My Extended Death
—A serialized novelette from the worlds of the Human Legion—
Part 3
Sentwalin had not accounted for the time it would take to choose the right words for ser narrative. Yet to rehearse would be to diminish ser message; sie needed it to come from the eternal spirit within.
After staring bemused at ser fingers, fusing hour-by-hour from manipulators to clumsy shovels, sie fumbled at the nav access screen until sie succeeded in delaying the dirigible’s descent. It set off on another lazy circle high above the patchwork city of Kongwen-Ziara that held within its grip a polished jewel of perfect innocence: the Pristine Colony.
Still there. After all those years.
After a moment considering where best to restart ser story, Sentwalin set about dictation once more.
On the day the Provost-General declared my pup, Kelilezwan-pya, to be dead, I told Kelile that sie had been right: my pups should have mated with sers. My words must have sounded as dry as dust to ser, and as scentless.
Of Kelile’s pups, both had matured to the juvenile state by then. Sentwalinzwan-pya had been apprenticed to High Planning where sie helped organize the work in the farms. Sentwalinpili-pya apprenticed as a physician.
By then, four years had passed since the attack on the Nest, but fear lingered. Our Great-Parent, Folashade, had used that fear to break with our nest’s long tradition and launch armed raids beyond the colony’s territory. My Kelilezwan-pya had taken second-leader post in one of these raids. In theory, this was a stunning affirmation of ser qualities and a path to great glory.
Except no one returned from the raid.
No one survived any of the raids. Ever. Not one.
You made sure of that. For a thousand years, your poisons and traps had killed any one of us who stepped outside what you judged to be the limits of our territory.
After Kelilezwan-pya’s death, I transferred my parental patronage to Kelile’s pups. (Of my other twelve pups, ten had also died and the remainder shunned me for the perversion of my love for Kelile.)
Something else changed that day. Kelile and I spoke no words, but somehow we both agreed silently that when the time came, we would mate, knowing that one of us must die at the other’s hand. Yet death comes to all, and we would be comforted by the knowledge that our flesh would be consumed by the other and transformed into new life.
Suddenly, the last vestige of Sentwalin’s great-parent state fell away and a procreative thrill of anticipation filled ser love sac. While the nav control would still recognize ser voice, sie changed course toward the forbidden zone over the Pristine Colony.
Not much longer now.
Sentwalinzwan-pya matured early. One day, not long after ser formal caste change, ser flanks went orange, ser body smelled of lust, and ser words spoke of little but Korfa, an older worker colleague who shared with ser the work of tending the fungus farms.
“Korfa’s midlimbs are so strong,” said Sentwalinzwan-pya. “Korfa’s scent is so sophisticated.”
I tried to encourage ser to say more, wishing to know the threat sie faced.
“Korfa is blessed with two surviving pups. The eldest, Girma, has recently parented serself, re-emerging as a really smart scribe in the hospital. Sie is very friendly, often visiting us in the farms. Korfa’s other offspring, Hagos, upsets ser, having drifted past workerhood through the change to spinsterhood.”
I stopped Sentwalinzwan-pya with a wave of my forelimb. “Do you intend to kill and eat this Korfa?”
That tripped up ser worship. Sie drummed the floor with ser forelimbs, lost in thought for long moments before sie looked me in the face and answered, “Yes.”
“Good,” I said. “You have been schooled to fight. Now I must train you to kill.”
A sudden memory of Kelile evoked a rush of blood to Sentwalin’s flanks. Sie could feel the heat flushing them bright orange dappled with crimson. The cabin reeked of come get me pheromones.
Luckily, the computer mind inside the dirigible proved immune to the erotic charge.
Far above, in the orbiting defense shield, the first AIs noted the dirigible’s descent into the restricted flight zone above Kongwen-Ziara.
You, with your infinite supply of electricity lead a visually dominated life, with scarce a pause to consider whether that is how we were meant to live. In the Pristine Colony, dimly luminescent fungus coated the ceilings of the more frequented galleries and tunnels, but we largely ‘saw’ our way through scent, sound, and touch.
From the observation ledge overlooking the mating chamber, fungus illuminated the red crustiness of the rock below as the pair loved and fought. When I arrived, Korfa and Sentwalinzwan-pya were still engaged in the final lurches of mating. The bites, gouges, and growls seemed vaguely threatening, not yet fatal.
Korfa’s offspring, Girma, was already sitting on the bench at the center of the ledge. Sie was a scribe, and by then I was a worker. I deferred to ser unquestioningly, edging away nervously from the anger and fear radiating from ser soft little body.
By the time Kelile joined us, ser pup’s fight had reached a phase of mortal intensity. Barely into workerhood, Sentwalinzwan-pya’s agile body could dart in under Korfa’s powerful lunges and fade away before a fatal blow could connect, just as I had taught.
The two shadowy figures flowed over the soft-packed red dirt in a violent dance of death and rebirth.
The sight made an elegant backdrop to the snick of cutting claws, the smell of a fresh fan spray of blood, and the scent signals of lust, violence, and parenthood.
I prayed to Imagomu, God of Deep Places, that Kelile’s pup would prevail over ser older mate, but I had no way to be sure which way the fight for the right to pup would go.
At last the dance broke. One of the combatant parents-to-be stumbled. Just a leg giving way, soon back in place, yet I chose to believe Imagomu had given me a sign that my prayer had been answered, that Kelile’s pup would nick and slice and bleed ser older lover by a score of injuries until sie revealed a fatal weakening.
As the minutes passed, Sentwalinzwan-pya’s scent strengthened, its vigor crowding out Korfa’s fading odor.
Seconds later the fight had finished. After a scuttle of violent motion, we heard Korfa’s head being ripped away, followed swiftly by Sentwalinzwan-pya’s cry of triumph and loss.
Fearful of Girma’s rage, Kelile and I stole away without waiting to watch the stronger parent consume ser weaker mate. Korfa’s flesh would be transformed into fuel for the metamorphosis from which Sentwalinzwan would emerge reborn as a scribe, the pup-less suffix stripped from ser name. Alongside the new Sentwalinzwan, growing into their own chrysalises, would be two new pups. Sentwalinzwan had already named them Talan-pya and Roble-pya.
Although I did not witness Sentwalinzwan’s feasting, it preyed on my mind. We had walked halfway down the ramp from the viewing ledge when I pulled Kelile to a halt.
It took several deep breaths of the heady mating chamber air before I was finally able to talk.
“When our time comes,” I said. “I wish for you to eat my flesh.”
Kelile rubbed ser forelimbs lovingly over my cheeks. Sie tilted ser head to show deep understanding.
The emotion of that moment so captivated me that I failed to notice the absence of agreement in ser scent.
An insistent pinging noise filled the cabin. Sentwalin peered at the emblems written on the backlit polymer screen. The lines and dots swam a dance of confusion until sinking into an abyss of incomprehension. The gift of reading had departed.
Sentwalin guessed the words meant someone wanted to talk to ser. Well, they could be banished for all sie cared.
“Make it go away,” sie ordered the dirigible’s computer.
It did. For a while.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Author’s Notes
Text (c) 2015 by Tim C. Taylor. All rights reserved. Alien insect image (c) bluecrayola / Shutterstock