Ringtail

[The Pakkrat]

Ringtail

By the Pakkrat

Chapter 1
Dzuerongvoe (Gvurrdon 1413) B664997-C Hi Pr VSEq
At 129 years of age at the end of the century, the Dame Qithka Cannagrrh was not long for the world. The sound of monitors was a monotone ticking of the last moments of her long life. The Blooded Fang Vargr female had been signed out of Dzuerongvoe General against medical advice or AMA so she could die in the comfort of her bed at home at Cannagrrh Villa. Gathered about her deathbed were the closest family of Pack Cannagrrh. On one side of the bed was Qithka’s sister-in-law, Zhevra Cannagrrh. The Red Pelt – scratch that, thought the dying mind of Qithka – the Suedzuk Vargr held her right claw. Even in her last moments the Dame was journaling her next adventure. It made her chuckle a little in the irony. Here she was, the story instead of the field correspondent covering the story. But the act made her cough in fits. Qithka risked opening her eyes barely to see the far wall of the bedroom. The vertical banner of the Pack Cannagrrh Villa, a purple velvet field with a silver, embroidered mansche in the likeness of a spiral galaxy, hung from the wall and was framed by those who had come at her last moments. The Dame smiled weakly. She had done her terms as Alpha. Her debts paid. The Pack was safe, though her brother Gevaudan Cannagrrh too was dying slowly a few rooms down the hall from her. It seemed fitting that the firstborn of the white cubs should go first.

The siblings had lived an exceeding number of years thanks to taking anagathics, life-extending drugs shortly after the two left home. Gevaudan had acquired a source earlier than Qithka, despite her high-profile fame and Charisma. The Scout-Courier had slowed his aging before the Entertainer sister. But he got his comeuppance. In his three years of maddened self-exile, Gevaudan had repeated aging crises without the drugs. In those years he had aged and eventually caught up to Qithka in appearance when his wife Zhevra rescued him from the uninhabited Farside of mainworld Tagnaghoutsozaeng (Gvurrdon 2123). The Suedzuk Vargr female had brought home her mate-husband, unaffected by his aged appearance. She knew he was already old enough to be her grandsire.

But now, in these advanced years, the makeshift anagathics he had prepared in the wild were failing him, just as over-the-counter drugs had failed Qithka. Fitting that the two were both on their deathbeds, ready to cross over in proximity. The journalist had ever followed her younger brother across sectors of space and through a century of adventures, wars, and discoveries. It was a full life, Qithka had to admit from inside the fog of her dying mind.

To her left, her long-time assistant, secretary, friend Uthka Varzeekh sat in reverent silence. It was her culture’s tradition to remain silent in these last minutes. The old crone had slept from 1116 to 1184, sixty-something years, in a Low Berth cryo-sleep chamber embedded in a shielded vault and somewhat protected by as much psi-shielding as could be nested over the Psions of the day. Once the Mind Tsunami had passed Ksethu (Gvurrdon 1112), the precog was allowed to slowly revive and under weapons trained on her. So many other Psions had gone mad even in their long repose from the Wave’s effects despite the shielding. Uthka was either one of the lucky ones or she was very good at hiding whatever the Empress Wave did to her. Now at the apparent age of 76, the true age being too high for Qithka to calculate on her deathbed, Uthka sat beside her and held her free claw.

The old crone had done so much for the Dame, her brother, her brother’s Artemis Group mercenaries-for-hire, for Zhevra Cannagrrh and the Cannagrrh Villa. Now at such an advanced age, the psionic female had little else to do. She had advised the Alpha Gevaudan as a co-Vizier beside his wife Zhevra. The trio did not need the Entertainer to become a returning power on Dzuerongvoe. That was as it should be, thought the dying Qithka. Her life had been about covering the stories, exposing the truth, and distributing it to the interstellar community as a journalist. She had done her fair service as the Pack Alpha before her brother. It was his fault for pushing her to the throne, Qithka recalled through the haze of her last thoughts.

She had tracked and chased after Gevaudan Cannagrrh, Pilot-Astrogator in the Artemis Group, finding him just before the outbreak of the Fifth Frontier War in 1107 Imperial Calendar. The Entertainer and propaganda actress rode along and recorded the mercenaries and her magazine’s robot Witness had uploaded and sent back packets of its recordings for editing. It was the high times of Qithka’s field correspondence. But eventually the message from Dzuerongvoe reached the ears of the siblings to return home. In that exiled flight home, Gevaudan had tricked her into stepping from his Fast Far Scout, the Sixth Horizon, so he could lift and leave her to ascend the throne and become the next Alpha of Pack Cannagrrh. The two were meant to Infight for the seat, but her loving brother had schemed a way out of hurting his older sister in a melee combat to decide the successor. Qithka had fumed, thrown tantrums and hated her brother for decades as she ruled the Pack. She was the grounded field correspondent in those years. The Scout-Courier escaped such a seated fate to later become the Vargrtarian of the Collapse. The Alpha Qithka Cannagrrh had been denied covering that secret project as well.

The old, white spacer Gevaudan Cannagrrh had taken upon himself to utilize the legalized slavery laws to buy slaves from the Wilds of the Vargr Splinters and sell them inside the Safe worlds of the Dzen Aeng Kho or Society of Equals. His stock consisted mostly of female concubines, legal prostitutes, who made new lives away from the terror of Virus that had spread across Charted Space and slaughtered trillions of sophonts. Gevaudan had used those decades as the Dame sat as Alpha to save lives. Many of the concubines were able to purchase their freedoms after being delivered to the Safe worlds inside their communist polity. Gevaudan married four of his stock, each in their turn. Three were amicably divorced and went on with their emancipated lives. His fourth wife, Zhevra proved to be his final and best mate. The Suedzuk had shown the Pack a higher quality than the Equals, Unequals, Inequals and slaves of the Dzen Aeng Kho. The female, despite her own challenges of racism, sexism, medical and psychological hurdles had stopped the Pack from destroying itself. At the ascension of Zhevra’s mate-husband to the throne and releasing Dame Qithka to new adventures after so many decades of administration, Qithka took to the stars once more.

Now, at the end of the century, in 1199, Qithka was about to bid farewell to her life. She opened her eyes fully and looked to the Psion in purple robes, orich-colored Unequal sash belts on her waist and muzzle. The Unequal crone leveled her silent gaze at the dying Dame. Wordlessly, the seer smiled and nodded once, assuring Qithka. The old precognizant female from Ngoerrgh had remained silent about the future or futures she saw with her mental powers. In what the gray Vargr female termed quietus, the oracular Psion refused to reveal the time track’s chapters. A true Cassandra, Uthka Varzeekh refused to be further burned by Cassandra’s Conundrum, the dilemma of whether or not to speak prophesies to those who could not handle predictions. The Vargr beside the dying white Dame squeezed Qithka’s claw.

I want my brother, Qithka thought. “I want my brother,” she rasped quietly through ragged vocal cords. But the Alpha of Pack Cannagrrh could not attend his sister’s passing, so sick was he. A coughing fit was herald to a muscular seizure that followed. Her claws grip was answered by the assuring hold of Zhevra Cannagrrh to her right and Uthka Varzeekh to her left. Then Qithka gave up and fell back into soft pillows and translated at last.

* * *

Flat lines appeared on the monitors and were accompanied by a whine of monitor alarms. Doctors on call at the Villa entered at the alarms with at least three nurses. Measurements with manual touch and with devices were taken. Then the call came from the physician who checked his pocket computer.

“The Dame Qithka Cannagrrh has di-…translated at 1532 hours, Dzuerongvoe local on 323-1199,” declared the Vargr doctor who then whispered his condolences to the females and the other Pack members in the room at the time. Then his team respectfully left the room.

A howl of the gathered was heard in the halls of Cannagrrh Villa. It was long, sorrowful, respectful and at last exultant. The Vargr were paying vocal tribute to the Dame in her passing. The medical team waited in the hall with muzzles tilted to the floor. First to appear outside the room was the gray and white female in purple robes lined with coins and the strange gold-orange embroidery. By now the team had learned that there was a Psion on the grounds.

 

[The Pakkrat]

“You haf made ze preparations, yes Doctor?” asked the crone who walked with the aid of black, wooden rod-cane carved with an ascending serpent up its length. When the Psion stepped up to the physician, the cane pinged off the floor. The rap of that cane was slightly unnerving to the Doctor. He also knew the symbolism of the carved cane. It was the Terran Asclepius staff or rod, a symbol of healing. Though the Psion was no medical doctor, she was an expert in pseudo sciences still barely understood by psioncologists throughout Charted Space. The precog waited patiently for an answer as if she knew when it would come from him and what would be spoken. He guessed that the seer wanted to hear him acknowledge the secret plans. The male doctor had been only recently approached by the mysterious Uthka Varzeekh about the final brain scans she, as the Dame’s Power of Attorney, had ordered. The scans had been performed. Nodding, the male produced the heavy, double-sized Wafer from a pocket and offered it to the old female before him.

“You’ll need to sign for- ”

“No papervork,” hissed the precog female with a rap of her cane on the marble floor. “No trails. Nothing. Got me?”

This was unorthodox, but the physician was well paid and in advance. Now, with the surrender of the memory storage Wafer, his team’s contract would be up, and they could return to normal employment back at Dzuerongvoe General. Rather than argue the legality of shirking documentation, the physician opened his claw and let the Psion snatch it from his palm. “Yes, ma’am. I get you,” was his final answer.

 

[The Pakkrat]

Chapter 2
Vincennes (Deneb 1122) A899AA6-G Hi In Cp Reg
75-1200 Imperial Calendar
The Vilani corporate subsidiary Zirunkariish Healthcare and Insurance received the package and luggage earlier the next year. Within the package was nestled the double-sized Wafer containing the engram. Pre-Collapse records had to be hauled up from hardcopy vaults, just so the contract could be reviewed. The executor of the patient’s will and contract was beside himself to read the date of the fully paid Life Insurance policy. He had been contacted from across the mainworld to come and officiate the contract, the will and perform all the legalese-laden execution for which he had letters behind his Vargr name.

Advocate-Executor Sorrlloutsun signed and pressed each hardcopy form put in front of him only after he read each page. The client had paid in full, deposits of credits transacted back in 1105, nearly a century before this new era. The Third Imperium had its Fifth Frontier War, the Rebellion and hard times and the final Collapse. Now only the Regency and the Spinward States remained. Virus was perhaps only an annual news report on the networks, its threat still acknowledged despite calls from the signatory states to re-open the borders to the Wilds. Already one referendum back in 1196 had failed. The next vote could not be called until 1202. Now in 1200, Sorrlloutsun, the grandson of the lawyer to preside of the contracts before him, continued to read, sign and stamp with his clamp-press. He had been given no prior warning of the extremely old and very odd policy set on paper and the details.

What was odd about this policy was that it was implemented by a Vargr female from the then Vargr Extents, specifically the Dzen Aeng Kho. This was a first for Zirunkariish Healthcare and Insurance as back then, Vincennes was still rising toward TL-16 or Tech Level 16, beyond the Imperial pinnacle of technological revolution and on par with the Darrian Confederation in some realms of applied sciences. For the megacorporation, it was groat feed in terms of credits, monies that could be used then while the client was still alive.

Sorrlloutsun reviewed the policy. The client had arrived and initiated the contract just before the Fifth Frontier War. The Aekhu Vargr lawyer imagined that the female had put such a policy in place perhaps as insurance for the coming war. As a member of the Outworld Coalition of the times about to attack the Third Imperium in the Spinward Marches, the patient might have had prior knowledge of the buildup and movements. To many, this could have painted the client as a forward observation spy, but for further research into the identity of said client. Those documents were also before the Aekhu lawyer.

The client had travelled in and out of the Imperium of the times during the Fifth Frontier War, following a sibling and the registered mercenary company Artemis Mercenary Corporation which was later re-branded as the Artemis Group. The group travelled through various subsectors and passed into the Darrian Confederation once. Paper after paper had to be read, initialed, and stamped. This was causing some small amount of wrist and forearm fatigue for Sorrlloutsun. His claw digits were becoming numb too. Zirunkariish Healthcare and Insurance wanted to make legally sure that the courts would not indict the megacorporation’s subsidiary for the contract to be honored. If so, the credits could be refunded and sent home with the client’s luggage and personals on the ruling of the courts. All smiles and apologies to the family.

But try as he might, Sorrlloutsun could find no irregularities that might end his repeated initialing and pressing of the seals on each paper put before him. The client had been thorough despite the lack of counsel at the time of payment and contracting for the services listed. For though the Regency was the offspring of the Third Imperium, the Keeper of the Flame, there was no Third Imperium any more to deny the contract. It was First Regent Norris who, in spirit, kept the values of the Pre-Collapse polity alive. Thus, the Regency would bind itself to those same values in the courts. Since the megacorporation Zirunkariish had survived the Collapse and fell back behind the Quarantine Line against Virus, it was permitted to conduct business as usual as the Third Imperium was conquered by Virus and later the Black Imperium. Paper after paper was read and sorted. Sorrlloutsun would be present all day before all were signed and pressed with his firm’s seal.

It was late in the day on Vincennes when corporate representatives and genetics physicians met with the weary, Aekhu lawyer.

Hefting his third coffee and pushing aside his finished dinner, Sorrlloutsun addressed the gathered Humans and Vargr, “After scrutinizing the documents, this firm can conclude no anomalies with the contract. Zirunkariish Healthcare and Insurance may proceed with the services for which my client has paid.”

“Were there any stipulations or add-on clauses?” asked the Zirunkariish representative. He was a Vilani male in a black suit, deep blue shirt and a white tie pinned with the corporate logo.

“Only that once she is given a clean bill of health, she is to be released to her own cognizance. Her funds are plentiful for a voyage of sixteen, Jump-4 route to her homeworld.”

“This is out of the question,” interrupted a paralegal for the healthcare facility. “There is no precedent. This is the first, ethnic Vargr policy of its kind. There has never before been a contract for an Extents – excuse me – Splinters Vargr patient.”

The question was out of order but was valid. All wanted to hear anything that might nullify the contract. “What do you mean?” asked Sorrlloutsun. “She was a Gvegh and Knighted by the Third Imperium. Nigh a citizen.”

One of the physicians, another Aekhu Vargr like Sorrlloutsun spoke for the paralegal. “If we honor this contract, the Church Of The Chosen Ones and their purist flock will come down on Zirunkariish Healthcare and Insurance like a Vincennes tidal wave. Never before has a female, ethnic, Gvegh Vargr from Coreward been contracted for a Relict Clone. They will say to the networks that we are tampering with Ancients uplift of the Vargr Major Race, that we are playing God.”

Sorrlloutsun rubbed his right ear. “I’m a lawyer. Just what is so special about a Relict Clone, doctor? I mean, even First Regent Norris had a true daughter Seldrian. What’s the problem?”

The Vargr physician answered, “Norris and Seldrian were Imperial Humans, not Vargr. There will be questions from Vargr citizens as to the purity of the clone. To answer your question though, counsel, a Relict Clone is a Force-Grown, genetic patterned, close-copy of the client. But instead of a normal, birthed clone daughter, the subject is overlaid with the personality and scanned memories of the pattern mother. The Church will add necromancy to their list of complaints against us. They will want the courts to order the opening of otherwise confidential patient information so that they can confirm that Zirunkariish is legitimately cloning a member of the Vargr race and not trying to change the so-called perfection of the Ancients given to us, the Vargr I mean.”

It became obvious to Sorrlloutsun that there was still some element present at this meeting, giving lip service to the supremist religion known at the Church Of The Chosen Ones, (all capitalized words intended). COTCO for short, was the religion to rise out of the Solomani Hypothesis that all humanity of Charted Space and the Canidae to later be uplifted to the Vargr on Lair (Provence 2402) had come from Terra, from Earth. Since the Ancients were not around to be questioned or the act confirmed, the Solomani Hypothesis was ever that, a hypothesis. Yet the genetics conclusions were sound enough to cause the religion to spring forth a supremist belief that the Ancients had a purpose for the perfection of the Vargr while leaving homo sapiens alone to evolve on its own across the thousands of worlds. This became the Church Of The Chosen Ones. The Vargr were ‘chosen’ for greatness, perhaps to someday dominate Charted Space. While that obviously had not yet happened, the religion went through ups and down in its popularity via the Charisma of the lupine race.

“So, how is it that Zirunkariish is supposedly playing God, doctor?” asked Sorrlloutsun.

“A Relict Clone,” explained the geneticist suddenly proud of his applied science, “when incepted, will have all the base-line genes of the parent mother. She will then approximate the original physically. When overlaid with the personality engram, the Relict Clone will imprint all the skills, personality, and memories of her parent mother. In effect, we are resurrecting a dead female Vargr, counsel. That is what the Church will call necromancy upon a ‘chosen’ of the Ancients. There will be protests and affidavits to the courts that we deny the contract services.”

 

[The Pakkrat]

“How is this any of their business?” asked the Aekhu lawyer. Though he was also a Vargr, he defaulted to his role as the executor of the client.

“Think of it, counsel,” cut in the paralegal to start the argument. “If we release this Relict Clone into the Splinters and she has offspring, the COTCO will say we are sending genetically-modified – Vilani-modified – Vargr into Charted Space, thus potentially tampering with the design of the Ancients. There are enough purists out there in the Splinters that if this got out, could spark widespread concern escalating into doubts and fears and then a pogrom against clones of Vargr, normal or Relict Clones. This is quite new territory we are about to enter, Executor Sorrlloutsun.”

The Aekhu thought for a moment. Despite the minimal change in a clone from its parent donor, any deviation that might spark questions would indeed escalate in rumors and speculation as to how much was due to Vilani tampering with Vargr design by the Ancients. Rumors had a way of spreading Pack to Pack, world to world and throughout the Vargr Splinters. Angers could flare, protests could turn into riots. Riots could mutate into movements, and Sorrlloutsun did not need his name on the target propaganda of any movements. “Then gentlefolk, an NDA is in order. We have a binding contract. You have your work cut out for you.”

“A Non-Disclosure Agreement?” scoffed the paralegal to start up the argument. “You think that will protect the corp or the client? That won’t hold under a court order, should one well up from this.”

“It had better. Zirunkariish put down this policy, regardless of the sophont who buys in and signs on the dotted line. The deceased has posthumous rights now because of this contract, signed by all parties and in order or my license is on the line. I’ve initialed and pressed all the papers. It’s a done deal.”

“Shit,” fumed the Aekhu physician. Sorrlloutsun figured that everyone in the meeting should have known ahead of time that in order for the meeting to come together, the papers had to be reviewed and signed by the client’s lawyer first. He downed the remainder of his cooling coffee.

 

[The Pakkrat]

Chapter 3
Vincennes (Deneb 1122) A899AA6-G Hi In Cp Reg
57-1200
A week later, after more than a few Vargr employees terminated their employment with Zirunkariish Healthcare, the process for incepting Dame Qithka Cannagrrh’s Relict Clone began. Vilani physicians, supplemented with Solomani descendants support staff extracted the genetic material that the Dame had donated so that the genetic profile was recorded, analyzed with a fierce scrutiny, and cloned with the goal of coming as close as the science could with the help of TL-16 equipment and second-check artificial intelligence to collate every gene down to each amino acid. Nobody wanted to have digit claws pointed at them should an error or a result too far from ‘Vargr Prime’ characteristics evidence. To do so was to invite Executor Sorrlloutsun to visit the facility with an invitation to litigation on breach of contract. And nobody wanted that. Such a court action would go into public record and do more damage to the Zirunkariish name than a quiet, successful iteration of the Dame’s Relict Clone. If the Corporate Reputation Team was called in to deal with Executor Sorrlloutsun, it meant changes too many to count to happen and repair the damage to the multi-sector-wide megacorporation image. And no one in Charted Space wanted that kind of attention. Two escalations, one of social unrest and another of corporate unrest, became motivations to conduct services under the strictest of confidence and peak performance at every step of the process.

Once the spark of genetics was lit and the embryo formed, the process snowballed as Force-Growth was initiated. The fetus grew faster and gained mass as nutrients were made available from massive reservoirs in adjacent laboratories. Technicians watched as reserves dwindled over the weeks while the babe clone grew in a temperature-controlled ‘womb’. Every prenatal attempt to comfort the growing Relict Clone was given unto the baby. Music, Vargr voices just outside the birthing chamber, touching and gentle jostling was affected to simulate gestation within a biological mother. No conceivable step in simulating a dam’s term of pregnancy was glossed over. It was everyone’s hope that this new territory in Relict Cloning would yield a favorable result by the client, the Executor, the corporation, courts and most importantly the public.

There were congratulatory pats on backs as the fetus grew a thick, wet, and white fur pelt. Since Human clones were by law marked as such, most commonly with lifelong tattoos on skin, it was decided after much deliberation that a black ring of fur, a trait easily changed in the double helix strand for fur coloration, be placed on the tail. Out of direct sight of the newly awakened daughter was favorable than placing the black ring on one limb or anywhere immediately evident in the mirror. As the cub grew faster, the black ring on her tail thickened and widened. Management had to discipline a few staff for speaking about the ‘ringtail’ patient when on break, even if it was inside the facility’s cafeteria. For the client’s confidentiality was also of concern. Now that the stem cells had differentiated into tissues and organs and a heartbeat was detected, the courts could reasonably rule that the clone was now a living patient even if it were still corporate property, a product of Zirunkariish LIC. This would remain so until the client’s personality woke and evidenced in the product upon overlaying of the engrams supplied from the homeworld.

Though the Relict Clone of the Dame was still unconscious, physicians checked for reflex responses and monitored the light sensitivity in the eyes. A pair of ocean blue eyes, unfocused yet retreating pupils responded to the penlights of the doctors. Nurses were brought in to see to cleansing the warm fluid vat in which the sleeping clone rested. Wastes were subtly removed, and respirations were ensured as the body continued to grow at an accelerated rate. Nurse assistants groomed the clone with soft brushes and gentle massage to continue tactile stimulus. Feeding throughout the Force-Growth process was via umbilical, then later by intravenous and finally via a feeding tube which supplied what nutritionists called baby food.

Cameras and microphones recorded the Force-Growth phases once the sleeper was found able to breathe on its own. The technicians determined that the cub could vocalize but that such was unlikely to happen until the personality overlay was permanently implanted. Surveillance around the clock was in place to record, document and seal all records for reopening should a court order arrive. The fear of legal action was ever-present as the Relict Clone grew. To make matters more poignant, Executor Sorrlloutsun made weekly visits to obtain reports for his firm. A birth certificate was being drafted and an iteration date and time were to be included. The Aekhu lawyer had begun to arrive at late hours or very early in the morning, to avoid public attention while making his rounds. Whenever the male Vargr in his formal suit arrived, nurses stood, doctors smarted under his gaze and technicians cleared out of the area. By the time the Relict Clone began puberty, Sorrlloutsun was the only male Vargr allowed anywhere near the sleeper. Even when he was present, he was never alone with her. Nurses continued to shampoo and groom the teen-aged, one-year old female.

Complex operations such as the reiteration of the Dame were never without errors or simple mistakes. Sorrlloutsun arrived before the rise of all three suns above the Vincennes horizon. It had been raining all night and the Executor entered the facility drenched. Two staff physicians on his client’s floor were arguing among a small crowd of nurses and technicians. The Aekhu Vargr, the only member of his race present at this hour, eavesdropped on the elevated voices from a corner turn in the corridor.

“When the safe containing the patient’s engram is keyed, incorrectly or correctly before opening, I receive an electronic message,” declared one of the Vilani doctors. “Who went into my office to open the safe? When I rushed back here, I found the safe opened.”

The second physician, a female Vilani, answered when the gathered said nothing, “That was me, Dr. Sharuur. I opened the safe and brought out the personality engram. I saw on the schedule that the overlay was scheduled for today. Since you were already headed home, I went with the itinerary.”

Dr. Sharuur sounded furious to Sorrlloutsun. “The patient won’t be 18 equivalent years until next week. I- “

“Excuse me, doctors,” cut in the head nurse, another Vilani. “There seems to be an error in the Force-Growth projections. Someone started the aging clock at 1 year instead of zero causing us to think the patient was closer to 18 than scheduled. When the computer saw this, it assumed we were accurate, since it cannot judge the exact age of the patient – being a Vargr and female. I think it may have been one of the Vargr technicians who quit the team.”

Sorrlloutsun had to hold his muzzle shut to keep from snickering from his hidden spot. He knew that he should be more mature and serious about the contracted services, but it was so rare to hear a heated argument over the client.

“So, we just put the engram back in my office for a week and recalibrate for the mistake, right?” asked Dr. Sharuur.

That was when the female doctor became deadpan serious in her voice. “You’re an hour late to stop the overlay.” Sorrlloutsun risked a peek about the corner in time to see the female physician check her watch. “The overlay is about to begin at any minute now.” The Executor reached into his coat for his pocket computer and set it to record audio out to a distance of an entire room.

“Can we stop it, Dr. Kishe?” asked the head physician.

“I asked that too once the techs brought me news of the mistake, Dr. Sharuur. No. Once the overlay begins, it can’t be stopped and is permanent. The only way to back out now is to terminate the body and start over.”

A personal comm rang a fluting whistle. It was a nurse’s device. Stepping from the group, she answered it. Sorrlloutsun ducked back behind the corner and tried to silently creep back the way he had come. “Doctors,” announced the nurse who answered her comm device. “Executor Sorrlloutsun, I am told by front desk Security, is in the building and likely on his way up to the floor.”

 

[The Pakkrat]

“Ancients!” cried one physician. There was a rush of multiple shoed feet on the floor.

“He’ll have our badges!”

“Delay him.”

“It’s too late. He’s aware of the schedule. He read it yesterday.”

The Aekhu lawyer tried to reset himself. The patient was going to wake tonight with the night shift and during a powerful thunderstorm. At least the head physician had returned in time, thought Sorrlloutsun. He put himself into a mid-stride when a nurse rounded the corner and discovered him approaching. Despite her attempt to remain calm, Sorrlloutsun could see the blood drain from the Vilani woman’s face.

The Executor made up a lie on the spot when the surprised nurse tried to delay him. A fabrication about spending the evening watching over the client along with the staff would be hard to confirm by the nurse before him without begging off to double-check. Instead, the nurse tried to show the last rounds and vitals of the patient in a delaying tactic. Sorrlloutsun inwardly smiled, however he would not let the female Human break his loping momentum. Every time she placed herself before him, the lawyer either brushed her aside or gave her a hungry Vargr look that always seemed to unnerve Humans. He truly meant nothing by baring a few fangs, but it was sufficient to frighten the female out of his way. In this way, Sorrlloutsun was on hand to witness the waking iteration of the company body receiving the client’s personality engram.

From behind thick shielding glass, nervous and silent staff monitored the white-furred patient as the overlay approached its zenith upload. With the lawyer in the room, no one dared mention the scheduling hiccup. Sorrlloutsun kept his eyes on the sleeping body from the control room. Technicians and nurses moved to and from the white pelt. Monitor wires and cameras recorded the patient’s waking.

“Neural spike,” declared a technician seated below the standing Dr. Sharuur.

“Range?” asked the head physician.

“Upper of the spectrum but not beyond predictions.”

Sorrlloutsun watched as the naked, female body writhed, her back arching and pushing her chest up from the net supporting her in the warm, insulating gel. A web of neural contacts to the skull jostled as the muscles along the spine contracted.

“What is happening?” asked the lawyer.

It was the female Vilani, Dr. Kishe who turned to explain to Sorrlloutsun. “Ever see your life flash before your eyes, perhaps before a traumatic event?”

“I have heard of such,” answered the Vargr male.

“Well, to the body receiving the overlay, it is somewhat like having one’s life flash before their eyes. Only with this one, the flashes continue over seconds.”

“How long?”

“It is dependent on how old the pattern mother lived. Given the 129 years of life the pattern aged, the female body on the table is in for a rough ride.”

Sorrlloutsun heard a tech whisper to a colleague after overhearing Dr. Kishe’s explanation. “At least it’s not technically alive at this point.” The lawyer didn’t agree with the statement but kept his eyes on the writhing teenager receiving the implanted memories of the late Dame Qithka Cannagrrh. To him, it looked painful. Agonizing even. He watched as muscle groups strained at the harness holding her. Claws opened and closed in fits. Her ringed tail, the only extremity not restrained whipped the insulating gel up in wet sprays over the side of the vat-like tub. The stuff congealed on the cold, lab floor to a rubbery semi-solid in seconds.

“Why don’t we hear her calling out, vocalizing?” asked Sorrlloutsun.

“Until the engram is fully overlaid, sir,” answered Dr. Kishe, “the body does not know it has vocal cords.”

“I have no voice and I must scream,” intoned the lawyer. He watched as the female wrenched and opened her jaws to reveal pearly white, lupine teeth never used. The agonized grimace was unmistakable to a Vargr and thus missed by the staff as a simple opening of the mouth.

“Overlay apex acquired,” reported the technician at the control console.

“She’ll calm down in a bit,” assured Dr. Sharuur to the group behind the glass enclosure.

“I’m going in there,” declared Executor Sorrlloutsun.

“You can’t, sir,” answered Dr. Kishe. “She will wake soon and does not need to be seen in that state.”

“She will wake to a Vargr face, the only one on the floor,” volleyed Sorrlloutsun, “or she might bite or claw someone once the restraints come off. You Humans should have had a Vargr nurse, female or male, on hand to calm her, despite your scheduling screw-up. If I don’t welcome her, she might react violently.”

“Doctor?” asked Kishe turning to the head physician.

Dr. Sharuur looked down at the vitals readout on the console, then to the Aekhu male in a storm-drenched suit. After a few seconds of visible but internal debate, he nodded, “He suits up before he is allowed inside, but the Executor will have his way.” No one tried to gainsay the lawyer or the head physician.

 

[The Pakkrat]

Chapter 4
Vincennes (Deneb 1122) A899AA6-G Hi In Cp Reg
57-1200, 2315 hours
Qithka tried to roll over in bed. Not having opened her eyes yet, she assumed that neither of Dzuerongvoe’s two suns had risen and the room would still be dark. Something, perhaps her night dress, sheets or the ample covers were hindering her movement. She was so tired, and her muscles ached for reasons different than what she remembered. At least she was cozy warm this morning. Wanting to go back to sleep, Qithka kept her eyes closed and tried to calm her breathing. Yes, please. More sleep.

“She’s fully calm again,” whispered an unfamiliar voice with a strange accent or a speech impediment.

“That’s the first anyone has called her anything other than ‘it’,” said a male voice who while did have an accent at least he didn’t have a speech impediment. Qithka wrote it off as the beginnings of another dream. She yawned as the cool air entering her nostrils was nice. Her sinuses were not clogged like most mornings past.

“Now that the engram is embedded and she’s still breathing normally and on her own, the law says she is alive.”

“Alive but not yet her own property,” answered the male Vargr.

Such odd dream dialogue was heard by Qithka. Assumed to be asleep, she didn’t answer or demand explanation. Who gets to talk during their dreams?
“So long as the public doesn’t learn of the reiteration of the Dame,” added the first, accented voice, “she can be given full rights per the contract.”

“I imagine that it already has, given the scheduling error,” concluded the male Vargr voice. “We just haven’t seen the pitchforks and torches at the front desk yet.”

What a story to encounter! Were she still a full field journalist, Qithka would be ready with a slew of questions for those talking just now. This was a dream of society versus a break in taboo of some kind. The sleeper decided to let the dream continue as she lay in the wet bed.

“We’re detaching the cranial contacts now,” said an unfamiliar voice. It spoke in Vilani language. Qithka suddenly remembered that the entire conversation was in Vilani. She spoke Vilani, Qithka remembered. She had learned it while the other cubs were still in ED5. Her tutors taught her the language. This dream was getting interesting. Cranial contacts must mean a medical issue was at hand. She wondered who the subject was to be threatened with cultural upheaval. Still, she kept her eyes closed as her body moved slowly among the tangled sheets and covers in the wet bed.

Wet bed. Was Qithka sweating that badly in bed? And didn’t a dreamer generally wake up once they realized they were dreaming? Was this some form of lucid dream? It was too intriguing a story to lay in a pool of warm sweat when news was breaking. She tried to sit up. Her eyes opened to slits. But the covers holding her down kept her from rising fully.

The dark room was lit only by incandescent lights that were both unfamiliar and in the wrong places in the bedroom she remembered. There was blurry movement around her. People – no, Humans – were in her bedroom. The bed and the room beyond smelled of chemicals, cleaners and stranger scents. Her mouth was dry and Qithka desperately wanted her glass of water that was supposedly on the nightstand beside her. Turning her head, the female Vargr found her nightstand, with its glass of water and the pain pills she usually kept there, were not present. Instead she saw through half-lidded eyes that her wrists and limbs were bound in a rubbery restraint and it was not sweat she was laying in. She was not in her bed.

Turning her head, Qithka realized in a split-second afterthought, lucky day that I’m not in pain. So, that was a thing. It was her field correspondent experience that somehow kept the female in the warm liquid calm. She had been put in restraints before during her career as an Entertainer and propaganda actress. Without the distractions of the usual aging crisis pains, she opened her eyes fully to try and focus her sight.

“Qithka?” asked the male Vargr voice in Gvegh language, Qithka’s birth language. “Can you hear me, Qithka? Nod your head if understand me?” The voice was gentle, so the female Vargr assumed immediately that she was not under some arrest or in trouble somehow. Her hearing ears tracked the voice to the shadowed male Vargr to her left.

“Hearing acquisition and triangulation normal,” declared a Human voice in Vilani. Qithka decided to ignore the Vilani voices and concentrate on the male Vargr with an Aekhu accent. The last Aekhu she remembered was from Force Commander Kayleb Grouthk from the Artemis Group. But that was decades ago, back in the Fifth Frontier War. Where was she? Was she some patient? Was that the reason for the anatomical jargon? She nodded once in hopes of both answering the male Vargr, but also to keep him talking. She needed to find out who was in charge and why she was dangled on a rubber net grid and half-submerged in a vat of warm gel goo. It was starting to weird her out.

“Breathing up a little,” said another Vilani voice, possibly a nurse calling out Qithka’s vitals. Lights were being redirected to shine upon the male Vargr at last.

It took some seconds to adjust to the light in the room, a lab of some kind. Qithka looked to the male Vargr – yes, an Aekhu – dressed in a surgical gown. Was there an operation? Was this recovery then?

“Vision acuity and focus normalizing,” reported the nurse Qithka now decided the voice was.

Dreadfully thirsty now, Qithka was only able to manage a whisper in Gvegh, “What?”

“Vocal attempt confirmed,” reported a male Human’s voice from somewhere. “Timestamped and recorded.”

In Gvegh the male answered Qithka with, “Qithka, my name is Sorrlloutsun. Executor Sorrlloutsun. I’m your lawyer, executor and counsellor. You are safe, Qithka. There is nothing wrong. You are legally advised not to ask too many questions as you are right now. The answers will be self-evident shortly with your patience. We know you can move your limbs and body already. Can you behave if the staff here releases your limbs?”

Despite the fact that she was already trying to free herself with slow and useless wriggling, Qithka managed to nod her white muzzle with an oxygen canula stuffed into her nostrils, whispering, “Yes.”

“Good,” answered the male naming himself Sorrlloutsun. He leaned closer, over the edge of the tub holding Qithka. “These are Vilani staff you hired back in 1105 when you first came to the Third Imperium, Qithka.”

“Please don’t tell her that yet, counsel,” complained a male Vilani voice, likely some doctor to Qithka’s sharpening ears.

The Third Imperium was long Collapsed, remembered the white-pelted Qithka. Virus ate the Human empire. The last date she remembered was some date of 1199, long after the threat of Virus and the passing of the Mind Tsunami over Dzuerongvoe. What was going on?

When her first limb was released from the thick, rubbery web holding her body in the gel, Qithka unthinkingly snatched a claw full of the Aekhu’s surgical robe. Amazingly, her body acted better than she could have hoped given her age. She drew the male down further; his arms flailing to hold the side of the tub and stay him from falling forward into the goo about Qithka. Nothing hurt in her limbs, abdomen or her chest. She did not feel her usual aging crisis pains. His lupine face was drawn down close to her as nurses scrambled to help support the male. “What?” she growled in a raspy voice. It was then Qithka, in the rear of her mind, noticed her voice was lighter, somehow like a young female’s voice. However, she was more intent on getting answers from this Sorrlloutsun.

 

[The Pakkrat]

“First voice,” called out the technician who had reported on her vocals.

The brown eyes of the Aekhu Vargr widened but he held his own with, “I will tell you all, Qithka. But for now, you need to let go and let these people get you cleaned and dressed. I promise you are safe, but only if you comply. Please?”

It was the ‘please’ that stayed the rather young claw on the end of Qithka’s limb to relax and release the so-called counsel. And of course, the nurses put the limb right back into the rubber restraints after the alarm she had caused.

“Can we get a measurement on the limb action just recorded?” asked what sounded like a female, Human physician.

“Stay,” rasped Qithka to Sorrlloutsun in a guttural whisper.

“I will be right here until the doctors kick me out, Qithka,” assured the lawyer “Are you sure? I mean, you’re naked and- “

“Stay. Please.” Qithka was not averse to using please in return despite whatever had snatched her from her bedroom and wakened her here, in this laboratory. And she had nothing against being naked if she was some patient and restrained for a reason. Keeping her eyes on Sorrlloutsun, she acquiesced to the incoming physicians and nurses.

More measurements and reports were called out by a Vilani man who called himself Dr. Sharuur and echoed by his assistant physician, the woman she had heard earlier. She named herself Dr. Kishe. The lady doctor was the first to usher out all the male Humans from the lab. Qithka liked her immediately but growled when Kishe tried to include Sorrlloutsun to be excluded.

“Emotional response confirmed,” someone reported.

“Anger, I think,” answered Dr. Sharuur. “Sorry, Qithka. He can stay. While I am your chief recovery physician, I am going to go give report and leave this next phase to my colleague, Dr. Kishe. Nod your head if you agree, miss?”
Qithka was not a ‘miss’ but nodded her head in silence.

The male doctor turned to the Aekhu and advised him with, “Don’t say too much too soon. Remember that she is still embedding even now. Give her time and don’t push her.” With the acknowledging nod from the male Vargr, the Vilani doctor left the lab. Only Sorrlloutsun, Dr. Kishe and two female Human nurses remained to treat Qithka. What was that about pushing Qithka? Questions mounted. Sorrlloutsun turned back to keep himself in view.

More tests were conducted, and results recorded. Senses, reflexes, voluntary motor and involuntary respiratory, cardiovascular and gastrointestinal functions freed on Qithka’s display of compliance. The itchy nasal cannula was removed, thank the Ancients!

Eventually the rubber web was lifted from the warm gel in the tub which was looking more like some vat filled with primordial goo than anything meant for cleansing or comfort. As soon as it cooled, the stuff congealed into soft rubber like the black net holding her from sinking in the tub. When she could prove that her legs worked with enough strength to stand, Qithka was helped to sit in the net after being released from the restraints. She was still wet with the gel and wanted out of the vat.

“Bring her something of hers that may be familiar,” ordered Dr. Kishe. That seemed logical to Qithka who put her feet down into the vat, wary of her legs giving way. Before going to bed last night, she remembered needing Zhevra’s help climbing up under the covers. The female nurses brought in a rolling tray of her jewelry. She had not put those on in some time. Yet, they were familiar to her. She took note of the tray of items: a gold torc collar, her ear cuffs that held a ruby red pendant on a chain, a bracelet with an azure, octahedral stone and a solid bracer with another oval ruby set in its silver metal. Qithka did not move or react to them. Was she being baited?

At last, it was recorded that Qithka could stand upright, or at least in relaxed stance with but her claws on the rim of the vat to support her balance. The Gvegh female Vargr took a full pan of her head and torso to take in the sight of the laboratory in which she had awakened. With every movement, she was surprised to find she needed no help though nurses and the lawyer were right with her at each request to move, raise a claw, point with it or wag her tail a little. She was asked to speak, follow a penlight’s movement with her eyes and listen to various pitches of sound, even the ones that only she and Sorrlloutsun could hear as they were Vargr. At the conclusion of the first round of tests, Qithka was allowed to step from the vat, helped across the floor in careful steps of her digitigrade stance to the nearby shower. With the lawyer turning his back but still within the lab where she could hear him, Qithka showered off the last of the solidifying gel from her white pelt. And that was when she saw her tail.

Qithka distinctly remembered that her fur was white all over. Yet, here was a black ring stripe around the two-thirds distal limit of her tail. Was it dye? Was she marked somehow? The shower done, she stepped back out from behind the corner shower curtain. With her dripping tail in one claw, Qithka pointed at it with the free index claw digit. What the Ancients had they done to it?

“That will be explained, miss,” announced Dr. Kishe.

“What she said, ma’am,” agreed Sorrlloutsun.

After a warm blow dryer applied to her fur, Qithka was given a too-revealing hospital gown to wear. Again, she did not care since she was already seen without clothes to the staff and the lawyer. At least Witness was not present to record for her former employers at the magazine. That memory hurt when she thought of it just then. It was decades ago, when Qithka first rose as Alpha of Pack Cannagrrh and then stood up against the Council of Worlds that the magazine recalled the robot. Now she would not have to order it to go to a commercial or shut itself off. The memory of losing her field correspondent job back then brought the first tears to her dry eyes.

 

[The Pakkrat]

Chapter 5
Vincennes (Deneb 1122) A899AA6-G Hi In Cp Reg
58-1200
Though dressed in a hospital gown and draped over her lap in with a warm blanket from a nearby warmer cabinet, Qithka was still shivering slightly. Whether it was from the signature, refrigerator environment typical of all hospitals or from such a strange waking, Qithka could not decide as to why. From the laboratory, she was guided in careful successions of steps with feet that did not look like her old, unkempt and furry feet. How much had she changed from climbing into bed last night? This was either still a dream or a very weird mishap. An empty hospital bedroom greeted her, an upgrade from a vat of goo she had woken in. Now seated in the bed with her legs to one side, Qithka decided to shoot unspoken questions at her lawyer by staring at him.

Sorrlloutsun saw Qithka’s intent stare. Recomposing himself from the room’s corner he fished into his coat and brought forth his pocket computer. “Are you sure you want this now? You’ve not had breakfast yet, miss.”

After all she had been through in her life, Qithka was ready for just about anything. A serious nod of her head was all she gave to answer the Aekhu Vargr in the bedroom.

Sorrlloutsun stood and swiped a digit claw across the screen of his pocket computer until he found the correct file to read aloud. “I had weeks to compose this, so please bear with me.” Qithka did not interrupt.

“Miss Qithka01, I am Executor Sorrlloutsun, grandpup of Zuensaak whom Dame Qithka Cannagrrh hired to oversee the legal action to purchase Life Insurance from Zirunkariish Healthcare and Insurance in the year 1105. Since then, my grandsire passed down the firm until I was given your files, received your luggage and personal items…and her death certificate.” Sorrlloutsun paused to look at the white female dressed in a light blue hospital gown. Qithka purposefully kept her face blank and continued to stare at the lawyer.

“Dame Qithka Cannagrrh translated at 1532 hours, Dzuerongvoe local on 323-1199 according to the final report of the physician on call. The Life Insurance policy activated the day Zirunkariish received her items and the death certificate, citing the contract with the megacorporation subsidiary Zirunkariish Healthcare and Insurance, LIC. It is now 58-1200, the new century, dare I say a new era? It took sixteen, 4-parsec jumps, more than 112 days for the package to arrive here on Vincennes. The Dame’s Relict Clone, you Qithka, that is Qithka01, has been iterated. As a Relict Clone daughter of your pattern mother, you have all of the Dame’s education, skills, memories and the amazingly strong body of an equivalent 18-year old. Um, happy birthday, ma’am?”

Try as she might, Qithka could not keep up her blank stare. Searching her memories, back to just before the Fifth Frontier War, she remembered purchasing the policy on the chance that the Outworld Coalition would start the invasion of the Spinward Marches and that she might become a casualty of that war. There were only two consciousnesses with her at the time that knew of the Life Insurance policy. One of those two would not have done this. But she would. After all the decades, Qithka was surprised that she went through with this.

“Uthka,” mumbled Qithka in her raspy voice, still trying to find a clear speaking tone.

“That was the name on the sender I.D. of the secure package, the scanned personality engram and the personal items,” answered Sorrlloutsun. “A one Uthka Varzeekh sent them last year and they arrived here on Vincennes weeks ago. That was when my firm was contacted. I was assigned the Dame’s policy for review and confirmation. Everything was in hardcopy in deep, pre-Collapse vaults.”

Qithka laid her warm blankets aside and rose shakily. Sorrlloutsun rose from his seat so as to assist the female Gvegh. With careful steps she put one young foot in front another while holding onto the bed rails, rounding the bed to the nearby fresher. She was stunned, but not in shock or frightened stasis. She was trying to process what she had just been told. Her tail drooped as the fresher opened to reveal a full-length mirror on the inner side of the door. It stopped her for the span of a minute as she saw her reflection.

The young, white female with her ocean blue eyes stared back at Qithka. She was shorter than Qithka remembered. Her pelt was not grayed with age. Opening and closing her claws, Qithka then began to feel the difference between the time she was tucked into bed by Zhevra Cannagrrh and how she felt now, in this strange body. She stared at herself in the mirror. When she pulled aside the hospital gown to examine the form in the mirror, Sorrlloutsun respectfully turned away to gaze out the windows. It was still pre-dawn and the sea vessels lights were a blanket of stars on the bay.

The body was young. Qithka was young. What was it he called her, Qithka01? Was that some filename or codename? More questions arose. But her mind was again stopped by the sight of that black ring of fur on her tail. She half-turned to better see the black coloration on her tail. It was natural. She went to the sink to try and wash out the black, to see if it was a dye. When the faucet came on, the lawyer spoke again.

“The black ring isn’t a dye, miss. It’s permanent. As Relict Clones of Humans are given distinctive markings, such as tattoos, so too are Relict Clones of Vargr given markings it seems. Not tattoos of course, but after some deliberation, it was settled to place the marking on the tail, behind you for both symmetry and so that it would be – I don’t know – out of sight, out of mind, I guess.”

They had marred her all-white pelt with a permanent change of her tail. Qithka felt anger well up and she saw herself bare her teeth and wrinkle her muzzle. But the sight of the facial change in the mirror was too amusing against all she remembered of seeing herself in the mirror before waking up here. She was old back then, just yesterday to Qithka. Now she was young and making such a silly, angry face. It dispelled her anger, though she was still dissatisfied with the ringed tail. She felt branded after calming her face. Maybe she could use a product to lighten the fur later.

“Why?” Qithka asked returning from the bathroom.

“It’s a Regency law, ma’am,” answered the lawyer carefully. “Even normal clones are given such markings. I don’t know the particulars as I have been trying to keep this case quiet and focusing on your awakening, Qithka01, I mean Qithka.”

“Name?” Qithka continued the questioning. She wanted more answers to this Relict Clone business. It was so very long, almost a century, since the Life Insurance policy was purchased. Remembering the details was so insignificant. It had been done on a whim. Then there was the War.

“Ah that,” Sorrlloutsun stiffened. “A clone, Relict or normal has an iteration number added on the inception certificate. The courts will name you Qithka01. You are the Relict Clone of the late Dame Qithka Cannagrrh, effectively her daughter.”

Qithka felt her stomach jar. She felt sick. Sorrlloutsun tried to lighten his voice tone by saying, “Of course you inherit everything that belonged to the Dame, even the title if you wish it. I understand that she was Knighted in the Third Imperium. That stands even now in the Regency, miss. ‘Blooded Fang’- “

The Aekhu was unable to finish when Qithka collapsed to a crouch over the fresher commode and began dry heaving, coughing and dry heaving again. She had nothing to give though her stomach wanted very much to physically remove what she had just heard.

Qithka had just been told that she was no longer herself, that she was reborn as the daughter of herself, a Relict Clone daughter of her previous life. This was no longer a dream now. It was a nightmare. How could she have done this to herself? Memories of Uthka Varzeekh’s lupine face appeared in her mind when Qithka was signing for the Life Insurance policy so very long ago. The old seer saw this coming. She must have! And she still honored Qithka’s policy. Why not just let her die in peace? Zhevra never knew. Gevaudan, her brother, never knew. Uthka told nobody all those years. Only one other consciousness knew of the transaction. Witness, the magazine robot was present and recording the spontaneous decision to take out a contract before the coming of the Fifth Frontier War. That meant Kfan Uzangou, the magazine also knew. Ancients! It also meant that once word got out from Cannagrrh Villa of her death, the magazine would be looking for signs of the policy’s activation. Her rebirth would require a high-tech world, Qithka guessed. Normal cloning was within reach of most spacefaring technology worlds. But this, this Relict Clone business where she retained her memories, was very high-tech. Qithka could not place the exact Technology Level or TL benchmark but it was well beyond all the worlds of the Dzen Aeng Kho, the Society of Equals. It meant that her memories and all the other things of hers was sent by Uthka Varzeekh Rimward, to the Regency.

“Vincennes?” coughed and sputtered Qithka’s question as she continued to heave at the stomach.

Knocks at the hospital room door were only custom as nurses intruded. A female Aekhu Vargr nurse led the trio as they found Qithka attempting to vomit this nightmare from her and into the commode.

 

[The Pakkrat]

In Gvegh, the Vargr nurse asked, “Miss? Hun, are you okay? I’m Nurse Dhoer, your primary caretaker for this shift.” Qithka saw the black-furred Vargr nurse turned to the Vilani Human nurses and said, “Call Dr. Kishe. The patient needs something to soothe her tummy.” The female smelled of peppermint, an aromatic oil. It was soothing to scent something other than sterile hospital so close to Qithka. Nurse Dhoer helped her to stand after she lost the strength in her abdomen muscles to continue heaving. Nothing was coming out. Qithka was stuck with this reality.

“Hungry,” Qithka rasped a mumbling whine.

“Nutrition has a breakfast coming up very soon,” offered Dhoer. “It’s not much to look at, but the doctors’ orders are firm about your very first meals.”
First meals? Did she forget how to eat too? Qithka, back in bed and covered, stared between the nurse and the lawyer. Two Vargr with answers were better than one.

“Maybe I should go for now,” offered Sorrlloutsun. “She began spasming when I told her a bit too much so soon. I’m sorry, Qithka.”

Qithka almost protested her lawyer – the Dame’s Executor – from leaving but defaulted to a nod of her head. “Return?” she asked him as he picked up his pocket computer and put it in his coat.

“Yes, but I have to make report on the legal side of things, Qithka. Take it easy for now. I will return later.” The Aekhu nodded a head bow to the patient and then took his leave from the hospital room as the nurse helped the now-young, white-pelt prepare for a meal.

 

[The Pakkrat]

Chapter 6
Vincennes (Deneb 1122) A899AA6-G Hi In Cp Reg
58-1200
Qithka immediately missed her old house chef back on Dzuerongvoe who worked for Cannagrrh Villa. Seeing the tray of what amounted to baby food in small jars rolled into the room, made the patient nearly laugh and cry in little sobs at the sight. The more she thought about having died, the more Qithka wanted to cry. And now she had forced herself to live another life. She had nobody to blame but herself. Gevaudan on his deathbed would be snickering right about now if he knew her situation. He had the easy way out now compared to what Qithka was experiencing.

On the instruction list left on the food tray brought in the room was that damning name again, Qithka01. The patient pretended not to read it and reluctantly reached for the first jar of baby food paste. Nurse Dhoer stood and watched her begin eating as if it was some requirement. When Qithka shot her a look, the black-furred female answered the unspoken question with, “This is your very first meal, hun. We have to be certain you can keep it down. Would you like me to feed you?”

The question was absurd to Qithka, but she answered the offer by twisting off the jar cap and using a teaspoon to begin eating, if eating was the proper term. The paste was bland, had no spices and was likely the most boring thing she had eaten in her life. Her now two lives. Yet, here she was spooning the stuff into her mouth, with nothing to chew up. That was when she noticed she had all her teeth. Being born again as a Relict Clone had given back her lost pre-molars. Qithka found herself feeling all her new teeth with her tongue well after the last of the baby food was down.

Taking the tray, Nurse Dhoer asked, “Is there anything else I can do, miss?” The question was genuine if not accented by an Aekhu Vargr speaking in Gvegh language.

“News?”

“Ah, I can see if you are allowed a network tablet. Give me a few?”

Nodding, Qithka turned to watch the first dawn of three stars of this new life. The nurse retreated with the breakfast tray. The patient, the Relict Clone watched her first sunrise on Vincennes, inside the Regency. It was indeed a new era for Qithka.

That morning, after the rise of the G-type star followed by two K-type stars, Qithka was visited by more nurses and her doctors Kishe and Sharuur closer to triple-noon. She learned that the hospital, or more precisely, the Zirunkariish facility was located on dry, coastal land. This was fortunate for Qithka as Vincennes was almost a full Water world, its surface was covered with oceans punctuated intermittently by islands and island archipelagos. Land was premium and only large corporations, governments and megacorporations could afford the real estate ashore on Vincennes. Zirunkariish had done this through their Real Estate Investment Trust, yet another megacorporate arm.

Qithka continued to peruse the network tablet allowed her by the nurses. She soon found that she could not send messages outward, but could watch networks, hear weather reports, stellar traffic in- and outbound from Vincennes Down Starport, and current affairs news. This was likely filtered by Zirunkariish. Megacorporations had a way of trying to provide for and insulate its employees from the world outside company concerns. Yet the network channels were plentiful and Qithka spent the day between vitals tests, answering questions as best she could, physical therapy (torture), and measurement of her emotional, discrimination and decision-making, and mental acumens. Qithka could feel a Universal Personal Profile being assembled behind her back as she lay in the cloning facility bedroom.

The Universal Personal Profile or UPP was a string of digits representing her physical and mental measurements and would go into the file labeled Qithka01, or so Qithka believed. It would further define the new body she wore along with the enumerated name. If she was issued an identity card, the UPP would further describe the person carrying it, thus presenting a hurdle against identity theft. Qithka’s Major Race, the Gvegh ethnicity of Vargr would also show up on such an identification card or on documents. But when age came into question for the patient, she had to ask Nurse Dhoer. Nurse Dhoer had to bring in Dr. Sharuur that day to answer it.

“Your profile, miss,” said the Vilani Dr. Sharuur, “will state that this Relict Clone body is approaching its first year, but you will legally be 18, no longer a minor. Passing all of your tests, your true age of 130 will be an option you have to decide whether will be included on your UPP.”

“Miss?” asked Qithka. Something about her pattern mother’s engrams still embedding fully was the reason for her short or one-word sentences. She was still growing though her body was technically a young adult.

“Ah, about that,” said Dr. Sharuur who fidgeted with a writing stylus over his tablet. “I don’t know if the Executor has told you yet.”

“What?”

The physician in charge of Qithka put down the stylus to address the patient, “We here at Zirunkariish have never performed Relict Clone, Life Insurance services for Vargr of the Splinters. Culturally, we have no precedent for forms of address, formality and for behavioral guidance of a Vargr patient. ‘Miss’, is a term used because - well because you look young to our eyes and far different from the Dame’s image-captures. She was a famous Entertainer in Gvurrdon Sector in her time. And in that, we don’t know whether to address you as Qithka01, Qithka, Dame, or if you still desire your Pack name of Cannagrrh. Though you have your pattern mother’s memories and skills, we have no groundwork for your preferences. If you please, we at Zirunkariish would have your ethnic Vargr opinions as to how you self-identify. Until then, please do not take offense to being addressed as ‘miss’. You are just now out of the apparent years of a minor, if you take my meaning.”

How did Qithka identify herself? If what the lawyer said was true, about having the same personality as her old life, did she feel anything different?
“Time,” nodded the white-pelt female in the hospital bed.

“Agreed, miss.”

There was paperwork included in the tasks of the days in the cloning facility. Qithka answered long lists of questions that indicated her state of mind, emotions and preferences. As each sheaf of questions was completed, more of her previous life’s items were presented to her in the facility bedroom. Each item of luggage, apparel, accessories was familiar to Qithka’s memory. Yet, for some reason, she kept herself from trying them on. In an 18-year old body, dressed in an elderly lady Vargr’s wear, Qithka might find herself silly in appearance. So, she left the items where they were laid in a corner of the bedroom.

Her lawyer, Executor Sorrlloutsun returned during dinner. More demeaning baby food was being spooned when the Aekhu counsel knocked and allowed himself into the room. He was dressed again in a crisp suit and a rainproof overcoat was carried on one arm.

“How are you doing, Miss Qithka?” asked Sorrlloutsun as he settled with Qithka changing between paperwork questionnaires, nightly news on the tablet, the meal and the lawyer. “Multitasking I see. That is good to know.” The lawyer brightened in his paralanguage a bit. His tail wagged under this suit jacket. His brown eyes took in everything.

“Bureaucracy?” asked Qithka. How long would it take to be released on her own cognizance was a question on her mind for the Executor. She wanted to be free of this room and this facility.

“That and more,” answered Sorrlloutsun. “It is amazing the amount of unprecedented legal work needed to grant civilian status to a Relict Clone, let alone one of a Splinters Gvegh Vargr. Uh, have you been watching the news? How much?”

Qithka turned her network tablet display where the Aekhu Vargr could see it. In a few seconds, she caught an expression of disappointment on Sorrlloutsun’s lupine face. The lawyer produced a writing pen and took up Qithka’s dinner napkin from the tray of baby food jars. He quickly scribed a single sentence and then re-folded the napkin to be returned to the tray. “Well, if that’s all they are letting you watch, it may be for your peace of mind. I am glad to see you are eating and taking care of business on your end, Miss Qithka.”

The formality of the lawyer was getting to Qithka. He was purposefully avoiding the mention of the news not on the tablet. Qithka, remembered her days – her pattern mother’s days rather – of remaining aloof when sensitive information was leaked to her. The Dame had been an investigative reporter used to digging for information and getting the scoop first. Now, in the facility bedroom, Qithka remained quiet.

“Well, keep up the good behavior, keep exercising and we’ll see about your discharge as soon as possible. I will return repeatedly to update you.” The lawyer stood and nodded before taking his leave. Qithka nodded back to the Aekhu.

 

[The Pakkrat]

Aekhu Vargr had long integrated into the Third Imperium as an ethnicity of the Major Race of Vargr. Qithka was a Gvegh and though the two sub-species overlapped in the Spinward Marches, more concentrated numbers of Aekhu were found here in Deneb Sector, specifically in Atsah Subsector and surrounding. The Gvegh had spread Spinward to colonize Gvurrdon and other Sectors in the region. While the Aekhu fit themselves into the then-expanding Third Imperium, somehow adapting their Vargr Charisma with the social strata of Humaniti, the Gvegh had no such adaptation. Qithka then understood the quip about ‘good behavior’ from the lawyer. The Aekhu was warning her that the Gvegh were still, into this new era, suspect after the Frontier Wars, the Vargr incursions to take advantage of the Rebellion and the gaps left during the hard times. They sought to seek asylum and aid from Virus and in return they provided support and advice to help recovery from the Mind Tsunami faster than the Regency and certainly faster than the remnant Zhodani Consulate which had suffered the worst from the phenomenon from the galactic core. Qithka had to give the Aekhu kudos for their part in keeping First Regent Norris from denying the Gvegh the protections from Virus by sharing the methods of Quarantine. Though the majority of the Vargr Extents collapsed into the Wilds due to the computer infections, the Vargr Splinters remained thanks to efforts of the Aekhu, however small or insignificant seeming. As a field correspondent, Qithka in her former life would likely have missed these details had she never come to find her brother Gevaudan in the Spinward Marches. Was it their adventures and exposure to the other Vargr ethnicities and to Humaniti that guided Gevaudan the Vargrtarian of the Collapse then?

If the quip was a warning, then Qithka true to her pattern mother already had the skills to play the game. As she ate, tiny bites of the bland baby food and wiped her muzzle with the folded napkin. Each time, she stole glances at what Sorrlloutsun had written in Gvegh letters:

You are being watched.

Rather than let the napkin’s message be discovered, Qithka finished her boring food and rose from the bed easier than before to go through the personal items and apparel. Reaching into a bag, she deftly deposited the crumpled napkin into a recess and instead drew out another white dress gown. To complete the deception, she tried on the gown and looked at her form in the fresher mirror.

Looking at her reflection, Qithka reminded herself that the lawyer had said he was working on her status as a civilian. To Qithka, such words translated to tell the patient that until the Life Insurance policy was confirmed a success, Qithka was still Qithka01, a Relict Clone. That meant there was some distinction between megacorporate product and a living sophont with sophont rights. She was being tested for physical stats, intelligence, sentience, and aptitudes first. If Qithka were on the Board of Zirunkariish, she too would be concerned that this first instance of cloning a Gvegh Vargr from the Splinters heeded the contract to the letter. But why was Sorrlloutsun having such difficulty? Turning about in view of the mirror, Qithka saw again her black ring on her tail.

It was because of something she could not see until one’s point of view or angle of perspective changed. What was being denied Qithka that drew that expression on the Executor’s face? In her time as a field correspondent, the Entertainer that was Qithka Cannagrrh knew that many Humans had difficulty reading the expressions and Vargr paralanguage. But not Qithka being a Vargr herself. Paralanguage did not need a translator as it had reached across, enveloped all the languages and cultures of the various sub-species of Vargr and was understood by all from cub years. Sorrlloutsun was also communicating with his body’s paralanguage. He could not speak freely here in the facility despite being her legal counsel. Something deeper was happening under the surface. Qithka wasn’t out of the facility and already an adventure was happening to her, clone daughter or not. Was she then her pattern mother or something new?

The gown did not look good on Qithka01. It was returned to the luggage.

 

[The Pakkrat]

Chapter 7
Vincennes (Deneb 1122) A899AA6-G Hi In Cp Reg
59-1200
A speech therapist was called in to help patient Qithka01 lengthen her sentences beyond her one-word questions. Qithka was elated when the therapy was able to encourage her to speak longer sentences. When that was a recorded success, the therapy was expanded to a second and then a third language. It was soon recorded on Qithka’s new Universal Personal Profile that she was fluent in Gvegh, Anglic, Zdetl and Vilani tongues. As a side exercise Qithka persuaded Nurse Dhoer to teach her how to apologize in Aekhu dialect, which turned out was not so far from Gvegh. Rather than ‘so sorry’ in Gvegh, Aekhu could say ‘apologies’ or ‘I am sorry’. Gvegh was quicker and inflected more heavily on the Charisma of the speaker to the listener. Not so with Aekhu whose language had changed with the sub-species integration with the Third Imperium. Qithka made sure to thank the nurse who smiled and wagged her tail.

An Aekhu coach therapist took Qithka to an indoor track with a nurse chaperone later the same day. The track encircled the entire same floor of the cloning facility. With heavy, storm polymer windows, Qithka could see every side of the entire building, an arcology’s upper floors if she was to judge how small the streets below were to her new eyes. At least she would no longer need reading glasses. That thought made her half-smile as the coach trotted alongside her after Qithka was hooked up to a belt-clip monitor/transceiver. The facility staff were still watching her progress, physical to upper mental, the patient now guessed.

At first, the laps were walked before the coach let Qithka take a trotting pace. Qithka pretended to want to run, but was held back by the therapist under orders. The pretense held the coach’s attention to the pace and to keep the monitors connected as the laps went by. But out of the corners of her eyes, Qithka stole glances downward from the windows, to the street level, out a given side of the arcology. In the afternoon suns’ light, she saw throngs of people outside the medical arcology. Qithka knew the superstructure to be the Zirunkariish Healthcare presence on Vincennes. It could not be devoted only to Life Insurance cloning. Such could not pay for the structure, its upkeep and the immense real estate and property taxes paid to the Vincennes government if so. This was a hospital first and only several or more floors had to be devoted to licensed cloning, Qithka guessed.

“Open a window?” asked Qithka. She feigned windedness.

“Sorry,” answered the coach as the two jogged. “They don’t open.”

The physical therapy continued after lunches the next few days, after Qithka answered daily questionnaires and took aptitude tests despite her protests. She was tired of being asked how she felt. She was young, (again?). One question on the forms kept asking how she identified herself. Qithka had yet to put anything in the answer box. Was she uncertain how to answer, uncertain of the answer to give or unsure of how she felt being asked that question? Each day, the question went unanswered. One day, she answered the question with undecided and prayed to Gevaudan’s Runetha Saetedz, an ascendant hero-deity, that the question would be retracted the next day. It was not. Perhaps it was that Qithka was not favored by the Adventurer-Scoundrel from Menorb (Spinward Marches 1803) so long ago. She never was one of faith and especially not now that her pattern mother had apparently robbed herself of a final rest upon translation. The jogs in the afternoon cleared her mind of all the questions.

In the last few days, Qithka’s coach was given the green light from her two doctors to begin testing Qithka’s sprint, a burst of speed that the Vargr race were often noted. The two spent a few laps jogging and warming up before the male Aekhu let her drop lower in stance and stretch out the strides with her digitigrade stance, “Now!” Typical to all of the lupine race’s ethnicities, the two Vargr increased their speed around the track in intermittent bursts of sprinting speeds that drew looks from the Humans also present on the track. The sprints made Qithka smile to run so fast again. She – her pattern mother – had not run this fast in ages. At the end of the day’s track, Qithka began to inwardly separate herself from her past life. But she cunningly hid the self-identification decision by trying on more clothes from the luggage and viewing them in the mirror. Each time, an ensemble recalled memories in Qithka and they were put down, the garment returned to the case. To keep from developing a habit or pattern, the female did select a solid, gold-orange, metal ring collar to wear.

The neck-ring was a simple, undecorated item that did not clash with any piece of wear in the inherited collection though it was part of her pattern mother’s full array of jewelry. It had a hinge and a snapping connector that was subtle and hard to see among Qithka’s white neck ruff. To balance then, Qithka chose to begin wearing only it and shirking the others. This harvested smiles and compliments from the doctors and nurses. Sorrlloutsun however said nothing and his paralanguage fell to a standstill when he saw her new addition.

At the end of another week, Qithka made a request of Dr. Kishe, “I want to see my UPP.”

The request caught the Vilani woman off-guard, but she recovered with, “It’s not fully filled, miss. The results from the aptitude tests have not come back yet. They may still be being graded.”

Graded or was her writing being analyzed? Qithka pushed off the request then as if it were not that important and went back to watching the news before dinner. Of all the programming on the tablet Zirunkariish allowed to her, journalism news was the most important to her. This too, Qithka decided was a holdover from her pattern mother. Keeping abreast of one’s surroundings could yield clues to which way the wind blew even if her tablet was filtered by the megacorp.

Dinner arrived. But instead of jarred baby food, Qithka’s eyes widened to see spiced pulled meat spread over a pile of rice and sauced in a glaze that made her eyes tear up. Her nostrils filled with the aroma. As Nurse Dhoer watched, Qithka took twice as long to savor the adult meal.

“Like it, miss?” asked the female Aekhu nurse.

“Like it? Love it!” answered the young Qithka with her mouth full. Then she saw the nurse’s tail wag. “Yours?” she asked.

“Yes. I made it. I put in a request and Dr. Kishe allowed it on provisions such as not too spicy and it was to test salty and sweet flavor reception.” The nurse beamed if Qithka was sure of the happy female witnessing her positive response. Likely her reaction to the meal was being recorded.

“Does that,” nodded Qithka. “Love it. All Aekhu that good?”

The nurse demurred a little with a shrug, but then admitted, “In the Aekhu history, we developed a need to eat Human meals. It was a cultural shift as the Aekhu integrated with the Human Imperium. As we grew more food, for both Vargr and Humans of Deneb Sector, we learned to capitalize on new recipes and cooking for both races. Eventually someone or someones in our past decided to try eating Human food and eating with Humans. The willingness to cross over into Human cuisine gave the Aekhu an in, a place at the table. Once there, both Humans of Vilani and Solomani descent dropped their weird birth caste system at the table. Likewise, we Aekhu paused the need for Charisma. The basic need for a hearty meal was a commonality of survival, not some social, pecking order time. Etiquette was still present of course and we Aekhu had a few hurdles. I’m sure the Imperials needed to make adjustments to tableware for the Vargr too. Sitting down to a meal is a time for sharing that meal, making sure all get their due. Like Charisma, each is respected, high or low. All get their fill providing proper planning and cooking efficiency is upheld. Food and cooking helped us to adapt better to a Human diet, as opposed to the rest of our carnivore race. But I am tickled my preparation has pleased you, miss.”

“Mm-hmm,” answered Qithka with another bite of the aromatic, savory, delicious plate. Never before today and stretching all the way back into the Dame’s life had she enjoyed a concoction of the Aekhu. She had missed that opportunity in travelling with Senior Scout Gevaudan. In that time, he had been the one to prepare the meals for himself, the Dame and Uthka Varzeekh. Again, she found herself separating from her pattern mother at the same time thinking of the psionic seer once more. Qithka would be resting in peace had the precog not forwarded the package to Vincennes. Secretly, Qithka hoped that someday she could eat the variety of foods the Aekhu had consumed alongside Humaniti. Until then, Nurse Dhoer knew how to cook a suitable delicacy to make a Gvegh mouth water. That night, Qithka used her tablet to type out a feedback form and e-mail it to the Zirunkariish Patient Relations Department. They needed to keep Nurse Dhoer.

 

[The Pakkrat]

Chapter 8
Vincennes (Deneb 1122) A899AA6-G Hi In Cp Reg
70-1200
Qithka was familiar with the entire floor. She also learned that each Life Insurance patient, clones, were assigned to a single floor of the arcology. It may have been possible to service more than one clone, but Qithka had to ask who could afford such a service unless they were an Imperial Noble, upper echelon corporate or independently wealthy to drop the full credit amount up front. She also decided that it was edging on the legal border in that it was incumbent upon the deceased’s family or friends to provide the confirmation of death or permanent loss, the brain scan and recorded personality engram and any bequeathed items. Without such given to the policy company, the credits were otherwise forfeited to the corporation. Insurance of this kind was a racket, she judged. It made her chuckle then that Uthka Varzeekh had forced the megacorporation Zirunkariish to make good on the contract, to deny the Dame a final rest. Such was a double-edged sword to Qithka.

Sorrlloutsun visited that day. To Qithka, the Aekhu male looked rushed and was panting and checking his pocket computer more often than usual. After greetings, the lawyer pushed a paper document across the bed table for Qithka to see.

“It’s your UPP to date, Qithka,” declared Sorrlloutsun. “It also has the genetic profile of the Dame, but I have to have it back. It might change depending on your final tests, so it isn’t official.”

“Discharge date?” asked Qithka though she could have spoken the question in a full sentence. The Aekhu was using his coded communications again. This time it was in his out of breath pant, his repeated consultation of his pocket computer and how he addressed the female. He called her Qithka whereas the staff were still addressing her as ‘miss’.

“Very soon,” said the lawyer with a flick of his ear to emphasize the answer. “Maybe even sooner. They still showing you Zirunkariish-filtered media?”

“Suppose so,” answered Qithka with a tilt of her head. “Ought else?”

The Executor shook his head to indicate he could not answer and frowned as well. A negative paralanguage. Qithka fell silent and waited for more questions from the lawyer to give her a sign as to what she could talk about. “How was your pattern mother’s brother, Qithka?” asked Sorrlloutsun with a tone of serious voice.

The question sobered Qithka immediately. Gevaudan had not been well and it had been months since the Dame’s translation and Qithka’s awakening on Vincennes. Despite the separations from her pattern mother in simple ways, Qithka could not deny wanting to see Gevaudan again.

Though her cybernetics-augmented brother was also psionic, he had gone three years without proper and refined anagathics, his body aging and catching up in apparent age to the Dame. To survive in his exile, Gevaudan had to assemble and prepare, using his Scout skills, the herbs and minerals needed to at the very least cease the agonies of the aging crises he suffered in that exile. Qithka’s pattern mother had never taken well to the age-halting drugs. Her brother, whether by his augmentations, his psionics or his career choices had the greater share of durability to the life extension pharmaceutical. The Dame had translated before him. Sorrlloutsun’s question was one he knew she could not answer. It was intended remind her about him. He wanted to know if she wanted to see Gevaudan, now an uncle to Qithka01 by law as if that mattered to her. The question sparked a new hope in her. Qithka wanted to see Gevaudan again. She wanted that very badly now that he had reminded her. Nodding, Qithka leveled her ocean blue eyes at the lawyer.

“That was last year the doctors tell me,” answered Qithka with a dismissing wave of her right claw.

The lawyer ejected a small Data Wafer from his pocket computer and though he appeared to put it in a pocket, Qithka’s young ears caught its report on the floor. Sorrlloutsun had dropped it on the floor. Qithka put on a new face.
“I am happy to see you at least, Sorrlloutsun,” declared the patient. It stopped the Executor on his way out. She had never called him by name until now. Qithka meant it to secretly convey that she appreciated his efforts.
Later that night, Qithka pretended to need a trip to her room’s fresher. In the return to her bed through the dark room, she toe-grabbed the fallen Data Wafer. It had fallen next to her luggage in the corner. Under the thick covers of her bed, Qithka slotted the small rectangular Wafer into the issued tablet. With a few searches in the directory, she had a file of recorded news reports dating to before she woke in that vat of gel. What she saw was a shock for which she was glad to have the covers over her head in the middle of the night.

The recordings were of news networks reporting Entertainment news. Most reports were some gossip on celebrities and their lives. However, Sorrlloutsun had edited the programs, paring them down to reports released concerning the death of Kfan Uzangou field correspondent, former Alpha of Pack Cannagrrh of the Dzen Aeng Kho, and sister of the Vargrtarian of the Collapse, the “Blooded Fang” Dame Qithka Cannagrrh. Sources unrevealed had leaked her death, her Life Insurance policy leaked from Zirunkariish Healthcare and Life Insurance, the transport of her belongings across Gvurrdon Sector and the inception of the Dame’s Relict Clone. The pundits were predicting the return of Dame Qithka Cannagrrh to media once more.

Her privacy had been violated. Some series of sources had put their heads together and fit the pieces of the puzzle together. It had to have started back at Cannagrrh Villa somehow. Then sources in Freight transport may have clued in on luggage without attending passengers making its way from Dzuerongvoe, the Dame’s homeworld, with a destination such as high-tech Vincennes. It seemed to Qithka that paparazzi, (the Dame had been one herself in her time), had their connections. But patient confidentiality was further invaded. Further reports continued to highlight the Relict Clone’s inception.

Vargr employees who quit or were fired had leaked more information to the networks on what company and where the Dame’s Relict Clone was in inception. Sorrlloutsun then had interspersed news interviews concerning the sensational and at times controversial precedent the Dame had put into action with the Life Insurance policy. She was the first Vargr, a female, to contract Zirunkariish, a Vilani megacorporation to reiterate her upon her death. Various fans were interviewed among those who watched the magazine Kfan Uzangou as well as representatives of the magazines directly. Then came the protests. Interviews from those who vehemently opposed cloning of Vargr of any fashion, normal or Relicts. Ignorance of the methods and what to expect of the Dame’s resurrection fanned the flames of speculation among the masses of fans and of those who opposed Vargr cloning.

Fans and protestors began to congregate outside the arcology days before Qithka noticed them on her first track trial. Nobody on staff had told her. Executor Sorrlloutsun likely could not have. The reports continued to advance in speculations and overblown rumors. Zirunkariish was scrutinized on the air. On the same studio set were their primary opponents, the Church Of The Chosen Ones. In the broadcast, COTCO produced public records evidence of Zirunkariish subsidizing with a little-known company named BeastMasters, LIC. The very name had sparked a new wave of protests such that injured fans of the magazine’s Dame Qithka were rushed to hospitals after clashes in the streets of Vincennes Down and the adjacent island Starport. More than once the passenger lines were required to start vetting their passengers for dangerous protestors or zealous fans. This began to disturb Qithka who tried to control her breathing lest it alert the night staff monitoring her.

 

[The Pakkrat]

The files contained company dossiers on BeastMasters, LIC. Qithka quickly scanned the dossier. The subsidized company was an animals, pets and livestock provider specializing in exotic pets and enhancing breeds through selective breeding and genetic engineering or ‘geneering’. Qithka was already aware of the argument stemming from the Solomani Hypothesis that the Ancients uplifted the Canidae through unknown means assumed to be far advanced gene manipulations; then the new race of Vargr was deposited on Lair (Provence 2402) in the distant past to develop from there. The name BeastMasters, the history of enhancing, selective breeding and genetic manipulation was news enough and close enough connection to Zirunkariish. Their headquarters was only a subsector Rimward, on Unvaxa (Deneb 1337). These details, once leaked to the public eye dumped even further fuel on the social dumpster fire between fans of the Dame and her opposing Vargr ‘purists’ who claimed she was “defying the perfection of the Ancients”. Qithka had no idea of or intent to alter the genetics of her Life Insurance policy back in 1105. The policy had remained hidden all this time as it was unused and vaulted away in the hardcopy bowels of the megacorporation branch. This information, while it was insulting to Qithka, as it was to all Vargr to be equated with animals, Terran wolves, or implied that they were lesser for their Ancients uplifts was not enough on a normal day to spark such unrest. But when BeastMasters was paired so proximal to Zirunkariish Healthcare and Life Insurance, the rumormills began to churn. The question among the purists who were met with corporate silence in the name of patient confidentiality, was this: Had BeastMasters tampered with or enhanced the Dame’s Relict Clone, tainting the Vargr genome? When the courts defended the rights of the patient, the verdict was appealed to higher courts. A Major Race was speaking now on larger scope. Their argument was that Human Relict Clones had been shown to procreate normally with ‘naturals’ and with other clones, trading RNA with other members of homo sapiens. When that was brought to court attentions while Qiktha learned to eat baby food, more violence broke out. And still Qithka01 was kept in the dark inside the arcology hospital.

Staff for the medical arcology had begun to commute to and from work in secret and at odd hours. A few administrators had reserved emergency beds, cots and couches in order to avoid dangerous commutes home. Some physicians were accosted and questioned whether they worked on the cloning floors. And this news had been hidden purposefully behind the façade of patient care and service before Qithka. She was only able to pick it up from Sorrlloutsun, a fellow Vargr. Was he her ally now as well as her lawyer and counsel?

News had not come back from Unxava in Zeng Subsector on any fallout against BeastMasters. The subsidiary was weeks away and more weeks in return. News could only travel the speed of jump drives carrying it. Had they been given any warning against the protests versus the assumed connections? Spokesmen for Zirunkariish had publicly denied any alleged connections with their genetics departments with BeastMasters, LIC. Conspiracy theorists lit up the local networks in every virtual meeting possible. To go on public record to the theorists was to acknowledge the issue at all and thus inadvertently support the suspicions. Qithka had to silently agree with that having been a field correspondent, a reporter and a propaganda actress in the Dame’s life. It would have been better to say nothing on camera. At one point, a sector of the local PubNet was purposefully net-split to silence the chatter among government, law enforcement and emergency services nodes.

Qithka continued to read documents, affidavits to courts requesting the patient records of the Relict Clone, street-level scenes of further clashes between devoted fans, especially hot-tempered Vargr of both Gvegh and Aekhu ethnicities against Human and Vargr purists. Rumors from the magazine fans put forth that the Church was pushing propaganda and genetic projections of what might happen should the Dame’s Relict Clone procreate and spread her progeny among natural, Ancients-designed, templates. The Dame had not given birth to cubs in her lifetime. It was argued that her Relict Clone, Qithka01 should be barred from having cubs, genetically modified allegedly by BeastMasters or not.

Precedent was not in place. The courts were working long hours to try and preserve the law and the basic rights for the patient, the corporations whose names were already being tainted on rumor alone and the safety of the Regency. Already the Regency had backed out of many worlds in the name of preserving what it could against the encroaching Virus. And that was when cloning was compared to Virus, propagation of genetic impurity became a fear that would be felt for the next generation unless the Relict Clone Qithka01 was suppressed in reproductive capability. Backlash from the fans came swift as did rebukes from the Regency Subsector governments. Neither camp wanted to fuse cloning with the strains of Virus that had plagued and destroyed much of Charted Space for the past seventy years. Still the purists pushed. Finally, fandom, as Qithka ran track, began to lose its worth in favor of avoiding fighting, injury and a trip to the Emergency Room. The nearest facility was Zirunkariish Healthcare and that was also seen as siding with the Relict Clone by providing business for the megacorporation in question.

Qithka was in quieted sobs and tears when she read that the Darknets were being probed and meetups to attack various employees and assets of the local arcology. Protests were not enough the virtual spaces cried on the PubNet. At least one sniper had been arrested. Though the male Vargr denied affiliation with COTCO, the Dame’s fans returned fire from the safety of the planetary networks rather than the streets. The sniper had key staff in his sights. He merely was targeting the wrong floor that day. Someone could have died and who had nothing to do with Qithka. That disturbed her deeply. A death might have occurred on a floor and nobody in-house would have told her. All smiles and patient satisfaction given the contract policy and the patient relations feedback that might have ensued. It was one thing to be attacked from outside Zirunkariish. To do so while in their care?

Qithka decided that night of reading the reports, which she had not finished, that she wanted more than anything to return ‘home’ to Dzuerongvoe and leave Vincennes and the Regency behind. Even if this issue was about her, she believed it was not her fight. To remove herself from the field of battle might make the battle worthless to fight. She had to leave this arcology. There was yet another threat she kept herself from dwelling on. What if the puritanical protestors began to target the arcology with bombs, hoping to kill her and end this confrontation at the source? She wanted out. She had to escape. She wanted to see Gevaudan and Zhevra Cannagrrh. Switching off the tablet and removing the Data Wafer, Qithka hid the small, black rectangle in a pocket of a gown she had already tried on earlier that week. Then she cried herself to sleep.

 

[The Pakkrat]

Chapter 9
Vincennes (Deneb 1122) A899AA6-G Hi In Cp Reg
71-1200
During her pre-lunch track run, Qithka formulated plans that to her inherited memories seemed to come from the Dame, as if the ghost of the deceased was advising the daughter. Qithka’s pattern mother was more than just a journalist. She was more than some Knighted Vargr from the Extents. Dame Qithka Cannagrrh was a Traveller. As the laps counted up, the daughter of the Dame became more emboldened. Qithka01 had been bequeathed all the accounts, wardrobe, and possessions from her pattern mother. It was time to truly take stock of all the luggage that the old crone Uthka Varzeekh had secretly sent along with the personality overlay. Her memories searched for every item that might be in her collection of travel cases, carryalls, bags and gear left over from the Dame’s years as a Traveller.

With each lap about the indoor track, Qithka stole secret glances of the protests far below on the streets under the Zirunkariish Healthcare arcology. Today there were only those massing outside the facility who wanted the megacorporation to come clean, that Qithka was purely her pattern mother’s daughter and not some geneered abomination from the Dame. She found herself running faster about the track. She was not some beast, uplifted by the Ancients and then tampered with by BeastMasters, LIC the subsidiary of Zirunkariish. There had not been enough time for an inquiry to travel to Unxava and a transparent, divulging answer. The crowds below were both angry and impatient. To keep her coach from noticing, Qithka had picked up the pace and finished the laps in a timed result that would have made the Dame turn from white pelt to green with envy of the youth.

“Miss, slow down please!” called her Vargr coach. “This isn’t a race.”

Finishing her laps for the day, Qithka stopped at the monitoring station, removed her monitor leads and belt-clip box. Standing straighter, even if panting from the run which would have killed the elderly Dame, Qithka strode back to her room. It was a race, she decided. It was a race to see if she could escape the Dame’s fans, the hateful protestors who felt themselves in the right, and to outrun Zirunkariish in case someone had inadvertently let BeastMasters ‘improve’ her.

Back in her room, Qithka went directly to her luggage and began rummaging. She found a pair of denim jeans and a belt to pull over her legs and clip over the athletic, lilac leotard she had worn to track. Qithka – the Dame – had owned equipment, gear that she used in her investigative snooping years. But there were things missing. Qithka half-remembered that there were missing items.

It was obvious that Witness, the magazine’s robot was not among her luggage. The floating sphere of Tech 14 titanium had been the Dame’s companion, cameraman, and communications node through the Fifth Frontier War, the return home and her ascendance to Alpha of Pack Cannagrrh. But Witness had been recalled by Kfan Uzangou. The clone daughter remembered that the interstellar magazine wanted nothing to do with Dame Qithka Cannagrrh going beyond journalism and stepping into the political arena. The “Blooded Knight” had brazenly dared to waltz into the Council of Worlds, a parliament really, to demand that Dzuerongvoe vote to return to the Society of Equals and erect the Quarantine Line suggested by the Thirz Empire, the distant Zhodani Consulate and the Regency. Qithka Cannagrrh at the time was the Alpha of Pack Cannagrrh and had a voice among the other Packs. Those were the years that the Dame was far beyond objective reporting and field correspondence. The magazine, having relocated outside the Dzen Aeng Kho had wanted no part of politics. Journalism reported the news. It did not make news.

The item Qithka sought was eventually found buried between her formalwear and her shipboard wear. The Dame had never been an Agent and never collected snoop gear to that level. Qithka’s pattern mother had always relied on Witness for an extra pair of eyes, her own elevated Charisma in bullying for answers to her reporting questions, and she had relied on her brother Gevaudan for firepower and protection. It had not hurt that the field correspondent had ridden along with the Artemis Group in the Ares, an Imperial-make, 800dT Broadsword-class Mercenary Cruiser. The memories of the Dame’s adventures turned like pages of a book being read in fast-forward. An aluminum case with impact edges came up from between white gowns, more jewelry and ship uniforms.

Though the Relict Clone remembered the combination lock on the latches of the case, Qithka found it unlocked. That was odd to her. She could remember the Dame’s combination. It was 1413, the parsec number of Dzuerongvoe, the Dame’s homeworld in Gvurrdon Sector. However, this case was unlocked, and the latches came free at the releases. This was not Qithka’s aluminum case.

Remembering that her room was monitored, a secret given to her by her lawyer Sorrlloutsun, Qithka stood up from her luggage and took the case into the fresher. Closing the door, she turned on the shower to create white noise. With the lights in the fresher off, she finally opened the case in her claws. Inside the foam liner was the pistol. In the darkness, Qithka felt the empty magazine clips and the rows of cartridges. The weapon itself was still encased in a thick, plastic wrap. It was never opened. That confirmed it for her. This was not her old pistol. But it was not new either.

The Instellarms, LIC 9mm pistol which featured a staggered, 15-round magazine, in the case was not Qithka’s but there was another such firearm. Searching back through her inherited memories, Qithka recalled that her pattern mother had purchased the two pistols, two dense ceramic Blades and a wide variety of ammunition rounds for the slugthrowers. The Dame had decided that if she was going to cover her brother Gevaudan’s adventures in the Spinward Marches and at the onset of the Fifth Frontier War, she and Uthka needed to arm themselves. At the time she did not know the mercenary crew that Gev had signed on with. Mercenaries were a step away from Privateers, a step themselves away from Corsairs. Who knew what kind of Imperials, Darrians, Swordies and more Senior Scout Gevaudan had decided to fly about with? This weapon was Uthka’s pistol. Dame Qithka Cannagrrh had given her personal weapon, twin to the one in this case, to Zhevra Cannagrrh when the Dame was still Alpha of Pack Cannagrrh. The old crone Uthka had sent her never-opened weapon in Qithka’s luggage.

That it was included in the unaccompanied inheritance and transported more as cargo meant that the pistol and its case would likely be overlooked. That the weapon had made a hidden haul all the way to Vincennes indicated to Qithka that Uthka Varzeekh had used secrecy, hush-money and perhaps her precognitive powers? The apparent 18-year old Qithka01 began tearing open the plastic in the dark and feeding bullets into the magazine clips. The old seer almost never gave out prophesy, having been burned more than once by the backlash. But now the heiress could see Uthka was being oracular in deed rather than word. In her wizened age, the Dame’s former attaché and friend was sending warnings of the future inside the items hidden in her luggage. She was circumventing Cassandra’s Conundrum at last.

The speed at which young Qithka armed the weapon, set a round into its chamber, double checked the safety and the inertia-charged battery in the laser sight caught her surprised. In under a minute, the Relict Clone had opened, checked, armed and locked the pristine weapon in her young claws. It was her first weapon in this new life and Qithka was slightly alarmed at the prospect. The Dame, according to her memories had used her firearm in more than one battle. In this life, those skills and experiences were second-nature to the clone daughter and it stopped her a moment to contemplate the implications. Was she the Dame?

The ceramic Blade came in three parts. A blade slid into a handle and locked into place with a trigger release. The third piece was the sheath with a belt clip. Once assembled, the Blade was the length of a simpler combat knife, sharp as a razor and easily concealed or clipped onto her jeans belt. All this time sealed in the pistol case had preserved it well.

Qithka returned the two readied weapons to the case. She wanted them available, though her memories reminded her that the unused firearm needed to be tested at a firing range for the accuracy of its laser sight. Supposedly, the weapon was pre-sighted before packaging, but Qithka’s pattern mother did not trust Humans to match their deeds to their words. Such was especially true with her current situation. But as the Dame could play the game, so should the daughter be able to fast-talk her way into a discharge, UPP card in-claw and out the door for home.

Home. It felt strange for Qithka to think of a mainworld her current feet had never tread as home. Dzuerongvoe was home to the Dame. Would it be home to the daughter? Zhevra and the others would likely not know that Qithka01 was coming. How would they react? Best to cross that burning bridge when the time came.

With the weapon case closed once more, to a new combination of 1200, her birth year, Qithka showered quickly. Liking the leotard and jeans combination, she decided it would serve her as escape wear. Every other ensemble was too showy, visible and charismatic to run, hide or fight her way out of the facility and to Vincennes Down.

 

[The Pakkrat]

With the weapon case closed once more, to a new combination of 1200, her birth year, Qithka showered quickly. Liking the leotard and jeans combination, she decided it would serve her as escape wear. Every other ensemble was too showy, visible and charismatic to run, hide or fight her way out of the facility and to Vincennes Down.

Qithka pretended to put away more clothes. Separating utilitarian clothes from dresses and gowns and other formalwear, she sorted items between what she would need and what she no longer wanted or desired to wear. The Dame’s wardrobe was separated then from the ship uniforms, the Dame’s ballistic cloth armor, the pistol case, and –

Yet another surprise was discovered in the thigh pocket of her ballistic cloth. From the pocket came the Dame’s Tech-10 hand computer/2, used and worn but still sound. It needed a recharging. Memories of its use by the Dame came rushing back. Though the Blooded Fang wasn’t an Agent and did not see herself as a snoop, young Qithka01 could remember all the times her pattern mother went on the sly to acquire information, evidence or files before confronting her interviewees before Witness. Yes, Dame Qithka Cannagrrh was a housebreaking, net-running, horn-blower, the daughter made up her mind. And it did not sit well with Qithka01. Could she return to that life that the Dame’s fans expected of her? The Dame was famous throughout Gvurrrdon Sector and in parts of the Marches. Those who saw her in action were likely easily impressed by the editing and dramatization than of her true reports. Kfan Uzangou had this way of sensationalizing each field correspondence to press an agenda, whatever agenda they could lever the incoming media from the Dame might highlight. Qithka then decided that once recharged and synced to the facility’s network, she could see what Sorrlloutsun saw and was trying to impart to her. It would not be filtered like the tablet that had been issued to patients. Zirunkariish Information Dissemination Services or ZIDS would no longer hide the truth on the streets outside the arcology. Additionally, the hand computer could show her a path to the Downport, help her access the Dame’s – now Qithka’s – accounts and pay for passage to Dzuerongvoe. She just had to be careful. Until the healthcare workers handed Qithka the Universal Personal Profile card, the Relict Clone was still their meat. Until she was a recognized civilian-sophont, the only true possession Qithka01 owned was her personality. She had to keep up the charade, to play the game all the while preparing for her departure.

 

[The Pakkrat]

Chapter 10
Vincennes (Deneb 1122) A899AA6-G Hi In Cp Reg
75-1200
Four days later, Advocate Sorrlloutsun returned. The Aekhu male had a pleasant and calm voice, but Qithka could see that it was a façade to mask his body’s paralanguage. To a Human, the Vargr before her would appear calm and his voice light. But the stillness and tail position, near his right leg curled for protection, telegraphed so much more to Qithka. To play along, the patient in her room recalled all the acting experiences from the Dame and adopted a cheerful happiness to see the lawyer. Having just eaten another one of Nurse Dhoer’s preparations, Qithka was already half-sated. But she was still hungry for news from Sorrlloutsun.

While Sorrlloutsun unbelted his rain-drenched overcoat, Qithka saw a thin tear in the lawyer’s professional shirt. It looked like a claw or a knife attack. Under the gap of the shirt was a mesh of personal armor that had doubtless protected the Aekhu from the attack. The patient pretended not to notice as she folded her clothes.

“The test results are in and your UPP is final,” announced the Advocate. “Just a signature from a magistrate away and your card and Knight patent will be officially the property of one Qithka01 Cannagrrh. Dame if you like, ma’am.”

Qithka saw the lawyer furrow his brow and kept herself in check. “Tomorrow then?” she asked, still keeping her sentences clipped. The question was actually two in number. Would she receive her card and be something more than just megacorp meat? Was the danger hinted by his brow and tail coming the next day? Any other teenager would have not been able to speak so doubly, but then Qithka and her memories from the Dame had never been a teenager. The young female Vargr watched as Sorrlloutsun nodded his lupine head once.

“Congratulations,” was the cue and confirmation that the snooping Dame heard. The lawyer checked his hand computer once and then looked about the room. Qithka had finished separating gear she needed from the Dame’s possessions she wanted to discard, unwanted.

“Undecided about being a Dame,” Qithka tossed into the air with another incomplete sentence. Though the two were speaking in Gvegh language, she played the patient still. She would keep up her innocent ruse from Nurse Dhoer and Doctors Sharuur and Kishe and the rest of the floor’s staff.

“Oh?” asked Sorrlloutsun who looked out the window facing the Shoals, a vast stretch of photic zone, continental shelf to the west with little view of the city on the far side of the arcology. “Damn. Another storm is coming.” But with that right claw balled into a clawing, tearing posture, one used for Infighting, Qithka again caught the double meaning of the declaration. Not only was bad weather visible, but violence too. The track run earlier that day had shown the athletic patient glimpses of gathering tides of protestors brimming for a riot capable of storming the entrances to the arcology.

“Is it a bad storm? I’m from here and not from here, Advocate, as you can guess.” Qithka tilted her head and pretended to smile and inquire of a local. But her question was aimed at both sides of Sorrlloutsun’s storm warning and she was risking longer sentences.

“Know what a typhoon is, ma’am?”

“The Dame saw tropical thunderstorms on Dzuer-...in her travels.” Of course Qithka knew what a typhoon was. She remembered the Dame caught in a hurricane on Cunnonic (Spinward Marches 0822) during the Fifth Frontier War.

“Close enough and bad enough to stay under cover.” The flex of the claw happened again. Qithka was in real danger especially if the lawyer had to fight his way back to the arcology housing her. “But if all goes well tomorrow, you miss, won’t have to worry about Vincennes. You’ll be discharged and released to a new life courtesy of Zirunkariish Healthcare and Insurance and the Sorrlloutsun Firm.” The lawyer reached down to the chair to pick up his wet overcoat. Out from his sleeve slipped a thick card. Qithka heard it fall on the floor but did not turn to look at the lawyer or the fallen card. The fallen item slid under the bed to rest.

“Tomorrow then,” nodded the white pelt Vargr. “I’ll be ready to face the world.”

In the gloomy, cloud-laden night, Qithka plucked the black card from the floor from under her bed blankets and read it by the light of the lightning flashes.

Qithka01 Cannagrrh
Knight of Regency of Deneb
UPP: 6DAACC-7X Female Gvegh Vargr
Relict Clone Inception: 57-1200, 2315 hours
Vincennes (DENE 1122), Regency of Deneb

Flashes of memory gave Qithka an almost double-vision as she read the UPP digits. All the Dame’s life, which the Relict Clone recalled, her UPP had read 697AAC-70. And now, after all the testing and running track, Qithka knew precisely why she felt strange in this new body and why the protestors on the street level were up in arms. She had likely hit the lottery in physical ratings while keeping her mental acumen nearly in line with her previous life. The new and improved ratings in her hand-to-eye coordination, dancing, running speed and her body’s resilience were enough to make even Qithka ask if BeastMasters had done her a hidden and forbidden favor. Were they involved? Were her detractors right in thinking that Zirunkariish was playing divine creator upon her body? Was she geneered without her knowledge or consent? What would any tampering do to her genetics and could she in fact taint the Vargr gene pool given them by the Ancients? Qithka buried her face in her pillow even as she clutched the thick black UPP card. Outside the storm raged.

 

[The Pakkrat]

Chapter 11
Vincennes (Deneb 1122) A899AA6-G Hi In Cp Reg
76-1200
Qithka could not sleep so wound up was she from the hidden news from Executor Sorrlloutsun of her discharge in just hours. With her hand computer recharged, she engaged the wireless interfacing signal to patch the device to the arcology network from inside the fresher. It took a few tries, but she connected to the employee wi-fi and guessed repeatedly at the password. When the hand computer was allowed access thanks to the Dame’s snoop years, Qithka accessed the network meant not for patients, but for the common healthcare worker. She could not access patient records or corporate sensitives, but Qithka found emergency routing procedures, scheduling for environmental services, supply deliveries at Receiving and pickup for garbage and arcology laundry. When she saw the posted reminders to the employees of active shooter alerts and bomb threat alerts, the female Vargr knew she had to leave. Her thoughts traced back to the fabric tear in the lawyer’s shirt. He had purposefully taken off his overcoat, pretending to have forgotten the damaged shirt, to show Qithka. Now she no longer cared when a judge or magistrate was going to sign off on her UPP. By the time the hospital knew she was gone, it would be a done deal.

Since the Dame was an accomplished housebreaker, young Qithka found her route from the arcology easily. She set her hand computer to guide her path. Then she dressed and gathered the items she would need for her escape in a single, cross-shoulder bag. The Dame’s clothes went into a plastic linen bag, the kind left in hampers for hospital gowns, bed linens and other used cloths to be laundered. Into a half-zipped outer pocket of the bag was stabbed the silenced pistol. While the storm broke fully, Qithka double-checked the worker schedules. It was early morning and almost time for shift change. Like starships the Dame had been a passenger aboard, hospitals rotated three shifts of eight hours or so depending on a mainworld’s rotation period. Qithka would have minutes to spare.

Using a virtual maintenance portal connection normally reserved for requisitions for mechanical or electrical needs of the facility, Qithka emailed Sorrlloutsun. Signing her missive as Q01, she thanked him for his aid and then typed out her farewell. As the email had no attachments, images and lacked text with triggering keywords, the electronic message slipped from the intranet of Zirunkariish Healthcare and Insurance, LIC outward and into the Vincennes PubNet, to the Executor. But Qithka could not help that the outgoing mail would be timestamped by the facility network. Once she hit SEND, she began moving.

Qithka stepped into the hallway outside her room. Dressed in her civilian blue jeans, belt and her lilac workout leotard, she was spotted immediately by the night charge nurse.

“Miss?” asked the charge nurse. “Are you headed early to the track? It’s not opened until 0700.” Stepping from behind the desk, the nurse looked Qithka up and down as if to find something odd to report. But the pistol grip in the shoulder bag pocket could not be seen as it was behind the young Vargr back.

The Relict Clone saw the only other nurse step into the pharmaceuticals closet pantry then locked her eyes on the Vilani woman. “Oh, I thought the coach said 3:30,” Qithka lied and found fast-talking another gift of the Dame. “I guess he meant P.M. Hospital time throws me still.”

“Let me check the schedule, miss.” The charge nurse a short-haired brunette Vilani turned back toward the desk. That was when Qithka pulled the shiny, new pistol from the bag. The long tube screwed into the barrel would silence the weapon’s report and so the teenager with a gun pulled the trigger. She shot the charge nurse in the back. The woman in a white uniform gasped once as the air left her lungs and she fell. Qithka sighed a relief that the rubber-and-electro-stun bullets still worked after nearly a century. The Vargr female closed in on the fallen nurse and relieved her of her ID badge and the key card that hung from the same clasp. Discarding the photo prints of the woman’s family, Qithka then made not for the door but the laundry chute a few yards from the nurses station. Using the keycard, she found the chute access door swung down after a soft beep.

The chute did not smell clean and to a Vargr nose, Qithka could tell that many a soiled linen had dropped down the shaft from floors above hers and from below. With a bag full of the Dame’s formal dress gowns, Qithka checked down the hallway in both directions and whispered a quiet farewell to her room. Then she hefted the bag of clothes onto the drop-down door and clambered her 18-year old body in after it. The spring-loaded door closed behind her when she went fully into the chute that no full adult could have fit through. With a bag of formalwear leading the way below her, Qithka plummeted flights down the laundry chute.

Qithka only had a general idea of how many floors she fell. The hand computer could not give her the floorplan schematics of the arcology. Instinctually, she put her claws and feet to the walls and tried to slow her fall. Sometime during the fall, she heard her hand computer beep, a notification of a received email via the same channels. Hitting Respond to an email works wonders thought the daughter of Dame Qithka Cannagrrh. Replies to outgoing emails get more clearance than from someone on the outside initiating an electronic correspondence. Sorrlloutsun had answered as she fell flight after flight. When her claw pads became too hot from sliding down the shaft, Qithka had to let go of the chute shaft and plummet faster.

Thank the Ancients it was 0315 on Wonday, the scheduled day for laundry pickup from the ground floor rolling bins that caught the bags of used linen, the Dame’s dresses, and gowns and young Qithka01. She slammed into the piled bags which softened her emergence from the chute at speeds she could not guess. But at her weight hitting the piles of stuffed bags, the Vargr female stunned a leg upon meeting the bottom of the heavy plastic bin on wheels. With her momentum distributed to the wheels, the bin began to roll forward from the chute toward the double door she had only a split-second to glimpse before being buried in the laundry by the bags.

Upon the bin’s gentle bump against the doors, the doors were opened by two people Qithka could not see. There was silence for a second or two. Then the first person, a Human said in Anglic, “When they toss too many bags down at one time or overfill a bag, this happens.”

“It doesn’t matter how many times you tell them,” answered the second Human, “they keep forgetting to lock the wheels. Look. At least none of the bags fell out of the bin this time. Let’s go.”

The bin was rolled by the two Humans into what Qithka could only guess to be a vehicle. She dared not move or hazard to look until the contragravity, floater drive was engaged, and the vehicle lifted off the ground. Only then did Qithka emerge from the bin of laundry in the back of the grav-van, sneezing from the plethora of horrid smells of Humaniti in the collection. While it pulled from the arcology garage, doubtless to cross the skyways of Vincennes Down, Qithka checked the email message from Executor Sorrlloutsun.

Get out now! Screw the paperwork, Q! Go now!

That was just before Qithka01 heard the bombs, demolition charges, explode their thunder from the arcology. Qithka would only hear later of the devastation wrought upon Zirunkariish Healthcare and Insurance, LIC on the impatience and rumor that BeastMasters, LIC had tampered with Qithka’s iteration. The ignorant had spoken. For a second time, Qithka prayed to Runetha Saetedz that the Aekhu Nurse Dhoer was off work on Wondays.

 

[The Pakkrat]

Chapter 12
Vincennes (Deneb 1122) A899AA6-G Hi In Cp Reg
76-1200
Surprise was with Qithka when the back doors of the grav-van carrying the arcology laundry bin opened. She quickly sniped both of the Human adults with her pistol. Again, the electroshock, rubber bullets worked to stun the air from the males and they dropped as much from fright as from the lack of air. Qithka stole the superior’s comm unit, his laundry business hand computer and the key card to the grav-van. Then with some hefty work in the pre-dawn light of Vincennes Down, Qithka dumped their inert forms in the laundry bin. As an afterthought, she locked the wheels of the bin before keying the grav-van, mapping her way to the Downport and using their hand computer’s PubNet access accounts to log into the Starport’s civilian interstellar flight schedule. This too excited and scared Qithka. The Dame could not multitask this well if the clone daughter remembered correctly.

Driving the grav-van was an act of reading Anglic, following the guidance of the hand computer to the Starport, monitoring the news on the PubNet and avoiding traffic. The Dame would have scolded Gevaudan for such driving while distracted. But Qithka was out of time. She was now an escaped Relict Clone, technically still property of Zirunkariish Life Insurance until her lawyer got a judge to sign her freedom. Qithka hoped that Sorrlloutsun was doing just that while chaos in town reigned and she searched for a Coreward-bound vessel. Floating light beacons flashed by as she throttled the vehicle to the posted airspeed limit.

On the news, Zirunkariish Information Dissemination Services, or ZIDS, reported that the arcology foundation and support bulkheads had been destroyed by shape charges that caused an implosion and the collapse of the entire superstructure. Images of towering dust clouds, searchlights, emergency vehicles and fleeing crowds of protestors and employees played across the Human hand computer. As she drove to the direction of the MapWay application, Qithka found herself whimpering and crying. So many dead, right as employees were readying to leave their shift and incoming employees were arriving to begin the next shift. Two shifts of workers, nurses, doctors and support staff along with patients had been caught in the implosion and collapse of the arcology. Such death.

As emergency crew vehicles raced in the opposite direction, Qithka drove the laundry grav-van to the Starport. Parking in the one-day, free lot, the Vargr female made a busy pace to the Starport terminal entrance. Human cubs stared at her passing. The Gvegh female did not scare them by trying to smile like a Human. Without breaking stride through the doors, Qithka looked about for the registry of outbound vessels to depart that day – scratch that. That morning.

“Look, mum,” a man-cub pointed at Qithka and said, “she has a ringtail.”
Qithka panicked. An 18-year old Vargr looked like any other minor cub to Human eyes. Who would allow a perceived minor to book passage on a liner or other civilian starship? If she were an adult looking down on the young Vargr, even the Dame would ask where Qithka01’s sire and dam were. Ticketing was then out of the question. The Dame’s accounts, Qithka’s inheritance was plentiful to afford a ride Coreward, but it could be mistaken for a stolen UPP card by a desperate teenager looking to run away from home. Ducking into a female sophonts fresher chamber, Qithka took a moment in a stall to gather her wits and formulate a plan.

“Runetha, get me off this rock,” she whispered.

A female Human voice from the adjacent stall spoke up in Anglic, “You in trouble, miss?” It sounded adult to Qithka. She almost bolted from the chamber. The woman exited her stall and stepped with the rubber clopping sound of work boots to the nearby sinks. “You hear me? Are you okay?”

“No,” answered Qithka softly in Anglic to respond. She poked her lupine muzzle from the stall and saw a Vilani woman washing her hands and looking at her.

“No, you didn’t hear me?” asked the woman who turned up both hot and cold water to the spigot, “or no you aren’t okay?”

Qithka took a second to push her pistol deep inside her already-full shoulder bag. Then she stepped from the stall. Her ringed tail was tucked behind her in hopes of hiding that horrid black stripe. Cautiously, she watched the Vilani woman dry her hands. The brunette woman had her long hair pulled back in a tie that looked like shiny rubber gasket. Her bangs were wild and fanned, a frame above her eyebrows. The brown irises looked Qithka up and down. The woman wore a dingy work tank-top that exposed her midriff. Utility pants that were torn on the right thigh gathered at the unlaced, steel-toes. A neoprene harness reached from the woman’s shoulders down to a hip belt threaded through the belt loops of the pants and down to her thighs. Tool pouches, belt pouches and a menacing, sawed-off shotgun rode the thigh holster. Qithka then remembered that Vincennes laws permitted only personal shotguns, likely for home defense or hunting. But neither such use looked applicable to the alley sweeper at the Vilani woman’s side. Lastly the Human carried a rolled collection of laminated schematics in her hand after drying them.

“Yes on one and no on two,” answered Qithka who then looked about the fresher chamber for anyone else present at sunrise hours at the Starport terminal. She could not fully register the Vilani woman’s reaction to the sight of a teenage, female, Vargr runaway with a full carryall over a shoulder.

“Not okay then,” the Vilani woman turned to the chamber door and then stopped, her shoulders sagging. Without looking back at Qithka, the woman said, “If you’re outbound, Gvegh, the 500-ton, Vargr-owned Arrkolltsue is an Armed Junker about to head for Gvurrdon. I bet you don’t have any money too. Got any skills, miss?”

Qithka almost laughed when her recollection of shipboard skills the Dame had gleaned during her days aboard the Ares used by the Artemis Group. Taking another cautious step forward, she answered, “I can prove ratings in Astrogation, Comms, Turret Gunner, Pilot, M- and J-Drives, Sensors and can run admin numbers for a ship’s account.” More memories unpacked for Qithka. “And that is just for starters.”

“Child prodigy, know-it-all of the Ancients, eh?” The Vilani woman, some kind of Engineer or mechanic turned to look at Qithka again. There was raised eyebrows and hands on hips, mannerisms that the Dame had trouble reading in her time.

Qithka straightened to her full height from relaxed stance. “I don’t have Human money and am willing to work for passage Coreward.”

“Uh-huh, and where are you headed, young lady?”

“The Dzen Aeng Kho,” answered Qithka in Gvegh, hoping the Vilani woman spoke her home language.

“Society of Equals, huh?” scoffed the woman, switching to Gvegh alongside Qithka. “Are you sure you want to go there? They have legal slavery still in this New Era. Are you one of them ‘Equals’?”

“Not yet,” admitted Qithka. The Dame had been an Equal, a full citizen having taken and passed the Equality Test, with all the rights and privileges of being an Equal. Qithka01 was just an escaped Relict Clone. The news was imagined still playing in the back of her head about the collapsed arcology. She needed off-world quickly.

“Quiet one too. But I see your charisma, girl. Go to Pad 8 of the Inter-polity Concourse. The modular cutter for the Arrkolltsue is waiting for my return. I’ll comm them you’re coming. If you want off this rock, we could use some talent.”

Meekly, Qithka nodded and watched as the Vilani stepped to open the fresher chamber door. “My name’s Dimamda. Dimamda Aardadlum. And you?”

“Qithka,” answered the Vargr female gently. She knew better to espouse the title on her UPP card. The Restored Ziru Sirkaa was in shambles and the former Vilani empire destroyed by Virus during the Collapse, but the Dame in Qithka’s memories knew that they held little love for Imperial titles. “Qithka Cannagrrh.”

“Okay. Kithka Kannagrr, we lift in less than an hour. Maybe you can show me your stuff at the helm.” With that, the Vilani woman named Dimamda left the fresher.

Qithka was alone at the sinks of the fresher. In the mirror, she looked at her reflection. The Dame would have had a field day at Qithka for being a young, cub runaway, fugitive from a megacorporation who might still own her flesh. But she mentally countered back at the Dame in Qithka’s ocean blue eyes that off-world was better than here given that at any moment someone might point out a Relict Clone with a ringtail was scrounging to stow away at the Starport. It was assured that her entry through the front door would be caught on security cameras, no matter if Vincennes Down had extra-territoriality or not. And she still did not know her sophont rights as a Relict Clone in public. Time was running out for Qithka to return to her now-uncle Gevaudan Cannagrrh.