The Suitor
“Look here, old son. I don't mind telling you this means a fate worse than death – but for the good of our mutual venture, I'll do it.” Gareth Swales – Cry Wolf by Wilbur Smith
The station commandant stared balefully out the window of his office, his arms crossed, fingers of one hand tapping against his thin arm, the cord-like muscles flexing in restraint. “And just how did two hundred washed-out old soldiers board this station unannounced?” he asked the person behind him without turning.
His assistant stood with his head bowed, almost in submission. “I believe they were drafted under the Emergency Mobilization Act by a high ranking officer." he offered, pulling out a small PDA "We've also managed to pick up subtle changes in shipping details. The two events are correlated but we haven't found any proof.” he offered the small work screen with both hands as a gift.
The commandant snorted in disgust, still staring out into the great black “So, the Craftsman continues to grind against his seniors even in senility,” he said, voice dripping with distaste. “How long until the general ships out?”
Giving up on the PDA, and the assistant brought back to himself for review, “He has about a week before his scheduled transports are ready, in the mean time it's likely he'll continue to bring up more draftees to the station-”
“More?” cut in the commandant, finally turning. “Just how many warriors are we talking about?”
The assistant took a quiet swallow,“Ground controllers report at least four hundred still barracked at various air fields, there's also been a surge in flight requests,” he answered. “The hydroponic system and environ controllers should still be able to handle that load quite well.”
“I don't care about that." said the commandant with venom "What the hell is that man thinking? Is he trying to start a war? It's not like Commune hasn't been giving us enough trouble.”
The question was a bit out the the assistants league, so he stayed silent.
- - - -
Cobaal tasted the processed air of the station, it had been a while since he'd last breathed the slightly tangy air of the artificial environments created on-board stations such as this. The observation deck was quiet; even though the area doubled as a recreation area, the sheer space of the view outside humbled many chelti who had looked up and seen only the forest canopy their whole lives.
To help make things easier, recreation areas like this were modelled loosely after the jungles on Seloca. Large metal frames covered in soft, cushion-like plastic were scattered around the large room. From these metal frames 'branches' emerged, while not up to the real thing back home these were large enough to accommodate small amounts of bolted down furniture, canvas tarpaulins above these created a slight shade from the sometimes harsh artificial lighting.
Around and above him people rested on chairs, at tables or on the floor; mostly engaged in quiet activities. Pieces were placed on boards, maneuvered , fought, and occasionally removed in complex strategy games. Others simply talked, read, and some worked on personal projects. A dim sense of easy comfort permeated the surroundings.
The casual clothing of the combined occupants revealed many of them to be veterans, the loose shirts and pillowy shorts showing off straight squad scars on forearms denoting experience while complex patterns distinguishing different clans resided on biceps and triceps. A few shirtless males even displayed 'love marks' on their shoulders; many of the still fresh claw marks from jealous lovers had barely scabbed. The deep marks started just under the shoulder-blades and drew together at the base of the neck on top of the shoulders, many left as one final goodbye.
Equipping the former retirees hadn't been easy; the supply department was digging it's heels in under political pressure from the assembly. Uiguay's slowly expanding cadre of officers were scrounging around, trying to find enough spares to fuel the small, but steadily growing battalion. So far their greatest success was in trying to book tickets for them all to come up to the station, not one of their most inspiring victories.
In the dim reflection of the wide viewing port, Cobaal saw Hazhed lift himself from his seat in the fake canopy and make a few farewells to his companion, a slim male with the short blunt claws of an office worker, who responded somewhat grudgingly. Despite his age, Hazhed showed none of it as he scaled down the metal tree, face down, claws easily gripping the soft cushions. Leaping down the last few metres he recovered and walked towards Cobaal, who turned to face his fellow officer.
“Peace.”
Cobaal smiled and replied, “Peace,” making the customary hand motion, putting the palm of his hand over one eye. Ever since their first trip up to the station on that rainy day Hazhed had almost developed a second wind of youthful vitality, treating the much younger Cobaal almost as a friendly rival. Peace was a traditional form of informal parley between small rivals, allowing them to have a free conversation, Hazhed had been calling on this tradition whenever he and Cobaal talked alone.
“Ten seats, plus whatever fits in the overhead luggage.”
Cobaal cringed. “Almost not worth the effort.”
Hazhed motioned sideways with his head, and the two walked side by side towards the exit.
“Kalon's still working on getting that Kilo-class dropship. There's still hope.”
“If he actually manages to get that thing, I'll take on a drake in the arena.”
“A bold challenge, he won't be able to resist. Now, lets see what the Craftsman wants.”
The two left in silence, the small murmur and warmth of the observation deck fading behind them.
- - -
“There's still a lot of resistance from parts of the assembly, we've been unable to get our requisitions passed. Apparently some of the higher members are pressuring the junior ministers into holding out on anything with my name on it.” Said Uiguay, informing the assembled officers. The cadre stood looking very serious, despite their board room being a disused minor storage room; several of the less twitchy officers had already developed a layer of dust.
“We've managed to identify the main point of resistance. Most of the minsters involved are in the Minister of Interior Affairs' camp, the head Heksus clan , blaming backlogs in production. The man's a dirty liar, in that most of the equipment is already here aboard the Stellar Quay, it just needs to be cleared for loading.”
Uiguay looked through the assembled officers. Not everyone was here, and not all of Uiguay's new officers had been invited yet; these were all chel he knew and trusted. There was no physical change in the room, but over a dozen minds began ticking over the problem at hand, eyes gleamed and hands went to chins.
“Of course, you've all realised that there's no way we can get our supplies completely legitimately within our time frame.” more than one face grimaced “We have, however, one nugget of information. One of the ministers daughters is having an open courting for a suitor in two days. If we can get to at least the third outing, we may be able to work something out with the minister, or at least steal whatever isn't nailed to the deck.”
“Open courting, eh?” said Hazhed. “You thinking of putting a claim in, Uiguay?”
Uiguay shook his head. “No, it would be too inappropriate, he'd see right through it.”
A third officer spoke. “We need someone who's not too old, or high-ranked. Someone who would plausibly see it as a status boost.” His name was Kiry Farkovf, a similar case to Hazhed, never really felt the drive to become an officer, but sheer seniority earned him a place in the meeting.
The assembled officers thought it over some more for a few seconds, before all eyes as one turned expectantly towards Cobaal. The youngest officer backed away slightly, head turning back and forth across the room in mild panic. As a dozen mouths curled up in mischief, it was all Cobaal could do to chuckle nervously, hair on end.
- - -
“I feel ridiculous,” whined Cobaal, adjusting one of the light armour plates on his forearm. In place of usual fancy dress, all they'd had available was Uiguays old ceremonial armour. Despite being fully functional the orange and black pattern scheme was designed to be intimidating and proud, rather than battle.
“You look fine. Be glad Uiguay still had that dusty thing in his storage. He outgrew it years ago.” Hazhed smiled, reaching to adjust one of the shoulder guards. The two were in a waiting room, preparing for their entrance onto the main floor.
“Happy memories?” asked Cobaal, turning to Hazhed, who shushed him and twisting him back to the front before returning to the shoulder guard in revolt.
“Some sad ones too.” said Hazhed, slapping Cobaal on the back to test his work. “All we need is a drake feather or two and you'd be a dashing young general; you'll have stud requests right there.” Hazhed winked threateningly. Cobaal's lips twitched in discomfort at the thought. While most drakes were reptilian in nature, a few varieties had grown feathered frills used in flight and for mating. Of course, it was illegal to commercially trade them, poaching would be endemic, the feather had to be gained by the individual, proving himself to society.
One of the house younglings came to guide them to the courting, and after a few corridors, they joined several other suitors in a convoy ready to try and claim the prize. Open Courting was not a common thing in most of Chelti society, where bargains were struck between houses for studs and litters. Open Courting was usually done to get males, or females for that matter, to compete for a chance of mating a member of the household.
It was seen as a way to get new blood into a clan, or just to try and settle a particularly fussy young adult in the family. The courtship was an informal thing, chelti having no concept of marriage; many studs were known for walking out after the pregnancy as confirmed, and in fact in some cases this was actually in the contract.
They reached the main session where many other hopefuls were milling about, but no one spoke; very soon now they would possibly have to brutally knock each other out of the running. Their dress showed they were all civilians, most wearing the common loose shirt and shorts with formal overcoat in decorative embroidery, others had their ethnic garb on, causing a mish mash of styles, colours and patterns. Under the helmet, Cobaal's ears stood upright, alert for danger; the place crackled with so much tension every movement seemed as though he was underwater.
- - -
“The trouble is the old geezer doesn't want to part with his little memento, even though the thing hasn't flown in years.” Kalon reported, he was talking into a small screen on the underside of his arm. It was embedded in the light armour forearm guard he was wearing. The device itself was an officer only piece of kit, it provided the user with communication and intelligence feeds from command and other units, or simply acted as a mobile video conference.
It was often very popular with it's users, and it wasn't uncommon for users to wear it even on peaceful missions. The device was only designed to be housed in a forearm guard on the left arm, any of the three classes of personal armour could fit it but light armour was the smallest, hence why Kalon was wearing it with civilian clothes.
Kalon himself was laying back on one elbow under the shade of a tarpaulin, the odd angle of the sun in this part of the world meant it was pegged into the ground and held up almost in a lean-to fashion. The dusty, stone platform beneath was empty save for him.
“I've managed to get an extension on our departure date," said the device, "turns out one of the freighters has developed micro-fractures they need to take care of. Funny thing was they detected it with a snap inspection, called that day.” It was Uiguay, his voice sounding slightly crackly through radio waves distorted by the hot air.
“Jezza always was a smart cookie.” said Kalon, picking up a subtle undertone even through the radio. He leaned back on his elbow a little further. The harsh desert sun of the Hot Sands caused shadows to slant sideways even at midday. High tempuratures made it unusual to be moving at these hours, but time was short.
“I'm certainly glad the Hope is flying as part of the convoy.” Replied Uiguay, not directly giving anything away. Each chels instincts telling them to not reveal anything secret over open radio, it was an old habit but they were still alive.
Kalon looked off screen to the remarkably well preserved dropship, it was a huge thing, designed to carry large cargoes, and even deploy tank troops straight into battle if it could be protected. Despite it's size it had a sleek shape, wide, almost delta-shaped wings gave it a good mix of speed and lift. The four powerful engines, two at the back used in flight that could vector down, and another two to balance out the front allowed it to land with just about no runway, making it perfect for combat drops on narrow landing zones.
It stood under the self-made hangar the owner had erected for it, still wearing it's jungle camouflage scheme in spite of the years since it had last seen a proper tree. Kalon stared at the old bird for a few seconds, thinking, before the will to try again returned.
“I'll have to call you back, sir.”
“Fortune favour you, friend.” the call ended, Uiguay's face disappeared from the small screen. Kalon sighed and hauled himself up to again tackle the stubborn owner.
- - - -
The preliminaries had gone well for Cobaal, his armour gave him a mental, and aesthetic edge in the competition. Already several suitors had been picked out by several of the whispering family members observing, and strolling though the hopefuls, and shown the door. But with the immediate culling over with it was time to get down to the real deal.
The Heksus clan were an aloof bunch, the senior heads of the family moved to the far wall of the great hall and sat facing the assembled gentlemen. Any conversation that had somehow sprung to life was killed that instant, all eyes were at the front. Through one of the many entrances emerged the head of the clan, minister Injuin Heksus. Following behind him proudly, aware that every eye was on her, was the prize that was offered today.
Cobaal squinted, partly in animosity at the minister, mostly because he was at the back and trying to get a better view of the daughter. She bore herself upright, proud but still humble enough not to try and out-stage her father. Just yet, anyway.
The minister took his place at the front of the great hall, his daughter sitting abreast as he stood. “You've all been given a most generous opportunity.” The minister began “Our great house has seen fit to o...”
Hazhed leaned over to Cobaal “Oh boy, it's a 'you-should-be-grateful' speech.” he whispered, positively emanating malcontent. A few nearby rivals edged away from the two.
- - - -
Kiry held the other chel off his feet, his old age giving him a good half foot on the younger male. He bared his teeth threateningly, a deep growl emerging from throat. Considering the beating the victim had already taken he knew better than to struggle. Kiry had pinned him against the wall and was holding the smaller male off his feet, the other chels claws were too blunt to be used as blades, and Kiry's light armour was proof against any kick.
“You will not speak unless I grant you, any unwanted movement and I will break a limb. Your only actions will be signing yes or no. Any questions?” Kiry threatened. The other chel made a very definite negative motion, one thing about criminals was that they usually valued their lives.
“We know about your work.” said Kiry, sharp teeth still highly visible. “I have permission as a Hand to end your life should I see fit. Your struggling clan won't be forgotten either.” Not asked a question, the victim could only shudder in fear.
“Now, rather than extract the mountain of lost value from your flesh, the Craftsman is willing to give you another way to rid yourself of your crimes.” He growled, raising the chel up another few inches. “Are you interested, or should I simply carry out the traditional sentence right here?”
It took half a second for the thief to run through the outcomes, before immediately signing a very very strong affirmative.
Kiry's grin wasn't much less scary than his snarl “Good, life is too short to be stupid.”
- - - -
The arena was a makeshift thing, there were no walls or lethal spikes, but then no one here was going to try and run away. To chelti, desire and greed were stronger motives to fight than desperation and fear, hence gladiatorial combat being regarded as a weekend sport.
The competition for this small ring was a not only of strength, but technique. Even though a chel might lose the actual fight, the family might vote him a winner if they preferred his style compared to his opponent's. This was exceedingly rare though.
Cobaal watched as two rivals slashed, and grappled with each other. Their sharp claws sheathed in plastic covers, a welcome change from the early days of sparring in chelti history where death rates had been quite high among courting rivals. Accidents still happened, but these days your chances of dying to infection were slim.
Hazhed was no where to be seen, the two of them had been separated during the match sorting, most likely he was among the crowd. Watching from a small stand set to view over the assembled rivals sat the Heksus clan, all wearing their usual aloof expressions.
There was a cracking in sound from the ring, as a blow connected, and a loud thump as one of the rivals dropped to the ground. After a quick check for injuries the unconscious rival was dragged out of the ring, and rolled out of the biddings.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the crowd Hazhed stood stoically watching the proceedings. He turned slightly as another chel came to stand next to him. The other chels clan marks identified him as a Heksus. “Onsheldder?”
Hazhed didn't answer immediately, but gave a small affirmative and let the other chel speak.
“We have an offer for you.”
Hazhed gave a classic chelti smile.
- - - -
Kalon stop on the desert runway looking mighty pleased with himself as he inspected the latest purchase. The massive dropship was already making itself useful as a rough platoon of veterans climbed aboard, being brutally shepherded by a newly acquired load master.
This part of the southern desert was in the odd twilight between the Forever Day and Long Night cycle of the Sands seasons, Cold Sands being on the shady side, and Hot Sands the sunny side. Seloca's odd tilt not giving a reliable day/night cycle for it inhabitants, most chelti tended to sleep in four hour blocks once every 48 hours if they weren't busy, their metabolism giving them almost no time for sleep.
From out of the desert a vehicle drove onto the improvised runway. It was a civilian model with a roll cage for a roof and a canvas shade designed to tackle the hard, ever changing terrain of this part of the world. It pulled up not far from Kalon, and Kiry Farkovf stepped out, reaching back in to drag the smaller form of the newly conscripted criminal out by the collar.
“I see you got your man.” Kalon smiled, he hadn't known Kiry very well. He'd been given the boot before Uiguay had meet him, but tracking down elusive criminals this fast spoke of great competence.
“I see you got your ship.” replied Kiry voice gruff but tone light-hearted as he also looked over at the craft. “How'd you do it? Last I heard Rahku was still the old stone he always was.”
“Officially, we're conscripting him and his holdings." said Kalon, shuffling backwards slightly in embarrassment "Unofficially, he refused to be left behind.” . Both chelti looked at the dropship for another moment. Beside them, standing meekly, the former thief made a small shuffle for freedom but was arrested by an seemingly unconscious grab from Kiry.
“Is that his son bullying the old men?” asked Kiry, squinting at the smaller chel directing the loading. There was much arm waving from that direction.
“Grandson actually, another one I had to induct.”
“Takes after the old blood, I see.” Kiry turned back to his prize “As for you, I get to give you a crash course on dropship debus procedure, so strap on your diapers, Weak Tooth.”
- - - -
“Karza!”
That was him, Cobaal pushed through the spectators to take his place in the ring. He made a show of stripping off the armour on his chest and arms, followed by his under layer. The helmet was placed gently on top of the small pile, he kept the tight, lightweight leg armour on, the rules allowed for protective leg wear. Quickly he pulled on the protective claw sleeves, adjusting the small straps to fit his larger talons.
As Cobaal made his debut, the ring master announced his first opponent. “Onshledder!”
Cobaal mentally swore, and his eyes glanced at the smug faces of the Heksus clan watching from their stand. Did they know? There was probably no way that they couldn't. He turned back to see Hazhed push out of the crowd into the ring, he had a scary look in his eye.
“Hello, Karza.” He said dangerously. The ring master signalled the fight to begin, and Hazhed immediately lunged forward to get to the younger soldier.
“What are you doing, Hazhed?” shouted Cobaal, parrying the first strike with a back hand, pieces of his natural armour shaving off despite the protective sleeves. He fell in a quick series of steps and dodges as more strikes came. The two broke apartwith a sidestep from Cobaal, long enough to quickly circle the ring before again claw meet claw, the force bouncing both warriors off each other. They stopped for a second, looking at each other through widened eyes, adrenaline already pumping heavily.
“Truth is, young-blood, I just want a chance to fight you." Hazhed growled between breaths "Come on, give an old man a challenge!” he jeered, eyes sparkling in anticipation and excitement. “Let Uiguay deal with me later.”
Cobaal's teeth clenched in anger “Stupid old man.” he said to himself, this betrayal stinging. Despite the match only just starting, both warriors were already sweatinging lightly, the saltly perspiration stinging tiny cuts and bruises gained early in the fight, their chests growing and shrinking rapidly as they gulped in oxygen.
Just as the two were about to go at each other again, a loud crack came from above them as the head of the Heksus clan signalled a pause to the fight with a bang of his cane. All eyes turned to the powerful minister, the two fighters stared at each other hard for a second longer, before flicking towards the stand.
“I see these two know each other." said the clan head looking down into the small ring with interest. "I also happen to know they both belong to the same commander.” letting the unspoken accusation hang before relaxing his posture. He took a short stroll to one side of the stand, stepping in front of some of the other senior family members, getting looks of distaste when the offended individuals thought he couldn't see. The arrogance of the minister was plain to see.
“How about we add to the excitment of this particular match with a Challenge of Command?” he spoke as if in thought, "It would be much more impressive that way." despite the uninspired delivery the implication was obvious.
Hazhed's smile grew, nodding “As the minister wishes.” he replied before turning back to Cobaal. “I place my command in defiance of your commission.” he challenged, lowering his stance aggressively, talons gripping into the dirt.
Damn it, Cobaal thought, there was no way he could turn down the challenge without being disqualified from the competition, but he couldn't return to the general without fighting. He stared hard at his former ally, blinking away a droplet of sweat that wandering over his eye, finally “I accept your command in collateral of your challenge.” he finished the ancient protocol, sealing the pact.
It was on.
Above them came a harsh laugh, as the two newly sworn enemies meet again, spraying dust as they leapt.
