The Progenitors Read online

  I tightened my hold on him as one of the men died, screaming out at the last.

  Looking about I saw the director studying me. Her face was pale but whether from the pain of her body or the sight of justice done I could not tell. I did not care.

  The last man died. A moment later Ticta stood beside me.

  She stared in surprise at Scott's position.

  "The Shymyra judge the path ended," she said in our tongue.

  I nodded.

  Scott still trembled.

  "I judge the matter ended," I said to Zenda. "Yet if ever one of this party commits such crime all of you will lie in blood as these."

  Zenda blinked at that but she nodded. "I hope, governor, for all of us that such a thing never happens. This is a tragedy against your…"

  I lifted one hand from Scott's shoulder.

  "The matter is closed," I said. "Now, Zenda Kal-Suto, tell me of your suffering."

  *

  The director had been infected by a particular sand flea. The flea bites warm flesh which is irritating, but with the bite it deposits egg sacs. If scratched, the tiny embryos enter the surface skin cells and begin to migrate towards its natural food source. The difficulty is that a human does not have deposits of minerals as does the normal larger insect hosts. So they continue moving and leaving secretions that affect human nerves.

  Ticta and Seyo went with the others to the aircar but returned with a medical kit. I administered a serum that would kill the embryo immediately and slowly expunge the deposits of waste they left. Zenda felt the improvement immediately. I suggested that for any native medical problem she come to the governor's hall of waiting, for aid.

  It is something I tell every visitor I interview. I had told her.

  *

  Scott was silent on the flight into the dunes. When we landed in a wide bowl in the sand he looked around, leaning on his crutch.

  "Why…?"

  Before the sentence finished Ticta carried out the remains of the Shymyra assulla. She dropped it all in a heap on the sand. As we stood in a wide circle, Sawro pulled a small pellet from his belt. After squeezing it he tossed it onto the pile.

  A fine mist spread swiftly, covering the pile and nearby sand. The mist turned into fire in the next instant.

  The fire quickly ate into the remains of the Shmyra assulla.

  *

  Even after Tamsla left the sky we stood there in our circle staring at a bowl of blackened glass with ashen imperfections across its surface.

  We broke it with our boot heels before heading home.

  The sand would soon cover any remaining traces.

  *

  "You could have killed them all," Scott said as we left the aircar. "You could have done whatever you wanted."

  I shook my head.

  "No, Scott Aradette," I said. "I could only do as the Shymyra judge."

  He stopped and allowed the others to move past us.

  "I told you it might be bloody," I said.

  He had stared at the bodies for several minutes back in the dirt of the expedition's compound. The blood had held his attention until one of my sisters had taken him, as I had tended the director.

  "I know, Akena," he said. "But I did not think the cats would do… such a thing."

  "They defended their young. They will always do what is needed."

  "But Shymyra, she wasn't so… vicious," he said.

  "Perhaps she had no need," I said. "But she killed to provide food for you. She killed to protect you. I think you would find she is as vicious as any other Shymyra."

  Scott leaned on the crutch, holding it more as a staff as he thought over other matters. I waited. I had no idea what he was concerned with but I had time.

  "What should I do?" he said in a quiet plea. "I don't know what to do."

  There was nothing to say to that. I wasn't certain how long it would take to come to an understanding. We didn't know if the game had to do with our world. It seemed likely

  "Thank you," he said, though for what reason I had no idea.

  I paced beside him as he walked.

  "I can't stay here indefinitely, Akena," he said.

  I did not say anything.

  "I feel so useless," he said, slamming the end of the stick once.

  Turning suddenly he blocked my path.

  "Mom's dead," he stated. "Dad's caught up in something I don't even know what and I'm just a… I'm useless."

  What could I say? Why does he feel compelled to speak when nothing of it matters, when words are useless, when he only states the obvious? I still did not understand him. Crossing the sandy waste he was not so talkative. What had changed?

  "Akena," he said. "You don't have anything to say?"

  When I'd been a cat he'd put words in my mouth, now he needed me to speak.

  Considering the path we walked I suspected he needed something I could not give.

  "Scott Aradette, I have no words to give," I said quietly. "We have yet to find answers or even an open path. I… and my people… we will wait, study and watch; examining what is until we understand what must be done. We have learned from the Shymyra, you might say. The Shymyra can sit unmoving for an entire day waiting for sight of prey and even then choose whether to take it or not."

  "But they hunt for prey only when hungry, right?" Scott said.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Then what do they decide?" he wondered. "Why not just pounce?"

  "Scott Aradette," I said. "The Shymyra are keepers of this world. They would not pounce on a brooding female. They would not reduce the number of breeding stock of any creature's population so that they would die out. Hunger might motivate them but it does not govern them."

  "So, you're saying I need to be patient," he said.

  "Perhaps you should do as the Shymyra."

  *

  "Oh," Scott said.

  As he had last night, he'd slept among the cushions. I held his crutch.

  "What are you doing?" he wondered.

  His voice brought the light level up. The wood was drying nicely, curing to an excellent level of hardness. It made carving with claws difficult but the details were what I wanted.

  He watched me work.

  "Right," he said, later. "I don't need a crutch. Thanks."

  I didn't bother turning. Awake, his need for speaking was asserting itself. Since he didn't expect a response it was not such a demanding time. As was typical, he spoke of matters well known to both of us. A review of the day was first, then a review of other facts.

  He needed to review his path. I felt that I understood why but there was an itch started. Scott fell silent while watching. Then he was asleep. The lights dimmed as I carved the hard wood. When I was finished there was a Shymyra head on the staff instead of the crux.

  I set it down near him. The peta claw was still in its socket. I considered etching more of his tale but decided against it. I rested, watching him.

  - 5 -

  "What would you like to do today?" I said when Scott entered the chamber.

  "Well, you said I needed to be patient, so… I guess… can I do the tourist thing?" he wondered.

  "What would that be?" I said.

  "I'd like to see the Progenitor Museum by the spaceport… if it's okay."

  The museum was a visitor built complex, not a single structure. After years of searching among the lost cities they had gathered shuttle-loads of artifacts. We did not allow any historical record to leave the planet. In their devotion to the past, many desired sharing the curiosity.

  Giving them some of the rights of an embassy, except for any sovereignty, we allowed the university to operate a facility to display and study what they found. We had little concern for the past and they wouldn't find the present within the past. The Progenitors had always made a separation of their technology and that of the world's a key point.

  Still thousands of alien visitors came to the museum every cycle. We monitored them but had nothing of commerce with them. It wa
s different for the people of our world. The people lived comfortable lives. We met every need, including the key trait the Progenitors honor, curiosity. The available education enabled anyone to learn and pursue their desires, freely. The age of our civilization has allowed it to remain strong. As with the arts and science, our people involve themselves in their own interests or curiosity. Most times the young are interested in the novel. Some have left the planet in company with the WiRasshitearla, finding their society comfortable. Some leave as tourists. The commerce of the traders initiated many artists and craftsmen into the concept. What they were given as credits was placed into the Shymyra exchange for off-world purposes.

  The Warders had set up our account, even without being a signed member planet we had the right to banking. Those who go off planet have credit for their needs.

  It was simple and complicated, the way of all things.

  *

  I wore my normal outfit, as I had the previous day. Being a tourist trip I took a small aircar for Scott and I.

  The spaceport was located north of the capitol, in the Quar Mountains. The progenitors had sculpted a mountain base, after exploring our system. They built this so that all space missions left from here. When technology changed, the port was modified.

  When the first traders of this age landed we didn't need to create a better facility.

  The visitors built the museum at the edge of the port city.

  *

  It had been some time since I'd visited and there was a new building. Crowds of researchers and workers filled the plazas. Some tourists were in the mix but they were not common.

  "Was there something in particular you wanted to see?" I said.

  "Yes," he said. "I was looking at the Brenik Stones, before."

  We headed in that direction.

  The Brenik Stones, named arrogantly by the being that excavated them, were a series of memorial engravings. They were a record of the early space pioneers among the Progenitors, accounts of the travels and contacts among aliens in ages past, accounts of colonies and allies.

  Many of the people we care for are descendants of those ancient contacts, giving up the stars for planet life. The visitors seek the identity of the Progenitors. There were no visual records or monuments of the Progenitors or any of our ancient partners. To this day the past tradition keeps all of our people, artisans through wanderers, from using the likeness of any such person.

  The Shymyra had created a nearly religious taboo so that in this generation few know the truth. While the Progenitors admired curiosity they did not mind frustrating such seeking. In one sense it was a joke, in another sense the first condition of security.

  "Can you read these?" Scott asked as we stood before one of the monuments.

  "No," I said. "This form is ancient, different from the modern use of similar symbols. I do not study the ancient ways."

  "Are there some who do?"

  "No," I said. "The past holds no interest."

  "That's too bad," he said.

  I barely glanced, familiar with it. The bits that were printed in Standard showed they were on the right track. Someday they might figure it. Scott was comparing the symbols on his stick to the translated pieces. It was nice that he liked the carved Shymyra head.

  There were few visitors. A class of some kind studied one of the longer inscriptions. The professor faltered when he caught sight of me, though Shymyra often pass through. Some of the class glanced around but hurriedly looked away. I was slow to realize the reaction was from the justice dealt the day before. The word had spread to the correct people.

  Scott was speaking and I barely caught the gist of it as I considered ramifications. He was stating the obvious.

  Besides students, a few tourists and a researcher, there were two others. They were obviously on some other mission. What the mission was, I desired to know. Both showed interest in Scott and me. To modify that interest they studied others and ignored us. The obviousness of it made it all the more suspicious. Another Shymyra approached, dressed in the same manner as I and bowed. I bowed in greeting. Her name was Illya and she currently governed the museum.

  We talked quietly about my path. She informed me that the two I watched had been here often. Not always both and rarely together. Illya left me to review them.

  I moved with Scott to other displays. The greatest examples can be found carved richly in some of the living cities, this display, filling an entire wing, was recovered from a lost city, Halicon of the East. Visitors don't know the name but we remember.

  After Scott had examined the display, he went to the visitor's facilities.

  One of the men was in sight but the other had moved on.

  I was concerned until he returned.

  "Hey, uhm, Akena," he said, hesitantly. "I know it's out of the way but could go to where my mother died?"

  "It would not be a pleasant experience," I said.

  "Still," he said. "I… I think I might need to."

  Visitors had taboos, mysteries and confusion about the dead but I had no idea of Scott's beliefs. I'd thought that he believed death was the end.

  "There should be no harm going there," I said. "When would you like?"

  "What about now?" he said.

  I bowed to the idea. This was the path.

  *

  With the longer flight, Scott had more time to marvel at the instrument array. I explained many of the control systems and allowed access for a short time. The car was on a fixed course. Still, it gave him a feel for the craft.

  When we landed near the river he was satisfied. I led the way.

  The scar across the landscape, that had first been blazingly obvious, was blurred at the edges. Thick grasses covered the trench. Even the smooth parts of the wrecked aircar were crisscrossed with vines and trapped leaf litter.

  A crew had determined that no more environmental damage was likely.

  Scott walked beside me. I moved at his pace, content. I had no interest in getting closer.

  When I stopped, Scott continued forward. Slowly, testing his footing, he advanced to peer inside. There was other movement inside. For an instant I thought it was scavengers but the sound was of something large.

  Scott stepped into the shadows.

  Only then did I realize the quiet.

  There was a low voice…

  A chill sliced through me and… I hesitated.

  Pain surrounded me.

  Then it was gone… but so was I.

  *

  Red anger veiled my mind when I drifted into the throbbing echo of the pain that had felled me. My mouth and nose were covered by my mask. My veils were gone. I was restrained in a chair. My outer clothing was gone, leaving only the bodysuit. My weapons were gone.

  I wondered where Scott was.

  I felt enough to know the chair was inside a shuttle, not flying, but the vibration of feet was evidence.

  "I don't know," Scott was saying. "She did nothing. I told you I was flying it… I can't help it that I'm locked out."

  A voice responded but was too low to understand.

  "Dad," Scott said. "I did what you wanted. The operation was a success."

  I didn't catch the reply but felt it was a rebuttal.

  "We've captured the tech we need. We captured one of the governors. They don't know where she is. No, she didn't make any…"

  This time I heard the voice.

  "We've underestimated these people every way possible," it said, Scott's dad. "That's why we're here. The tech these people have could change the fortune of the corporation for a thousand years."

  Powerful engines come online, I had more than a premonition of where we were heading.

  "I can get what we need out of this one," Scott said and his voice finally sounded real to me. "It's female. No matter what tech they have, it's a primitive species."

  "That's been said before," the older man said.

  From the sounds and feel of where I was, it seemed they were in a section directly
behind me. I faced the rear. The vehicle felt large, more of a shuttle which matched my assumption that the next stop would be the starship. I could sense six humans and two others I didn't recognize.

  Something tickled my ear, feeling like a celworm curling through my hair. It was sliding into my ear, at first one and then my other, I relaxed. The slow wiggling continued, rubbing into the hollow that led to my inner ear. My hearing ceased completely and my ears were ready to pop, although it was more intense.

  I wanted to shake my head to stop the penetration but held still. The defensive mech of the bodysuit had analyzed the previous attack and was taking countermeasures. The fact that my ears were set to explode was not an issue to its one-track mind. By the time I was ready to bite my tongue for a distraction, my hearing returned and the feeling of pressure vanished.

  The inertia dampeners of the shuttle couldn't keep up with the changes as it lifted. It seemed an inefficient system. I heard the voices again, they were discussing the mission. I assumed the mission had to do with my abduction.

  *

  "I want to see your face," Scott said with an arrogance that fit.

  I'd been carted, chair on wheels, into the starship to a cabin that was designed for interrogation. It appeared like some set of a holographic drama the visitors cast… a pointless human entertainment. This was real.

  "Do not free it," cautioned the voice of his father in a language rarely used in the spaceways.

  It was a planetary holdover but I couldn't recall which planet. The visitors had thousands of languages. The standard trade language had dialectic differences that were practically different languages. This one pricked at my cautionary senses. It seemed rather late to be helpful.

  Scott tugged at my suit ineffectually; it was nanotech battle armor, black.

  The only remaining opening was at my eyes since I'd resisted the warning to close them.

  "Take this suit off," he demanded.

  I said nothing.

  As he studied my eyes I examined his. Some of my people considered the eyes to show a reflection of the inner man… the spirit. I held no such belief but looking at the crystalline blue that I'd thought so fascinating, gave me pause. Still, this path linked us in unexpected ways. A uniformed man entered.