Chapter Eleven
Never let down your guard, especially in time of war.
—Mutati Saying
The violence had been totally unexpected.
On the grounds of the Bastion at Dij, the Emir Hari’Adab strolled along a flower-lined meadow path, skirting a grove of towering trees. A large white bird flew beside him, alternately soaring upward into the cerulean sky and then back down again, keeping pace with him.
But it was not really a bird. It was a shapeshifter, a female aeromutati with whom he had a special relationship. For the moment, she left him to his troubled thoughts.
In contrast, Hari’Adab was a shapeshifter who moved along the ground, a terramutati like his father the Zultan. As a boy growing up on Paradij, he had always intended to do what was expected of him. Since Zultan Abal Meshdi and Hari’s late mother, Queen Essina, had little time for him, the boy had been raised by tutors, always taught the proper way of doing things. In particular, he was taught to show respect for his elders and for the rules of Mutati society that had been laid down by the wise zultans and emirs of countless generations.
In Mutati society, a man kept his word, and that imperative started at an early age, as soon as he could speak and understand the rule of law, and the unwritten code of honor that was passed on from generation to generation by word of mouth. By those standards he had pledged to uphold important traditions, the threads that held together the powerful social fabric of his people.
Throughout his young but eventful life, though, Hari had expressed more than his share of defiance, bordering on rebelliousness. He had steadfastly refused to use an Adurian gyro that his father gave to him, a foreign-made mechanical device that was supposed to help him make better decisions. In the past couple of years it had become very popular in Mutati society, particularly among the young, but Hari didn’t trust the Adurians or their inventions. That race, from far across the galaxy and supposedly allied with the Mutatis, had insinuated themselves on Mutati society in a short period of time, bringing in their loud music, garish clothing, noisy groundjets, and a whole host of other products.
It didn’t make sense. Hari had been brought up to respect Mutati traditions, but his father had permitted an alien culture to change what it meant to be a shapeshifter, causing Mutati citizens to neglect their own civilization and pay homage to another. It was a terrible shame, in Hari’s opinion, and he hoped to reverse it when he became Zultan himself one day. He had no idea when that might occur, or if it would ever occur. His father often expressed his displeasure and his disappointment in him.
It wasn’t just a disagreement between the two men over cultural matters. It went much deeper, as Hari had frequently expressed his opposition to the war against the Merchant Prince Alliance. During one argument over this the month before, the Zultan had called him a traitor. A traitor! Hari had been in complete and utter disbelief.
“If that’s what you think I am, have me executed,” the young Emir had said. “Obviously, I’m not fit to be your successor.”
Pausing by a gold-leaf lily pond, Hari saw the white bird soar to the other side of the water and perch in a tree. In his preoccupation, Hari had not noticed that he was being watched. And that he was in great danger.
“Now, now,” Abal Meshdi had said. “At least you’ve expressed your opinions only to me, and have not gone public with them. You have shown respect for your elders, following the time-honored rules in this regard. Contrary to your belief, I do not want you to agree with everything I say or do. That is only in public. I warn you, do not dishonor me in front of others, or it will be the last thing you ever do.”
“I understand, Father. But I must be honest with you. I must tell you what I think is best for you and for our great race. Our culture is being watered down by the Adurians, and they constantly urge us to war. Why do we need to listen to them?”
“We were at war with the Humans long before we ever formed an association with the Adurians, and long before we ever brought them in as advisers.”
“But without their influence, we might reach a peace accord with the merchant princes. I do not trust that VV Uncel. He is more concerned with his own Adurian people than with ours. I fear he will be our downfall.”
“You worry too much, my son.”
“You don’t worry enough.”
“That is all we will discuss of this. Perhaps the next time we talk, you will have grown a little wiser.”
The conversation had ended like that, with the elder’s condescending remarks, his expressed hope that Hari would eventually fit the mold that he wanted. Privately, Hari called it the “stupidity mold,” and he vowed never to pour himself into it.
The two of them had not seen one another since the podship crisis, though that did not cut off contact. They had been talking over the new (though staticky) nehrcom system several times a week, and could visit one another by taking a solar-sailer journey of a little over a month. They were in adjacent solar systems, not that far apart, or Hari would have been completely isolated from him. That might have been preferable in some regards, though he did not want to run from Mutati society; he wanted to influence it and improve it, especially the moral underpinnings.
The bird lifted off from the tree branch and approached him, drifting tentatively. Hari smiled at her, and saw the return sparkle in her eyes, and the softness of her features, a different version of her original countenance. Parais d’Olor was his beloved, the one Mutati he cared more about than any other. She landed near him on a patch of grass and tucked her wings.
He looked away. Now Hari was doing something that was certain to rouse the royal ire of his father if he ever discovered it. The young Emir had a secret life. He was not a traitor, or anything like that. Rather, he was a patriot and only wanted the best for his people. That included the welfare of all three factions of Mutati society—the terramutatis, the aeromutatis, and the hydromutatis. Too often his father favored his own racial subtype over the others, but Hari believed in equality of the three groups.
In the past, both aeromutatis and hydromutatis had ruled Mutati society from the Citadel of Paradij. The legendary palace had been built by an aeromutati zultan, Vancillo the Great. For two centuries, that flying shapeshifter had ruled a peaceful Mutati realm, a period known as the Pax Vancillo … until the Terramutati Rebellion. The terramutatis had always been the most aggressive of the three groups, and had favored going back to war against the Humans. Abal Meshdi’s great grandfather, Iano Meshdi, had led the revolt, citing infractions committed by Human society against Mutati worlds and the shapeshifter race, especially military and economic incursions against Mutati planets. The old zealot had drawn a line in space, saying he would not permit Human civilization to encroach any farther into Mutati society.
How ironic that Abal Meshdi had drawn no such line with the Adurians, who were obviously an inferior race, with poor military forces and a decadent social structure. Hari didn’t understand what his father saw in them. They should be taking advice from Mutatis, not the other way around!
As he continued on the meadow path, with flowers all around him sparkling in the sunlight, he hardly noticed the natural beauty. The aeromutati flew beside him again, this shapeshifter that had taken the form of a large white bird. In her way of infinite patience and understanding, Parais d’Olor had tried to converse with him earlier, but she had given up for a time, saying she would wait until his mood lifted.
Parais was the most lovely shapeshifter he had ever seen, though his father would certainly not concur, since the Holy Writ required a highborn Mutati to marry within his own racial subtype. (He could have mistresses of the other types, but any resultant pregnancies had to be aborted.) Despite the expectations, Hari had never been attracted to terramutati girls. From the first moment he laid eyes on an airborne female, he’d been fascinated. And when he met Parais, he stopped looking at other girls at all.
In her natural form Parais had the folds of fat, tiny head, and oversized eyes of any Mutati, but instead of arms and legs she had functional wings. She could also metamorphose into any number of flying creatures, such as the one she favored now. Her movements were always graceful, like those of an aerial dancer.
“Come with me, my love,” she finally said. “I am a great white gull, with a built-in saddle on my back for you to ride. Let me take you to our favorite beach-by-the-sea.”
In no mood for a holiday, Hari shook his head. He did not notice a shadowy creature moving along beside them in the woods, just out of view.…
Parais flew toward the woods and fluttered between tall evergreen trees. Moments later, she returned.
“Someone is watching us,” she said. “I saw no one, but I know they are there.”
He stopped and looked in that direction. “How do you know?”
“I sense it.” She tucked her wings and landed beside him.
“But you are not telepathic; you are not a hydromutati … a Seatel.”
“Nonetheless, I sense something,” she said, looking nervously in that direction. “Come with me now. Let me fly you away from here.”
Hari was not pleased, and not afraid. “Someone doesn’t approve of our relationship,” he said. “Just like that time in your village. Is it one of your people again? How did they get past security?”
“I … I’m not sure who it is or how he got here. I just think we should go.”
“This is my home. I’ll be damned if I’ll run from my own home!” He marched toward the woods.
She flew beside him. “Don’t!” she said. “Please listen to me. At least summon the guards.”
“We have a right to a life without being spied on, without Mutatis questioning our lifestyle, the choice of whom I wish to love. I’ve always tried to follow the rules, but I keep finding too many reasons not to. Somewhere along the line, life got in the way, I guess. Now let’s see who’s spying on us.”
Consumed with rage against the intruder, Hari heard her saying something about danger, but he didn’t interpret that as physical peril, only as a risk to his reputation, and hers. As he rushed headlong into the woods, he wished he wasn’t even a Mutati, that he was a Human instead, and that he had at least crossed over and changed his racial appearance, as Princess Meghina of Siriki had done. She had been widely scorned in Mutati society for doing that, but she had followed her heart. She had shown tremendous courage, and he had always admired her for it.
Just then a loud pop rang out, and in the trees Hari saw the distinctive, silvery muzzle flare of a jolong rifle. A projectile whizzed past his head, and ripped a nearby sapling in half. As he ducked, another shot rang out and thunked loudly into a tree.
Hari heard Parais scream behind him.
The Emir did not travel unarmed. He pulled a white handgun out of his tunic, and pressed the top of the handle to activate it. “Did you see who shot at us?” he asked her.
“Mutati. No wings.” Parais pointed. “He’s on the move. Look!”
Seeing the slight movement of underbrush, Hari set the weapon’s seeking mechanism so that it would home in on the heat signature of a Mutati. It was a gun his father had obtained on special order, one that only the elite of their society had.
Hari didn’t even have to aim. He just fired in the general direction he wanted, and saw a flash of fire tear through the underbrush. A piercing scream echoed through the woods.
“Get on my back,” Parais urged.
The Emir did so, and clung to the bar of the saddle. Parais extended her wings partway and lifted off powerfully through the trees, rising higher and higher until the two of them cleared the treetops. She had taken additional mass from nearby vegetation to become a large bird, but there were limits that she could not exceed in this process. From medical tests, Hari knew that she—like most other Mutatis—could only become large enough to carry one adult shapeshifter on her back, and that any additional mass absorption would be dangerous to her cellular structure and to her life.
Below, he saw his palace guards pour out of the bastion, running toward the woods. He sent them a telebeam message, telling them what had happened, and ordering them to find out who had shot at him.
Parais opened her white wings to full extension and beat them rhythmically, heading west.
“They’ll investigate,” Hari shouted, raising his voice over the sound of the wind. “Even if the assassin survives and escapes—or if his confederates take the body away—I know I hit him, and he’ll leave cellular material behind. With the DNA of every Mutati on file, we’ll find out who did it.”
“But what if your father sent an assassin after you?” she asked. “Maybe he found out about us.” She looked back as she flew, her features profiled against the blue, cloudless sky. Her blond hair flowed like a mane on the back of her neck.
“The Zultan wouldn’t kill me for loving an aeromutati, though he might disinherit me for it. He has threatened to kill me if he gets tired of me, but I think it’s all bravado. He wouldn’t sentence his only heir to death for that.”
“What happened, then?”
“Assuming it’s not one of your old boyfriends, I’d say the merchant princes activated a sleeper agent. Now, where are you taking me?”
“I told you where I wanted to go … and now you’re in no position to argue.”
An hour later Parais circled over a familiar, isolated stretch of red sand beach, scattered with driftwood. Aquamarine waves lapped gently against the shore.
The lovers had been there many times before, in utmost secrecy.
***