Dawn of Peace
By Cheezey
Part Three
Lushara smiled as she saw RedEye already there and waiting at the restaurant they had chosen to meet up for dinner at. It was a bistro run by a middle-aged lunar couple that had a reputation for serving fine cuisine from all over, including a smattering of exotic Plundarrian and Thunderian fare as well as popular dishes originating from each of the Moons. The atmosphere was busy and it appealed to a wide clientele as it was not terribly expensive, and while much of the royal court would never bother with such a place, Lushara was not as stuffy as most and enjoyed a chance to get away from the same old scene every once in a while. She approached the other darkling and gave him a quick smooch. “Nice to see you.”
“Likewise,” RedEye replied.
The two of them had been involved in an intimate relationship for some
time now; they had only grown closer since the aftermath of the
They were seated shortly after Lushara arrived at a private booth in the back of the restaurant. It was crowded and busy, which gave them a nice wall for a private conversation amidst the general chatter and noise of the other patrons. After they ordered their drinks and meals, RedEye turned to her with a serious look and said in the blunt manner typical of him that there was something he wanted to talk to her about.
“Sure,” Lushara said, curious as to what was on his mind. “What is it?”
“I’ve been offered a good position. Military security.”
“Military? Really?” she said, arching an eyebrow in surprise. “I didn’t think you were interested in joining the ‘rules and regs’ side of things after so long as a free agent.”
“It’s a civilian contract,” he explained. “Some time ago I asked Frostor to let me know if anything worthwhile came up that didn’t involve uniforms or the chain of command.”
Lushara gave a knowing nod; that sounded a lot more like the RedEye she knew. “I take it he did then?”
That time RedEye nodded a yes. “Working on security systems and design. Something that uses my skills and improvisation tricks from our time on Third Earth and out on the run in the galaxy. They like the idea of someone that can think outside the box.” He smiled, and she did along with him.
“Good. It’s really an underappreciated thing, especially with how things used to be on the Moons with us trying to rebuild from scraps after the Thundera explosion disasters. I think too many of us have forgotten what it was like ten years ago when we were just getting things back in order.” She took a drink from her goblet. “And it sounds a lot better than that piecemeal tech stuff you’ve been doing here and there in the city. It’s easy for you, but it’s got to get boring fixing appliance computers and transport crafts.”
“Yes,” he agreed with a note of distaste in his voice.
“Congratulations then. I hope you like it. So where is the position? Which base? The one outside the city or over at the MoonTower?”
He fixed his gaze on her intently. “It’s not here on the Third Moon. It’s back on Noktoraek.”
Lushara blinked in surprise. “On the dark moon?”
He nodded. “Full time. Nearly full military perks too, about the best a civilian position offers: officer level housing, a credit line for living expenses and work, a nice personal craft, and a fuel allowance.”
“Wow,” she said, exhaling a deep breath she did not realize she had even been holding until she spoke. She realized now why he wanted to talk to her about it. “Congratulations. I can see why you wouldn’t want to pass that up.”
“I don’t plan to,” he said, and then met her eyes. “I’m expected to give them a start date by the end of the week. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
“Oh?”
The intensity in his red eyes seemed to double as he stared at her from across their plates. “I’d like you to come with me.”
She supposed she should have expected him to say that, although suddenly the anxiousness she had felt at his initial announcement about the job shifted. Lushara realized that what she had felt was regret that he would be leaving to take a job far from where she was, and that perhaps he would not want to bother with maintaining a long-distance relationship. What he had just said, however, caught her even more off guard and made her feel far worse—because without even thinking about it too hard or long, she already knew the answer. Her life was not on Noktoraek, even though she had been born there. She had lived on Dasanalith since her twenties and through the trying times of the disaster days. The Third Moon was her home and those at the MoonTower—Frostor, Selene, Psiarik—were her family. She could not imagine up and leaving them, or her responsibilities in the court. Not for anything, not even love. A pang of regretful emotion churned in her at that realization. She did love RedEye, and that made it all the worse.
“RedEye,” she said heavily, giving him a sincere but sad smile, “I’m glad you feel that way. You’ve really come to mean a lot to me in the time we’ve known each other and—”
He misinterpreted what she had started to say and smiled back at her. “You mean that much to me too, Lushara. Having you there will make it all the better. When we get there we can—”
“Whoa, hold on.” She cut him off, swallowing hard as his obvious enthusiasm was making what she was about to say that much worse. “Hear me out. I don’t want to hurt you but…” She paused for a moment, and as she saw the pleased look on his face shift to one of shock and realization and then distinct hurt, she wished that her darkling vision was not so sharp. “…but I can’t move to the dark moon with you. Much as I love you, that’s just not possible.” The words hung in the air like a thick and choking fog. “I’m sorry,” she added after a moment.
“Why not?” RedEye’s words were curt and simple, but demanding, as he stared back at her in a way that was nearly unbearable.
“This is my home,” she said simply. “The court is like my family, and I have responsibilities to them. I can’t just leave, not on short notice. They mean too much to me.”
“And you can’t give them notice and move later?” RedEye challenged, eyeing her with a dubious look that now bordered on accusatory. “Do you think I wouldn’t wait for you to tie up your loose ends if you need a few weeks? If you love me, wouldn’t that mean you trusted me?”
Lushara tapped her spoon somewhat agitatedly as she responded. “Oh, that’s not what I’m saying at all! I do trust you, you ought to know that.” She sighed. “A few weeks, a month, it wouldn’t make a difference. I’m needed here and I want to be here.” She saw his frown etch deeper, and her expression mirrored it with one of her own. “I know it’s important to you to go, so I’m not going to tell you not to… but on the same token, I’m not going to move either. I’m sorry. You’ve always had more wanderlust in you than I do.” She chortled darkly. “It’s one of those traits of yours that fascinated me, since I didn’t share it myself. My adventure stories all come from here in the post-disaster era. Aside from when I chose to move here, I’ve only even traveled to the other moons a handful of times, and those were trips or court missions, not permanent moves.”
RedEye straightened staunchly in his seat. “I see.”
“I can tell by the look on your face that you think it’s because I don’t care about you enough, or something. Whatever you want to believe, that’s not true,” she said, and pushed back from her plate, her appetite now gone.
“Apparently my feelings don’t factor in much to your plans.”
The dig irritated her, and she snapped back. “I could say the same about you.”
“Then it is what it is,” RedEye said, looking at her now with a distinctly cold and distant tone. “A shame it didn’t work out. I’d hoped otherwise.”
“So did I.” Lushara closed her eyes and finished her drink. “For what it’s worth, I still wish you well. I’m sure it’ll be a good move for you.” She dug some money out of her belt pouch and left it on the table. “I’m not really hungry now. Call me if you want to talk,” she said, and left. RedEye said nothing as she did. He only watched her leave and kept his eyes on the exit for several long moments after she departed, and then stabbed at the now cooled steak on his plate in disgust.
While one relationship was ending on the Third Moon of
Plundarr, a new one was beginning a world away on New Thundera. WilyKat walked into the municipal building of
“Thundercat WilyKat,” a leopard security sentry posted in the main entrance hall greeted him cordially. “Good to see you.”
“Thank you,” he replied politely to the spotted cat. “I’m here to pick up the census records. I heard they were ready?”
The sentry nodded. “The office should be open now. All the clerks were in late yesterday so I’m sure they’ve got what you need over there.”
“Great.” WilyKat nodded to the guard and headed down the hall. The census office was a large set of rooms on the south end of the building, down a spacious hallway lit mostly by the sunlight that poured in through high arched glass windows lining the corridor. The doors leading into the office were already open, so he stepped right in. “Hi,” he called out, “I’m here for the records?”
A lanky elder puma man looked up from a desk and smiled at him. “Ah, WilyKat of the Thundercats. Good day! We were expecting one of you folks from the Cat’s Lair to be over today. How are you doing?”
WilyKat smiled at the older cat. “Fine, thanks. How’re you?”
“Oh, pretty good, busy as usual with this business. It took us a while to get the last couple of updates from some of the clan leaders; you know how it is. Some cats just love to wait until the last minute! Leonora should have your package ready for you in a few minutes.” He turned and called out over his shoulder. “Leonora! The Thundercats are here for their data.” A muffled response came from an adjoining room, followed by some shuffling, while the puma returned his attention to WilyKat. “So how are things over at the Lair? Going well I hope?”
“Pretty well, yeah. Nothing too exciting going on lately, though I guess that’s a good thing.”
“And how’s Snarfer doing? We see him quite often in here on Thundercat and snarf business, though not for a few weeks now. I hope he’s just busy and otherwise doing fine?”
Nodding, WilyKat answered, “Oh yeah, Snarfer’s fine. He’s been helping Torr over at the beacon tower a lot lately.”
“Glad to hear it,” the puma said, and stepped aside as the clerk from the other room came over. “Do tell him we said hello.”
The other clerk, a pretty young lioness that wore her long fiery mane in a ponytail, set a thick envelope down on the counter in front of WilyKat. “Here you go.” She smiled at him.
“Thanks,” WilyKat said, picking it up. He looked over at the puma and answered him, “And I will.”
A buzzer sounded in the background and the puma headed back over to his desk. “Good day, WilyKat,” he finished distractedly as he bent to answer the call, leaving WilyKat with the other clerk.
“Do you need anything else?” she asked him politely.
“Nah, that’ll be it, if this has got all the clan records.”
“All the registered clan records and the miscellaneous registries from the city and neighboring districts,” the lioness confirmed. “But if you have any questions, feel free to call us. Cabrean’s only got a few more hours in today and he’s out the rest of the week on vacation… lucky him,” she said with a nod in the puma’s direction, “but I’m in late tonight and here all week, and so are Derapin and Gorac. My name’s Leonora, and you can ask for any of us.”
WilyKat picked up the envelope and smiled at her, now noticing her attractive features and soft voice. “I’m sure I won’t need to, but if they’re all as pretty as you I might stop by again anyway.” A friendly but sly smile crossed his lips as he spoke.
Leonora smiled back at him, clearly flattered. “Well thank you! That’s high praise coming from one of the Thundercats… and one of the most eligible ones at that.”
“Anytime.” He grinned. “Truth is part of the Code of Thundera, so I’m obligated to tell it, after all.”
She let out a soft giggle. “Of all the things I’ve heard about you and the Thundercats, it was never that you were such a flirt, WilyKat the Cunning.”
“I have my moments,” the male Thundercat twin told the lioness, still smiling. “Though sometimes when they say that, that’s not necessarily what they mean.”
“Well I’d mean it as a complement, so you don’t need to worry about that.” She leaned on the counter, tilting her head slightly as she looked him over. Although like most Thunderians she was familiar enough with their ruling noble Thundercats to recognize them at a distance and in uniform, she had never really encountered them in more than passing. Up close and in person, WilyKat was a handsome cat, with a well-toned athletic physique and eyes that sparkled with both warmth and a hint of mischief. Despite his high status he did not come across like one might expect a noble with such station to, and had far less arrogance about him than many clan leaders she had interacted with over the years. Face to face she could see that the tiger half of his lineage was stronger in his looks than the lion blood that comprised his other half, the side more prominent in his twin sister. The Thundercat twins were well known simply for that; they were the first mixed-race Thunderians to earn the titles of Thundercat in a few generations, and had done so at a remarkably young age. Neither the lion nor the tiger clans claimed them as one of their own as the identity of their parents was not known, only that they were orphans left in the care of the Thundercats as infants and raised as such. Still, their skills and wit were great enough that they made Thundercat history along with their full-blooded peers, and as such they were the pride of mixed-race Thunderians everywhere that had no clan of their own. While that particular bit did not apply to Leonora, for her family was one of noble lion lineage, a spiritualist lion clan called the Halerani, she was still glad that the mixed-race Thunderians had the same examples to aspire to in the ranks of the Thundercats that the pure-blood races did. Like WilyKat, she had not grown up in the stricter social class system of Old Thundera, having left the old doomed Thundera around the time of the Exodus. As a result, many of their generation tended to view Thunderians as one unified people, rather than the more old-fashioned view of them as a conglomeration of clans in strict noble lines and classes working together.
WilyKat, meanwhile, found himself staring into Leonora’s pretty copper-colored eyes, admiring her looks in a similar manner as she did his. Despite his earlier flirtatiousness, he was not quite as outgoing as his sister or some of the other Thundercats, and his duties did not generally leave him much time for dating. It was not that he did not have opportunities, for young Thunderian ladies often showed interest in him, as did parents and other family members of single Thunderian women looking to set them up with a hot Thundercat catch. The spontaneity of his meeting with Leonora was in part what drew him to her, that they just seemed to click in a way that felt natural to him. And of course, the fact that she was a cute lioness wearing a boldly-colored dress that accented her nice figure did not hurt either. “I’m glad,” he responded to her earlier remark after a moment.
Leonora straightened, although her gaze lingered on him. “Well, I ought to get back to work before Gorac comes over and thinks there’s something wrong. He’s a good guy, but he likes to keep cracking the whip over us to keep the machine going strong,” she said wryly. “It was nice meeting you.”
“If he’s too tough, maybe I should have Tygra come by to teach you a few tricks to get even,” WilyKat said, and then added almost as an aside, and with slight smile, “Or maybe I could.”
“I’d like that.” She picked up a pen and smiled at him in a way that made his heart skip a beat.
“Do you mean Option A or Option B?”
That time it was Leonora who smiled back with a hint of nervousness—pleasant nervousness, but nervousness just the same. “Option B.”
Twirling the envelope in his fingers, WilyKat grinned back at her. “You can count on it,” he said as he left. The census data was the last thing on his mind all the way back to the Cat’s Lair.
Ratar-O looked up from his steaming golden bowl of stew with an irritated expression on his face when he saw who it was that dared to interrupt his lunch. It was Chrotoman. “What do you want?” he demanded of the advisor.
“There was an incident in the capitol today that you need to be aware of, Sire.” The smaller rat’s whiskers twitched as he spoke.
“What is it?” Ratar-O slurped as he took another spoonful of his stew.
Chrotoman approached the side of the table. “The preparations for the feast to commemorate the second anniversary of the Battle of the Swords, the reclaiming of the Sword of Plundarr for Mutant-kind, and the Unification were set back today.”
That time the Mutant Warrior King looked up. “Set back how?”
“The office hosting the organization committee was ransacked
this afternoon during their
Ratar-O set his spoon down and glowered at Chrotoman. “You interrupted my dinner to pass on the festival committee’s whining about vandalism?” His voice rose several notches in aggravation. “Don’t we have city sentries to deal with this sort of nonsense?”
“It was the graffiti that was left there that I thought commanded your attention,” the slightly built advisor remarked coolly. “It wasn’t the usual scrawling of obscenities that your average delinquent jackal or simian adolescent trying to prove something would leave. This was, apparently, an organized attack.”
“An organized attack of stink bombs and graffiti?” Ratar-O repeated incredulously. “With each breath you seem to be wasting more of my valuable dinner time.”
Chrotoman gestured to one of the empty seats at the king’s table. “May I?”
“No, not unless you can prove to me that you have a point.” The grouchy rat slurped another spoonful of his stew.
“Very well,” Chrotoman said, peering down evenly at his liege. “The graffiti included an acronym that our intelligence linked to an aggressive fringe group intent on ‘preserving the purity and superiority of Mutant-kind’ as their leaders have asserted: M.O.P.R.S.—‘Mutants of Plundarr Rule Supreme.’”
“Let me get this straight. A group that self-identifies as ‘M.O.P.R.S.’ is bent out of shape that we’re commemorating the return of the Sword of Plundarr to us and the peace agreement?” Chrotoman nodded and Ratar-O went on. “So these ‘mopers’ are whining and laying stink bombs to show their displeasure, and it’s a crime mandating the attention of the ruling Mutant Warrior King why?”
“The M.O.P.R.S. are a more prominent and dangerous group than you’re giving them credit for, Sire,” the advisor pointed out gently. “This isn’t the first time they’ve made their dislike of your policies of fair trade and cooperation with the moon-dwellers and Thunderians clear. Last year they staged a protest in the simian capitol and—”
“And I’m sure the monkey guard threw a banana peel into their works before they got out a second stink bomb, otherwise I’d have heard more about it before now!” Ratar-O snapped. “I don’t have the time or the patience to be bothered by a bunch of sniveling bitches moaning about policies they don’t like. I hear that every day from clan leaders and diplomats. Whatever they think, I’m the Mutant Warrior King and they’re a bunch of nobodies. When they command the Sword of Plundarr or an army they can come and bother me with their complaints. Until then, tell the accountants to lighten up on the purse strings, pay a few guardsmen some overtime, and deal with it.” He picked up his goblet and stared harshly at his advisor. “That’s all I have to say about it, unless you have something more dire to report them doing than spraying graffiti and laying stink bombs.”
Chrotoman’s fangs pressed down against his lip in a hesitant motion. “No,” he said after a moment. “Nothing more than that at this time, except general grumblings of discontent. I was merely concerned about their sway among the populace, and the sort of message we ought to send on it.”
“What sway? How many? This is nothing but a lot of whining from malcontents who have nothing better to do with their time than crash a party and break into an office. Arrest these fools for disturbing the peace and be done with it.”
“That’s all?”
“Are there enough of these rebellious-minded idiots with spray cans and stink gas to cause more of a problem than our well-equipped military can handle?” Ratar-O challenged.
“No. As I said before, they’re a fringe group,” admitted the advisor.
“Then quit wasting my time with it. Take the necessary funds out of the treasury to increase security around the ceremony committee office and ensure that it goes as planned. The best attention we can give these ‘mopers’ is to ignore them like a petulant child.” He waved to the other rat in a way that made it clear that the conversation was over, and returned his attention to the stew that was now a tad too cool for his liking thanks to the interruption.
Chrotoman bowed. “Yes Sire,” he said with a conceding sigh, and left Ratar-O to finish his meal. The Mutant Warrior King took a hearty swig of his ale and muttered something along the lines of it not being strong enough, and ordered another, as well as a fresh bowl of stew.
Panthro and Snoelle snuggled up together in the bed that once belonged to the panther in Third Earth’s Cat’s Lair, enjoying the solitude, privacy, and lack of distraction on the otherwise peaceful world that had been home to the Thundercats between the destruction of the old Thundera and the reformation of the New Thundera. They had planned their stints of Third Earth duty to match up for the three week overlap so that they would not be apart for the full six weeks at one shot. Snoelle was technically in charge of the Tower of Omens, but Third Earth was very quiet with Mumm-Ra gone from the world for so many years, so they alternated their nights in each fortress so that it was not empty for too long with their equipment set on automatic alert to let them know if there was something at the other base that needed attention.
The couple had slept in after a passionate night before that kept them up late enjoying one another’s company in every sense of the word. They had now been together as a couple for some time and were formally engaged with a wedding to take place the following month. They had talked about the possibility of having cubs shortly afterward and already did not concern themselves with preventing a conception, although the fact that they had done so for a few of the snow leopard’s natural cycles had her wondering if they would have difficulty when they began to actively try to conceive. Much like it was with Lunatacs and also Mutants, the fertility rate in mixed-race Thunderian parents was significantly lower than with two parents of the same race. It was not impossibly low, perhaps ten to twenty percent more difficult, but still an added challenge, especially given that Snoelle was not entirely sure if her long imprisonment in the magical ice had affected her fertility in any way. Her cycles seemed normal enough, but given that she had never borne a cub before, she had no idea if that mattered, or if there were other issues that she was not aware of not having sought to conceive one prior to now.
Panthro had taken to his new spousal role quite naturally and even though he had been single for many years, he did not find any of the changes unpleasant aside from a few bemusing moments that arose from a female’s presence in his living quarters. Things like cosmetic tubes mixed amongst the odds and ends, usually gadgets, on his nightstand or “not being able to find a dangblasted towel” after she used the whole three he kept in the washroom after a shower. Such things inspired little more than a passing chortle or remark, however, and it was a welcome trade off for the new dimension of happiness that finding love had added to his life. The notion of someday becoming a father was a tad more daunting, but the idea of having a cub of his own was exciting to him. WilyKit, WilyKat, and Lion-O had all been wonderful children to be around when they were young, and at the time he loved them like they were his own younger siblings or nephews and niece. In more recent years he also enjoyed his uncle-like role in Pumari and Chet’s lives. Having his own cub would be a new challenge, he knew, but it was one he was up to and looked forward to tackling, especially with Snoelle at his side. Then, of course, there was the fun of trying for that cub. That was most definitely not anything he would complain about.
Such lusty matters were on his mind that morning as he woke up and smoothed his hands over Snoelle’s soft curves, caressing the outside of her hip and thigh with both affection and playfulness. She was only half-asleep, and when she felt his touch she turned back toward him with a sly look, savoring the feel of his fingers against her furred skin. “Good morning to you too,” she said with a purr in her voice. “I see you’re up and energetic.”
“But not so sure I’m ready to get out of bed,” he teased back, and gave her rump a squeeze. “How about you?”
“Mmmm, not just yet, although that depends.” She rolled over and fell naturally alongside his body, playing her fingers across the contours of his muscular blue chest.
Panthro eyed her mischievously. “On what?”
“On whether you can convince me that we should sleep in.” She leaned forward and planted a light smooch on his lips.
That was all the encouragement that Panthro needed. “I don’t know about sleeping, but I think could convince you to stay in bed.” He pulled her closer to him with one strong arm and kissed her, nipping lightly at her lower lip and sending a delightful tremor of passion through her.
Snoelle’s purr deepened, and she wriggled against him in a provocative way that served to excite them both. “Well, since I don’t hear any alarms, perhaps checking in on Third Earth can wait just a little longer.”
Moving from her lips to the silken fur of her neck, Panthro kissed his way downward and dipped a caressing hand between her thighs, noting how pleasantly she sighed as he touched her in the most intimate way. “That’s what I hoped you’d say,” he murmured between kisses, and then followed through on his intent with actions instead of words.
“What did you say?” an incredulous Chilla repeated to the lunar servant in front of her.
“There’s a guest here to see you, Lady Chilla. He says he came all the way from Lixuvekh to see you,” the attendant said. “Shall I send him in, or tell him you’re busy?”
Chilla’s frown deepened. She did not know of anyone from the ice moon that she could imagine would come to see her. Aside from her honeymoon, she had not set foot on Lixuvekh since her return to the Moons of Plundarr, and she was one of the least social of the Lunatacs from Skytomb. Although she had taken to her prestigious new role as supplementary royalty in the MoonTower quite naturally and she enjoyed the respect and perks that her station commanded, she did not schmooze like Alluro, Selene, or even Luna—though why anyone would want to schmooze with Luna was beyond her anyway. Even that day she was spending largely in solitude, alone in her quarters before the servant had come in to see her. Alluro was elsewhere, and their daughter Erissa, just a bit into her first year, was with her hired nanny. Chilla did not spend as much time with Erissa as some new mothers insisted on, for while she loved her daughter as fiercely as a mother polar bear would her cub, unlike the mother she had never known and who she still held in contempt, she was still a free-spirited ice warrior at heart. Domestic tasks like changing diapers and the lack of sleep that came with caring for an infant had no appeal to her when there was servant help to take care of such drudgery, and it was not as though a child that young did much more than coo, cry, eat, sleep, make messes, and occasionally do something cute anyway. Chilla figured there was plenty of time for her to spend with the baby when she was alert and not fussy, which was not the case that afternoon.
“Lady Chilla?” the servant repeated, awaiting an answer.
“Who is it?”
“An ice man like yourself, an older fellow with a thick second moon accent. When he first came in I thought he might be someone the Governor General knew, given his age. But he asked for you. He said his name was Glacelius.”
When she heard the name, Chilla’s blood froze like the ice that came from her mouth. “It can’t be…” she muttered. The attendant gave her a quizzical look, while Chilla’s fingers clenched and twitched with unspent energy. “He should be dead by now. He must be ancient!”
An uncertain frown flickered across the lunar’s features. “What should I tell him? Do you wish to see him or not?”
Chilla’s glare narrowed at the servant in a dangerous way that made her instinctively step back a couple of paces, although to her relief she did not ice her and instead brushed past her toward the door. “I couldn’t care less if I never see him.” Her voice was heavy with a contemptuous frost as she spoke.
Confused by her reaction, the servant said hesitantly, “Lady Chilla…”
“He’s my father,” she spat with disgust, an answer that cleared up why she had such a volatile reaction to the news. She glared out the door and down the hallway, although she did not see anyone. “What does he want?”
The servant caught up to and kept an anxious pace with Chilla as they proceeded down the hall. “He didn’t say, other than he came to see you.”
“I didn’t even think he could still be alive. I guess even the astral wants nothing to do with him.”
“We could send him away, if you want—”
“No,” Chilla cut the lunar woman off, her disgust that time clearly aimed at the man they spoke of rather than the messenger who had been previously worried that she would be iced in his stead. “I won’t let him get the satisfaction of thinking I’m afraid of him.”
The servant nodded and gestured to a room at the end of the hall. “He’s in the atrium then. I’ll leave you to him.” She then hurried off before Chilla could argue or she could be caught in the icy crossfire.
Chilla barely noticed her leaving and instead barged into the room. When she entered she saw a hunched over and aged blue form that she recognized immediately, even though she had not seen him for many years. His face was more scarred and wrinkled, and his body was weaker and more fragile in his elderly state than it had once been, but that did not lend Chilla’s thoughts toward any hint of pity or even superiority, only disdain and disgust. “Why are you here?” she demanded without bothering to greet him.
“Chilla, my little Chilla!” The old icewalker rose to his feet and smiled back at her with unshaken confidence despite the less than welcoming reception. “How long it’s been…”
“I’m not your ‘little Chilla’ and I haven’t been for a long time! Why are you here?” she repeated.
Glacelius straightened as best he could and looked his estranged daughter in the eye. “Is it so surprising that a man would seek out his only daughter in his old age, when he hears not only that she’s still alive, but done amazing things with her life since she was last a part of his?”
Unmoved, Chilla’s green eyes burned with anger instead of familial warmth. “Spare me your nauseating paternal concern. We both know why you’re here.”
A knowing smile crossed the old icewalker’s lips. “You always were a sharp-tongued one, Chilla, with a mind like a steel trap and a temper like an angry snow badger to boot. But I can see that psi you married’s rubbed off on you. You talk like one now, or like one of these Third Mooners at any rate. Big words, good grammar… how self-important.” He chuckled. “Your mother talked like that too. Not surprising, I suppose, since she was from the Third Moon. I hear that they think you’re the daughter of the sorceress Chillandra.” Glacelius laughed again. “Viene always acted big, but I never saw a sign that she had those sorts of tricks up her sleeve… a few others, perhaps, but that’s neither here nor there.”
“I don’t care who Mother was or what she called herself—Viene, Chillandra, or just that woman who gave birth to me and left me in a dump of a town with you,” Chilla hissed. “And I don’t think much more of you, either! We both know why you’re here. Not for your ‘dear’ daughter, for your meal-ticket, right?” She spat a patch of ice at his feet. “You have nerve coming here.”
“High words from one who’s got royal immunity only because she let herself get knocked up by the king’s illegitimate father,” Glacelius scoffed back at her, unfazed. “Seems he has a habit of that, eh? But then, so did your mother I suppose, that’s how I wound up with you. I never thought that fling with Viene would go that way when I took up with her either, though she at least could’ve had the decency to take you along for the ride if she was going to leave me, the bitch.” He kicked at the ice spot at his feet in disgust. “Neither she or you ever appreciated me. My brother always said I was too soft on you, but your grandmother thought you might be worth something someday. Funny, she was right.” He sneered at his daughter, who now stood taller than he due to his advanced age, unlike the last time they had seen one another, when he had been in his prime and she a teenager. “Though when I saw your face on the news years after you left home as a part of the Lunatacs of Plundarr gang—hah, did we have a laugh about that! My little Chilla made something of herself indeed—the Moons’ most wanted list.”
Chilla folded her arms and glowered at him. “Jealousy doesn’t become you, ‘Daddy’.”
“Just as sarcastic as you were as a teenager.” Glacelius shook his head in bemusement. “Going to teach your little half-breed to be so snippy? You’d better be careful. With half psi blood she won’t be able to spit ice beyond snot cubes without rigorous training.” He raised an eyebrow and smiled sarcastically. “I hope she inherited at least a bit of foresight or mind-reading from Lord Alluro to keep herself out of the kind of trouble you got into.”
“Don’t mention Erissa again,” Chilla warned, looming over her father’s aged figure. “If you’ve come here thinking you’re going to play ‘Grandpa’ to my child, you’ve got another thing coming. I haven’t needed you since I was fifteen, and I certainly don’t now.”
Glacelius’ eyes lit with amusement. “In this grand setting? I’d hope not, although I admit I’m surprised you’re still this stubborn and arrogant even after being run off the Moons, imprisoned by a human mercenary, and humiliated over and over again by Thunderians on a primitive planet.” He made a tsk-tsking noise. “I’d thought those experiences might’ve humbled you a bit, but I’m afraid you’re too much like me.” The smug look in his eyes as he regarded her was, much to her disgust, one of pride. “I’ve always pushed the limit too. Pity your mother never appreciated that in us. Maybe that’s why she left. We were too much for her to handle.”
“Like I said before, I don’t know and don’t care about her.”
Glacelius sat down in a chair. “Or me, right?”
“Incredible. A thousand psi empaths couldn’t have picked that up.”
Chilla’s father let out a hearty laugh. “And you would know all about the Fourth Moon types, wouldn’t you? Your lover’s given you such insight into their ways, I suppose. Really, Chilla, of all the men I’d imagine you might take up with, a psi? Wasn’t there a graviton with you on Third Earth? I’d have thought a physical man like that would be a better match if you didn’t have an ice man around. You always had fight and fire in you, girl. Or do you like the ones you can push around… when you can be sure he’s not controlling that oh-so-free spirit of yours, anyway?”
Chilla fought to contain the rage and contempt that her father so deftly needled out of her. “You don’t know anything about Alluro, my relationship with him, or me for that matter.”
“Just what I’ve seen in the media,” Glacelius said with a shrug. “Of course, if you’d like to prove me wrong, you can amuse your old father by setting him straight on what’s become of you. Perhaps over a nice meal in the grand hall. I never had the clout to get into the old palace before it was destroyed, but I hear Queen Selene keeps a fine court, and with you and our esteemed Governor General on it, I’m sure some exquisite Lixuvekh fare gets served.” A snide grin flashed across his face. “See, I know those big words too, little girl!”
“You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out, old man, or anything worse!” Her words were heavy with threat and a mist of ice crystals hung on her breath like daggers ready to carry them out.
“Chilla?” Alluro’s voice interrupted them, and both she and Glacelius turned toward the doorway where the psi stood. “I thought I heard you in here.” He came in and eyed the old icewalker curiously. “Who’s your friend?”
“He’s no friend,” Chilla snarled contemptuously, while Glacelius bowed cordially to Alluro and introduced himself.
“No, I’m family, hence the fond treatment.” He smiled at the psi in a way that would almost seem friendly if not for the aggressive glint in his eyes as he sized him up. “I’m Glacelius. Nice to meet you, son-in-law.”
Alluro blinked, and looked from Glacelius to Chilla. “Your father?”
“Yes.” The tone of Chilla’s voice made it clear that she would have found a visit from a Mutant door-to-door salesman more preferable than her father’s company.
“I didn’t know you had family left on the Moons,” the surprised Alluro remarked, and in turn eyed Glacelius with an evaluating look. He knew little about Chilla’s father, only what he had gleaned from what references she made to him on the rare occasion that the subject came up, but the harsh-looking old man seemed to fit the image of what he might have imagined him to be like, albeit shorter and more frail given his age. “I take it neither did you.” The remark was addressed to Chilla rather than Glacelius.
Glacelius spoke before Chilla could answer. “So this is the infamous Lord Alluro.” He smirked. “And I mean ‘infamous’ as a complement, of course.”
Alluro’s brow rose with smug arrogance. “How else would there be to take it?”
“Indeed. Infamy means being remembered, and both of you will certainly go down in the history books.” Glacelius looked at Chilla with a sense of pride that riled her in the way he reveled in it, as if he had anything to do with it. “My little girl certainly has made quite the impression on the Moons… on the system, the galaxy, even the Thundercats and CONTROL from what I hear. And my granddaughter’s a blood member of the royal family! Never in my craziest dreams would I have imagined that.”
Chilla frowned at him. “Not surprising, considering your dreams never seemed to stretch that far.”
The old icewalker straightened and glowered at his daughter. “Wrong. I always had my dreams, even though Viene and you took most of them away years ago. By the time you left, it was too late for me to do too much about them. But I’ve still got my creature comforts, and at my age, there’s not too much more to ask for.” He narrowed his eyes. “Except for perhaps a bit of consideration from my sweet little snowflake, but it seems she’s too much like her mother for that, even after all these years.”
“You have consideration,” the seething Chilla assured him. “What else do you think is keeping me from throwing you out of the MoonTower with my bare hands?”
“Consideration for Queen Selene’s lovely rugs?” Glacelius retorted sarcastically. “Or are these more the psi tastes from the king or Lord Alluro? Psis can be so feminine it’s hard to tell.” Alluro bristled at the insult, but Chilla beat him to the punch and Glacelius beat her to the door. “Don’t worry, I won’t force my prim and proper ‘royal’ daughter to sully her little lunar in-law’s expensively decorated halls on my account. I’ll leave.” He ran his fingers back through his short white hair as he paused in the doorway. “It was short, but I’m glad I saw you, Chilla. I’m sure Viene’d be proud. Perhaps she’s smiling down at you this very moment from a nicer spot than the gutter the whore likely died in after she left us. At least you got enough sense from me to do better than that.” He laughed darkly. “I’ll die proud of you, dear daughter, even more so that you still hate me with the same ferocity you did when I last saw you.”
He bowed again, that time in an exaggeration of the snooty royal court gesture. “I hope you’ll at least tell little Erissa that her grandfather once asked about her, and that he hopes she does the ice blood half of her proud. Tootles!” His gravely voice hit a high note in its sneering mockery, and he waggled his fingers along with it for effect as he spoke. He then turned and left as abruptly as he had showed up.
Chilla and Alluro watched him go, and once he was gone, Alluro watched Chilla in silence for a moment as he gauged her feelings about what had just transpired. “Interesting man, your father,” he remarked after a moment.
She turned and fixed the residual glare for Glacelius onto him. “That’s one word for it.”
“What did he want?”
“Money, probably.” She folded her arms crossly. “Like I told Frostor back when he was going on about how Chillandra must be my mother, if anyone in my father’s family had ties to anyone of importance, they’d hit them up for it and try to hone in on it for themselves. I guess I was right,” she scoffed, a thin and icy mist coming from her nostrils as she did. “Funny how he had no urge to come and find me until word that I wound up in royal digs reached him.”
Alluro put his arm around Chilla’s shoulders. “Not to defend the old man, but one could hardly blame him for not wanting to traipse out to Third Earth or waste his money going to Bragg’s circus train,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “But yes, I’d say that his motives are to say the least, suspect.” He gave her a curious look. “He mentioned Erissa. Did he see her?”
“No, and he won’t if I have anything to say about it. If she asks, her grandparents are all dead.”
Alluro nodded. “By the time she’s old enough to ask, it probably won’t be a lie anyway. He makes Luna look spry.”
“It’s almost enough to make you wonder if bitchiness is the secret to vitality,” Chilla quipped, and then stalked over to one of the couches in disgust. “Alive or not, it was clear to me years ago that I was better off without my family. I’d be a worse mother than my own if I subjected Erissa to them.”
Although he knew it was dangerous ground to tread on with her, Alluro’s curiosity got the better of him and he pushed the subject lightly. “Funny, the subject of your mother—I assume that’s who the ‘Viene’ he mentioned was—seems to be the only one you and he are inclined to agree on.”
“Even so, neither’s worth talking about.” The note of finality in her response made it clear that she would not tolerate his line of questioning any further unless he wanted to risk an icing. In light of that, he shifted the subject to one slightly more amenable that had also been raised by Chilla’s father’s visit.
“He did bring up one thing that I’ve wondered about.”
“What’s that?”
“Erissa,” Alluro said, pausing a moment before he elaborated. “He remarked on her half-breed heritage. It seems he doesn’t expect much of her.” He frowned in dismay. “Distasteful as I find the notion of agreeing with someone like him, I’ve wondered the same about her. Half-breeds have a difficult time making a name for themselves with the meager skills they’re born with. With parents like us, one should expect great things from her.”
“Training will overcome a lot of half-breed weaknesses, that and focus,” Chilla asserted. “I’m sure my father would get perverse validation from me spawning a weak child when he did ‘so well’ with me as he likes to think, but he won’t get that satisfaction. If he wishes weakness on her, may she not only prove him wrong, but spit an ice loogie right on his grave when she’s old enough to do it.”
The fire in Chilla’s voice left Alluro holding his tongue for the time being on his own conflicting thoughts on the subject of their daughter and her likely levels of natural psi and icewalker powers. Instead all he did was smile and say, “Ice loogies? That’s a talent that would do her ‘uncle’ TugMug proud if I ever heard one.” He chortled. “Though if she does develop it, I’d double her allowance to see her hock one at Luna.”
The visualization inspired Chilla to smirk along with him. “I’ll be sure and teach her.”
Alluro grinned and squeezed her shoulder with affection. “And an excellent teacher you will be.”
Monkian disembarked from his ship and stood outside of the shadow of Castle Plundarr on Third Earth, now dilapidated from over sixteen years of neglect and disuse. “Never thought I’d see this place again,” the simian Mutant muttered quietly, shaking his head. In truth, Monkian had never expected to leave Plundarr again, let alone return to the off-track and primitive world that had been his home for many years. However, fate had taken an odd turn and Monkian’s nephew Cynolus had suffered an injury in battle from a poisoned weapon that was not healing properly. It was not fatal, but it was painful and uncomfortable. Cynolus had remembered his uncle’s stories of magic on Third Earth and wondered if somewhere in their primitive lore they might have a treatment that would ease it where Plundarrian medicine failed, and asked if he might return to the world to see if there was anything there that could ease his pain. The material reward he offered was too good to pass up, and even if it had not been, Cynolus was kin and his favor had granted Monkian a measure of status, so he would not have risked losing it anyhow, even for a wild goose chase mission to a world he would just as soon as never see again.
He decided first to look through what remained of Vultureman’s lab in Castle Plundarr. There were still potions and notes in there, and while Monkian was not a scientist like Vultureman was, he figured he could still tell what was what. He also carried a sample of the poison with him and a picture of the plant it was derived from on Plundarr for reference. He knew it was a long shot that Vultureman would have anything that resembled either right in his old lab, but stranger things had happened, so he figured it was as good a place to start as any. Besides, if that was a bust, he could always find and intimidate a Wollo or Balkan healer into giving him information about them.
Looking over the abandoned lab’s shelves and surfaces, he first went to a bench that had a section full of old vials, all dusty and grimy with age. He picked up the closest and uncorked it, and a rancid stench wafted out and filled his nostrils. With a wince he closed it back up and held it up to the light—not anything powered on, of course, as that had all long since stopped working, but the sunlight that came through the partially broken window nearby. The writing on the vial was faded and he had forgotten that Vultureman’s scrawl was difficult to read even when it was freshly inked. Monkian sighed as he realized that he had no clue what the substance was at all; it could have been anything from a fuel additive to the foul concoction he once brewed to relieve Slythe’s constipation. He set it down and thought for a moment, and then proceeded to pack all of the old vials into the protective carrier he had brought in with him. “Hoo, screw it, I’ll just bring it all back and let them sort through it,” he said, and moved on to the bookshelf to see if there was anything there that would be any more helpful.
Most of what was there was notebooks rather than any actual books, notes that Vultureman had written there pertaining to his various inventions and vehicles. He did not see anything that resembled medical remedies or anything about plants or poisons from what he could tell, and he tossed the books back on the shelf in disgust. “Figures I probably burned all that fuel coming here for nothing.” He shook his head. Castle Plundarr, or what was left of it, had nothing left of interest. A damp gust of wind from a hole in the wall above drove home the point that the fortress was home to ghosts of the past and nothing more.
“Guess there’s one other place I could try,” he mused, and his lips curled in disgust as he thought about it. Where screwball avian Mutant science had failed, ancient Third Earth magic might yet have an answer. Mumm-Ra was long gone from the world, but as far as he knew, the ruins of the onyx pyramid still existed. Perhaps somewhere in there was a totem or relic with healing powers. Mumm-Ra had been evil, but the evil power that had made him strong and prolonged his unnatural life surely had healing powers to it that could remedy the painful effects of poison.
Monkian was about to get back into his ship when an arrow flew out of the nearby trees and struck the metal hull of the ship right in front of his nose, bouncing off with a clang. “Great,” Monkian muttered under his breath. He had not been on Third Earth in years, and he was barely back for the equivalent of a pit stop before the locals were literally up in arms. He supposed the Thundercats never passed along the peace memo to the warrior maidens, and figured if they wanted to shoot at him, he could play that game too, with laser blasters. He simultaneously reached for the gun on his belt and picked up the arrow. He intended to snap it with his free hand in a show of contempt when he noticed something he had not seen or thought about in years—two bright green feathers tied to the end of it.
“Zalea?” he whispered, surprised.
There was a swish of wind, and a warrior maiden in a deerskin loincloth with her light brown hair tied into a ponytail swung out from the high branches of a nearby grove of trees. She strode toward him with her bow drawn and guarded, but more curious than aggressive. “I thought that was you… impossible as I thought that was.”
The shocked Monkian lowered his pistol a bit and held out the arrow with a strange look at the one warrior maiden he had not been at odds with. Their friendship—if one could call it that—had been a secret he kept from the other Mutants aside from him passing along tidbits of information he had gotten from interactions with her. He had met Zalea one on one after hostilities had already been established between the Mutants and warrior maidens back in their early days on Third Earth. The two had encountered one another high in the trees near Castle Plundarr and had gotten into a scuffle that knocked them both out of them and into a trap another tribe had set for large beasts. The only way either could escape was for them to trust and help one another get free, and survival instinct ranked higher than grudges, so they had. The experience had left them with a lasting mutual respect, since the personal grudges of their people did not apply to each other as individuals. Hence they did not attack one another and when they met alone, their interactions were friendly, and at times, even beneficial.
“You’re still around?” Monkian said, noting that she looked older, but no less a warrior. Living in the elements was not an easy lifestyle, but it kept the warrior maidens in top shape, and only the lines in her tanned skin truly showed her age.
Zalea smiled at him. “I could’ve said the same thing about you. The word was that all of you Mutants were imprisoned years ago, and your part of Third Earth has been quiet ever since. Barely a soul goes near your Castle Plundarr anymore. Even wanderers and nomads avoid that place. Only animal life ever takes shelter there.”
“It did seem like nobody’d been there since we left.”
“It’s considered a cursed place. The memory of the evil deeds of your people still frightens most of Third Earth.” Zalea replaced her bow on her back now that it was clear that there was no threat from her old friend.
Monkian did the same, sheathing his gun back in its holster. “Hoo, but you’re here.”
“I’ve never been as superstitious as some, but our shamaness warns all our young ones against exploring here. I’m still one of the only scouts that volunteer for this territory. Personally, I like the solitude and the hunting’s always been good here.” She looked at him curiously, fixing her wide brown eyes on him. “So what did happen to you? Were the rumors true? A bounty hunter captured all of your people and the Lunatacs of DarkSide?”
A dark glower crossed Monkian’s face at the mention of what had happened with Captain Bragg, something he would just as soon forget, just as he still wished he had never heard Marvelous Merna’s name. “Unfortunately.”
Zalea offered a sympathetic look. “I’m glad that you weren’t harmed, at least—or that you’ve healed from it. And apparently escaped or been set free?”
“Escaped,” he said, and used her mention of healing as a good excuse to change the subject. “And speaking of healing, hoo, that’s actually why I’m here. I need a poison remedy that we don’t have on Plundarr.”
“Plundarr,” Zalea repeated with surprise. “Really? What kind of poison?”
“My uncle was wounded by a weapon coated in it. It doesn’t kill him, hoo, but it won’t heal and causes him a lot of pain. He’s an important man, but even our best doctors don’t have a remedy for it. We wondered if there might be a relic or a potion on Third Earth that can help him. We saw all sorts of things like that in our time here.”
“That’s incredible.”
“Why?”
“I—I guess it’s just hard to imagine that people like yours that can travel through space are still troubled by such things as poisons.” Zalea then shook her head at her own naïveté as she realized how she tended not to think how things might be different, or the same, in worlds beyond her borders. “Do you know what kind of poison it is? From an animal? A plant?”
Monkian fished the vial holding the poison sample out of the carrier. “This is the stuff. Be careful, it burns to the touch. You need glass to hold it, or something like it.” He shook the liquid, a cloudy amber fluid the consistency of tree sap. “It comes from a plant that grows on our world called the Savragia bush. It grows in thorny thickets in warm areas with a mix of shade and sun, and the poison comes out of the thorns. I don’t know if you have it or anything like it on Third Earth though.”
Zalea took the vial and uncapped it, sniffing gingerly at it and watching how it clung to the glass. “Looks oily, and it smells a bit like the rotted leaves the Jivwaki bug likes to eat. I wonder if the plant is the same type. Can you draw me a picture of the plant or its leaves?”
Chortling under his breath, Monkian said, “I’m no artist, but I do have a picture of it.” He opened up a compartment on the carrier and pulled out a sheet that had a glossy image of the Savragia plant on it and handed it to her. He smiled somewhat amusedly at the way Zalea’s eyes widened upon looking at the image. Such simple technology to him was still a wonder to primitives such as the warrior maidens.
“Your people have such amazing magic to catch something just like a reflection or a scrying image that you can carry with you.” She looked at it from several angles and then said after a moment, “I don’t know of a plant that looks like this, so it’s probably something native only to your world. But the Jivwaki bug lives in a swamp with thorny bushes with blackened vines like the stems of this plant, so perhaps they’re in the same family. I know the plants are inedible to us and cause an awful itch and burn if they cut the skin. We do have a salve that we make from fire mushroom flesh and sapphire weed that helps it, especially the burning pain.” She looked back up at Monkian. “Does his wound burn? Is that the sort of pain he feels with it?”
“Yes. He says it burns, sometimes so much that he can hardly walk. It oozes, hoo, and just scabs over and re-opens, never heals.”
“I’ll get you some of the salve. It takes time to make, so I won’t be able to get it to you until tomorrow. Meet me here then.” She adjusted her quiver and took a step backwards.
“See you then.” Zalea gave Monkian a wave and then darted back off into the trees, swiftly and graceful as she had arrived. Monkian looked down at the green-feathered arrow, still in his hands, and shook his head with bemusement. “Still keeping watch, even after all this time…” He stashed it into his carrier, and went back into Castle Plundarr. For one night, the lonely old Mutant fortress would have an occupant once more.
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