Residential Aliens - Issue 4.11

Residential Aliens

  Issue 4.11

  Published by ResAliens Press

  Each Story Copyright 2010 by the Author

  Stories in this Issue

  1. Petition by L.S. King

  2. The Fluttering Flies by Gary Raven

  3. Plague Ship by Kurt Heinrich Hyatt

  4. Full Moon Gala by Lachlan David

  5. Tarzan at the Earth’s Corps by Walt Staples

  PETITION

  by L.S. King

  The soft crunch of boots through the snowdrifts signaled intruders behind Alcandhor. His spine stiffened. Could he not have a few moments alone at his father’s crypt to grieve the fresh loss? He turned to face a group of Rangers. The two in front stood shoulder to shoulder: Sedhral and Fandhrel. He had expected this, but—so soon, and here at the crypt?

  Before the Rangers could speak, Alcandhor stated, “You are calling Question.”

  A few of the men shifted, but the two spokesmen remained firm, jaws set.

  “Aye, we are,” Sedhral said.

  “Aye, Thane, we are.” Alcandhor’s eyes bored into Sedhral’s, his breath steaming before him.

  The Ranger’s lips twitched, teeth grinding as if he were trying to swallow a mouthful of vinegar. “Aye, Thane,” he spat, finally. “We are calling question. You are too weak to lead our clan.”

  Alcandhor snorted—a dry, humorless laugh. “Aye. You would not call Question on my father when he made me his heir, but you will bravely face his crypt?” His lip curled. “Call Question. Face the chiefs in conclave and give them your facts as to why I should not be Thane.”

  “It is your character on which we call Question.”

  “What fault have I besides being second son? Granted, ‘twas not my choice to be Thane, nor my heart’s desire, but the mantle has fallen on me. I took oath before the chiefs and all our kin to hold the law to my heart, and to serve my clan with my life.” Alcandhor took a step toward Sedhral, his boot sinking shin-deep in the snow, jaw clenched. “I have never broken a vow, never given less than my best as a Ranger. Call Question.”

  He stood, waiting, as the men exchanged glances. Sedhral returned his stare. Ah, nay, Alcandhor knew this game—his older brother had taught him well. He fixed his gaze on his accuser, while fat snowflakes descended in the silence, until Sedhral lowered his eyes.

  Alcandhor lifted his chin, his glare encompassing them all. “Have you more to say?”

  The Rangers again shifted and glanced at each other. Several muttered, “Nay, Thane.”

  “Then I have duties to attend.” He turned purposefully away from them and faced the crypt. Fist over his heart, he bade his father a silent farewell. Pulling his cloak more tightly around him against the frigid weather, Alcandhor crossed the grounds to Thane Hall.

  Once inside, he stomped his feet free of snow. As he shook his cloak and hung it on the wall, Alcandhor bit the inside of his cheek. Truth admitted, he doubted himself as much, or more, than his clan. He had not the strength of his older brother, or the will to lead.

  His brother had always been a loner, but why had he refused heirship and retreated high into the mountains of the neighboring province? Alcandhor let his breathe out slowly, once again forcing his mind to release his unanswered questions—but not his resentment. His brother’s reasons mattered not, only the result: Alcandhor now bore Thaneship as his primary obligation, his own ambitions perforce cast aside.

  Alcandhor’s love was the sciences and history; his passion to study, to see the devices of the Enaisi, the long-gone aliens they sometimes called the Elders, working again, to discover a way to activate the portal which could take them to other worlds and find their mentors of old. He bore the mantle of heir, and now of Thane itself, out of duty; his clan saw this and doubted his heart, his commitment.

  But he would not do less than his best—for his father’s sake, for his people. He ground his teeth in determination. He would not.

  ~*~

  Elbows resting on the table, Alcandhor frowned at the papers the Ranger handed to him. “Why is this petition being brought to me? It seems a simple enough case. And a mother’s petition is no reason to alter the law.”

  The Ranger shifted foot to foot. “It is the victim’s mother making petition, Thane. Lord Lorwith felt that made it peculiar enough to send on to you.”

  Alcandhor gazed up wryly. “You mean he is lobbing it to me.”

  The Ranger lifted his shoulders with a slight smile. Alcandhor sighed and dismissed the Ranger with a nod. As the door closed, he began reading the transcript and petition. He dropped it and rubbed his face. Now, more than ever, he needed his father’s advice. But no answer would be forthcoming from the crypt. He had inherited this mantle; now, he must make these hard decisions.

  A knock made him straighten. Haladhon, papers in hand, peered around the door. Alcandhor relaxed; he need not be Thane to this man—first cousin, best friend, and Third at Table all contained within that tall frame.

  His cousin swaggered over, green-grey eyes twinkling. “What news did the Pashelon Ranger bring?” Haladhon hip-sat on the table and folded his arms across his leather jerkin.

  “Lord Lorwith has graced me with a sticky judicial matter. The mother of a dead boy is asking for mercy for her son’s killer.”

  “That is…unusual. But still, why should mercy be shown a murderer? The law is strict.”

  “‘Twas not murder, but accidental.” Alcandhor shoved the petition at his cousin. “Read it, Third at Table, you will understand.”

  Haladhon set his own sheaf down and picked up the petition with a frown. He read through the pages, and groaned. “Three previous convictions for maiming others. All because of recklessness.”

  “Aye. His last victim lost a foot due to his unthinking acts. He was given the severest punishment, and it did not cause him to mature or change his ways. Now, he kills a friend while ‘playing’ with his bow, and in front of witnesses. And although not of Age, he is not a child, having nineteen years. Sporting with a weapon cannot be excused, not considering his age and his history.”

  “I see why Lorwith passed this on to you. He would not fain give judgment on this muddy matter.” Haladhon tapped the desk with his fingertips. “This is your first real test of Thaneship. How shall you judge?”

  Alcandhor leaned back, staring at the wood grain on his table. Ever since finding he would be Thane instead of his older brother, Alcandhor had endured the watchful eyes of the Rangers. And now, as with the confrontation with Sedhral and his men, many asked if he had the strength to be Thane. Dare he abrogate the law, which his clan vowed to uphold to the death?

  Shaking his head, he replied, “By the law, my answer must be ‘life for life.’“ He hesitated and inhaled deeply. “If possible, have the boy and the victim’s mother journey here. Lorwith will likely howl at the cost, but in relegating this matter to me, he bears brunt.” He met his cousin’s eyes. “Remind him of that, if necessary. The petition will be heard in one lunation.”

  Haladhon’s brow furrowed. “You are going to give judgment face to face, and watch your word carried out.” It was not a question.

  Alcandhor looked up at his cousin, anguish piercing his heart. “I must.”

  Haladhon let out his breath and shoved the papers he had brought in at Alcandhor. “I must add to your burden,” he said apologetically.

  Grimacing, Alcandhor began to read. Halfway through, he set the report down and leaned back with a sigh. Paltor not only ruled with an unjust, heavy hand, he turned his eye away from the graft perpetrated by his overseers. No proof had thus far linked him to any crimes, yet Alcandhor had no doubt the Keladar lord not only allowed but promoted the offenses, and profited directl
y from the misdeeds of his underlings. “Lord Paltor is going to turn my hair grey.”

  “But my dear Thane, ‘tis not Lord Paltor,” Haladhon explained, eyes wide, his voice too clearly mimicking the fat lord. “How can he know all that goes on within his province? He is but one man.”

  Not in the mood to appreciate his cousin’s wit, Alcandhor glowered. “Send a Ranger and an account keeper to Keladar province. If we can ever get proof of Lord Paltor’s complicity, we can bring him to a Lords’ Conclave.”

  Haladhon’s snort bespoke his confidence they would succeed. “And if we do, how many of his peers would vote to censure him when some of them are just as deep in similar activities?”

  “So you think we should shield our eyes to their crimes?”

  “Nay, but I think providing justice for their provinces in our lifetime is much too optimistic.”

  Alcandhor nodded at the report. “Send the men. The Maker may smile on us. But even if not, we may find evidence to remove this overseer.”

  “And a new one will be honest?”

  Alcandhor shot his Third at Table a wry look. “Your unwavering belief in the goodness of men is admirable, cousin.”

  Haladhon chuckled. The door burst open, and as his cousin turned, his laughter died. Aleta entered, her flowing, dark skirt rippling in her wake as she crossed the room. Alcandhor stiffened slightly. What now?But his wife appeared to be in good humor—how rare.

  “And how is my Thane?” she chirped.

  Haladhon stood, his eyes hard. He bowed to Alcandhor, muttering, “Duties call, Thane.”

  Alcandhor stifled a sigh while his wife and best friend exchanged wary glares as would two fighters in a sparring circle. The door banged as his Third at Table left.

  Aleta’s red lips quirked up. Her finger trailed along the table, her dark eyes bright. She pushed the petition and other papers back and sat on the edge, facing him. She lifted her chin emphasizing her high cheek bones and long neck, her black hair cascading down her back.

  Alcandhor still had to admit the woman was a rare beauty. Too bad her coldness had chilled his affection over the years. He had no illusions that she loved him; she only loved herself. But at least she had provided him with the joy of children: two strong sons, and his baby daughter.

  “Where is Amara?”

  Aleta’s long, slender fingers waved in the air. “Oh, that girl has her.” She brushed Alcandhor’s hair back, placed both hands on his shoulders, and whispered, “What are your plans now, my Thane?”

  Her constant usage of his new title nettled him, but her seductive attitude distracted him from the annoyance—he rarely saw this side of her anymore. With a slight smile, he asked, “Before or after evening meal?”

  “Mm, either. Both.” Her breath was warm against his cheek.

  He cleared his throat. “I had intended to order the reports and petitions before meal, but I suppose I can do that after—” Her lips on his ended his sentence. Indeed, definitely afterwards…

  ~*~

  He watched Aleta straighten her bodice gown, a sultry smile on her lips. “So, my Thane…” She tapped the table. “What in all these reports is so important that you cannot leave them for one evening?”

  “I need, at least, to finish reading the reports from Keladar.”

  “Keladar?” Aleta’s almost-permanent sneer settled on her face. She picked up a pile of papers and began to leaf through them. “What is that bloated by-blow up to now?”

  “Aleta…” Alcandhor reached over to take the reports from her.

  She twisted, but he snatched them from her, and her eyes widened.

  “You know I cannot discuss such matters with you.”

  “You could if you wanted to! You can do what you please, now. You are Thane!”

  “That makes no difference to our laws. I am bound—”

  With a strangled cry, she threw her arms up and stomped in a circle. “Bound! Bound! Bound!” Her flared sleeves rippled up her arms as she waved her hands above her head. “What is the use of being Thane if you will not do what needs to be done? You can make Claim, set things right! Why will you not see the possibilities?”

  Alcandhor tried to take her by the shoulders, but she shook him off and turned away, crossing her arms.

  “Aleta…do not say thus. Ranger clan follows the law—and as Thane, I am the embodiment of the law.”

  “You could rule this world,” she said over her shoulder as she strode to the door. “Instead you let it squash you like an insect.”

  Alcandhor jammed his fingers through his hair as the door slammed.

  ~*~

  The petition rolled in his hand, Alcandhor entered Lamadhel’s work chamber to find his uncle hunched over the table, red head bowed over an old, faded document, a square enlarging glass in hand. A fresh parchment lay to the side with inkhorn and pens.

  “Is it your age or that of the parchment which makes reading difficult?”

  Lamadhel raised his head, blue eyes narrowed. He leaned back and straightened his jerkin, lips pursed. “Disrespect toward your elders, boy?”

  Alcandhor grinned. “Disrespect toward your Thane, Ranger?”

  With a snort, his uncle set down the glass and nodded at the rolled papers. “Trouble?”

  Alcandhor shook his head, approaching the table. He held out the petition. “Nay. Not trouble, but troubling.”

  Lamadhel’s eyebrows lifted, and he took the papers. He needed not the glass to read them, but did hold them a bit farther away from his face than Alcandhor remembered. His father’s brothers were no longer young; would that he could keep them until age took them, many years from now. He needed the wisdom of these advisors, as well as the comfort of kin at his side.

  Lamadhel finished reading and sat back, letting his breath out in a low whistle. “Sticky, this.”

  “Aye.”

  “What is your answer?”

  “I see no answers other than what the law states. I had hoped you would be able to advise me, Ranger Chief.”

  His uncle’s eyes bored into his. “Wish you to call a conclave of the chiefs for this?”

  “Ah, nay.” Alcandhor rapped his knuckles softly on the table, then realizing it gave away his agitation, clenched his fists tightly to his sides. “This is my decision. I had merely hoped as chief law-keeper you might know of some reference that might…” He trailed off, feeling weak in begging for help.

  Lamadhel was silent for a time, then cleared his throat. “You know the law as well as I do. Do what you must.”

  “Father often said the law was hard, and that it must be tempered with compassion.”

  “If you had some years of Thaneship behind you, and the full backing of your kin, still…giving leniency would come hard. This boy seems, by his past actions, to be a real danger, not having learned from previous judgments and punishments. He worked the mines for two years last time. Who might he maim or kill next?”

  “Yet the boy’s heart, by all accounts, is not bent toward evil. Think you my father would give leniency?”

  Lamadhel’s shoulders sagged just a bit, and he gazed into the air with a sorrowful expression. Alcandhor’s own grief rose, and he suppressed it, keeping his eyes on his uncle.

  “I know not which way Saldhor would sway,” Lamadhel replied, his voice low and hoarse with emotion. “He valued compassion highly, but ignorance can be as damaging as evil intent. This boy played with a deadly weapon as if a child’s toy. Another person is dead as a result. Do we gamble with others’ lives out of compassion?” Lamadhel rolled the papers and handed them back to Alcandhor. “Do what you will, my Thane. The chiefs will back you.”

  So his uncle gave him full trust. Good to know, but still—Alcandhor curled his lip in a rueful smile. “Would that be enough to protect me from anyone calling Question?”

  “I know not. But then…” Lamadhel stared up with a curious expression. “If the clan supported the Question called, you could pursue your dreams, as Thaneship would then fall upon B
ardhor.”

  A flash of hope rose in Alcandhor, but died as his father’s disapproving gaze wove across his mind’s eye. He brought himself back to the moment with an inward shake and, despite himself, grinned. “I think Haladhon would not fain see his father Thane.”

  “Oh?” Lamadhel’s brow raised.

  “He cares not that he is so close to Thaneship already, being Third at Table.”

  “I knew not he had such hesitations.”

  “I would say fear, if one could imagine thus from him.”

  His uncle smiled. “Wish you to cause your closest friend such distress?”

  Alcandhor barked a laugh. “For his sake, I will endeavor to keep Question from being called.”

  ~*~

  The hour was late when Alcandhor entered his family suite. Candles and the fireplace lit the chamber. Instead of his wife, he found the young widow, Jholinn, on the sofa, her back to him. Over her shoulder, he could see the mass of curly, dark blonde hair belonging to his daughter. Amara bounded up with a squeal and ran to him. Laughing, he picked her up and whirled around with her, then gave her a tight hug. Little arms wrapped around his neck, and he just held her. This…this was something for which to live.

  “You should be in bed, Little One.”

  “I’ait fo’ you.”

  “So I see.” He chuckled, and touched noses with her, making her giggle.

  Jholinn rose, eyes downcast, and curtsied. Alcandhor was one of a small number who had an—albeit limited—empathic ability to both feel and send emotions, a legacy from his alien ancestors. But he used his Enaisi gifts seldom, finding it easier to hide his own emotions, even from himself, when blocking.

  However, he need not sense Jholinn to know her antipathy toward him. Her care of Amara he could not fault, though, and he needed her for that, especially since Aleta seemed to care nothing for her own daughter, as if only sons mattered.

  “Thank you, Jholinn. If I had realized Aleta would not be here, I would have come sooner.”

  “It…it is fine, Thane. Amara has had her evening meal and washed up already, too.” She smiled at Amara, but the smile faded as she met his eyes. She averted her gaze, curtsied again, and hurriedly left.

  Alcandhor stifled a sigh. She was only one of many in the clan who disapproved of him. But she need not like him, only love Amara—and that she did.