Dawn of Peace
By Cheezey
Part Five
“Hoo, it’s incredible!” Cynolus exclaimed, grinning at his uncle Monkian with unabashed glee. “The human’s primitive medicine worked. I haven’t felt this good since before I was wounded, and look,” he peeled back the gauze that still covered the sore, “it’s healing. Really healing.”
Monkian nodded back to his nephew and smiled. “Glad it worked.”
“That human of yours is a keeper. No wonder you brought her with you,” the simian went on, still nearly giddy with delight. “I’d pay you a small fortune for her myself if you’d part with her, but I get the feeling you won’t.”
“Sorry. I told Zalea I’d keep her.” Monkian shook his head. After he and Zalea had gotten back to Plundarr, the warrior woman had wisely chosen to heed his warning and act like he had told her to—quiet and submissive, and to do explicitly what he said and stay with him at all times when they were together. As such, aside from some grumbles and glowers, she had survived the trip. Monkian had her administer the treatments to Cynolus’ wound, telling his uncle that he had captured Zalea when he learned she had the means to heal him. No further questions were asked after that, other than to inquire if he intended to keep or sell her, in which case Cynolus would rather buy her himself than see her go to the open market. He hinted strongly that her tough female physique was something he found appealing, and would gladly use for pleasure given that he could tell she could withstand the rough sex Mutants liked without whining about pain the way some weak humans did when their Mutant masters had their way with them. Zalea had nearly rebelled upon hearing that, but fortunately a stomp on her bare foot from Monkian’s heel silenced her before she could cause a scene that he wanted to avoid. He liked Zalea, but no human was more important than his kin, especially the one who had made his post-circus train life on Plundarr as good as it was, and he would rather she not have to find that out the hard way.
That morning, however, it was only Monkian and Cynolus in the room; Zalea was locked in Monkian’s suite with assorted technological trinkets and gadgets that held her curiosity enough to keep her quiet and distracted while he was gone. He had told her that if she behaved, he would later escort her to one of the wilder areas on the planet to look around and find things that interested her. Monkian hoped that in a few more days he could broach the subject of returning her to Third Earth to Cynolus, once he thought of a plausible reason that would not be countered with the question of why not just sell her to him or kill her outright if she had become troublesome, rather than making an otherwise pointless trip to Third Earth.
Thus far Cynolus had not questioned Monkian’s desire to keep Zalea, although his one-track mind assumed it was for the same reasons he had asked if he might have her. Cynolus had a wife, but slaves were common and so were pleasure slaves. Mutant society was more sexist and patriarchal than their sister societies on the Moons and New Thundera, and it was typical for prominent Mutant males to have both a mate that they procreated with—and sometimes more than one, if he was wealthy, ambitious, and energetic—as well as concubines and slaves for pleasure. Monkian had never taken a bride of any sort and only “borrowed” from his nephew’s estate’s harem at times, so Cynolus simply assumed that Zalea was his personal toy. It was not exactly true, for while if Zalea chose to offer herself to Monkian in such a way, he would certainly take the pleasure without a second thought, he did not feel any strong attraction to her otherwise that made him hope that she would. Still, Monkian was perfectly content to let Cynolus think what he would, and in his opinion, the fewer questions asked, the better.
Monkian excused himself from his uncle’s company a short while later and returned to his rooms to find Zalea rapt by a picture cube. It was one of the simpler technological baubles from Plundarrian society, a paperweight from one of the estate’s offices that showed various landscapes on Plundarr and other nearby worlds. Zalea stared at it in wonder with a look on her face that reminded Monkian of how those who had been caught under Alluro’s orb looked. He cleared his throat with a loud “hoo” when he entered, and only then did she look up.
“Are all these places here on Plundarr?”
“Not all of them,” Monkian answered without bothering to look.
“What about this one?” She tapped one of the sides in a way that she had discovered changed the images until the one she had been looking for appeared on it. It was a shot of a black waterfall surrounded by dark trees with only the slightest bit of natural light coming through. “I’ve never seen a black river before. Even the waters of the River of Despair when they’re muddy aren’t this dark.”
Monkian peered at it, and when he did not instantly recognize it, took the crystal from her hands. He cheated and checked the display information. “It’s on the Fifth Moon, in one of the forest edge zones. There’s more light than usual in it for a dark moon picture, probably because something took out some of the trees by it before this was taken.”
Zalea looked at him curiously. “The dark moon… kind of like DarkSide, you mean? Is that a place Lunatacs are from?”
“Yes.” His tone held a note of disinterest, and he tossed the cube back on the chair, where she picked it up again. He, meanwhile, sought out items to add to his belt for their upcoming outing—a hand weapon, a tie, and a communicator. “So do you want to go out somewhere or not?”
She ignored his brusque demeanor and rose to her feet. “Yes! This room is so dark and small. I don’t like being indoors so much. It reminds me of the times I was sick and confined to one of the huts back home.”
“You’d better get used to it, if you want to make it here,” he grumbled.
Her lips curled into a frown. “If you took me home, I wouldn’t have to.” She boldly went over to him and folded her arms, standing in front of him in a demanding manner. “Did you talk to Cynolus about taking me home yet?”
Monkian did not bother to turn around. “No.”
“Why not?” Her voice took on a shrill and impatient note, which in turn annoyed him, and he whirled around and grabbed her arm roughly to remind her of her place and who was calling the shots.
“Because I didn’t!” he snapped. “You don’t understand Mutant society, so stop thinking you do. It wasn’t a good time yet.” He lowered his voice and released her arm when he saw a start of fear flash through her eyes. “When you came up, it was him asking again if he could buy you.”
Zalea scowled. “So he can force me into his bed? I’d sooner die!”
“And you would, if he demanded and you refused,” Monkian warned her coldly. “Or at least he’d have me beat you for impudence in front of him. So you’d be smart to keep a low profile and not give him any ideas.” The simian’s nose wrinkled. “I thought about telling him that you were from an all-female tribe and didn’t know how to please a male, hoo, but then he’d wonder why I was keeping you since that’s what he thinks you’re doing for me.”
Her eyes darkened. “And you didn’t correct him.”
Monkian returned her sour expression. “No, fool, because then he’d question my weakness in keeping you for no good reason when other slaves are doing hard labor or at least domestic work.” He sneered. “He has to think I wear you out so that you don’t have the energy to leave my bedroom except when I command it.”
“You Mutants are disgusting,” she spat angrily.
Angry, Monkian grabbed Zalea’s wrist again, and that time spun her around and pinned her against her wall. “Don’t make me regret showing you mercy, or you’ll find out just how disgusting we Mutants can be, especially as your masters.” His face was inches from hers, breath heavy on her face, as he spoke.
She wriggled in protest, but the larger and bulkier simian was too strong. “So you do think of me as your slave now,” she said in a cold and angry tone. “I wonder if you ever told the truth at all when you said you’d see about finding me a way home.”
That was enough to inflame his temper, and he grabbed her roughly around the waist and picked her up, none too gently. Zalea struggled and shrieked, but aside from kicking and punching protests that did little more than annoy Monkian, she was helpless in his grasp as he then threw her onto his bed. Before she could move, he leapt on top of her, straddling her and pinning her down with one hand around her neck in a way that could easily choke the breath out of her if he so chose. He exerted some force, but not enough to do more than make it difficult enough to breathe so that she could not so readily struggle. “You have nerve,” he growled in contempt. “You have no idea where you’d be now if it wasn’t for me. Do you like this?” He tightened his fingers slightly. “Do you want me to demonstrate what Cynolus would do if you refused him? And I’d be more gentle,” he sneered at her. Zalea glared back at him with fiery hatred, but he only stared back harshly, unaffected. “I didn’t think so.” He pushed down on her throat hard, enough to make her gag and cough, and then got up and left her there, his back to her.
“We’re leaving in five minutes,” he said coldly, and picked up his hiking belt. “You should tie your hair back and put something stronger on your feet. There are wraps in the closet.” He then went into another room in his suite, slamming the door behind him without another word.
* * *
“Luna!” Frostor’s harsh voice rasped at her from the doorway. She looked up from where she sat in a small but tall, plush chair in the midst of reading a novel in one of the MoonTower’s lounges. The reading glasses she now wore, as Altheus had warned her some time ago that her eyes were degrading as often happened in older age, blurred the sight of the Governor General as she looked up from the pages, and she pushed the spectacles down her face to stare over them at him.
“What do you want?” When she spoke, Amok also glanced up from the large velour cushion on the floor upon which he had been snoozing prior to the Governor General’s arrival.
Frostor appeared unaffected by her brusque tone, his
expression remaining pleasant as he took a couple of steps toward her. “If you and Amok are up for guests, I’d like
to send someone in.”
Luna’s irritated expression was replaced by one of curiosity. “Oh? Who?”
Frostor took that as confirmation enough and waved out into the hall with a smile on his face. “Come on in, Bruiser!”
“Bruiser?” Luna repeated, but her brute’s echo of the same name in astonishment drowned it out. Amok was on his feet and knuckles in a flash, his eyes as bright and alert as if Frostor had come in waving a ten pound sack of sweets. A few moments later, an ivory-colored brute with similar facial and bone structure to Amok, although clearly many years older, came thundering past the icewalker.
“Big brother Amok!” the brute called Bruiser exclaimed as he and Amok met in the center of the room. The two threw their burly arms around each other and both let out grunts of happiness.
Amok thumped Bruiser hard on the back, through the leather garb that he wore to accommodate his lunar master, who was not present. “Little brother Bruiser get old. But Amok glad to see him!”
Luna slipped off of her chair and stood uneasily on her tiny feet with one hand on the chair for support while she watched the reunion in astonishment. “Amok’s brother? Where on the Moons did you find him? He hasn’t seen any of his kin in years, probably not since the last time that fool Nooman insulted me in the club back in the day.” The lunar she referred to was the one Bruiser had been given to guard, a business associate of her long gone father’s. As was evident from her words, Luna had not been much of a fan of Nooman’s, although she never had any issue with Amok’s brother alone.
While the reunited brutes chatted in short grunting sentences with one another, Frostor knelt and offered Luna his arm for support, which she wordlessly accepted. He scooped her up and balanced her in the crook of his arm against his side much like the way a parent would hold a toddler. “Nooman died in the disasters. He’s with a lunar named Calius now. He took a liking to him when he pulled him out of a scrape back in the rougher times a year or so afterward. They’ve been together ever since. I’d heard Bruiser’s name before; a lot of the brutes helped us with the construction work on the city buildings, the base, and of course the ‘Tower here, but I had no idea he was related to Amok. One of our genealogists found the tie while he was going through the more recent census records and matching them to what we have left from the pre-disaster days.” Frostor smiled, and watched the two brutes go back and forth in a conversation that to them seemed to have more depth than the outsiders could really understand. When brutes spoke to one another, they often slipped into a natural tongue of grunts and growls mixed with words that added a layer that only non-brute Lunatacs that knew the brutes very well could translate.
Luna nodded, a smile also on her usually cynical features. “I’d never thought that any of Amok’s family might still be around,” she said, although the truth was that the notion to ask had never occurred to her. Luna had come across Selene and Silvian by chance, and they had already told her what they knew of what had become of her family. Since Amok never mentioned his relations and Luna was not the type to think beyond herself, it had never come up. “Funny that he used to bully Bruiser around a bit, because he was always bigger than his ‘little’ brother. Amok was the biggest of his siblings.” She smiled with pride. Luna had always taken having the best of anything as a gods-given right.
“You never know, he might still be able to. Poor Bruiser’s older than him now, thanks to your run-in with Mumm-Ra.”
Luna made a face. “Don’t talk about that miserable bag of bones. It’s been almost five years since we got rid of him, and I’d be perfectly happy to never hear his name again.”
Chortling, Frostor retorted, “I’m sure he’d say the same about you if he was asked.”
“Well he wasn’t, and neither were you!” Luna replied huffily.
The shrill note in his mistress’ voice interrupted Amok’s conversation with his brother, and he looked over at Luna and Frostor with a questioning look. Frostor cast a nonchalant nod in his direction. “Don’t mind Luna, Amok. She’s just being herself.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“Whatever you want it to.” Frostor’s gravely voice remained calm, maddeningly so to the lunar woman on his arm, who proceeded to wave a stubby finger in his face.
“I want you to quit insulting me!”
The corners of the ice man’s mouth turned downward as his left eyebrow rose. “Insult you, Luna dear? Would I do that?”
“Yes! You just did!” She glared at Frostor with the intensity of someone looking to pick a fight, hardly an uncommon scenario for the two of them. Though Luna and Frostor spent a great deal of time together, it was rare that it occurred without it degenerating into an argument, even if only a brief one. In the time that she had lived in the MoonTower, needling Luna had become an entertaining hobby that Frostor borrowed from Alluro, although since he actually liked Luna—most of the time—he went about it more subtly and with less snide intent.
“What I meant was left to your discretion, Luna,” he informed her imperiously. “You’re the one who decided to read an insult into it.”
“Augh! You’re almost as bad as Alluro,” she snapped. “Don’t take that condescending tone with me! We both know what you meant, and I don’t appreciate it. And if you’re going to keep being so rude, you can put me back in my chair.”
“All right. Since you insist.” Frostor strode over to Luna’s chair and flopped her in it without regard to comfort or propriety. He then headed toward the door and beckoned to Amok and Bruiser. “It’s almost lunchtime, Bruiser, and you’re more than welcome to join us. If you want to head on down, you can relax for a few minutes over the candy bowls in the dining hall until it’s served.”
Immediately both brutes ceased talking, exchanged eager looks, and thundered toward the door along with Frostor, while Luna let out an angry squawk of protest from her chair. “Hey! Amok! Wait! I need you to carry me!”
“Oh that won’t be necessary,” Frostor cut in before Amok could respond. “One of us can make sure she gets down there at lunchtime. Catch up with your brother.” He grinned at the brute and waved them on. Neither Amok nor Bruiser needed further encouragement, especially with the promise of candy waiting for them. The brutes vanished down the hall, leaving the irate Luna in her chair and Frostor at the doorway across the room.
“Very funny!” a furious Luna shrieked. “I don’t even want to talk to you, much less go to lunch with you.”
Frostor gave her a sharp look. “Oh, did I say I would carry you? I don’t believe I did. But if you’re asking, I’d appreciate an apology first.”
An indignant look akin to one that she might have used on a Mutant demanding that she clean his toilet flashed across her face. “What? How dare you! I’d sooner apologize to Mumm-Ra!”
“And here you told me not to bring him up,” the icewalker said, shaking his head in a tsk-tsk motion. “Make up your mind, woman.”
“Just shut up and take me downstairs!”
His brow rose again, and he took only a few slow steps toward her. “As far as apologies go, that was pretty poor. I’m sure you can do better.”
“I’m sure you know what you can do with your apology, blowhard!” She picked up the riding crop that was on the cushion beside her and waved it after launching the novel she had been reading earlier in his direction.
He barely ducked in time to avoid being beaned by the book, and he felt its edge graze his spiky white hair. “Now your throw on the other hand, that’s pretty good.” He chortled and went over to the chair, looking down at her, arms folded. “But all right, come on Luna. I won’t make you eat your words. You won’t have enough room for your lunch.” He then bent down and picked her up without waiting for permission or a response, which was to squawk indignantly and call him several less-than-flattering names as they proceeded downstairs.
* * *
“Lion-O, I’d like to talk to you if you have a minute,” Tygra said to the Thundercat Lord as he approached him in the Lair’s control room where he was on watch duty.
“Sure. Things are quiet.” He swiveled around to face the tiger. “What’s going on?”
Tygra sat down in one of the empty seats, as they were the only ones present. “Actually it’s more of a question to pick your brain than it is a problem or anything going on. I know it’s come up in passing at some meetings, and I’m sure you hear the questions when you’re out and about as often as I do, about if and when we plan to train or anoint any new Thundercats?”
Lion-O let out a deep breath. “Oh, that. Yes, it’s been brought to my attention. Several times. And by several clan leaders.” He shook his head. “Especially by ones like Tocell-O and Leprista. It really bothers them that we don’t have any ocelots or leopards represented, as if it’s a reflection on them.” He tapped his fingers against the edge of his chair. “I wish I could explain to them that it’s not a reflection on what we think of any particular clan, race, or whatnot. Maybe that’s how it was on Old Thundera, but I’ve never felt that way. The Thundercats are peacekeepers and enforcers of the Code of Thundera, but it’s not like we rule to oppress anyone. The clan leaders and magistrates have a lot more power than they think, and we have less than they think we do. For Jaga’s sake, they’re a part of the council, and it’s what makes the laws in the spirit of the Code.”
“You and I both know that; heck, all the Thundercats know that, but they can’t see past the lordship and the clout the Thundercats had in the past. I know you were too young to remember, but there were much sharper class distinctions then.” Tygra smiled wistfully. “It’s one of the reasons having the twins made Thundercats was such a wise move. The mixed races hadn’t had any representation in the Thundercats for a few generations prior to them, and some of the more prejudiced clan leaders were using it as justification to claim bloodline superiority.”
“Ridiculous,” Lion-O muttered, wondering how his own people who valued the tenets of the Code of Thundera so highly could be so hypocritical when looking down their noses at fellow Thunderians. He had always believed that one’s character was the best barometer to judge one by, and that a cat like their longtime friend Torr, a leopard-tiger mix of humble common birth, had more class in his small toe than supposedly well-bred Thunderians like Baron Tass of the puma clan, whose ambition had once almost seen Lion-O usurped in his greedy lust for power. Cosmic justice had seen Tass put in his place in the end, as his Thunderian peers found him guilty of treason and recommended he be either imprisoned or banished. Lion-O accepted the baron’s public apology and his word to never cross him again, and gave him a lighter sentence of community service for ten years, and to use his clout and funds to further projects that would help all Thunderians such as hospitals, spaceports, and public works. The baron himself was also forced to work alongside the common folk on these projects as their peer, a humbling experience that Lion-O thought he could rightly use, along with the exercise. Tass had kept true to his word and had not challenged him publicly since, but it was no secret that he was hardly Lord Lion-O’s biggest fan or best friend.
Conversely, their friend Torr now manned the beacon tower as its chief guardian and supervisor. He and his family lived in the nice living quarters at the top and many Thunderians trusted, liked, and worked for Torr. More than one individual had suggested that Torr be made a Thundercat, but before Lion-O could even offer, Torr had stated a gracious no to the suggestion, saying that while he valued the Thundercats’ friendship, his responsibilities fell first and foremost as a husband and father. Lion-O could understand and respect that, even more so after marrying and having a cub himself.
Tygra nodded along with Lion-O’s spoken sentiment about the clan and race issues among the Thunderians. “I agree. But we ought to give some kind of official answer soon, so I wanted to get your thoughts on it. Do you want to officially open up any more Thundercat positions and take on trainees?” He glanced at the door, and then added quietly, “And if so, you know that Pumari hopes to be made a Thundercat. She’s said as much to me in some of our lessons. I don’t know exactly what Bengali or Pumyra think about that, but I don’t want to say anything to them until I’ve at least discussed the whole Thundercat position issue with you.”
“I know.” Lion-O followed the tiger’s gaze to the door and stared a moment before answering. “The truth is that I don’t see a need for more Thundercats right now. We’re not at war, and it doesn’t use up even half our time and manpower just keeping our bases manned and maintained both here and on Third Earth. We’ve taken on a lot of roles that in the past were handled by ancillary support staff like diplomats and courtiers. We didn’t need those roles on Third Earth as much, and with so many Thundercats here it was only natural that we took it over on New Thundera. If some unexpected war broke out, it might be a good idea, but beyond replacing someone if, Jaga forbid, something terrible were to happen to one of us, I don’t want to open that can of worms.”
Lion-O leaned back in his chair as he continued. “If we open just one or two Thundercat positions, we’re going to be flooded with applications. That’s not a bad thing, and the competition in the trials would without a doubt give us individuals who’d rightfully deserve the title, but you know that no matter how we chose them, even making the process as fair and open and objective as possible, we’d still get accused of favoritism if certain clan leaders didn’t get their favorites in.” He frowned. “And that’s not accounting for what would happen if another lion, a tiger, cheetah, panther, or other cat of a race already represented among the Thundercats won. You know that they’d be saying that we’re biased in favor of our own clans even though it wouldn’t be true… and while I don’t really care what they think in that I know what we’re doing is right, it’ll still make some resentments against me even deeper.”
“Yes.” Tygra sighed. “And choosing an ocelot, leopard, or another clan that has no member as a Thundercat would only be reverse discrimination. I’d hate to wonder if I was picked only because I was from a certain clan rather than because I earned it.”
“Exactly.” Lion-O leaned on his elbow. “So until we actually need the positions, I don’t want to dredge all this up.”
“What about Pumari?” Tygra pressed. “You know sooner or later it’ll come up, either from her directly or Bengali or Pumyra. She’s never been shy about speaking her mind. And then with her that brings up the issue of Chet…”
That time it was Lion-O’s turn to sigh. “I know. Of course Chet will have to go through Thundercat training, because he’s my only son.” He frowned. “Much to Azandi’s disappointment.”
Tygra’s brow rose. “Has he said anything lately?”
“Nothing you haven’t heard. But you know how he is. Even when he doesn’t say anything, he still always brings these pretty lionesses with him to see me whenever he has the opportunity, and they’re always so friendly, more than they should be to a married man, whether he’s their Lord or not.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re that ‘friendly’ to him either. He doesn’t make any secret of the fact that he keeps at least two mistresses along with his wife. I don’t know why Neolia puts up with it, to be honest,” he said, naming the lion councilman’s wife.
“Me neither, though I guess she has her reasons. I think she’s good friends with at least one of them. Maybe they look at splitting their time with him as a welcome break.”
That remark led Tygra to chuckle. “Perhaps so. Relationships are odd beasts, that’s for sure,” he said before returning to their previous subject. “As for Chet, nobody on Thundera would expect you to not train your son as a Thundercat. Pumari on the other hand…”
Lion-O gave a light nod. “I know. Historically, the only children of Thundercats all but guaranteed the position were those designated the Lords’ heirs. Children of Thundercats otherwise aren’t given any preferential treatment, even though more often than not they qualify because they were raised with it in mind and trained for it.”
“And therefore had an edge in the trials,” Tygra finished. “Pumari will have a difficult time understanding that. The universe is very black and white when you’re her age, and it’ll be hard for her to see why it’s fair that Chet can and she can’t.”
“Plus, if I open up a position for her and not at least one public one, you know there’ll be an uproar,” Lion-O pointed out. “Accusations of favoritism will be all but a guarantee, even if we make her trials as public as possible.”
“I agree,” said Tygra. “And while I think she’d make a fine Thundercat someday if that’s what she wants, in this day and age I don’t think we need to rush to get her training beyond the weapons skills and educational background she’s already getting. Her familiarity with the Lair and rapport with us will already be an edge if that’s the path she chooses. If it was up to me, I’d recommend that she not be allowed to even try until she’s an adult or close to it. Who knows what the situation will be like a few years into the future compared to now, anyway?”
Lion-O was suddenly reminded of the eccentric old white tigress that had approached him in the marketplace a while back, and her dire warnings of a time of evil coming to pass. Fortunately there was still no sign that her predictions were coming true, but the time frame that she mentioned was only just approaching. Still, he chose not to bring it up, and just murmured assent to Tygra’s statement and said, “It would be nice for a Thundercat cub to actually have a kittenhood rather than being forced to grow up too fast. I have a few fond memories of my days before the suspension aging, but I can’t help but think that I missed out on a lot. The twins might not have aged like me, but they were forced to grow up beyond their years too with everything we went through on Third Earth and our first years back here.”
“Absolutely.” Tygra smiled. “I’m glad we’re thinking along the same lines on this issue, Lion-O. Now I know what to say if someone catches me off guard and brings it up.”
“Me too,” Lion-O said with a measure of relief, even as the desperate look on the old tigress’ face flashed through his mind once again. “And think of it this way—if this is one of our biggest problems, compared to how things’ve been before, we’ve got it pretty good right now, huh?”
Tygra rose to his feet. “Can’t argue with that. See you later, Lion-O. I’ve got a few things I have to take care of.”
“See you later,” Lion-O replied, and returned his attention to the monitors as Tygra left. For some reason, however, he could not get that odd encounter with the doom-predicting tigress out of his mind.
* * *
Two Mutant guardsmen, one dark-furred rat and one scaly yellow-green reptilian, held their weapons firmly at their side and bowed on either side of the door leading into Ratar-O’s throne room. Jackalman stepped past them confidently, dressed in a fine tunic of wine-colored silk and expensive gold-embroidered black pants. His caramel-colored fur was recently shampooed and nicely brushed, and he looked every bit the fine figure of a Mutant statesman as he believed himself to be. He could not take full credit for that, however; his wife was the one with the eye for color and had spent the hour prior to his leaving to meet with Ratar-O as summoned nit-picking his appearance and fussing over him like she did their pups. If the truth was to be told he had not really minded, though his pride would not let him admit it since he was the male Mutant of the house and he fancied himself lord and ruler of that even though they both knew better. In general Melasia tolerated his posturing and often condescending attitude toward her “female” advice, but she had her ways of making her displeasure clear if he went too far with it. She was meek, but she could nag like a fierce beast and freeze him out of their bedroom like a Second Moon polar bear, so he was rarely inclined to make her too angry. When she was in a good mood, he got laid regularly, which in turn put him in a good mood… much like the summons from the Mutant Warrior King that was delivered by priority media rather than armed guardsmen preventing evasion did.
“Mighty Ratar-O,” Jackalman greeted Plundarr’s ruler, bowing with a flourish. “I had a summons from you?”
“Yes.” Ratar-O grinned at the jackal. “How’re things going, Jackalman? Court business keeping you busy?”
“Enough to keep me on my toes,” he answered, figuring that was a safe response. Indicating too little would imply that he was overpaid or did not actually do anything, but indicating too much would give the impression of incompetence, and he certainly did not want that.
“Good. Then it sounds like you’re up to what I have planned for you.”
“What’s that?”
Ratar-O rose to his feet and twirled one of his Rat’s Eyes idly. “My sources tell me that you’ve carved quite a niche and reputation for yourself around here.” He fixed his eyes on him in a way that made Jackalman shift slightly, a signal of anxiousness that pleased the rat as he liked his subjects to be rightfully aware of their inferior status to him. Even when he was not delivering bad news, he liked to see firsthand that he was still the feared and respected Mutant Warrior King in the eyes of all Mutants.
Jackalman looked back, trying to gauge his intentions. “A good reputation I hope?”
“Good as I could expect from a prominent jackal like yourself,” he said with a grin that only accented the hint of sarcasm in his tone. “But don’t worry, even though he’s one of my High Captains, I still take everything Slythe says with a salt-shaker.” The beginnings of a nervous smile formed at the corners of Jackalman’s mouth, but he did not say anything in case he had misread Ratar-O’s intent. Ratar-O, meanwhile, continued to speak. “As it turns out, something’s come up that you would be perfect for, a short off-world job in the near future. You’ve been the canine clans’ liaison for some time. Do you have any others that work with you?”
The question stumped him for a moment, not because he could not answer, but because he was not sure what Ratar-O’s motivation was for asking it. “Nyah, my two assistants do a lot of my leg work, and things I delegate to them,” he admitted after a moment to consider the best way to answer.
Ratar-O took a few steps closer until he was eye to eye with him. “Do you trust them? Could they cover your affairs if I sent you off world?”
“I—I think so,” Jackalman replied. He wondered what it was that Ratar-O was considering sending him off-world for and how long the “short” job would be, and of course, how much it would pay. He knew better than to ask, though, at least right away.
Ratar-O re-sheathed the Rat’s Eyes in his belt. “Good. I wouldn’t want to hear all the barking and whining if canine affairs were handled incompetently while you’re away.”
The jackal could contain his curiosity no longer. “Away where?”
“To your first assignment in your new position, Ambassador Jackalman.” Ratar-O grinned, while Jackalman let out an audible gasp of surprise. Whatever he had expected, it had not been a promotion, at least not a promotion to court Ambassador, which was far more prominent than his current position. Immediately he bowed to king of the Mutants in gratitude.
“Thank you, mighty Ratar-O,” he said sincerely. “Ambassador! I’m honored.”
Ratar-O nodded and indicated with a hand gesture for him to rise. “As you should be! It’s not a position for fools and incompetents. Though some would say you don’t fit that bill, I know enough about you to know that all rumor can’t be believed, especially when it comes to Third Earth or the unfortunate incidences afterward.” He fingered the handle of one of his Rat’s Eyes, but did not draw it. “I chose you for this position because I want to send in someone on this particular mission who’ll understand what’s at stake, and who we’re dealing with. Neither of our two current ambassadors fit the bill.”
Jackalman stood straight, but his mind still whirled considering the possibilities of what he was being appointed to. Much of interplanetary relation work was classified to non-military personnel, so he knew only what he had heard through the grapevine off the record, or what little was released to the public. “Thanks for your confidence. I won’t let you down.”
“Of course you won’t.” Ratar-O returned to his throne while Jackalman followed him to the foot of it.
“Where are you sending me, Sire?”
“How much do you know about the ‘mopers’?” Ratar-O asked offhandedly, as if ignoring his question altogether.
“The ‘mopers’,” he repeated blankly, until it dawned on him what Ratar-O was talking about. “Oh! You mean the group ‘Mutants of Plundarr Rule Supreme’? The ones who protest our alliance with the Lunatacs and Thunderians?”
Ratar-O nodded.
“Yes. Or as I like to call them,
the whiners, since ‘mopers’ is a little too much credit for that group of
short-sighted fools. As I’m sure you
know, they usually pull some stunt almost every time we come up on the
anniversary of the
The mention of Vultureman made it clear that it was the Third Moon that he was to be sent to. Jackalman supposed that was preferable to New Thundera, but only marginally. Queen Selene he only knew very superficially, but her “Aunt” Luna and the rest of the Skytomb crew that remained there he knew all too well, and he did not anticipate having a warm and fuzzy reunion with them, even if it was not an antagonistic one. Vultureman might be interesting to see, however, and he was curious as to how many of the Lunatacs’ eccentric ways he had adopted in his time on the Moons with them. “Vultureman,” he repeated, “so I’m going to the Third Moon of Plundarr for this exchange? Alone?”
Chortling at the mildly alarmed note in the jackal’s response, Ratar-O said, “Does that scare you?”
“Of course not!” Jackalman protested. “I was just wondering about the specifics.”
“Ah yes. I forgot about your pretty bitch and pups. I bet you were wondering if they could go along,” he said, acting as though he was giving the jackal a gracious out although it was clear from his sarcastic tone that he was simply messing with him. Ratar-O paused a moment and then said, “Afraid not. It’d be more of a distraction, and I’d rather no one without court experience be sent to represent the Mutants to the Lunatacs for something like this.”
Jackalman chose not to say anything to that, although he did not appreciate Ratar-O’s use of a mild pejorative to refer to his wife. While the term was not exactly an insult when used in reference to a female canine, it was still sexist and carried a connotation of whorishness and a lack of intelligence or importance. Jackalman may have called Melasia his bitch, but it was with affection, and he did not like others speaking ill of her even if he liked to assert his authority over her himself. However, he kept that to himself as he asked his next question. “So if I’m going to the Third Moon, who are you sending to New Thundera?”
“My other new Ambassador. Chamela of the reptilians.”
“Iguano’s sister,” Jackalman noted, his ears twitching with interest at that bit of information. “You appointed a female?”
A sly grin spread across Ratar-O’s face. “Yes. Brilliant, eh? What better way to prove to our Thunderian and Lunatac friends that we Mutants are willing to progress past old prejudices than to show that we do indeed value our women? And for a female, Iguano’s sister is bright and personable. She can hold intelligent conversation and has a knack for spotting bullshitters from a mile away. Comes with all those years of clan politics at her brother’s side, I suppose.” He flexed his fingers against each other. “The Thundercats will see a woman as sympathetic, too, since they’ve encountered few Mutant females in their time. I’m sure it’ll surprise Queen Selene when she hears we sent a female to the Thunderians as well, but she won’t have the ground to say that we sent her to her as some kind of veiled insult or poorly masked attempt to kiss up.”
Jackalman nodded. “A good idea, King Ratar-O.”
“Of course it is. I thought of it!” the rat bragged, amused by the jackal puckering up just after he had made a derisive remark about the practice. “And that leaves my two seasoned Ambassadors here to interact with their representatives. But that’s still weeks away yet, so they’ll have time to train you and Chamela. I expect you to meet with them in the hall for dinner tonight. I assume that won’t be a problem?”
“Oh no! Not at all!”
“Good,” Ratar-O said, and clapped his hands together with enthusiasm. “If nothing else, this exchange will certainly be memorable for all of us, don’t you think?”
Jackalman smiled, both pleased at the new prestige and responsibility he had been given, and anxious at what awaited him on his eventual trip to the Third Moon. “That’s one word for it,” he said, and then added, “But knowing Luna and Vultureman, I’ll have several more to pass along to you by the time it’s all over.”
* * *
“They took that rather well,” Lion-O remarked to Panthro as the members of the now ended council meeting filed out of the room. The Thundercat Lord had just made two official announcements in an effort to squelch the rumor mill. The first was along the lines of what he had discussed with Tygra recently, a statement on the record that the Thundercats had no plans to train or anoint additional Thundercats for at least the next three years, barring an unforeseen circumstance that would require additional manpower on the team. A flurry of murmurs had erupted over the council members at that, largely ones of displeasure, but no one had come out and directly argued with Lion-O on the matter. His assurance that the situation would be reviewed and reconsidered every three years was enough to mollify them for the time being. Lynx-O had overheard Leprista mutter snidely under her breath that his timing was convenient for “some in the Lair”, no doubt a barb at the fact that Pumari would be in her mid-teens by then and at a ripe age to begin training, but since she said nothing beyond that he chose not to bring it to Lion-O’s attention… especially since his second announcement was the more controversial of the two.
That had been an on-the-record statement that he had heard “disturbing rumors” that remarks had been made about Chet’s eventual ability to control the Sword of Omens that were “prejudiced, unfounded, and unbecoming of Thunderians wise and esteemed enough to hold a council seat.” He had not named names, but everyone in the chamber knew exactly which individuals it had been targeted at. Lion-O had grown into a patient and tolerant ruler, but that patience only extended so far. He had no doubt that Chet would be able to use the Sword of Omens when the time came, even if he handled it with a different skill set than a full-blooded lion would. Lion-O did not have the prejudice to believe that half-cheetah blood would make his son any less of a warrior, a sentiment echoed wholeheartedly by the remaining Thundercats, even Snoelle who was from an older time in society than any of them, even Lynx-O.
Lion-O went on to say that as far as he was concerned, he was naming Chet his heir and successor on the record, and that if something unfortunate happened to him before Chet was grown and able to take on the responsibilities of the Lord of the Thundercats, Tygra and Cheetara were appointed to act in his stead until he came of age. The Sword of Omens, Lion-O went on to say, would choose which of his guardians was best suited to control its power, and if it found Chet unfit for some reason that he could not imagine, it would seek its own holder from what it knew of the hearts of all Thundercats and Thunderians. Lion-O then declared the matter closed, and asked all the Thundercats, councilmen, and clan leaders as his respected friends to please accept his decision and refrain from allowing old fears and prejudices to taint what he knew were intelligent and open minds. Tygra had watched Lion-O during the meeting proudly. The cub he remembered from years ago had come a long way. Jaga and Claudus must be so proud of him, the tiger had thought as Lion-O addressed the council, while individuals such as Azandi, Natorven, Leprista, Tocell-O, and Tass listened in clearly displeased silence.
When the meeting ended, most of the participants departed quickly, giving only hasty goodbyes out of politeness’ sake. Since the meeting was held in the Cat’s Lair, the Thundercats lingered more leisurely given that they did not have to go far to their homes. While Lion-O was talking to Panthro afterward, Bengali approached Tygra. “I’d like to talk to you for a minute.”
“Of course. What’s on your mind?”
“I wanted to thank you for encouraging Lion-O to say something on the record about new Thundercats.” After Tygra had spoken to Lion-O about the matter, he had gone to Bengali and Pumyra with what Lion-O had said about the situation given that their daughter had hopes of joining the team someday. They were both relieved by the decision, as they felt similarly that their daughter should be allowed to be a cub and not have to worry about the adult matters Thundercats did until she was old enough to understand what she was getting herself into. Having lived their cub and adolescent years as commoners before Thundera had been lost the first time, they more so than the other Thundercats understood what life was like on both sides of the Lair walls. “Pumari’s been very insistent lately, and this will give us something to tell her that won’t hurt her or make her feel like it’s her and not the situation.”
Tygra smiled. “Which is what we all want. For what it’s worth, I do think she has the makings of a fine Thundercat… but I agree that there’s so much else out there that she should have the time to make sure it’s what she really wants before committing to it. She’s bright and could excel at many things.” He chuckled. “Though perhaps not a scholar. She’s not much of a bookworm.”
“No,” Bengali laughed along with him. “I can’t blame her for that. I was never much for books either at her age. I liked getting into everything and trying it myself. My father channeled that energy by putting me at his side at the forge.”
“And we’re glad he did, considering the times we’ve needed your hammer to fix the Sword of Omens.”
Their conversation was interrupted when they heard a distinctly aggravated female shout from down the hall, and the two tigers looked ahead curiously. “Cheetara?” Tygra wondered aloud.
Before he could say anything else, the cheetah came around the corner with a disgusted look on her face. “Oh, I’ve had it!”
“I don’t think that he knows what Lion-O said in the meeting, snarfer snarfer,” Snarfer said at her heels in attempt to calm her down. “Nope, he wasn’t in there and Natorven couldn’t have told him yet.”
“Still, the nerve. I don’t care how ‘subtle’ they think they are, I’m not interested in taking up with a cheetah ‘on the side’ no matter how nobly they try to present it!” She fumed as Lion-O approached, shaking his head at the situation.
“This is why I said something. I’m so tired of the disrespect—not only to our union, but to Chet! Why do they think we’d betray each other? It just doesn’t make sense!”
Snoelle sighed and put her hand on Cheetara’s shoulder. “Their idea is that it’s not betrayal if it’s in the open, agreed upon by all parties, and done for an important purpose such as to create a strong lion or cheetah to carry on their family line.” She shrugged. “I never bought into that line of thinking myself, but it was rather common back in my time under Katan.”
Lynx-O nodded with her. “Many Thunderians still mate for offspring and keep them and lovers separate, even among the common people.”
“I know that, and I respect everyone’s right to live as they choose,” Lion-O frowned, “but on the same token, some respect for me and Cheetara to live as we choose would also be nice.”
Panthro chortled. “Such is the price of fame, I guess. Shows you why I only talk to the clan leaders when I absolutely have to.”
At that WilyKat laughed. “Yeah, but even the panthers know better than to get you mad, and we all know what’d happen if they said anything about Snoelle.”
“The only reason they haven’t is that I’m the only snow leopard left,” Snoelle cut in. “The panthers have it in their minds that if the snow leopard line is to continue at all, panther blood would only strengthen it.”
“And Panthro’s nunchuks wouldn’t have anything to do with their willingness to agree, right?” Snarfer twittered with a grin.
Panthro could not help but laugh. “Nothing at all.”
* * *
Alluro stood by one of the tall domed windows in the uppermost floor of the MoonTower watching the night sky. Plundarr, New Thundera, and the other Moons were all visible amongst the stars aside from the gravitons’ moon Tukabir, which was in its new phase that evening. He had only minor matters on his mind, so it was not all that much of a distraction when he heard someone approach from behind and call his name. He turned around and smiled pleasantly. “Darkail! I didn’t know you were back.”
The hunter was now the MoonTower’s Chief Ambassador, and had been for the past year and a half. He had been granted the position after several months of closely working on the city council with the royal family and Frostor to coordinate with the governors of the other Moons on state affairs. During that time he and Alluro had become fast friends, as they had a fair bit in common despite their dissimilar backgrounds, at least insofar as Alluro was a Fourth Moon psi and Darkail was a Third Moon hunter. In actuality, Alluro’s seedy past experiences gave him plenty of common ground with a man who enjoyed the pleasantries high society had to offer on the surface, but reveled in the chaotic thrill of wild survival in his private moments. Alluro was not particularly violent or drawn to the hunters’ bloodthirsty hobbies, but his beneath his well-mannered façade the ambitious hypnotist that had spent much of his life raiding and on the run from the law without apology could hardly claim that he did not get a certain thrill out of the darker side of life. Over time he had come to think of Darkail as rather like a younger brother that he had never had. That was in part because of their age difference—Darkail was even younger than his son by a couple of years—and partly because a part of him subconsciously sought to fill the void that Torlei’s twisted end had left in his heart.
Darkail smiled back at him, although his expression was otherwise a weary one, as though something distressing weighed on his mind, which Alluro picked up on immediately. “You look tired,” the psi remarked as he looked his friend over.
“I am,” he admitted, joining Alluro at the window. He stared out into the night sky himself for a moment.
“It doesn’t seem like you enjoyed your little vacation.” Alluro followed Darkail’s gaze and his words hung in the air, the ones unspoken louder than the ones that had been voiced. The “vacation” Alluro referred to was the hunter’s recent break to return to Serilune, the hunters’ home in the Third Moon jungles, for one of their annual ceremonies, a particularly bloody one that celebrated their heritage. The trip had been a minor bone of contention between the two, not because Alluro had any issue with the reason for it, but because of the company he had brought along on it. Their friendship had left Alluro privy to many things that others in the MoonTower were not regarding the hunter’s personal life. Darkail was personable to all of his acquaintances, at least the ones that he was not inclined to draw his claws on, but it was only a select few that he truly opened up to, and as a result Alluro was the only one on the royal court who knew the identity of his most recent lover. And a juicy secret it was indeed. It had taken considerable willpower to refrain from whispering it at the very least to Chilla, but he had promised Darkail that he would keep quiet on it until he chose to bring the eyebrow-raising relationship out into the open. The threat of the hunter’s claws if he spilled the beans without permission was enough to keep him in line if the notion of honoring his word to a friend was not.
Darkail’s gaze snapped from the window to face the psi with a frustrated expression, his lips curled into a frown. “Actually I did, but that’s not what I’m here to talk to you about. I need a favor from you.”
One of Alluro’s large purple ears pricked forward. “Oh?”
“And the gods help me, if you say ‘I told you so’…”
The hunter’s terse tone coupled with what he said inspired a laugh from the hypnotist. “Oh my. This must be good.”
“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t flat out laugh at me, either,” Darkail groused.
Alluro resumed a more serious tone and leaned closer, his yellow eyes alit with curiosity. “All right, Dark. What’s going on? What happened?” He lowered his voice to a conspiratory whisper so that they would not be overheard by any random passers-by. “Did she not have the time you expected she would in your little jaunt to Serilune?”
The miserable expression on Darkail’s face was telling enough, although he answered anyway. “It was wonderful… and then it wasn’t. She was incredible, Alluro. You should’ve seen her in action. She was as good as any of us, and I don’t say that lightly about any non-hunters that participate. If I had to compare, I’d say she probably even did better than… well it doesn’t matter,” he finished, his enthusiasm fizzling abruptly. “Even though it was all so right at the time, she couldn’t handle it afterward.”
“The morning after, ah regrets,” Alluro mused, a mildly sympathetic look in his eyes. He did indeed feel the urge to tell his younger friend that he had suspected his flame was not as like-minded as Darkail believed her to be and had warned him of such more than once, but he refrained, and not only because of his hunter claws. “Did she break your heart?”
A wistful smile crept across Darkail’s face despite his mood. “No, but in a way that almost makes it worse.” He let out a heavy sigh. “She tells me she loves me, that she can’t stand to be away from me, but she can’t live with me, or herself, knowing what she’s done.” He looked hard into Alluro’s eyes. “She wants to forget it all. Everything. And go back like nothing happened.”
Alluro sat up straight as he realized what favor Darkail needed. “Don’t ask me to do that, Dark. You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“You’re the only one I trust to help me.” He put both hands on Alluro’s wrists and looked to him imploringly. “Please, Alluro. I need you.”
“It’s not as simple as you think.”
“Don’t tell me you can’t do it. You’re one of the best, if not the best, damn hypnotist on the Moons!”
Ordinarily the ego stroke would have been enough to sway Alluro, but his fondness for the hunter overrode it, a fact oddly telling of how highly he did indeed think of his young friend. “There are consequences to it that you don’t understand. You’ll end up regretting it.”
Darkail let out an impatient sigh. “Do you think I haven’t thought about that? That I want her to forget what we have, for her to not even know me?” His voice choked in its emotion. “Do you think I’m asking because I want it? I love her!”
“If love is your motivation, then I suggest even more strongly that you not go that route.” Alluro frowned. “One can’t run from the past forever. It always catches up, one way or another.”
“It didn’t hit you so badly when it caught up to you,” Darkail remarked with a pointed look. “You got absolution in the end.”
The psi let out an incredulous grunt. “For some of it,” he conceded. “But I never sought to forget it all, either. Much as my sister’s memory haunts me, I’d never seek to erase it.”
“Because you cherish your time with her before she died. Of course you wouldn’t want to forget that. She’s a part of who you are. Forgetting her means forgetting most of your life.”
“And you think that if you erase her memories of you it’ll only affect the short time you’ve known one another relative to the rest of your lives,” Alluro hypothesized. The knowing look in the hunter’s eyes told him that he guessed correctly. “It’s not that easy. There are always strings, glimmers of memory, things you don’t think of that’ll lead her back to you. The subconscious is a powerful thing, and her will is strong. Even if she forgets you and what you two did together, the drive to remember could well drive her into madness.”
Darkail listened, but shook his head of dark green hair resolutely. “It’s a risk she’ll take.”
“And you?” Alluro pressed, commanding the hunter’s full attention with his gaze. “You realize you can never see her again. Never. Can you let her go so easily, when you say you love her so dearly?”
Darkail’s eyes closed and he lowered his head in misery. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”
Alluro tipped Darkail’s head back up to meet his eyes with one long pointed finger. “That’s hardly a firm ‘yes’.”
“All right!” he snapped. “Yes. I’ll do whatever I have to. So will you do it?”
He fell silent for a moment, and then frowned. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. There must be another answer.”
That was not what Darkail wanted to hear, and it showed in the angry snarl that he let out as thrust his hands away violently and glowered at Alluro. “Why?”
Casting him an unimpressed look, Alluro straightened and leaned back against the window. “If your mind’s made up, you can find someone else to do it. I’m not the only hypnotist on the Moons even if I am the best.”
“I want you!” he retorted angrily. “You’re the only psi I know and trust that can do it. I’m not going to hire some chump I don’t even know who might screw it up, and risk hurting her.”
Alluro chortled. “I suppose I ought to be flattered.”
“Please, Alluro.” Darkail’s voice lost some of its anger and resumed its imploring tone. “I don’t ask for favors often. You’re one of my closest friends.” He lowered his voice. “I’ll pay you, if you want, although being King Psiarik’s father I doubt I could impress you with an amount.”
Something about the desperate look on Darkail’s face and the sheer determination behind it, as well as the repeated ego fluffs of implying that no one else could do as good a job as he could led Alluro’s resolve to start crumbling. “You could pay me better in owing me a favor, which trust me, I will call in someday.”
“Undoubtedly.” The hunter smiled as he realized that he had won the psi over. “So you’ll do it then?”
“Yes. But I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’ if this blows up in your face,” Alluro agreed, wondering if he should already be regretting doing so while Darkail’s smile broadened into a bona fide victorious grin.
“As long as you remember to keep quiet about it and not say anything to anyone… ever.”
Alluro made a mocking solemn face at Darkail. “I’ll carry it to the grave, or until you spill the beans. You’ve my firm oath on it.”
“Thank you,” replied Darkail, ignoring Alluro’s sarcasm. “I knew I could count on you.”
“Certainly. Just as I know I can count on you to spend time with Luna in my place in a time of most dire need.”
Darkail winced. “When I agreed I’d owe you a favor, that wasn’t what I had in mind.”
Alluro laughed. “No, but neither was this when you came to me.”
“For someone who doesn’t revel in bloodshed, you’ve got quite a sadistic streak.”
“You forget, dear Darkail, despite all that’s happened after all this time,” he grinned mischievously, “I am still Alluro of the Lunatacs of Plundarr.”
The End
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