Alien Chronicles 1 - The Golden One (11 page)

Then the beeping alarm suddenly changed pitch to something shriller and more insistent. The sniffer came flying after him. “Warning,” it blared. “ID chip five-five-seven-two-one-zero, you are in violation of city ordinance—”

Elrabin snarled a curse and ran, dodging pedestrians and stacks of uncollected garbage on the decaying street. At the corner ahead of him was a group of Toth thugs, seemingly idle and talking to each other in the guttural, broken phrases they considered their own language. In reality they were looking for their next victim to shake down. Elrabin veered instinctively away from them, because Toths were always big trouble, then reconsidered and ran straight toward them.

The sniffer followed, locked on him now and still blaring its message. If the stupid thing expected him to stand still as ordered and wait until a patrol skimmer showed up to arrest him, pass sentence, and utilize the wrist cutters on the spot, he wasn’t going to behave like a good little slave-grade citizen.

Ahead of him, the group of Toths stopped talking and stared at the approaching sniffer, their floppy ears extended. Uneasiness showed on their broad, ugly faces.

Grinning to himself, Elrabin stayed on direct approach. He figured they all had record sheets. Let the sniffer get in range of their registration codes, and it might short-circuit from trying to lock on everyone at once.

Muttering, the Toths could have scattered, but instead they spread out to face Elrabin. They were all adults, well above twice his height. Their massive, oversized heads were covered in mats of brown, curly hair. Their small, dim eyes glittered with brutal malice and little else. Originally brought to Viisymel for heavy labor, the Toths were rebellious and hard to control. Most ran in gangs or worked for slavers as enforcers. They respected no authority, followed no rules. Genetic bullies, they fed on fear and intimidation.

The sniffer was still blaring at Elrabin, ordering him to halt for arrest. He ran right up to the Toths, watching the sniffer from the corner of his eye to make sure it was close enough, then veered to dart around the thugs.

One of them grabbed him by the shoulder and brought him to a halt so sudden that Elrabin was nearly jerked off his feet. Snarling and snapping in fear, his plan suddenly cooked, Elrabin tried to break free of the Toth’s grip and failed.

The sniffer halted and floated over their heads, still blaring its message. Elrabin glared at it, wondering why it didn’t scan the Toths. The stupid sniffer’s multiscan capability must be broken, he figured. Elrabin muttered under his breath and tried again to twist free. His captor only clamped Elrabin’s shoulder harder, making him gasp with pain.

A small red light suddenly glowed on the sniffer’s scuffed ovoid surface. Elrabin’s heart lifted with hope, but one of the Toths pulled out an illegal sidearm and shot it, exploding bits of wire and circuitry over their heads. The bits came raining down, white-hot, singeing Toth fur where they landed.

Elrabin’s captor bellowed in pain and slapped at his head. Elrabin took a chance, twisted around, and bit the hairy wrist of the hand clamped on his shoulder.

Toth blood, hot and foul-tasting, spurted across his tongue. The Toth bellowed again and slung Elrabin away. Elrabin went flying bodily through the air, arms and legs windmilling, and slammed into the graffiti-covered wall of a building.

The impact jolted his bones and knocked the breath from him. He lay on the ground, stunned and only half-conscious. By the time he managed to suck air back into his lungs, he found himself roughly flipped over on his back. Hands groped and patted through his pockets and belt pouch.

When he realized groggily what they were doing, he tried to sit up. “You—”

The Toth kneeling over him butted him in the chest with that massive head. Everything went black, and when the world came back again Elrabin found himself lying alone in the dusty gutter, with bits of garbage and food wrappers blowing over him.

Wheezing, he managed to sit up, and moaned from the effort. His chest felt caved in, although when he gingerly rubbed his ribs nothing seemed broken. The pockets of his coat were ripped out. His meat globes and the comb with fake jewels were gone. His belt had also been taken, leaving him minus his payment card and its one credit.

Elrabin rubbed his narrow muzzle, so angry he wanted to tip back his head and howl. But that wouldn’t bring back his stolen property. He bared his teeth and muttered to himself. He’d taken those things because he needed them—well, the credit and the meat globes anyway. But the Toths were despicable thieves. They robbed for the pleasure of it. They had no morals at all.

“Loitering is not permitted. Keep moving. Loitering is not permitted. Keep moving.”

The message blared overhead, making Elrabin jump at the arrival of another sniffer.

Gaining his feet, he trotted away and blended in with other pedestrians. Without scanning him, the new sniffer let him go, and by the time he’d dodged down several alleys and ducked in and out of a few businesses, his heart had stopped pounding and he was able to breathe normally again.

But his thoughts still raced around and around in his head, until he felt almost dizzy. This morning he had begun his new life in good shape. He had food and he had credit. Now, with late afternoon sunlight slanting across the city buildings, he had nothing to his name but his wits.

He sighed and rubbed his muzzle, telling himself not to worry, not to be scared. He was smart enough to take care of himself. He could figure something out.

But already his stomach was growling with hunger. He had nothing to eat. Nothing in mind to steal. Nowhere to go. Right now, freedom looked a lot bigger than it had before, and a lot less fun.

In the distance he could hear the throaty horns of barge traffic on the river. Most of the vehicles flying past on the streets in this section were industry transports. Warehouses shielded by security fields either buzzed with activity or stood abandoned. When the wind shifted fractionally, Elrabin caught a whiff of a stench that made his ears prick forward and the hair around his neck stand on end.

It was the smell of death, the stench of the meat houses, where condemned slaves were taken to be slaughtered.

He growled low in his throat and veered in the opposite direction. Picking up his pace, he hurried out of the district, knowing he had to look purposeful to avoid being picked up for vagrancy. He couldn’t approach any public vid screens, because they would blare an alarm based on his registration code. If he went to one of the public food dispensaries and begged for charity, an alarm would sound.

One day on his own, and already he was wanted.

His ears drooped, and discouragement settled heavily on his young shoulders. Maybe he wasn’t quite as streetwise as he thought.

Go home
, ran a thought through his mind.
Go home
.

He thought of supper made from tasteless Quixlix, the cramped quarters, his quarreling lits, no privacy, no hope. A fresh sense of rebellion stiffened his shoulders.

No. He wasn’t going home. He had no home. He was on his own, and he could make it. He would go to his old friend Berv, who would give him work and somehow get around the labor laws.

By the time he crossed the ghetto and reached the cramped streets and half-demolished buildings fringing the dock area for Vir Station Four, Elrabin’s legs ached with weariness and he was famished. He dragged himself down a street lined with tenement buildings that made him think of home, ignored a handful of dirty Kelth lits and Aaroun cubs playing gollooball with chunks of decaying pavement gleaned from the unmended street, and cut across a vacant lot that had once been a city park with a statue of some dead Viis kaa surrounded by a grove of trees. Vines now grew over the statue, obscuring it. The grove of trees had died and been cut down for firewood by scavengers who couldn’t afford cookers. Trash blew ahead of him. Now and then he stopped to kick through a pile of garbage that looked promising. So far all he’d found was a piece of circuit board, but he clutched it in his hand for hope. If he could sell it to Berv, he would be back in business.

But Berv’s tiny basement shop was closed up tightly, the windows dark, a heavy iron bar locked across the door for security.

Elrabin sniffed at the door and windows, pounding on them, and yelled for Berv to come out.

No answer.

He whined softly in his throat, feeling frustration rising to mingle with sharp disappointment. Berv had to be here. The junk dealer never went anywhere.

Turning around, he glimpsed a pair of eyes watching him from the shadows across the street.

“Hey!” Elrabin said.

The eyes vanished.

He ran to the doorway and knocked on the door inside the shadowy alcove, but it remained closed against him. “Hey!” he shouted again. “I’m looking for Berv. Where is he?”

No one came to the door. No one answered his question.

Elrabin muttered to himself and turned around to glare at Berv’s place. He had no right to be gone when he was needed.

A few blocks over, a departing cargo shuttle launched itself into the sky with a blast of fuel exhaust that lit up the twilight shadows. The thundering takeoff deafened Elrabin and made the windows rattle in the building next to him. There was an ordinance against flying the shuttles this close to inhabited buildings. But the abiru folk had no clout with the Viis government to make it enforce its laws, and the shuttle flights got closer and more frequent all the time. Word was that another dock and landing pad were to be built this year, extending the station yet farther into the residential district of the ghetto.

Elrabin listened to the powerful engines throbbing swiftly in the distance. He promised himself that someday he would leave the ghetto, would leave Vir, would go out to Port Filea and climb aboard one of those gleaming ground-space shuttles to get off Viisymel forever. Someday he would see the empire for himself, and not just watch vid broadcasts about it. He would see the wonder planets, like Mynchepop with its upside-down waterfalls and pleasure gardens. He would walk through exotic cities, breathing air that did not stink like Vir’s. He would make his fortune, and he would live a life that meant something.

Someday.

In the meantime, it was getting dark. Upstairs windows showed lights now. The smells of cooking wafted on the cool night air. Elrabin’s mouth watered and his stomach growled so hard he felt faint.

Go home
, he thought again, but he shook it off, angry at himself for being weak.

Home was nowhere. Home was a dead end. He was Elrabin the Quick, and he was destined for better things than this.

There was only one thing left to do. He would go looking in the bars and dust holes for his da. Surely his own da would take him in, feed him, and teach him the ways of the good life.

That was, if his old da wasn’t dead or arrested by now.

CHAPTER
•SIX

A chilly afternoon rain fell upon the eastern slopes of the Sivean Mountains and drizzled steadily over the Kaa’s hunting lodge. A cold, wintry, disappointing rain. A plan-spoiling rain.

Standing at a window and gazing outside at the dreary, leaden skies, Ampris—fourteen now in Aaroun years and ta-chune in Viis growth cycles—heaved a disgusted sigh.

The imperial party had arrived earlier in the week for the Kaa’s annual visit. Now that the hectic days of Hevrmasihd Festival had brought the year to an end, everyone felt lazy and bloated from too much feasting and activity. The Kaa came here to hunt across the breathtaking mountains, to take in fresh air, to eat simply, and to rest far from the cares of governing his empire. These were the slow days of Feval, the renewal. The courtiers had been released to visit their own homes or to go offworld if they wished extensive travel. Only a chosen, select few were invited to accompany the Kaa here to his beloved lodge.

Some years he brought all his favorite wives and offspring; other years he did not. This year, only six of his most beloved wives were present, and of the many imperial progeny, only the sri-Kaa and her nine egg-siblings had been brought. Even the tutors had been left behind.

As a result, the galleries and corridors of the lodge seemed almost empty in comparison with the busy court at Vir. Here, the onerous burdens of court etiquette and protocol were relaxed a great deal; even clothing was simpler, less ornate and more comfortable.

Ampris loved Feval far more than the hectic Hevrmasihd. She relished the quiet days of renewal, the release from lessons that she had to share with Israi at the sri-Kaa’s insistence, the freedom to wander and sometimes dream.

Israi’s preferences, of course, were just the opposite. She loved festivals of all kinds, relishing the activities, the packed schedules of parties and preparations, the clothes, jewels, and finery, the music and games that seemed to spin on endlessly.

But there would not be another festival to celebrate until spring, when the best one of all was held. Sahvrazaa, the Festival of Fertility, brought the largest feasts, the greatest revels, and an atmosphere of kindness and goodwill, intense expectations and hopes. All the splendid old songs were sung in both palace and city. The bells rang, and many traditional rituals marked the occasion, including the grand mating migration of the males. Ampris loved the Sahvrazaa, for it marked the anniversary of Israi’s finding her and giving her a home. Together, they had woven their own private traditions of gift-giving and feasting with each other. But beyond that, they both loved the opportunity of playing pranks and running free of supervision while the adults were occupied with hatchings and ceremonies.

Still, spring was a long time away, too far away to think about today. Outside, it was pouring rain even harder than before. Israi was gone, summoned to spend the afternoon with her father. In past years, when Ampris was younger, she had been allowed to enter the Kaa’s study with Israi. She had found such times pleasing, for the Kaa would talk quietly of history or architecture, unrolling musty old scrolls of dim drawings to show them. Often he would hold Israi on his lap and allow Ampris to lean against his knee while he rubbed her head between her ears. The Kaa’s voice was deep with authority, yet gentle. Ampris loved to listen to him speak.