crispina kemp

Chapter Forty-Six of my current wip. As before, all and any comments very much appreciated

Please note: This is a weekly post

Canipse sat outside Hive Six which he occupied with two textile operatives. He had taken over Mavlin’s bed-cell, Mavlin now was promoted to Catering Overseer. Zem Jess had arranged it, no asking him if he’d mind. He did mind. To share a hive with Dorsin: That created an atmosphere which rubbed him sore. He didn’t understand it, why Dorsin held such a grunt against him. The zem hadn’t disciplined him, not even shouted. Apparently.

From the low slung canvas chair, he watched the zem’s yea-saying team of observers and operatives, and the women, hasten, saunter or bustle pass all wrapped in their chores, their duties, or pleasures. And what else had he to do?

“You can go back to catering just as soon as Antel says you’re sufficiently healed.”

But who was Antel to say when his body had healed, and who was the zem to say no work till then? Did either of these ‘authorities’ have a wisp of an idea what his catering duties might be, especially now he’d been replaced as the overseer? Can’t do this, can’t do that. Yet they allowed him to slither and slide down that loose scree slope, there to fish around for stones that the Techs might deem ‘interesting’. But his intent wasn’t to rebuild that wall.

His last stone-hunting jaunt coincided with yet another Itamakku woman losing a baby. Not that he knew that till he returned to base amid that ear-splitting commotion, the wailing, the screaming. He’d no time for it. If their babies were that easily gotten, then fine, get another. They weren’t like a twin sister, to be born the once and never again. Besides, those women shouldn’t have been on the base. Neither should the obs be entering their bodies and beds. And he noted that: only the obs, never the operatives. The Techs had warned them, no contact. But the zem had led them to it.

Such had been his opinion. But now he’d had time to run the doings, past and present, through his mind. Now it wasn’t so easy to hold his chuckles. For he’d seen a way to destroy the lying manipulative killing dehiscing grey Techs.

He grunted another chuckle. And the zem thought he’d outwitted the shitty slimy slugs. He stopped. And thought. And changed that to shitty slimy leeches.

A catering overseer had many skills, and even greater knowledge. It wasn’t only about what to serve the observers for breakfast. That food had to be grown. Which meant the ground must be prepared. And the seeds sown. And the weeds kept down. Rooted out and scythed.

Again, he grunted. Time to spread the dissent. To show the hogtied workers what was seed and what was weed.

But first he had to solve a couple of problems. One, he had lost his map. Two, he couldn’t operate a flier.

He couldn’t a flier, but this observer, now coming from the fly-port, could.

That observer, Shelek, walked towards the hives with his back bowed like a mourning Monza grieving his sister. Canipse understood that. There wasn’t a Monza on the GM Programme who hadn’t grieved the death of a sister, though only he had had to carve and cook his precious Cally. To find a replacement – as surely these women must seem to those involved – and to lose her to death as well, that must doubly hurt. And there was Shelek sharing a hive with Joel and his woman, and that woman with a belly like a pregnant cow. He could see that would scrape Shelek bad.

Shelek turned his steps towards Hive One. To report to Zem Jess? Or did he think to find succour there? But the zem’s dragon-woman was swelling again.

“Hey!” Canipse called to Shelek, his chin upjutted to beckon him over.

“What?” Shelek’s greeting was sullen but that didn’t bother Canipse.

“I’ve been watching you.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong. You can’t go stirring.”

Canipse chuckled, as friendly as he was able. “Not stirring. My stirring days are done. Got eaten by a dragon, my eyes see things differently now. These eyes see that you’re grieving. Though I mightn’t understand all this fuss with the women, I do understand grieving – for sisters. And now you don’t want to be with Joel and his woman. You’re uncomfortable there. Is that right?”

Shelek shrugged, like none of this mattered to him. Yet Canipse could see that it did.

“Hive Six has an empty bed-cell, you know. Esplin moved to Hive Seven after their domestic died. And Mavlin and me, we’ve swapped. There are no other obs there but…we’re not a bad crew, we’d welcome you. We wouldn’t pester,” he added. “We’d give you space.”

Shelek nodded. Slowly. Clearly he’d not yet made up his mind. But he would.

*

It took Canipse less than a quarter moon to turn Shelek to his eager supporter. Not that Shelek wanted a return of the Techs, and that was the story that Canipse had offered. Shelek had no complaints against the zem and the way he allowed this associating with women. Shelek had no complaints at all. In fact, Shelek was altogether apathetic. Which suited Canipse just right.

While the zem was away from base on obs duty, and his deputy Armar was doing whatever he and the medic did, all hidden away in their hive, Shelek downloaded a map from the psi-sphere and printed it as Zem Jess had done.

“You’re a good Monza,” Canipse patted his back.

Shelek acknowledged with a nod.

And how many days would their journey take? Though Canipse deemed it worth any amount of discomfort, to be too many days in the company of this dispirited observer might test him more sorely than his foot-weary forest slog had.

They loaded a flier with food and water from the Techs’ store. The former Catering Overseer, Canipse knew where everything was. He added two psi-guns and the same of psi-lights. Then he returned to the stores and took another two of each.

A full moon-cycle later Shelek brought their flier to ground beside the northern Clutch Seven’s fly-port. And now the fun could begin.

*

“You leave this to me,” Canipse said, and led the way to the basecamp.

As with Clutch Six, it was situated on a flat-topped hill – Canipse amended that to a flat-topped ridge – which overlooked a wide river valley. In the far distance that valley merged into a plain. Unlike their southern base, this place was cold. But no surprise there, Zem Jess had warned him of that. The river was busy with what looked like boards with billowing sheets pinned to them.

“Boats,” Shelek answered Canipse’s grunted query. “I saw similar on Simmah Zayin.”

“Clever.”

“Our breed pool uses similar.”

“They do? Not on our rivers – tumbling streams, more like.”

“At Toki-dow,” Shelek said. “They use them on the sea.”

Well, Shelek would know; he wasn’t base-bound like him.

Knowing about the perimeter holos, Canipse and Shelek were able to negotiate a way around them. “Just in case the triggering system alerts the Techs. I’d rather we were into the base before we encounter them.”

“I don’t really get what you’re going to do.” Shelek was now more talkative than he’d been for the length of the journey. But then, perforce, he’d had his thoughts tied into the psi-sphere. Maybe that experience had helped ease his distress at the loss of his woman.

“You don’t need to know. Like I said, leave it to me.” Let the Techs delve into the observer’s mind. What they found there would be better than anything Canipse could conjure. And they wouldn’t get into his own mind, not now he was cleansed of their disease.

Disease, that was the word for them.

As expected, as soon as beyond the perimeter, the hives and fly-port within easy sight, the Techs appeared. Little grey bodies that seemed to emerge from the greyness of the scarp’s rock. No emotion marred their plain features. Not even puzzlement.

“Observer…Shelek of…Clutch Six,” the chosen speaker addressed Shelek, a glance at Canipse but no words for him. He was an anomaly: a head they couldn’t enter.

“Tech 7992045,” Canipse addressed the speaker, the Tech’s number clearly displayed on the breast-badge.

The three Techs turned their attention to him. “Catering operative…?” the speaker responded.

Canipse kept his chuckles silent and invisible. But their confusion did amuse him. “We come seeking your aid.”

He took a glance around. He wanted an audience for this. Slowly, as word spread of this puzzling visitation, the obs and ops sauntered across the base to where the Techs had supposedly blocked the visitors’ further ingress. And where was the zem? Ah, there, in the deeper yellow jacket. Zem Ezen. A Tech-lover.

“By now you’ve had time to plunder Observer Shelek’s memories. His distress. His disturbance. Grieving worse than losing a sister.” The Techs would want to keep this hidden. But Canipse wanted it broadcast and he was the loudspeaker. “But why such grief when all he did was to buck a fem from our breeding pool? Yea, yea, we know it’s forbidden but – just as we’ve just done – they crossed the warding perimeter. You know in the presence of them fems we change. We mature.” He rattled on, advantage taken of the Techs’ apparent confusion. “Look at him, look at Shelek. Look at that beard, at his shoulders, his height. Other bits have grown as well but his groin-cloth hides that. Look at the observer, no longer a kid but a full grunting goat.”

Amongst Clutch Six the only members not yet affected were a handful of operatives. He’d thought himself unaffected, yet on the flight here he’d noticed the first signs of change. But was it surprising when the base now teemed with Sanki women.

He had his audience. But every one of them was under Tech-control. Since the Techs weren’t yet ready to silence him – and when they were he’d have to move fast – he talked some more, now addressing specifically the Monza. Personal stuff that might resonate with some, or with all.

“They killed my sister, you know. Did they kill yours too? Did they then bring you her body and tell you to carve it and cook it? For those slow with the numbers, no matter what else they’ve told you, we are bred as food for the Techs.”

The zem, in his yolk-yellow jacket, stepped forward, hands up in ‘halt, stop, shut your noise position’. Zem Ezen, the Tech-lover. “You, I’d say, have been infected by your Tech-hating zem.”

“And there, Zem Ezen, you are wrong. For rather my Tech-hating zem has set me free. Yes, you’ve heard that right. Our zem has freed us from those lying manipulative blood-hungry Techs. Just as I’m going to do for you.”

That was the cue the Techs had awaited, to know exactly Canipse’s intent. But Canipse was faster. A stun-gun in each hand, he aimed and let rip. Shelek followed his lead. Two Techs crumpled. The third ran for the fliers. Canipse failed to find the target in time. That third Tech was into the flier and rising above them.

No mind, he’d brought down two. He fired again, this time more carefully aimed – at their heads. “Let them taste the horrors of the psi-sphere.”

There was no need to turn those guns on his audience. They gasped, jaws dropped. Bewilderment. Zem Ezen the worst. Oh, what was that dampness? Had he peed himself?

Canipse turned to Shelek. “Get them into our flier, we’ll dispose of them on the way back.”

“Are they…are they d-dead?” he rattled.

Canipse shook his head. But by the time they recovered their senses – lost somewhere in the trackless forest – maybe they would be.

“Now,” he again addressed his audience. He had to be quick, he wanted to get away before anyone had time to retaliate. “Who amongst you can handle a flier?”

“I can,” said a voice from amongst the yellow-clothed observers.  “Zem Jess taught me.”

“Congratulations, Observer…your name?”

“Observer Izeqe.”

“Congratulations, Observer Izeqe. If you can control a flier, you’re now the zem. These Monza are going to need you and the fliers to keep this clutch alive. But I’d recommend you instruct others on fly-craft and be swift about it.”

Continues next week
Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoyed
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