12 - The Bastard Outlander
Udeav Minor
Colonial Space
Northern Savannah
Morning
Usva's cerulean splendor had barely retreated past the northern sky when Timoteus of Kybha II had accepted the truth.
The lesser moons, Sade and Kivi, followed suit just before he had finally mustered enough courage to ask Madame Setiawati to assemble the factions in Ketumat.
The retreating celestial bodies laid bare the wide open skies of the savannah, its breadth tinged a rich shade of lavender for the morning hours. A purple spectacle with sparse cumulus clouds that would shadow down into the valley for a few more hours.
Teemo, as the others often abbreviated, had been smoking again. His habit had been held in hiatus until recently; he willed his way off them over the past few months. The cravings made for twitchy trigger fingers and headaches. He thought it'd make the shaking stop. The addict's mantra. Just this once.
Hand rolled wheat paper with chopped tobacco cloves harvested from a hidden stash left midplanet; a luxury he has saved for their eventual victory parade to ease his social anxiety. Now he was sucking down the ash reflecting on how naive he'd been. It hasn't even worked, he was still shaking.
He crushed his last cigarette under the heel of his well-worn boot. Nearly a dozen more had shared the same fate prior. Luckily, the grass was still wet with dew; but Timoteus wasn't concerned with the risk of a brushfire this early. He had a much larger weight on his mind.
He checked his PDA. 0850. Can't delay this any longer.
The young wolf had a single cigarette left in the repurposed carton. He removed it, placing it in a waterproof aluminum tin he had in his breast coat pocket.
His ritual spoiled, he began his solemn walk back.
Dew droplets sprinkled onto his trousers as he sauntered through the golden field of waist-high wheat. The crop had their last leaves of flowering visible before the harvest. Their yield was the local farmer's; not Ketumati, but he was a supporter, and shared eagerly. It wasn't ideal, but this soggy field was the only place Timoteus would find some privacy in the savannah.
As he walked in the morning sun he approached the long-cast shadow of a massive Emb; a colossal, prehistoric tree. This one, like most, was long dead, but petrified by the amber sap it once produced during its reign in prehistory. Sized at three hundred meters tall and fifty wide. Those still living shaded numerous small settlements across their world. It was ironic; there weren't forests on Udeav, but the few-thousand trees dotting this planet had been the largest living organisms in known space.
A month ago, this Emb had been nothing more than a hollowed out corpse. Today, it was the nomadic seat of power for Timoteus' people. Well, nearly two-hundred of them for a week at most. They had carved and reinforced the layers of timber and built a seasonal gathering place for their commune. In a short time, they'd move to another site they'd built months or even years earlier. Constant movement was tiresome, but it kept Ketumat alive.
Echos of grief hit him again when the field ended and he passed by two running children; a city-kid and a farmer's son. Playing tag along the dried creek bed awaiting its springtime release from the irrigation sluice. Ariane's legacy.
He'd fought against this site, tooth, claw and nail. Zeouna had insisted upon it. It was naturally fortified, she'd convinced, and insulated against the bonechilling nights. Timo had been in more than enough fires to suspect the sap would be flammable; and the political situation had been heating up.
He beheld upon the monumental husk before him. For Timoteus, their new home had been nothing more than a big target that screamed 'shoot us' in large print font. Even if Vikr and their mercenaries weren't usually bold enough to kill tribe members outright, they'd harass, provoke and prosecute as soon as they knew where the cadres met.
The conflict that had coddled Timo into adulthood had changed. The days of civil action were over, now it was a series of seasonal cold wars and shaping operations meant to force Ketumati's peoples to resistance. He assumed it was deemed more palatable to kill innocents when they could be labeled 'insurgents.'
The Emb's shadow enveloped Timo as he approached its base; several degrees cooler than before. The construction drones had carved steps into the side of its thick carapass, installing lights where possible. They worked repetitively today; completing the same tasks they had been instructed to perform the week earlier. Their lead programmer wouldn't be returning.
"Timoteus," One of his scouts greeted, forcing a smile. The sentry stood at the top of the steps, erecting himself against an ajar sliding aluminum door, arms crossed. The gray felid's eyes and ears rightly eschewed exhaustion. He'd been pushed to his limits the last week or so, they all had. Double duties, long patrols. The only respite they could hope for was some good news; and that wasn't on the agenda this morning.
Timoteus nodded, only able to meet the black slivers in the guard's eyes for a mere moment.
Inside, the foyer wasn't much to look at. Just a ten meter wide gathering place carved out of the tree. The hanging lights buzzed over crates of rations that centers might struggle to identify as foodstuffs.
Ketumat, the nomadic body councilier that united the 'tribes' of Udeav, didn't have much funds set aside for interior decorating. Beyond this, winding hallways sided with knotted panels led to a vestibule 'guarded' by two Nurr kids.
City boys. Timoteus noted; some sense of superiority conveyed by his glare. They reacted, huffing as they acknowledged his considerable presence. Both canids were either malnourished or just tiny by genetic misfortune. Their lack in size was made more apparent by the comically large blaster rifles slung on their shoulder that made their frames look even smaller. They gave Timoteus a wide berth. By contrast, Timoteus towered over the two, and had to physically lower his muzzle to make eye-contact.
Timoteus was already considered large by central systems standards, but at two meters in height he was practically a giant in the calorie-deficient colonies.
Timoteus exchanged only a cursory nod with the scrawny canid on his left. The guard cleared his throat, reminding Timoteus that there were some measures of decorum he needed to observe. The wolf stopped in his tracks; chiding himself for forgetting to surrender his weapons to the guards. Nothing was permitted in the room that could be used to shoot, stab, bash or otherwise gouge each other. Before these rules had been enforced, the death of an arguing member was an expected precedent more than an occasional gaffe.
The canid on his right handed him a plastic bucket labeled "M. Surga," in black marker. It had several weapons placed in it already. Timoteus didn't have to reach far to remove his weapons, he simply placed his right hand into the inside breast pocket of his raindrop-camouflage field jacket.
He produced a miniscule, practically ancient ballistic pistol and a serrated utility knife. The pistol hardly retained its parkerized finish; shiny metal wearing through on every edge. He left them with the guards, who wordlessly accepted them and shared a vaguely mocking glance with each other. They may have been more than a little surprised to see the storied scout leader so lightly armed.
Without further interruption, Timoteus continued down the winding hallway. The murmurs loudened, echoing off the hardened emb wood. It wasn't the usual banter Timo was used to. Some raised voices were heard, some questioning, others more aggressive; but absolutely no one was laughing.
As he traversed into the antechambers, he caught his reflection flowing in a basin of slow-moving springwater coasting through an eon's carved channel basin along the corners of the 'room'. He saw the likeness of an exhausted looking Lupine reflected back.
Frankly; he looked as terrible as he felt today. His matted, dirt-clogged fur was greyer than usual. A gray wolf of twenty-three years, Timoteus was of rarer stock than his canine, rodent and felid brethren and sisters. Physically, he was in the peak of his life, an athletically inclined man that possessed visually youthful features, but no one could confuse him for a child.
He looked like a man capable of great savagery; which was, in part, the truth. Wolves weren't known for their subtlety. A stereotype, as Timoteus was often thought of as a mute. With the exception of his little sister, Sophi, he was a quiet soul who preferred to support those he believed in.
He might have been diminutized as 'kid' on a central planet if one squinted hard enough; but with closer better look, all you'd see was a hardened man with colorful stories in his ice-gray eyes. The healed and still-healing scars across his body would tell the necessary second half; Timoteus was tragically middle-aged here.
As he slid the heavy-woven bead door curtains to the meeting chamber apart, he nearly collided with a hastily exiting member of a Mercantilist guild that he was cordial with, an amber-furred canid collie. They both glanced at each other. Her face stretched in shock, his neutral and unfazed. She always smiled and waved the same bashful way, Timo never understood why, and this time was no different. His last positive distraction before what was to be his first foray into the politics that governed the tribes.
The chambers were fuller than he'd expected; an absolute throng of the people. A few of the larger personalities of the four major tribes were speaking with their cadres of sycophants. Even at this informal level, Timoteus knew cajolers, self-imposed soothsayers and charlatans always rose to the top.
They had all likely prepared for what this was in regards to. Timoteus knew the other tribes, clans and various guilds of Ketumati were already talking amongst themselves about the rumors, but no one else knew for sure. There had been rumors before; so few took them as seriously as Timoteus. But only he knew the truth.
He dreaded it. Timoteus wasn't too young for politics, he just didn't have neat answers for the questions others would wouldn't be allowed to grieve on his own before others took advantage of the situation.
An oblong sphere of a 'table' had been carved into the room by Zeouna's drones, complete with accompanying chairs. Others had brought their own camp chairs with them. The participants all self-segregated into their factions.
The gathering was rapt, having seated themselves early in anticipation. He scanned the room, assessing each Ketumati guild before him. He felt the lump in his throat deepen as his fingertips went numb. The scout leader was palpably late.
Ketumat was a best-effort representative democracy; as interpreted by the five major factions and their vassals, and their representatives didn't like their time wasted. Most of the voices stilled as his footsteps reverberated in the chamber. Timo had never seen silence and order this quickly before, and Rao Zeouna could draw in a room.
On his right wing, The Dunealope, who were the logistical chain of Ketumat. They were of a hardy stock. Entirely nomadic, they traveled in large, armed caravans of levi-craft that looked like something out of post-apocalyptia. Despite this, they weren't much maligned by Vikr; as they kept the savannah's clear of offworld pirate checkpoints. It was a symbiotic relationship based on convenience; and Vikr reminded the Dunealope harshly the second they became inconvenient. The nomads were hesitant of Zeouna's leadership, as many felt she jeopardized their peaceful way of life. It had been one of her goals to wean them off their neutrality.
Timoteus recognized only the Dunealope's leader, Lunatus: A stripe-horned bovidae and one of the eldest members of Ketumat.
Next to him, the Agrarian's leader sat at the center table. A copper and black spotted lynx named Amir. He had brought friends, too, who filled in every standing space they could place a body in. It wasn't clear who had been selected; but Timoteus could see a lot of parents in the room. They had a lot to lose here.
The Agrarians, as the name implied, were the proletariat masses of Ketumat. The fishing crews, the mechanics, the average folk who built the basis of society. In Timoteus' eyes they were the heart of Ketumati's organization. Zeouna felt much the same, but in others opinions, they were merely powerless subjects.
Further past, the Mercantilist guilds aligned themselves in an orderly manner on the far left corner of the chamber. They were the most aloof clan in the gathering. And, to Timoteus, it looked like they'd come merely as a formality. Passera, the jet-black feathered Corvidae that was appointed their leader, silently measured Timoteus. His few attending clan members were from his most lucrative industrial sectors: sweatshops, brothel owners, drug dealers, and smugglers. Free mercantilism at its finest.
Timoteus couldn't blame them for their aloofness. The Mercantile class was possibly the only faction with a corporate-tolerated legal status in Ketumat. Vikr needed their surplus labor, as well as 'support' on the surface. As such, they were pragmatic; rarely recommending action that would shift the balance. The troubles of the last couple of years had been very unhappy times for them.
Inversely, Zeouna had never trusted them; they had everything to gain from peaceful coexistence with Vikr. She had always assumed their ranks were filled with informants; so Zeouna had fed them a constant stream of noise, bullshit and all other sorts of falsity. To Passera's credit, there was rarely anything that leaked out.
And then there was Ariane's own. Never far from power; at about mid-table, sat the Nurr delegation. A congregation of other prominent Nurr stood behind those tabled, with one member notably absent. They'd left her chair open, her absence an irreplaceable void.
The Nurr were haughty urban folk out of Settler City. Similar to the Mercantilists, they made an 'honest' living by undercutting Vikr's outrageously expensive living conditions. Vikr housing required employment; and they only paid locals in company credit. The Nurr filled the gap, but to Timoteus they were nothing more than landlords and payday-loans with a higher perceived ethical kayfabe.
Most Nurr were good people, Timo had to remind himself, but they had a reputation for possessing a superior attitude. They felt as though they were the founding members of Ketumat. A claim they were proud of, but that no other guild cared much to challenge. Nurr was an exclusive club, one led appropriately by a meticulous brute.
Their patriarch leered at Timoteus as he crossed the room.
Ping Xiao. A silver-haired ape, swathed in a navy-blue quilted jacket; zipper open and revealing a concealed blast armor carrier. Timo knew he needed it, as Ping collected political capital through the lenses of intimidation and loansharking rather than pleasantries. It was easy to see why others would fall in line; the simian stood a shoulder length higher than anyone other than Timoteus in the room and was twice his age.
Their mutual disdain for each other was not equitable. Ping likely regarded Timoteus the same manner as he did all other non-power-seekers; an unambitious, forgettable pawn that existed merely for exploitation. Timoteus, in return, identified Ping's avarice as a grave threat to the good work of his predecessors. What others saw as initiative, Timoteus recognized as their people's greatest liability.
After walking through the gauntlet of lingering stares, Timoteus hastily sat at his carved chair.
Cradled with him, to the right of the carved podium, were members of Timoteus's own clan; the Mata Surga. They were Zeouna's crowning innovation. A recent upstart house built from those who volunteered or that didn't fit neatly anywhere else. Rejects. Criminals. Survivors turned into fighters. Outcasts turned into warriors. More simply referred to as 'the scouts,' they were the first to move and select a new location for the Ketumati. Before the past ten years the job had been peaceful; slow even. Things got more dire after Vikr started taking them seriously.
Timo was merely filling in for Zeouna until a suitable replacement was selected, but was surprised to see his two best patrol leads had come to replace Timoteus' own position as adjutant. Two cats; Dalia, blanche white, and Fitzgerald, grey and black tiger stripes with pointy ears. They'd just returned from the northern rim.
Zeouna had kept it all together. Mata Surga, Timoteus reflected. The 'Eyes of Heaven', their name allegedly translated, from a colony dialect popular around Udeavan.
"Scout Leader!"
The concerned vocality of Madam Setiawati, Ketumat's matriarch, broke him from his thoughts. She was standing at the podium to his left; a frail old mouse in colorful flowing robes. She was seemingly held up a hand-carved stake of Emb; her walking stick.
"Madam Seti," Timoteus affirmed, shifting uncomfortably.
Ketumat was more of an accepted idea than a procedural body. Seti, as she was often diminutively called, had a ministerial role in keeping unity in session. While the elected leader guided the body of tribes, she kept them in informal decorum. She was overwhelmed, as there wasn't a designated leader gathered among them. And, the worst was yet to come.
This arrangement was flexible enough to not be bogged down by bureaucracy, but powerful enough that Madame Setiawati shared a chaotic authority over the tribes should the leader step out of line. A balance of power.
Zeouna had always loved Seti's chaotic checks on power, but as much as Timoteus trusted her, he was more wary of her power. Seti was a single point of failure: not as easily replaced or protected.
"You're late, child," the elder Setiawati chided. There was empathy in her tone, but also some panic. It wasn't a good sign of things to come.
"Yes, Madam. Forgive me."
"Is it true?!" A member of the Agrarian sect practically yelled. Timoteus yanked his head to the corner he thought it had originated from, and every face his gray eyes found looked worried.
A senior mercantilist stood and cried out, "Tell us, boy!"
There were murmurs and cries again, like waves crashing against the jetty protecting the calm in his mind. It was impossible to properly collect himself.
Madam Seti lowered herself to Timo's ears, trembling with nervous tremors the whole way.
"Timo," She whispered directly to him, "Tell us."
There's no running from it now.
He didn't like all assembled, but they all deserved to know the truth. Ariane was never coming home. Zeouna was most likely dead; not that Timo had a way to confirm it. There was no adjective in Timoteus' vocabulary to express the sorrow in this knowledge.
Timoteus stood. The room quieted again and he saw the terrified faces focused on him.
He inhaled, and then spoke.
"Ariane Jean-Starkly is dead."
The words had come out weird, but their meaning echoed across those gathered even stranger. It wasn't something he'd ever hoped to say.
"Rao Zeouna. I, I-" He stuttered, unable to commit to a word to describe it.
"We lost her."
He had barely finished before the wild pack of animals went predictably ballistic.
"Under Usva…" the matriarch exclaimed, taking their moon's name in vain. She plummeted back into her three legged camp chair, her face cradled into her frail hands.
Are there not other leaders? Timo fumed to himself. Godsdamned them all! They're taking the opportunity to argue amongst themselves. No presence of mind! Not a single reasonable reaction. How is it possible I can control myself, but these beasts can't even pretend to be calm.
"The rumors are not true," Timoteus screamed over the throng, an admonishment of the impotence and discord he'd just witnessed. His words piqued the interest of every member of Ketumat.
"Vikr's lies! They aren't true," he repeated, finally calming some and silencing others. "It's not possible. You all know it, too."
Hostage. Murdered. The claim was so unthinkable to the point that it was the first time he'd even pondered it. Zeouna loved Ariane. In the way that few Udeavan's were even capable of loving each other. It was an open, if forbidden, secret. It wasn't to her advantage; Zeo's leadership was hindered by the politically inconvenient rumors. Inevitably, she had preferred the murmurs to distancing herself from the Nurr's most fabled member.
"Are you sure?" A doubting voice Timo recognized as Ping Xiao thundered. The silvery ape always played theatrics with his politicking.
"Think about what you are saying!" An agrarian mother asked, disgust rattling in her voice. "There's no way!"
"Why are you so sure they are lies?" He challenged back, pinpointing his vocal ire to the peasant before him; but, the question was for the masses.
"Sure, it's more likely our leader wouldn't kill Ariane outright. I don't rule it out, but odds are, they got involved in some reckless theft that went too far. Zeouna, playing a rogue hero again."
"Rao Zeouna," An attendee corrected vitriolically.
Timo's jaws clenched so hard he could have bit through steel. Ping's disrespect was unconscionable.
"So yes, boy," the ape continued. "Rao Zeouna is responsible, even if she didn't pull the trigger. It's obvious that Vikr would try to diffuse blame away from themselves," The simian returned. "Apologies, young one. But, you must learn to read the truth between the lies."
"It's unbelievable to the point that the lies likely aren't meant for us anyway," Setiawati intervened, inconspicuously agreeing with Ping.
"Indeed. So, let's start with what you do know," Ping marched on, "I assume you prepared a report? What happened? Who pulled the trigger? Where is Rao Zeouna?"
They want details? Timo thought seethingly, I had to see one of my only real hopes for the future resting in cold storage. I didn't think it could get worse; only to find out they'd hung her head around the triple long-range transmitters outside Kam'Pak'Har.
The same trio Zeouna'd first used to reach out to her.
"No one pulled a trigger, Ping," Timo snarled with bile. "She wasn't that lucky."
"Tell me, I have a right to know," he said, leaning forward. For a moment, Timo caught the cynical glint slough off the ape's features. Maybe there was something more to him.
The wolf obliged.
"They sent Ari back to her father's residential compound. Crated up. Cowards. It was inteded to sting."
"The colonial press are saying Rao Zeouna had abided by the old ways," Passera, the avian Mercantilist, parroted from her perch. "The killing of a hostage at the declaration of war."
"Yes, that's the narrative. It was all staged to look personal," Timo continued sorrowfully. There was mass revulsion, pity and sadness among them. Ariane was loved.
"Staged? How do you know it wasn't genuine?" Ping asked, eyes narrowed with skepticism. "Rao Zeouna has a long history of acting without consensus. A bloody accelerationist. Maybe we don't know her the way we thought we did. Maybe she just snapped."
It was an absurd outburst that didn't even need to be addressed from Timo's perspective; though others disagreed.
"This is a fucking mutiny!" A frothing-mad agrarian voice from Timo's corner screamed, reaffirming why weapons were verboten.
Stabilize, Timo! Triage it. Get this under control.
"Had," Timo clarified. "Had a long history of ignoring politics when necessary, yes."
Seti had heard enough of Ping's tripe as well. She was never down for long, and the iron will in her voice returned.
"Control yourself before you end up saying something you'll regret, Xiao. She'd do nothing like you are suggesting!"
He harrumphed at his thiswarning, unaware it was one backed up by scouts more than willing to dispose of him.
"This is a cover up," Timoteus assessed openly. "They maximized trauma. Closed casket. But they can't hide what I saw. A monster killed Ari. One with knowledge of them, their history. Of us. One with the skills and resources to hunt them both down."
"Someone willing to kill Vikrmen, KEI as well as their own. Someone on the inside. One of us, maybe."
He was met with a stunned silence from the assembly, but he wasn't finished shocking them out of their complacency.
"Someone willing to work through Anders Ljón," Timoteus further accused. A monster of known quantity to the group, the Lion's name had been tormenting him ever since he'd reached his own investigation's conclusion.
The hush persisted before Ping broke it. He stood enraged, not having enough room to wander about to cool off.
"They warned me about you. Warmonger. Your innate violence," the ape started, his own fury barely contained. "I'm as distrustful as anyone else here. But, there isn't a single one of us that would gain from Ari's death."
His gaze circled the room; finding varied sympathy, compassion and suspicion alike.
"You know well how many raids we dealt with before Ariane joined us. How many animals have we lost? As much as any here! Ariane Jean-Starkly changed the whole damn game."
"I do not doubt we have leaks. But implying any of us would target Ariane is a ridiculous theory," he derided, attracting some vocal support. "Why would Anders lay a hand on a damned Jean-Starkly, anyway? His contract was predicated on maintaining her safety!"
A mutual business arrangement you benefited from, no doubt. The wolf kept this thought to himself.
"I thought the same, at first. But, are there any other hunters with lion's claws? A pattern unique beyond coincidence. I found them on some dead Vikrmen down south. They died the same night Ari sent her distress."
Timo had watched Ping light with his own torch before realizing too late he was going to be next. The Ape's eyes froze on him for a moment, that's when Timo knew for sure.
"I hope, scout leader, you are searching your own in this accusation," Ping said. "Besides, we don't even have Zeouna's current whereabouts. If this was Zeouna's doing, you'd be trying not to avert blame, no?"
"My alternative theory is much worse for you, that Ipromise,"Timo retorted.
"Enough!" Seti chastised from her podium. "We've heard quite enough accusations today! And they won't solve our problems until we have order."
"It's fine, Seti," Timo calmed, gray eyes unwavering from Ping's own. "We keep our own under watch, we compartmentalize, now is no exception. Speaking of, We had three scouts out near Kam'Pak'Har. Only one returned."
"Ira of Kivi."
"He survived?" Lunatus asked, piqued by his territory's own affairs.
"They released him."
"Who's they?"
"Centers recovering Ari's remains," Timo explained. "Only two. Ira was completing his planned recce, but they overwhelmed him and his relief."
"The towers," Ping added. "Before the reports were out."
"They knew where to look," Setiawati considered. "Who were they?"
"High-end mercenaries. They acted like offworlders; didn't indicate they were with Vikr but Ira believed they were working directly for Demitrius."
"Mencolek?" Ping asked.
Misdirection, Timo , a dialect he knew well.
"From KEI? I thought that at first, too. Ira's still under watch, just in case."
"It's not like KEI to release prisoners. They get paid on internment quotas," Dalia surmised from Timo's flanks.
A throat cleared from the left-most corner.
"There's something else," Passera, the black-feathered corvid uttered quietly, shifting uncomfortably before continuing. Mercantilists weren't generally concerned with matters of security; so this perked-up Timo's ears.
"Demetrius called me directly yesterday, begging for information on who killed his daughter."
"He asked me where I could find your surviving scout."
"So?" Seti responded. "KEI's scum simply reported their findings."
"That's the weird part, madame. Demi mentioned Anders didn't know what he was talking about when he asked. That he was being lied to."
Timoteus's brow ruffled at the new, contradictory information.
These backchannel conversations weren't common, but neither were they unheard of. When Vikr's chief of security reached out, it was usually to lay terms for 'clearing' encampments of Colonials. It wasn't negotiation, no, it was simply to prevent additional scenes of violence that could hurt their PR.
"Ira broke protocol. We picked him up last night," Timo added, appreciating the connection. "Around the same time that search team was out."
"How did he know, but Ander's hunters didn't?" Passera asked. "Why would Jean-Starkly be in the loop?"
"Why would he call unless he knew?"
There were no palpable answers. No obvious truths.
"That rules him out," Ping assessed, foolishly.
"Does it?" Seti ridiculed sarcastically. She'd lived to see too much barbarity to take a father's love at face value. "What did you tell him?"
"I had nothing to give him other than my sympathies. That we had nothing to do with Ari's death. This was all news to me."
Lunatus looked distraught at the revelation. The striped ox had a close relationship with the old bird that transcended clan loyalties; no secrets between them.
"You took a call from one of Vikr's closest men, and you trusted him? This could be war on our lands, and you kept this a secret?! You didn't think to tell us?!" Lunatus bellowed, his horns making the normally peaceful man a bit more threatening.
"He was desperate, Luna! Nearly babbling," the crow plead. "It wasn't an act, Lunatus,"
"How do you know?" Madam Seti asked. Still skeptical of the premise.
"Really?!" Passera exclaimed in disbelief. "His own daughter?"
"How loyal is he?" Seti asked.
The young wolf was going to answer, but was cut-off by his second attendant; Fitzgerald.
"Demetrius would show up early to his own execution if Armstrong Vikr ordered it," the gray striped felid succinctly assessed. "He'd sharpen the damn ax himself if it pleased the court."
"He's a company man, Madam Seti. Through and through."
The mouse closed her eyes and sighed.
"Then we still can't rule out deception."
There was one more uncomfortable topic. The terminal status of their leader. Timo knew it was coming, and wished they'd not push the issue; but he knew better. Her disappearance was not lost on her political enemies; who's frenzied appetite for succession no doubt began hours ago.
Ping Xiao, as expected, took point. He kept his face as stern as possible, but Timo knew it was triumph behind the mask. His moment to seize.
"Have you found a lead on Rao Zeouna's… Absence?"
Timo reached into his coat pocket, his fingers finding the rectangle of smooth, cool metal he'd found last night. His nails traced the spider cracks in the surface before he grasped it.
She wasn't in the morgue with Ari. Part of me wished she had been; a cleaner resolution. No one could hurt her anymore. Instead, I had to follow Ariane's emergency beacon.
Timoteus pulled out a cracked Alumiglass PDA. Twenty years old. Customized by its previous owner.
He slid it a meter or so on the table.
"I found what's left," Timo confirmed, fighting for the courage not to emote too strongly. Nausea took hold now, again, as the traumatic discovery of his leader's ashes had. He'd seen viscera too often for it to be a biological response; this was about dignity. No one deserved to be found that way.
"She wasn't traveling in the South like they said. They never made it that far. The best I could find was two pairs of anchors and rigging on Ariane's last pings in the midrim. I believe everything happened there."
"No body?" Ping asked.
"Nothing I could identify."
"Well, was there enough for you to bring it back?" Ping antagonized further. It seemed retribution for Timo's previously gratuitous explanations.
It. The coldness of the word sent hate through Timo's heart. It was found undignified; barely fragments of torched bone and ash; someone who deserved better than to be scattered and forgotten. He'd found her tablet among a squad of dead Vikrman in a burned-out ranger. It took a moment for the politically-naive wolf to understand Ping's intentions.
It's not enough that he's capitalizing on Ariane's sacrifice; he is laying the groundwork to incriminate me.
"I did what she would have wanted," Timo insisted. "I buried her. I marked her. I moved on. I took that burden on myself. I hope you can trust that, Ping of Nurr."
Ping lay back in his seat, head toward the ceiling in the carved antechamber. A deliberate pause that Timo expected would temper his next words. He was wrong.
"I'm just suggesting-"
"-Ping!" Seti yelled, striking her walking stick upon the emb. She knew what came next would be nothing more than calculated noise. She was correct, as usual.
"We are trusting you. Her protege, after all. Your claims would have more credibility if you had brought her. Who knows you might even-"
Timo's blood went white hot in an instant, boiling over it a fit of wrath.
"-ENOUGH!" Timo screamed, slamming his hands upon the table so hard that the room vibrated.
The room silenced, even Seti looked scared. Ping lingered, mouth agape; the outburst having sucked whatever filth was about to flow from his lungs.
"Zeouna's dead." Timoteus declared. "She has to be. She'd never run off; she'd never abandon us!"
"How haven't you pieced it together? You've been comfortable enough, haven't you? They're sending two messages. One for us, and one for Jean-Starkly. We received it at the same time."
"They are creating war. And this time? We can't stop it. We can only react."
"Oh, as if the last few years haven't been clear enough a message," ping yelled back. "If they wanted to kill us. They'd just kill us! Our leader is, was, always pushing the limits of what we can effectively accomplish."
"And," the ape flourished. "Inevitably, she pushed too hard. So they killed her. Does that not indicate something?"
"Are you implying we don't resist?" A member of the Agrarian sect murmured loudly. THe pangs of panic were starting to spread again.
"I'm outright saying those godsdamned warrior-monks of hers pushed too hard!" He bellowed, eyes locked in a full-speed joust with Timoteus. "You fanatics are going to get everyone in this gathering killed. And because of her, Nurr's finest had to suffer the same consequences."
Timoteus' world was spinning. Ping dared to question Zeouna's integrity. He used Ariane's death as a cudgel to further his own cause.
Madam Seti straightened her posture as much as the old rodent could. She was tough, Timoteus knew. He watched the exact moment she took control of her emotions. He watched her face flicker from grief to poise. Like him, she was used to seeing loved ones die. And for a lot longer. She spoke.
"We will understand this. We will adapt. This is not something I want to do tonight, but it must be done. Before this gathering is complete, Ketumat will vote on the next Rao," she began.
"Most of us have been here before. The rules are simple, anyone can step forward; anyone can be nominated. One vote per clan; majority wins. Votes can be changed. No ties."
She spun herself around to scan the room for a few seconds.
"Are there any questions?"
Predictably, there were none. There was a pause for about twenty minutes before anyone was ready to speak. Every clan murmured amongst themselves, politicking and capitalizing on last minute favors. All except the Nurr, that is. Ping didn't move much; his fellow Nurr attendees circled the room, no doubt building coalitions for his ascension.
The mass of agrarians will demand assurances no one can make. Timo thought. The Dunealope and Merchantilists won't want the heat on them; they rely on being seen as neutral. Only the Nurr can deliver any real promise of safety, putting them at the top of the food chain. And without Ariane…
It all sickened Timoteus, who rested his head in his hands, staring down at the table carved by his predecessor. They'd already moved on.
The calamity ceased only when Passera moved to speak first. The sparrow had made up his mind before arriving and It seemed the Mercantile delegation felt entitled to bring about the first nomination. Passera motioned to speak.
"The mercantile guild nominates Ping Xiao of the Nurr, as the next Rao. He will find balance in our response, and complete Rao Zeouna's vision for peace."
Someone scoffed loudly, Timo didn't see who.
A pragmatic choice; Timoteus thought, burying his strong emotions on his mental word choice. The political spectacle that came next was much harder for him to bear.
"Do you accept this nomination?" Madam Seti asked.
Ping cleared his throat, embracing the spotlight upon him.
"I do with great humility, Madame Seti," he said, magnanimously, "It would be my privilege to lead this alliance."
Humility! Timoteus scorned in his mind. Ping wouldn't be humble if his life depended on it! And he forgot to mention "with you" after his last word. There goes our unity!
"Mata Surga?"
Seti's question froze Timoteus. His heart ceased movement for more than a second. Why had she looked at me second? What is she trying to do here?
He cleared his throat. The moment he'd feared most; he struggled for the right syllables. Who could replace Zeouna? Who among them had the tenacity? Who was able to lead their people? Could he support the whims of a man like Ping?
His second patrol leader, Dalia, answered each question for him. The snow white cat nodded at Fitzy, who returned the gesture.
Their gesticulating alerted Timoteus, who's pupils dilated when he figured out what was happening. Timo realized all too late their reason for joining the meeting; A conspiracy had been plotted from under his nose.
"The Scouts raise our own leader, Timoteus of Kyhba II, as Rao," Dalia said, placing her hand on Timo's shoulder.
He looked forward, eyes widened with shock. He'd underestimated the popularity that Zeouna's vacant shadow had cast onto him.
Why was this happening?
Madam Seti donned a shrewd smile as her scheming became suddenly clear to Timo. She was having fun with the results of her political calculations. Ping was having a rather intense whisper conversation with one of his attendants; clearly surprised there'd be resistance. The whole gathering were equally caught off-guard; with some corners conversing positively and others with panic.
"Do you accept this nomination, Timoteus?" The mouse finally asked. Her brown eyes eschewed hope.
In truth, Timoteus didn't want this. His heart was still broken for his friends, having never doubted them or their leadership for a second. The reservoir for doubt, it seemed, was reserved only for himself.
For what the others observed as mere seconds, Timoteus felt long hours. An unbearable silence that Timoteus remembered echoed Zeouna's own shock when she was nominated. He was just a boy then. Watching his older sister-in-arms become his leader; his Rao.
And now?
Timoteus wasn't a believer in anything other than the flesh, but he imagined himself before Zeouna in whatever afterlife existed, having to explain why Mata Surga ended with her. Stuttering through his explanation for why hadn't fought harder and why his ambition had been so weak. How he'd given Ketumat up to a corrupt landlord.
Ping watched Timo hatefully. Out of view of the attending congregation, Timo's fist clenched beneath the table. A lightning strike of opportunity coursed through his veins. Streaks of hot anger crossed his heart and distributed themselves as resolute energy through him. He'd felt this before. The pride, the dutiful sacrifice.
The wolf's shock subsided into an honored peace. Resolve incarnate. He wasn't done fighting. Even if he lost. He would make it count.
"Madam Seti," he finally responded, looking her, eye-to-eye. He let the words dawdle in-situ. It was purposeful; an outsider's imitation of political stagecraft.
"Given the alternative, I have no choice but to accept."
The wolf's words declared war.
Ping leaned forward; his calculated politicking having hit an unexpected snag. What was likely a triumphant fantasy just hours ago, slowly became horror upon his face. Timoteus watched a grimace strike its way across his face.
The Nurr side of the hall was enraged. Their allies in the Mercantilists followed suit. Members balked and groaned. Interspersed sympathetics add their hushed whispers in opposition.
The Dunealope took an extra twenty minutes to make their decision. Lunatus consulted with the other elders as well as the ordinary Ketumati around him, irrespective of tribe. They whispered among themselves, occasionally covering their lips with their hands to prevent the two upstart factions from seeing their discussions. He dawdled in his notebook for a few moments before committing to a decision.
Good man. Timoteus thought. Lunatus should have been nominated. I can't win; and Ping shouldn't.
After this, the bovidae stood.
"I apologize for delaying," His voice boomed. "I had some hard decisions to make. And I would not dare make them alone."
"The Nurr have brought us wealth and legitimacy in Settler City. They've given us shelter, they've given us access to resources that make our way of life possible."
"And I knew the heart of this alliance," the horned elder spoke, "I knew her as Ariane Jean-Starkly."
Ping became uncomfortable. He was losing control of the room. Lunatus recognized this and extended an olive branch.
"Brother Ping. You are my friend. My Ally. We've worked together to bring peace to the united tribes."
"But you?" He said, exhaling sadly. "You are no Ariane."
"And as for the Mata Surga," the elder started sternly, facing Timoteus. "The Dunealope made ourselves clear when we voted against Zeouna those years ago. We do not support any violence committed by individuals in the name of the group," He continued. "Our oath, our principles to the gods above do not allow for it, and we will never support it in any way."
"But the fact remains. Rao Zeouna kept Ketumat together. Eagerly together. We record not a better period in our history for our children to grow. We are stronger united. We will always be."
Ping had enough.
"Lunatus. I'm warning you-" The ape bellowed, kicking his seat a full meter behind him.
"-Brother Ping, as much as it pains me to say. I do not believe the Nurr can keep us together the same way. Timoteus is our choice. If only to keep us together."
A political time-bomb went off. Slams on the tables. The room erupted again. Spittle from incensed city-folk flew, besieging the other sides of the ring. It was a deafening start.
"This is death, Luna!" Ping screamed, cutting through the horde's words. "This is how we die together!"
"If you aren't voting, shut your damned mouths!" Seit chastised before swiveling harshly. "Agrarians? Where are you?"
Two dozen animals shifted uncomfortably. There wasn't an Agrarian leader; these were common workers. Grain farmers, protein synthesizers. They were roughly a third of the room. The larger families of independent workers. They made their own decisions.
"Who will speak for you?" Seti asked. She had to know the most courageous would respond.
"Um, Me, Madam Seti," A black and amber striped felid replied, Amar. As expected.
Amar, a young lynx. Good man, Timo knew. An honest man. And most importantly, a new father. He knew the costs of his decision. Timo was soothed by the fact that if his spontaneous coalition lost here, at least it was to someone thinking rationally.
"We, uhh, have a split vote," Amar announced nervously. He approached the table.
"You know the rules, Amar," Seti leered. There would be no ties.
"Of course, of course!" He replied. "Just give us a second."
"Do you have a procedure in place to break the tie?"
Seti, being an impatient mouse, was clearly incensed by hesitation.
"Of course." Amar said as a chameleon brought forth a bundle of straw. "We will pick straws. Shortest wins. I'm representing Timoteus. Ewe is representing the Nurr."
They rustled, picking straws rapidly after making their decision.
"Is this how we're doing this?" Ping opined. "Really? For the love of-"
His outburst coalesced with the comparison of straw lengths on the table. Timo didn't look, he'd assumed the game of chance was rigged.
Until it wasn't!
"It's Timoteus! Mata Surga!" A delighted Amar yelled, jumping on top of the gathering table and holding the dried reed overhead.
Half the room cheered and clapped while the other half half-heartedly shrugged the loss off. Ping lowered his head, slamming his forehead on the tabletop.
The wolf froze. This was a nightmare. Rao Pro-tempore, and he didn't have anything planned.
The room eventually quieted down, awaiting Timoteus, Madame Seti, or even Ping to fill the silence. The latter animal spoiled it.
"Really?" The Ape asked open-endedly, laughing in disbelief. He was going to subject all to his lectures again.
"Timoteus? The mute?!"
Even Madame Seti hadn't anticipated this response. She turned her back to him, certainly failing to anticipate it would continue.
"First we elected Zeouna," his voice revolted. "A girl with no history; not a single day of legitimate resistance before she appeared on our doorstep begging us for shelter."
"Now this bastard outlander?"
Outlander. Timoteus hated that word; he'd bled for the Ketumat as much or more than Ping. More than any Nurr lining their pockets off Vikr towny business in their slums, to say the least.
"Does this seem like a society built on birthright?" Seti countered, defending the current and previous Rao. "Zeouna grew us by forty children! Crops grown, mouths fed; the future of our peoples." She chided.
She was going to let it go, but she about faced and got so close to Ping that many others flinched thinking she was going to strike with her walking stick.
"A number no other previous Ketumat could have dreamt of!" She yelled, not just chiding anymore. It was Ping's turn to scream. He was playing a dangerous game.
"We did it as beggars, thieves and murderers!" He boomed. "We could be so much more."
"I was not finished," the elder mouse said, "The scouts have defended Ketumat for years. This bastard outlander has done more for you then either of us can repay."
"Show some respect."
"With respect, elder," Ping responded, "I only meant that it's time for a change in direction."
"This issue was put to a vote and decided," Seti declared, "You know the consequences of continuing this line of thought. I will hear no more of this."
With that, Ping focused his ire on the newly elected Rao.
"Do you have anything to say, Timoteus?" Ping questioned, tinges of anger still plaguing his voice.
"Or will you find another loudmouth street whore to throw your lot behind?"
There were audible gasps from among the gathered throng. It was a cruel statement and an unpopular sentiment. Even some of his strongest advocates muttered with disgust.
Rage. Timoteus fumed silently. The kind anger that would have caused lesser men to self-immolate. In truth, he would have preferred to kill the man; he'd have every right to.
Petty squabbles. Ping would not have that victory, at least not today.
"Nothing to you, specifically," Timoteus dismissed, maintaining his dedication to brevity and calm. An earned, martial calmness that could only be found from a member of a warrior caste such as he.
"Do you accept this truth, Timoteus?"
He answered without hesitation this time.
"Yes, Madam Seti."
"Timoteus of Kybha Two, is the new leader of Ketumat," Seti proclaimed.
"Rao Timoteus," a voice from the Dunealope raised.
The superficial cheers and congratulations gave way to silent, nonverbal urges for Timoteus to speak.
Timoteus rose from his seat. He was silent for another ten seconds before he spoke. He panicked, he flailed. He wasn't a speaker, and the others all knew. He looked directly at Ping. Timo remembered his words and reignited the flame of resistance in his heart.
"This-"
"-This is not a privilege."
"It is not an honor."
"It is a burden."
Timo studied the room.
"I will not thank you for it. I don't want any thanks in return."
"It is a burden. It should be. But it isn't just mine."
"We will honor Rao Zeouna and Ariane by continuing what they fought for. What we've fought for. This burden is ours to carry. And we will carry it."
"She'd want us to learn from any mistakes she made; no matter how hard it is to accept. My first priority is and has always been to protect the united tribes."
"If I could avenge Zeouna through peace; I would do it. If I could promise you negotiation would fix this, I would do that as well. She'd wanted peace just as much as you do."
"But at this moment, make no mistake. We are at war. We've resisted for survival. And we will fight to survive as well."
"I will be leading a scouting party tonight. We will relocate in the next few days as a precaution."
He thought about ending his remarks there; but knew others needed more. His hands shook with fear.
"None of us are strangers to death. What is strange, is that dimming hope I see in your faces this morning."
"Truth being said, in the last few hours I wondered how much hope I still have left. We are all asking ourselves the same question. I know I am. There is no shame in it. You aren't weak."
"If Zeo-," He broke, "-If Rao Zeouna could be killed. How could any of us be safe?"
"The answer is our unity."
"She once said we are bigger than our leaders. Ketumat, this unity that we cherish, is what matters most. It's what protects us. Not any one person. Not any one leader."
"I can't do this alone."
"So we'll move forward together. We will struggle together; cry together, some nights. We'll go to bed hungry more than we want. Angry, too. But we'll strike back together. We will rise again. Together. That is my promise."
"I will leave you all to mourn Rao Zeouna in your own ways. As for me? I will be doing a memorial service for her in the field tonight."
"The way she would have wanted."