B is for broken, p.2
B is for Broken, page 2
“Shank,” Hank muttered.
“Very well. I will have a conversation with Mrs. Shank and convince her it is in the best interest of her two-dozen-or-so young that they be allowed to meet their father. She will see reason, of course.” Quasar glanced over at Hank, whose posture was more hunched-over than usual. “If you don’t mind my asking, why is it that hairless creatures such as myself would inspire fear in Carpethrian youngsters?”
“If my people fear anything, it’s baldness.”
Quasar laughed out loud and slapped his knee before he realized Hank wasn’t kidding.
The transport pod banked as it approached a cave hollowed into the cliff-face. Quasar gripped his armrests and cracked one eye open as Hank steered them straight for it.
“Done this before, I take it?”
Hank nodded, all four of his hands moving across the console, managing thrust, yaw, and pitch. The pod floated deep into the black cave without incident and touched down, thrumming as Hank powered off the engine.
“Well done.” Quasar wiped the perspiration off his palms. “Hold on now.” He frowned as Hank retrieved a pulse pistol from the emergency compartment and tucked it into the middle of his fur flab. “We’re not expecting that sort of trouble, are we?”
“You brought yours?”
“Always.” Quasar tapped the Cody 52 Special holstered at his side. “But—”
“Just a precaution.” Hank heaved himself out of his seat and lumbered toward the ladder. With the ease of a lanky primate, he hauled his girth up the rungs and popped the roof hatch.
Quasar stayed close behind. The last thing he wanted was to be locked inside. Would Hank do such a thing? Quasar didn’t think so, but he wouldn’t have thought Hank capable of breaking his ship, either. Anything, it seemed, was possible. “Who goes there?” roared a husky voice that echoed throughout the impenetrable darkness. “I didn’t order anything! You better not be one of those cave-to-cave salesmen. I’ll kick your ass off the cliff!”
“Afternoon, Shank,” said Hank, dropping from the pod and landing on his feet.
“You again?” she snorted. “Didn’t get the hint last time? Thought I made myself crystal clear.”
Quasar squinted, peering into the darkness, but he couldn’t make out her form. The exterior light at the mouth of the cave was useless this far inside.
“How dare you bring that here?” she bellowed.
“Hello.” Quasar raised a hand and smiled, assuming she referred to him. But in the dark, his dashing display of pearly whites went unnoticed.
“What is the meaning of this?” Shank demanded. “Have you completely lost what’s left of your mind? First you abandon your people to serve aboard a human vessel, you disappear for years, then you return and think all will be forgiven!”
“Perhaps we can shed a little light on the situation.” Quasar leaned through the transport pod’s open hatch and gave a voice command for the vessel’s external lights to come online. When they did, the darkness scattered, hovering only in shadows at the far corners. There stood Shank, just as hairy and short as Hank, but with at least half a dozen blind young clinging to her chest, squirming as they rooted for her breasts. It took some doing to find the nipples amongst so much fur, but they managed it with admirable aplomb.
“What are you looking at?” Shank snarled.
“Uh…” Quasar blinked. “There you go, ol’ buddy. Your little rascals. How about you say hello, pat them on the heads, and we’ll be on our way?”
Hank stood within arms’ reach of his mate. At first glance, they looked identical—except for the nursing youngsters adding more girth to Shank’s torso.
“I don’t have much time,” he grunted. “This is my last chance.”
“If imprinting was so important to you, then you wouldn’t have left us. You want them to know who their father is? You should’ve stayed here where you belong!”
“I have a job to do. They need me.”
“And we don’t? You’ve really got your priorities straight,” she sneered.
“So, where are the other little guys?” Quasar dropped from the pod and clapped his hands together. “Can’t wait to meet them.”
Shank wrapped all four of her arms around her young sucklings, shielding them protectively . “Get back into your vessel, human.”
Quasar attempted another dashing smile now that the lights were on. It still had no effect.
“Listen,” he said. “I can see you’re unhappy with Hank, and you have every right to be. Absentee fathers are the scum of the universe, of course. No offense.” He patted Hank on his right superior shoulder.
“Humph.”
“I take full responsibility for taking Hank off-world. Once upon a time, you see, my star cruiser, the Effervescent Magnitude, was docked at your illustrious shipyards while your esteemed engineers installed a cold fusion near-lightspeed reactor. More trouble than it was worth, truth be told, but that’s beside the point. What matters is that we were set upon by Arachnoid bounty hunters, and Hank—”
“Shut your hairless mouth,” Shank snapped. “He decided to remain aboard your ship. Nobody forced him to. But he can’t have it both ways.” She backed up a step. “Hank’s had four years to change his mind, but now it’s too late. They’ll never know who their true father is. They’ll only know who I say he is.”
“Lank?” Hank grunted.
“Who?” Quasar stage-whispered.
“My cousin. Always had a thing for Shank.”
“If he’s the first male they see when they open their eyes…so be it,” she said. She chuckled a swarthy chuckle. “Course, he’s got only one eye to look back at them with, but at least it’ll be an eye that’s here where it should be. Not gallivanting around the universe with a bunch of furless freaks!”
On that note, Shank lumbered away, deeper into the cave’s dark recesses. Quasar gave his clean-shaven chin a pensive caress as he watched her disappear from sight.
“Pleasant female. I assume she lives around here in some sort of cave dwelling. Honestly, I imagined your people swinging from the trees, ol’ buddy.”
“Some do.” Hank grunted. He turned and started climbing up the side of the transport pod.
“Hey—where do you think you’re going?”
“She’s made up her mind. Lank will be their father. There’s nothing for me here now.”
On the one hand, Captain Quasar was elated by this news. No more trips to Carpethria every six months! But on the other hand, quitting had never been in his vocabulary, and he expected the same degree of tenacity from every member of his bridge crew.
“You’re not going back empty-handed!” Quasar reached up and grabbed a fistful of the Carpethrian’s fur.
“Please let go of me, Captain.”
Quasar gave his solid helmsman a few tugs, but Hank remained stolid.
“Fine. You won’t make things right? I will.”
Quasar charged into the shadows and tripped over a fuzzy lump on the ground. It squeaked as he went sprawling and cursing across the rock floor. Where he landed, catching himself with outstretched hands, two other fuzzy lumps waited, squealing as he collapsed on top of them. What were these things? He tentatively picked up one the size of a boot, and it squirmed like a very hairy slug injected with a healthy dose of adrenaline.
“Gah!” he cried as a pair of eyes opened in the fur and glinted with the transport pod’s light. They stared up at the captain warmly like black oil marbles. “Oh no…” The fuzzy creature suddenly relaxed, nestling in his arms and purring contentedly. “No, no, no…” Quasar fought for breath. “Uh—Hank?”
“Yes, Captain?” the Carpethrian grunted from outside the pod.
“I think I may have stumbled upon…something.”
“Yes, Captain.” What sounded like a chuckle came from the Carpethrian. But Quasar couldn’t be sure. He’d never heard Hank chuckle before.
Cradling the fuzzy baby in one arm, Quasar made his way back to the pod, careful not to step on any other babies squirming across the cave floor. There were quite a few, all headed straight toward Hank. The Carpethrian sat with four or five of his young ones crawling all over him, their eyes open, staring at him and grinning with rows of miniature fangs. Hank smiled back—something Quasar had never seen him do—baring his own vicious fangs and laughing deep in his flabby belly.
“Look at them, Captain. Aren’t they adorable?”
Quasar frowned down at the one he carried and held it behind his back. “Uh-yes, they sure are. Where the heck did they come from?”
“Must’ve been napping nearby. Shank probably woke them up with all her caterwauling.” Hank looked as close to giddy as any Carpethrian had ever looked. “You’re mine. And you’re mine.” He gathered two in one arm. “And you’re mine. And you’re mine.” He gathered the rest.
“How did they know?”
“Sir?”
“That you’re their father?”
Hank shrugged his superior set of shoulders. “Guess they were just drawn to me. And I happened to be the first male they saw when their eyes opened, so now there’s no going back.”
“Right.” Quasar swallowed. “About that…”
“Get back here, you little ingrates!” Shank bellowed from the dark.
With ear-piercing squeaks, the babies squirmed free of Hank’s grasp and migrated toward the voice of their irate mother. Even the one in Quasar’s arm managed to lurch free, hitting the cave floor and wriggling out of sight into the shadows. Hank stood and waved with all four hands as he watched them go, his ferocious smile fading. Quasar joined him at the transport pod.
“They’ll know me now,” Hank said quietly. “This bunch will remember I’m their father. Lank won’t have them all.”
Quasar couldn’t help but wonder about the little one that had imprinted on him. Would the poor fellow shave himself bald when he grew up? Be a laughing stock? Or worse: an outcast?
“You all right, Captain? You look ill.”
“There’s something you should know—”
“Captain,” came the sudden voice of Commander Wan via the communication device sewn into his collar.
“Yes, Commander?” He tried not to sound startled.
“We’re in orbit, sir. Bill wants you to know the reactor is fully operational again, and that he believes the malfunction was due to sabotage. He has submitted a formal request to be allowed to deal with the culprit in any way he sees fit.”
“Request denied.” Quasar sighed and squeezed his brow. “Inform Bill that he can look forward to a week of janitorial duties for making such a stupid request.”
“Yes, sir. We look forward to your return.”
“On our way,” Quasar signed off. He turned to his loyal helmsman. “Sure you don’t want to stay?”
“With Shank? No thanks.” Hank hauled himself up the side of the transport pod and dropped in through the roof hatch.
Captain Quasar turned to follow suit, but something made him look over his shoulder as if he were leaving a part of himself behind. But no, that wasn’t the case at all. The fuzzy Carpethrian baby he’d nearly squished to death—such a warm little ball of fur… It would be raised by Carpethrian parents on its home world, not by a hairless human aboard a star cruiser. Quasar chided himself for even considering the prospect.
But as he climbed into the transport pod and sealed the hatch shut behind him, he knew he’d be returning to Carpethria again at some point. Probably not to escort Hank for a conjugal visit. Perhaps not to have the Effervescent Magnitude’s cold fusion near-lightspeed reactor serviced. Instead, maybe someday he’d walk into a Carpethrian city crowded with identical, very hairy four-armed creatures, and one of them would walk up to him, wrap him in a tight, furry embrace... and call him Dad.
B is for Babies
C.S. MacCath
“THREE nights, maybe less,” I told the man—a grandchild clinging to his neck, another clutching a trouser leg—and watched his mouth fall slack with fear. “And we can only make ten trips up the mountain a day, for people and supplies both, so the Qandunar warmaster wants you to run, if you can.” The terrified silence of the crowd broke like window glass, and a torrent of questions began to pour through. I gripped the folds of my robe, novitiate green, and wished for the authority of white. “There’s a ferry at the river mouth that can take you across to the islands—”
“The Vele can swim!” This from the pot-bellied farmer who supplied our potatoes. Andu... Ando... I had only met the man a few weeks ago. Nervous hands twisted the reins of the gelding beneath him.
“Yes, but the Muto Vele cannot,” I assured him. “They forget everything but violence when the Muto Qeyunar fixate them into mounts. Andro, take your horse and go. Don’t leave him to wander in the place this valley is about to become.”
A middle-aged woman stepped onto the lip of the lift, and it rocked into the cliffside with a crunch. A speckled chicken clucked from the crook of her arm. She kissed the crimson comb of its head once, twice and declared, “Henny hates to see people fight.” Her tunic and trousers, too fine for the fetor of her flesh and the cluster of lice in her bushy red hair, were streaked with greasy bird droppings. “Something happens inside, and she can’t control it.”
“Why does she get to go up first?” A pregnant woman pointed her belly at the lift as if to assert her claim to a place aboard. “We’ve got little ones and old peo—”
“What would a skinny boy like you know about them mutated cats? You ever even seen one?” Andro interrupted again, his voice cracking over the questions. The gelding whinnied and shied.
This was authority—and shame—I possessed in abundance, and they could only be wielded together. With a shrug, the heavy sleeves of my robe fell to the sash at my waist. Andro twitched his hands in prayer, and a few in the crowd cried out, but the middle-aged woman spread her fingers and traced the trenches of blackened scar across my chest from shoulder to hip.
“Muto Vele claws are sharp,” she murmured, her touch warm and unflinching. “They cut through everything... like a folded blade.” Her gaze followed the sheer face of the mountain into the low-hanging clouds. “We might not be safe up there.” She sighed, vaulted past me and settled, her back to the cliff. A chilly breeze lifted a swirl of autumn leaves into the air. I shuddered, remembering agony, and slipped back into my sleeves.
“Because she’s ill,” I replied to the pregnant woman, who accepted my judgment and climbed aboard with an elderly man, paper-frail. “Those of you seeking refuge should organize, peaceably, if possible. Should we be forced to bring any Qandunar down with us, there will be fewer places for refugees going back.” I closed my eyes and sought the naré of the leaves, so powerful now at the peak of their transition, and joined them in the greater flow of impermanence. From that place, my hands lifted in the mudras of transmutation and protection, clearing the valley of minor perils for a time. “I give you change.” The sacred words were a whisper, but then I announced, “You have my oath as a Qeyunar novitiate that we will take everyone we can.”
I pulled the return cord and knew a bell was sounding far above, on the plateau. The lift began to rise in a slow, jerky sway. Soon it was easier to see the pillars of the mountain range; great statues rising above a winding ribbon of river that flowed toward the ocean, a two-day walk in decent weather. Some of the refugees were already setting out upon that journey, not enough, but perhaps more would follow. I was a refugee myself; sole survivor of the southern Muto Qandunar attacks. There my teachers, friends and neighbors had been butchered at the behest of Muto Qeyunar who courted immortality in the corruption of impermanence. I could still smell the iron tang of blood on people and beasts who never ate, never slept, and I marveled again at the blessed burst of naré that had blown a mammoth Muto Vele off my body and into the lake, where she had sunk unblinking, unbreathing to the bottom. My flesh had never mended, would always be a reminder of her claws, so cold they burned. A trembling hand went to my chest. Abomination.
“Wounded monk, what are you called?” the middle-aged woman asked me.
I returned from my inner darkness to find her watching me with amber eyes that had no shields. “Sama. Dareo.” I gave her my birth name and the name of my home monastery, now destroyed. “And you, my lady?”
She smiled at that, a wry twist of the lips for such a fragile face. “Henny says my old name has a bad taste, so I don’t speak it anymore. Call me anything you want.”
The clink and turn of the lift crank was audible now, and there was a trace of wood smoke on the air. I scratched the stubble of my shaven head, remembering her lice. “Naming is becoming,” I replied, equivocating. “What would you become?”
We passed through clouds. A heavy mist blanketed our clothes. The wood smoke was stronger now, intermingled with the smell of cooking food. We would struggle to feed our guests if the stores could not be made to stretch. Many monastics were already going without, offering their meals to the temple Vele and the Qandunar camped on the plateau. My stomach growled.
“Rain.” She brushed a drop of water from my brow. Her palm settled on my cheek, and for a moment, I felt whole as I had not in many months. “It washes everything clean.”
The lift rattled into its frame at the top of the mountain. A hawkish lieutenant straightened from his efforts at the crank. Sweat glistened on his rank and decorations—tattooed in elaborate glyphs across his scalp—the reason all Qandunar warriors shaved their heads. Newly promoted to second-in-command, adept at containing and wielding naré in battle, wounded defending his brothers and sisters in arms. I wondered where his blackened scars were hidden.
