared invade the Great Plains. In the past, they always attacked in small groups and never seemed to seek more than immediate gratification. What happened to their previous tactics of skirmishes, plunder and rape? This gathering implied a level of organization they had never displayed before. What could have prompted the unification of the tribes for an attack of this scale?
In any case, Tora saw a chance to escape the sheltered city of the Godds and return to her favorite way of life. As an officer, she would join the vanguard and choose her assignment.
But even the prospect of war couldn’t stop a festival. Soon the good citizens of Kassouk, confident in their superior military force and the protection of their almighty Godds, returned to their merrymaking.
Tora crossed the crowd of courtiers and approached the emperor. She saluted respectfully, and in doing so, asked for permission to speak.
“Tora, daughter of our beloved Tomaso!” Emperor Selig exclaimed with a sparkling smile. “Your father was not only my advisor. He was an old friend.” Selig sighed. “What a shame to lose such a precious man. His sudden demise affected us all. What can I do for you, Tora?”
“Your Highness, I volunteer the Tiger Company for the vanguard.”
Emperor Selig frowned. “I know your father trained you well... and you fought bravely to earn your impressive rank, but this is a war like no other we have known.”
“More reason to use all the good soldiers you can get, Your Highness. And my men are some of the best.”
Selig raised a white brow. “Is your wound completely healed? My old friend would never forgive me for sending his daughter to her death. Now that he’s gone, I feel responsible.”
“Your Highness, may I remind you that I’m a Major in your cavalry and well past the legal age? My leg feels fine and you need my services.”
“Stubborn as a goat, your father used to say.” The emperor chuckled. “There is no denying you anything, is there?”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Tora exulted. “I take that as a yes.”
“All right, Tora. Tell Marshal Kilian I sent you. He’s been itching to go south for months, and I just dispatched his commission.”
“Much obliged, Your Highness.”
The emperor laughed.
Tora saluted and effected a perfect turnabout, marching eagerly out of the great hall, careful not to favor her right leg. She had lied about the state of her wound, but a few weeks in the saddle would do wonders to soften the fresh scar.
Down the narrow streets and many steps leading from the palace to the citadel, her boots echoed on the cobblestone, accompanied by the rhythmic click of her scabbard on the metal loops of the leather belt. She rubbed her thigh to ease the stiff muscles. The chill in the air smelled of snow to come.
Having never served under Marshal Kilian, Tora wondered what he would be like. She knew little about him, only that he came from old aristocracy and enjoyed the emperor’s support. He rarely ventured on the field. Some said he never actually fought his battles and was more of a strategist.
The twin suns had set, and dusk had fallen by the time Tora reached Marshal Kilian’s lair. She knocked on the heavy door.
“Come in, whoever the devil you are!” a loud but high-pitched voice yelled in response.
The oak door creaked under Tora’s push.
From the back of the cavernous room, a great bear of a man with black hair and full beard regarded her suspiciously with striking eyes of an unusual indigo color. Around him, scrolls, leather-bound books, inkhorns and quills littered benches, shelves and table. A blaze roared in the fireplace. Despite the draft from the window slit, the dry smell of smoke, parchment and bird droppings lingered in the air, mingling with a strong feline scent. Several cages hanging from the high ceiling, contained homing pigeons.
The big man’s gaze returned to the map on the table where a candle burned precariously. A black panther with a thick shiny pelt lounged at Kilian’s feet. The beast growled, wrinkling her nose and exposing white fangs, a fierce spark in its golden eyes.
“Oh, stop it, Beauty,” Kilian snapped. The almost feminine voice contrasted with the marshal’s imposing physique and leather garb.
Beauty still growled slightly, but when Tora greeted the animal in her mind and smiled, Beauty quieted and laid her head on crossed paws.
Tora removed her fur cap, then saluted, right hand flat on her chest. “Major Tora volunteering the Tiger Company to join the vanguard, Marshal.”
Kilian lifted his indigo gaze from the map and appraised her silently, then he smiled, and his eyes sparkled. “I heard about your bravery in battle. White Tiger, they call you, yes? At ease, Major. I didn’t expect you to be good looking as well. Can you count, write and read a map?”
“Aye, Marshal.” Only nobility received an education.
“This campaign is tougher than anything we’ve known because of the weather. Pack your warmest furs, preferably white for camouflage. We leave at dawn. We all join forces in four weeks in Kalta, on the northern bank of White Lake.”
“Aye, Marshal.” Tora liked Kilian’s soldiery bluntness, his efficiency, as well as his warm smile and evident education.
“Would you like a drink?” He poured some brandy into a tin goblet.
“No thank you, Marshal.”
“You should. It keeps a soldier’s heart warm.” Kilian raised his goblet in a toast. “To victory!” He drank a sip and sighed. “I’ve been anticipating this invasion for a long time, you know. I was hoping it would come later, though, and not cheat me of my favorite sport.” He looked suddenly cheerful. “Do you hunt, Major?”
Tora’s stomach clenched at the very thought. “Not unless I’m dying of hunger, Marshal.”
“Too bad, you are missing much. Anyway, while everyone laughed at my silly ideas of enemy invasion, I’ve been preparing.” He motioned her to come closer and pointed at the map. “Look here.”
Tora bent over the parchment. “I’m familiar with the region.”
“Before we all meet at the fortified garrison in Kalta, we must evacuate the Great Plains.”
“Evacuate?”
“Send the population to the protection of the citadel, empty the countryside of all life and life support, burn the farms, the food stores, the wood, the livestock, leaving no shelter, no warmth, no food for the Zerkers after they cross the frozen lake. Once we cut off their food and supply convoys, the enemy will die of cold or famine without ever getting to fight.”
“A daring strategy, Marshal.” Tora couldn’t help but admire his shrewdness. “Is that why the Godds refused to soften the weather?”
“Perhaps, and since they refused, we expect the coldest winter in centuries. We travel light. Each rider carries his own gear. The packhorses and sleighs haul only food supplies and tents. Take a good mount, we only have a few emergency replacements.”
“Aye, Marshal.”
“Despite your youth, as the highest-ranking officer I make you my second in command. Enjoy your last night in a bed, Major. Have your unit ready on the esplanade before dawn. See you then.” Kilian grinned wolfishly.
“Thank you, Marshal.” Tora saluted, replaced the cap on her head, and strode out the door.
* * *
After Tora left, Kilian picked up the goblet of brandy and, from the narrow slit of the study window, watched her walk away. Nice figure, tall, slim, hard muscles and a definite rider’s gait. Sitting on the edge of the deep windowsill, Kilian eased the whip hanging from his belt then absently rubbed his black beard. The panther came and nudged his hand.
“What do you think, Beauty?” He rubbed the cat’s head against his chest. “White Tiger,” he mimicked, then savored a sip of sweet liquor. “Kilian the Bear and Beauty the Panther can handle this pretty little cat, can’t we? And if she gets in the way of my rise to power, we’ll take care of her like we did her father.” He knuckled the big head. “I know you enjoy slaughtering my enemies. So do I, but it’s our little secret.”
Beauty purred under his scratching fingers.
“Should I have a casual romp with the pretty Major on the campaign trail?” Kilian daydreamed about that prospect for a moment, then reminded himself of more pressing matters.
He selected a quill from the desk and sharpened it with the hunter’s knife hanging from his belt. Sitting down, he dipped the tip in an inkhorn then scribbled a few runes on a tiny piece of parchment. When finished, he threw some powder on it, blew to dry the ink then rolled the tiny leaf delicately before sliding it into a small wooden tube.
Flexing his stiffening fingers, Kilian rose. He reached for the rope and lowered one of the cages hanging from the ceiling. Gently, he removed a gray bird from the cage. At his hip the panther begged, as if expecting dinner.
“No, Beauty. This one’s a messenger. It has a job to do.” Holding the small tube with stubby fingers, he affixed it to the ring on the pigeon’s leg.
In a majestic motion, Kilian let the bird fly through the narrow window slit, then smiled in jubilation. A good day, indeed, with exciting promises.
Temple of the Godds, perched on the slope, above the palace and the citadel
As he rode on the high path, Dragomir took a breath of crisp evening air. Although he enjoyed returning to the temple of the Godds, the home of his childhood, he feared the violent emotions that often flared when he faced his Fathers.
The last pink rays of the twin suns set ablaze the golden temple behind the shimmering curtain of the high-powered fence. Below the cliff where his gray stallion stood, bonfires on the palace ground twinkled like stars in the darkening shadow of the mountains. Lower still, the imposing citadel of Kassouk crawled with Human activity in the faint amber glow of torches.
When Dragomir reached the gate of the temple enclosure, he pressed a six-fingered hand on the portal scanner and announced in a clear voice, “Dragomir, Mutant of the first rank, come to report to his Fathers from the southern territories.”
The shimmering energy field around the compound died and the gate slid open. Dragomir spurred the mountain-bred inside the temple courtyard. As the gate closed behind him, the shield resumed.
He wondered how this encounter would go. He served all his Fathers to the best of his abilities, but once in a while he resented his inbred loyalty to them and gave in to anger. Some said that, as the very first Mutant born of a Human female and a male Godd, his genetic makeup was flawed.
Dismounting, Dragomir handed the reins to a Mutant boy in training. From inside the golden temple, music, laughter and sweet perfume drifted on the evening breeze. Dragomir relished the prospect of a bed after weeks on horseback away from the comforts of civilization.
Opening his fur cloak, he unveiled the azure jewel that sparkled on his chest. The Mutant of third rank standing guard at the temple entrance saluted with a respectful nod. The gem identified Dragomir as a Brethren from the Order of The Blinding Light.
As the massive door slid open, Dragomir crossed the threshold into the temple. Not as colorful in pigmentation as most Mutants, he had copper skin, long dark hair and hazel eyes that allowed him to pass for a tall Human. That ability made him the perfect choice for a spy.
His sheepskin boots made only the slightest sound on the polished marble of the vast antechamber. A young girl smiled as she took his fur cloak and hat. Dragomir felt her gaze sizing his muscular shoulders through the white shirt cinched in the sash of the wide trousers. He’d gathered the pant legs into his boots to ride. Girls often stared at him, but Mutants must ignore such attentions.
As he crossed the antechamber, considered by the Human population a place of worship, Dragomir inhaled the familiar smell of incense. He couldn’t help but admire the frescoes adorning the high walls. They depicted the exploits of his Fathers, the Godds, since they returned to Kassouk, over two centuries ago.
Monolithic statues of the main Godds served as columns holding the ceiling. Carved with lasers, the brightly colored rock matched the Godds’ complexions. Among other Godds, Dragomir recognized with fondness the likeness of Kasil, the genetic engineer, observing a strand of DNA. An agricultural scientist was represented studying a long ear of enhanced corn, and a physician held a silver chalice adorned with two intertwined snakes. Lord Khor, the chief Godd, carved on the high ceiling, summoned laser fire from his fingertips.
Despite their colossal size, the softly curved statues looked alive, the stone finish imitating the texture of the skin and the sheen of the silky garments. The use of semi-precious stones, silver, and gold added to their impressive beauty. Between the strange fascination of the statues and the powers the Godds displayed, no wonder the Human population held them in reverence.
Dragomir opened the heavy curtain behind the altar and came to a full stop to avoid a group of scampering children, other Mutants, like him. He’d known a happy childhood here, in this cultured atmosphere… until the day his mother died.
Bathed in amber light, the feasting hall resounded with music and laughter. Although much larger than the antechamber, it looked almost cozy, comfortably furnished with round table and semi-circular couches. Multicolored silks, velvet, sculptures, frescoes and tapestries adorned walls and ceiling.
Tonight, Dragomir’s Fathers entertained themselves as usual. Eight feet tall and very much alive, the Godds, like the Mutants, had Human proportions and features. Their skins came in bright shades varying from apricot to tan, olive, ivory, black, and even turquoise. In shiny garb of brilliant colors, with rainbow-hued hair, they appeared young and playful despite their venerable age. All the Godds were male, and in all his life among them, Dragomir had never heard of such thing as a female Godd.
The Godds reclined on couches while enjoying good food, conversation, and the company of their favorite Human females. These females, called Valshas, consecrated to the Godds and chosen among the most beautiful Human virgins, dedicated their lives to pleasuring the Godds and producing their hybrid children. In exchange, they led a secluded life of luxury in the temple.
Dragomir spotted the head table in the far corner of the hall and strode in that direction. A lovely Human girl in scant white silk winked at Dragomir and brushed him as she walked by, passing around a tray of sweets. He accepted a candied chestnut but knew better than to befriend a Valsha. They belonged to his Fathers, like his mother had.
Any relationship between a Mutant and a Human was punishable by death. Even relationships between Mutants had to be pre-approved by the Godds, as only they knew each Mutant’s genetic makeup. A shadow passed over Dragomir’s thoughts as he remembered his Brother Rakham, who had paid the ultimate price for succumbing to Human love.
Going around the many tables, Dragomir wondered, not for the first time, which Godd had fathered him. His mother never knew, and strict rules forbade Dragomir from finding out. Kasil, the geneticist, always seemed kind to him, and Dragomir sometimes suspected he might be his biological father.
Like all Mutants, however, Dragomir considered each and every Godd as his Father. When he approached the main table, Dragomir caught a drift of the conversation.
Kasil, the orange-skin geneticist in blue regalia looked flustered. “A lucky shot, that’s all.”
The black agricultural engineer in green silk, nodded. “A lucky shot that destroyed our satellite. Without it to relay the laser arrays, we cannot re-deploy the weather shield. It would take too much time and resources to build and launch another satellite. It’s not worth the trouble for the short time we have left here.”
Dragomir wondered at that last comment. Were his Fathers leaving the planet any time soon? He found the thought unsettling but knew better than to ask. “Father Khor,” he bowed to the golden Chief Godd. “May your spirits and health match your good appearance.”
Lord Khor regarded Dragomir with big cat eyes then grinned. The coarse hair falling on the lord’s shoulders like flax, contrasted with the bright orange of the tunic and the rich golden tone of his skin. “Ah, welcome back, son. Sit and tell us what you found out. We received your reports but still have many questions. Have some food and drink. You must be tired and hungry after such a journey.”
Kasil scooted on the semi-circular couch to make room for Dragomir.
Very much at home, Dragomir accepted the invitation with natural grace.
He’d never felt so hungry for the delicacies of his Fathers’ table, delicious foods unheard of in the Human world. The sophisticated kitchen could produce in a short time the best treats Dragomir had ever tasted. Even Brother Darien’s legendary feasts at the monastery did not compare. Amazing how, with the same basic ingredients, one could prepare delicious, bland, or terrible dishes.
“So, you are certain they are Reptoids?” Lord Khor’s business-like tone interrupted Dragomir’s culinary meditation. “The ship designs you sent us from their camp confirm what we suspected.”
When a Valsha set a tray of delicacies in front of him, Dragomir refrained from showing his hunger and deliberately picked at the food as good manners dictated. “I sneaked into their installation. Cheap, light, fast, efficient, and well-guarded.” He chewed a small red fruit, enjoying its tartness. “I observed a few of them. Definitely Reptoid. Easy to get biological material, too. They shed their scales everywhere.”
“Did you bring back DNA?” Kasil’s orange face brightened.
“Here.” Dragomir pulled out a flat duranium case from a pocket inside the silky shirt and gave it to the geneticist. “Plenty to analyze.”
Opening the case carefully, Kasil observed the shreds of scaly skin with interest.
Dragomir reached for the silver cup offered by a Valsha and drank a sip of the sweet fermented honey drink. “Despite their humanoid proportions, some Reptoids have a tail. They seem to have several subspecies among them.” He took another succulent bite.
“What do you mean subspecies?” Curiosity grew in Kasil’s eyes.
“Some have flat faces like amphibians, and others a more elongated head like reptiles. About eight feet tall, like you, they all have yellow eyes and scaly skin but not a single hair. Their strong muscles can bend duranium, and their teeth can cut metal. They give off an offensive stench.” Dragomir bit into a small pastry.
Lord Khor made a disgusted face.
“Their language also matches the Reptoid criteria you gave me, and they speak the Human language as well as we do. They call their leader Phaleg.” Dragomir licked his fingers then smiled in thanks when the Valsha handed him a scented towel.
Lord Khor stretched his mouth into a rictus. “So, our ancestral enemies sent a warlord to chase us even on this isolated planet. How charming.” The light tone held sarcasm.
“What do they want?” The nonchalance of Lord Kasil’s manner belied the intensity in his slit eyes.
Dragomir shrugged, secretly rejoicing at the Godds’ uneasiness. “They need duranium, and they want our stores of processed food.”
“Can they get to them?” Lord Khor raised his brow questioningly.
Enjoying his Fathers’ uncertainty, Dragomir didn’t answer right away. After a reflective pause, he said, “Although they cannot pierce through your defense shields, they know your numbers are few, you don’t have military defenses, and you can’t get reinforcements from Godda. They count on the strength and ferocity of the Zerkers to destroy your Human army, and they rely on the drug, of course.”
“What kind of drug?” The black physician fixed his cat-like gaze upon Dragomir.
“They call it Mosh.” Dragomir dabbed at his mouth with a purple linen napkin. “It’s a chemical synthesis of the red and white mushroom used by the Zerkers in battle. The Reptoids refined the active ingredient, enhanced it, and produce it in huge quantities. Addictive, damaging, and ultimately quite lethal.”
Khor slammed his palm on the table. “Bastards!” Anger flared in his feline eyes. “That’s a breach of the basic intergalactic rule of non-destruction of native cultures!”
Dragomir suddenly realized that even his Fathers were not immune to fear. Abiding by their precious rules, they felt lost when someone broke them. “As if the Reptoids cared about wiping out a whole race.” Dragomir didn’t bother to hide his cynicism. “Mosh makes the Zerkers crazed and impervious to pain. At this rate, the Reptoids will have the fiercest army fighting your neat little soldiers. Your Human military force, outnumbered, outwitted and un-mechanized, doesn’t stands a no chance against them.”
The chief Godd sighed. “Our Human army is well organized and loyal to the death. It will overcome the Zerkers as it always did in the past.”
Dragomir scoffed. “You don’t understand. This time, the Zerkers have a Reptoid warlord. High on Mosh, they won’t mind the cold, hunger, or even death. A host of frenzied killers, that’s what your Human army will have to fight...” while the bunch of you remain safely tucked in your impregnable temple.
“Nevertheless...” Lord Khor squared his shoulders. “We must not intervene in Human conflicts.”
For his Fathers, thousands of Human lives would hold no weight in the decision to intervene or not. Ridiculous ethics would stop them from saving the population. Dragomir pushed away the food tray. The thought had spoiled his appetite.
“You did very good work, Dragomir.” Lord Khor’s compliment held little comfort. “I knew I could count on our oldest son. Fifty years old, smart and cunning, and you look like a twenty-year-old Human. You’ll live to be five hundred and wise. We are proud of you, son. You have served us well.”
“As if I had a choice,” Dragomir commented under his breath, resenting the loyalty gene binding him to his Fathers, as well as the genetic imperfection that made him quick to anger.
“But as you know, choices are for the wise elite, not for Mutants.” Khor’s kind smile didn’t soften the patronizing attitude.
Dragomir took a calming breath before finishing his report. “Something else... The Reptoids know much about this facility, your numbers, the layout of your installation, weaponry. I’d wager they have informants among the leaders of Kassouk.”
Lord Khor frowned.
Secretly enjoying his Fathers’ discomfort, Dragomir drank another sip of nectar. “Since any Zerker or Reptoid infiltrating the citadel would be recognized and lynched on sight, someone in Kassouk must be informing them.”
“A traitor?” Lord Khor’s frown deepened. “It cannot be a Godd, and Mutants are bred to serve us.”
I wish we weren’t. Dragomir hid his resentment.
The Chief Godd stared at him. “A Human traitor?”
Dragomir shifted on the couch. “Possibly. One who has access to the palace.”
“But to what end?” Kasil the geneticist looked perplexed.
“Humans can be so ungrateful after all we did for them.” Lord Khor sighed then addressed the other Godds at his table. “Let’s go review the surveillance recordings on Reptoid activities.” Glancing toward Dragomir, he added, “Come with us, son. I want your opinion.”
Dragomir felt privileged. Rarely did a Mutant get to see the secret underground installation of the Godds.
His Fathers rose from the couches. Although a foot taller than the average Human, Dragomir felt short once they stood up. He had to hurry to match the Godds’ leisurely stride while crossing the hall to a door among the frescoes covering the smooth stone.
When Khor pressed one hand to the scanner, the wall slid open to let the group through, then it closed behind them. They went down several high steps and through another security scanner before entering the control room beneath the center of the edifice.
The circular chamber, vast and brightly lit, sheltered consoles, panels, and metal instruments of all sizes and shapes. While the temple was built of stone and adorned with warm furnishings, the underground room looked like the inside of a cold duranium shell. Clear fFlat screens lined the walls, showing full color live images of Kassouk, the citadel and the palace, and a view of the planet from space.
Lord Khor motioned to the Godd monitoring the central console. “Tek, run the recording.”
The Godds sat on molded metal armchairs around the room. Dragomir remained standing. On the largest screen, a picture of the weather satellite appeared. In slow motion, a green narrow ray approached and hit the spherical device, starting a series of silent explosions in chain reaction, until intense light blinded the recorder. When the brightness subsided, only a few pieces of incandescent debris floated through black space. The lack of sound gave the picture an unreal quality, like in a dream.
“Well, son?” Khor inquired, standing next to him.
“Green laser. The same kind I’ve seen the Reptoids use on their base. They don’t like to be spied upon, so they destroy any orbiting object they can detect.”
The Chief Godd wrinkled his high forehead. “I wonder if they discovered our small moon station. I hope not.” He turned to Tek. “This should be the right time slot. Can you relay a surveillance image of the enemy camp?”
A map in brightly contrasted colors appeared on a large screen.
“Focus on the headquarters.” Khor returned his attention to Dragomir. “The heat sensors translate temperatures into a color image. The ice and snow-covered mountain peaks appear blue, warming up to green for the vegetation, purple for the bodies of water, yellow, orange, and red for the hottest spots.”
While Tek adjusted the controls, tiny red spots appeared along the banks of the purple lake. “Camp fires,” he explained.
Further south, a huge red area in the shape of a geometric star pulsated with forbidding irregularity.
“What do you make of that?” Khor asked the physicist in the small group.
The physicist studied the screen. “Dangerous levels of radiation.” He sounded calm. “This must be the nuclear core, probably their main power source. Very unstable. It doesn’t look properly shielded, hence the pulsation. Easy to target, but the radiation from such an explosion would kill all life in a wide radius, except for a few insects. Without the weather control shield, we could not keep the deadly cloud at bay.”
Lord Khor grunted. “Dragomir, I need you to infiltrate the Reptoid base and shut down their power plant. We will give you recorded directions. You can’t use a flyer, the enemy would detect it. Take a horse and follow the troops departing tomorrow for the front. Report anything out of the ordinary and any Human contact with the enemy. Keep in touch with our monitoring station but use only short burst communications to avoid enemy detection.”
“What if the Reptoids give the Zerkers advanced weapons, breaking the rule like they did with the drug?” Dragomir didn’t trust the scaly Reptoids. “How will you protect the duranium and food storage?”
“We won’t.” Lord Khor’s brief answer sounded final.
Overcome by shock, Dragomir stared. “You would let them take everything you amassed since you sent your last shipment fifty years ago?”
Lord Khor chuckled. “Hardly. We have other options. Sorry, son. Even you are not privy to all our secrets.”
“I see...…”
“No, you don’t.” Khor held Dragomir’s gaze. “But trust us. We will do what’s best for everyone involved.”
Dragomir couldn’t suppress an angry retort. “Trust blindly and all will be taken care of? Sorry, but I lived in this temple long enough to know that you take care of an inferior race only when it suits your purpose.”
“So little faith is unworthy of a Mutant, Dragomir,” Khor bristled. “As such, you should set the example, know your place, and never question our judgment.”
Fire ate at Dragomir’s gut. “You educate the Mutants’ superior mind only for the services they can provide. I look Human enough to do your dirty work amongst the population while you watch from your golden temple. That’s all I am to you.”
“Hush, Dragomir.” Lord Khor used a tone of mild reprimand. “Such rebellion, just like your mother. I knew from the beginning she was too spirited for a Valsha.”
“Is that why she conveniently died?” Dragomir couldn’t help the venom of suspicion in his voice.
“Your mother’s death was an accident.” Khor’s voice faltered. “A terrible accident, that’s all.”