obvious choice, but still she dithered. She yearned for something greater-for a rare offspring that had not been birthed in recorded bio-memory.
In the end, after taking the ship for her own, hubris arose within her. She meant well, but she was still a very young parent, and all on her own. She decided to breed an Empress. It would be the first such being to wriggle out of a Parent’s birth chamber in a thousand years.
Garth awakened, but could not move. He quickly found he was trapped inside his own skull. He’d experienced this before, of course, but it had been years since the last time he’d shared control of his body with a Tulk rider.
His initial reaction was panic. This was normal, and common among fresh mounts. They were in pain, and disoriented. They had yet to accept the new creature who held the reins to their bodies. Often, pubescent skalds injured themselves in the first hours, bucking and raving. They might chew off their own tongues or otherwise damage themselves, and so were generally restrained.
No less than seven skalds clung to Garth’s limbs as he thrashed and writhed, making incoherent gargling sounds in his throat. After a minute or two of this behavior, during which his seven captors silently and stoically held him pinned upon his back in the main lounge, Garth quieted. He panted, and pink foam ran from the corners of his mouth. His wild, staring eyes rolled in his head, while the others watched him with bland expressions.
“It appears he is quieting,” said a skald in a soft voice.
“We had to expect a difficult mounting,” said another, “after all, he was a rogue. But Ornth is an experienced rider. He has broken in a dozen mounts-this one will be no different.”
At these words, Garth began to grin and giggle. He suppressed the urge to go further, to wildly cackle. They were fools. He could not be ridden. He’d discovered how to dislodge Fryx, and he would have no other Tulk in his place.
But now was not the time. Now, they were all watching him. He forced himself to calm down, to stay quiet. To appear glassy-eyed and troubled-but not triumphant and rebellious. That time would come later.
A familiar face came into his scope of vision. Her golden locks hung at random around her pale face. She studied him-and he measured in her eyes a sense of remorse. Perhaps her rider had forced her to seduce him. Perhaps, if she had been in control of her own body, she would not have spat Ornth into his face and allowed the little monster to sting him with its dripping spines.
She did not address him as he studied her face. But she did purse her lips and inquire among the others as to his health. Garth steeled himself against her charms. It did not matter if she was remorseful, or if she was partly innocent. She had betrayed him, and he planned her death. He planned to murder them all.
Bubbling with mirth, he laughed again. It was a long, odd sound. A sound full of madness, rather than joy. Watching him, the skalds exchanged concerned glances.
The birthing of a new Empress was solemn affair. The Parent and her offspring gathered closely, each of them committing a portion of their own protoplasm to the central mass in a stately ceremony. The young Empress resembled a squid, with a tangle of writhing tentacles, an oblong lobe filled with brain tissue and a half-dozen roving eyes. She was very young and the birth-slime still glistened on her carapace. But already the Parent could see she had managed the replication cleanly. She’d worried her genes were too old, too heavily radiated or atrophied to provide a good copy-but she’d pulled it off.
The young Empress squirmed inside a bed of human bones and clothing strips. The material was alien, but formed a good cradle and was softer than any of the resins the Skaintz secreted naturally. The Parent and a shuffling group of killbeasts looked on expectantly, while the Empress surveyed them. Each eye tracked a different individual of her court.
Over the next several hours, the Empress fed on choice meats from the bipeds and absorbed a gentle flow of information, which her elders transmitted to her. Occasionally, the Empress signaled the information was coming too slowly. Each time this happened, the Parent shivered happily and increased the rate of the transmissions. This was exactly as it should be. They were supposed to guide the fine mind of the Empress by building within her a thirst for knowledge. This was accomplished by giving her data in bits and pieces, always leaving her wanting more, rather than flooding her with every fact at hand and causing her to become disinterested and indolent. Even a monarch needed guidance at this young age.
Unlike the offspring of the bipeds who had built this huge, odd ship, the Skaintz young were born with a considerable amount of knowledge. A human baby knew some things, such as when to suckle or cry, and even how to swim in a rudimentary fashion. But the human mind was largely a blank slate at birth, and took long years to develop from input. The Skaintz were more instinctual. Depending on their basic form, they were bred to their tasks. It was as if a human baby was born with a full understanding of the native tongue of their people and could talk at birth. Skaintz offspring were formed with neural pathways pre-built in their minds. They instinctively knew how to communicate with their species and their role within the nest. Even so, they had precious little to say at first and needed to be filled in on current events.
The Empress therefore listened intently for many hours. Her first cognitive transmission came half-way through the second day.
“Why have I been awakened in such a dreary place?” she asked. Her tone was not that of an innocent child, but rather one of irritation and disdain.
“Because, my Empress, this is the best I could provide at the moment,” the Parent replied evenly. She quivered and dribbled, such was her pride to receive her impressive offspring’s first transmissions. She had done what no other Parent had managed in perhaps in a thousand years: she had given birth to nobility.
“Where are my courtesans? Where are my amusements?”
The Parent tapped her throne with her feeding tube, a sign of impatience. “We are not in our home system. We are roughing-it, so to speak, my dear. I believe this information was transmitted to you as part of-”
“Yes, yes,” said the Empress. “I found many of the transmissions tiresome. You will build me new amusements and give birth to no less than seven courtesans immediately.”
The Parent stopped tapping her feeding tube and stared at the demanding creature before her. She felt an overwhelming compulsion to obey the squirming creature, but at the same time, she knew such expenditures of time and energy were wasteful. They needed to dedicate themselves to arriving in a new star system and taking it by force. This was the time to plot a military campaign, not to build amusement tanks and similar frivolities.
“What is this mess I’m squatting upon?” the Empress demanded suddenly.
“A bed of trophies from our defeated alien enemies.”
“Quaint-but unsatisfactory. These fibers are chafing my suckers and the bones stink. I require an appropriate Imperial nest.”
The Parent was not sure what to say.
“Why are you sitting there?” the Empress piped up again. “I have expressed my requirements clearly, have I not?”
“Ah yes-yes, my Empress. But we have many pressing needs.”
“Are there any immediate threats to my person?”
“No, I don’t believe there are-”
“Then follow my commands with haste. I will watch carefully and sit in judgment. Thus far, I must warn you Parent, I’ve found your performance lackluster.”
The conversation went on in this fashion for some time. Slowly, the Parent began to wonder if she’d made a mistake. Perhaps there had been a good reason why none of her recent predecessors had given birth to an Empress of their own.
Six
Ignis Glace had been colonized at the end of third expansionist period of Old Earth. At the time, colony ships full of idealistic souls were commonly built and sent speeding out toward promising star systems. The impetus for the dangerous emigrations was multi-faceted, but the primary driver was usually a disagreement over the nature
