Warriors’ Pride
Chapter 4
Nr’rek Preserve
Ghorah Khar
Kruq’nov moved forwards on all fours, keeping his body close to the ground. Slinking through the tall grasses under a warm sun without the aid of an E-suit was a nice change . It took longer than he expected to grow use to the open air once again. Even the feel of loose dirt between his fingers and toes came as a shock. At the moment, his extended claws dug deep into the soil of Ghorah Khar. Sometimes he wondered if even five jumps was far enough from Repleetah.
Ahead of him, he could spot his target moving warily through the grass. Like most things he killed over the past Shrik, it was smaller than he. It also knew Kruq’nov was near. Or rather, knew it was being stalked. As he drew closer, he could only hope his brother was in place. The point in an ambush was not to be seen. Thus, both Kruq’nov and Nrsah took cover in grasses not that different of a shade as their fur. Native grasses were quite annoying, especially to Kruq’nov. His mane kept getting thistle seeds stuck in it.
Once his target was in clear sight, Kruq’nov laid down in wait. The target, though cautious, made his task much easier. Instead of charging, the Second Claw would wait for the target to approach him. This was far from the first time in his life that his target would march right at him. It was small, but well armed. It could spear him just as easily as he could sink his teeth into its throat– which was precisely what Kruq’nov planned.
Rustling in the brush behind the target spoked it. It soon determined whatever it was hearing was behind instead of ahead. Instead of turning to face Nrsah, who was stalking behind, the target bolted forward, directly at Kruq’nov. The veteran waited until the target was almost on top of him before moving. Kruq’nov leapt from the long grass, claws and teeth bared. The target, noticing him a second too late, honked in surprise. Kruq’nov’s mass was enough to knock the beast off its feet. While dodging the sharp antlers atop its head, Kruq’nov bit down into the beast’s throat. He did not tear it out, but the force of his jaws crushed the breathing passage.
The antelope, a brown and tan animal native to Ghorah Khar, thrashed for less than a minute, before falling still. Without oxygen, the antelope simply lapsed out of consciousness. Kruq’nov yanked the long hunting knife from his belt and slit the beast’s throat. Unlike a Kilrathi’s claws, which tear and shred, the knife was designed to slice. Not just throats, but bellies as well. Which was precisely what he did to the freshly dead antelope.
Nrsah walked upright towards Kruq’nov, a grin on his face. “An excellent hunt, brother. We shall eat fine for eight more days.” An antelope of this size back during the ancient day of Kilrah would feed a Pride for a day– or its equivalent. Being tidally locked, the homeworld did not have a day as so many others. Instead, the Kilrathi clock was based on Kilrathi sleep cycles, which was not the most effective means of time keeping.
The two former soldiers had spent the better part of the last kahrik living easily on Ghorah Khar. The ships scattered in several directions after jumping to the Imperial HQ in the Enigma Sector. The ship the brothers were upon jumped back and forth, until reaching Ghorah Khar. The wounded were removed from the ship and healthy volunteers took their place. Kruq’nov had no idea what happened to those wounded, nor overly cared. A few died in route. As for the rest– Kruq’nov could only shrug. The Emperor and the Eight rang whatever service they could out of the bodies, and simply dumped them on a colonial world.
Ghorah Khar was a new colony, perhaps three shrik old. The population of the entire planet was the same as the total of two or three metropolises on Kilrah. Prides were not large yet. The two largest still remained under an octave in number. Sooner or later, those two Prides would have to battle for the position of planetary Pride, but that did not concern him.
During their time upon Ghorah Khar, he and Nrsah spent much of their time outdoors, in the fresh air, usually hunting. After so long in the trenches, eating rations, Kruq’nov decided it best to stay in the open skies, dining on fresh kills. Of course, the meat would be preserved better in a refrigerator back at their quarters than it would just lying under the sun. Ghorah Khar was far wetter than the arid world of his species’s origin, where meat would dry quickly.
After gutting the antelope, Kruq’nov stood upright and tall, and threw the carcass over his shoulder. As a veteran, he would have appreciated some recognition from the nature preserve’s staff. Alas, no, he and Nrsah still were required to pay for a hunting permit. He understood that without such measures, the Kilrathi would wipe out many species on this planet in a hurry, but that did not mean he liked buying tags. Instead of hunting, most of the colonists rely upon herds of domesticated beasts. Butchers never died poor.
And the butchers in M’krah have earned a great deal of coin from Kruq’nov. He could butcher his own kill as well as any other Kilrathi, it was a natural skill after all. He was not so good about skinning the animal. Hides brought in some income, as did antlers and other inedible parts. Every coin helped, and with his pay account being in his name, it was outside his reach. If a warrior who was suppose to be on Repleetah used his account on Ghorah Khar, that might raise a few questions.
Nrsah walked along side Kruq’nov as they left the kill site. “A great hunt indeed,” he repeated his earlier declaration, while ripping a chunk of flesh from the liver in his hand.
Kruq’nov eyed the liver. It was a tasteful chunk of antelope flesh, best served raw. He took the liver during the previous hunt, as Nrsah did the one before that. Taking turns at the choicest bits of flesh struck him as a better idea than fighting Nrsah every time. If it were any other of his species, then perhaps, but not with Nrsah. The young Kilrathi did more for Kruq’nov than any of his blood kin ever had. Not that he had much; he did not even have a sister in his brood. Kruq’nov was rare among Kilrathi. He was born in a litter of one.
“Next time, brother, perhaps I shall take the liver while you throw yourself in front of charging fur and antler.” Being of a litter of one, Kruq’nov was necessarily a better hunter than Nrsah, who was born with a sister. Any Kilrathi alone in the world who could not fend for himself, did not live long enough to worry about it.
:And perhaps I should land the killing blow,” Nrsah retorted. “And perhaps this time, I shall not miss.”
Kruq’nov laughed. Nrsah’s last attempt at a hunt ended with an antelope with claw marks gouged into its side. Brutal damage, and painful, but non-lethal. The antelope lived to see another day. Kruq’nov did not grow angry at the failure, for more hunts ended in failure than did in a kill. That is, when the hunter uses only the weapons nature provided. “Perhaps. Perhaps you should use a plasma rifle too.”
Nrsah disagreed with a hiss. “Only an Ape would hunt with a rifle.”
Kruq’nov had no answer to that. He agreed; no self-respecting Kilrathi would ever hunt with weapons. Kill perhaps, but that was different. Animals raised for the purpose of slaughter could never be proper game, and did not count in the eyes of most. Hunting one of those would be about as sporting as bayoneting a wounded Ape in a hospital bed.
After an hour walking along the game trail, the two passed one of the wardens. Kruq’nov nodded a greeting to the warden. She was a fine enough looking female, and from what he learned, she was part of the Nr’rek Pride, who runs and lives upon, the game reserve of the same name. It might not be so bad to take over that Pride, if for no other reason than to hunt whenever he felt like. Most males preferred to fight than to hunt, but Kruq’nov was one male who had a lifetime’s worth of fighting.
Her robes marked her as both a member of the Nr’rek Pride, as well as a game warden. Kilrathi clothing were more utilitarian than most species. Unlike the rest, the Kilrathi wore them almost exclusively in public as a means of identification of Pride and rank in society. Kruq’nov and Nrsah wore their own clothing as well, though theirs’ were half-robes, covering the lower portions of their bodies. After so long wearing Army uniforms and environmental-suits, even a full robe made Kruq’nov feel naked.
She was also a young female, drawing considerably more attention from Nrsah.”A fine specimen,” he noted. “What sort of Kings does the Nr’rek Pride have?”
Kruq’nov snorted indifferently. “None that could stand against us.” He glanced over and saw the eagerness of youth upon Nrsah’s face. “Patience, my brother. Ghorah Khar is a new world, and a male should not leap at the first Pride that comes along.” Kruq’nov would rather take control of a strong Pride, than a small one. He decided days ago that such an action could wait. For the moment, he was quite content to hunt and enjoy an atmosphere that would not poison him.
M’krah
Ghorah Khar
The streets of M’krah were crowded with traffic, both foot and wheeled. The city was large, and only a couple eighths of a day’s walk from the nearest game reserve. A typical Kilrathi city, a build up settlement surrounded by pastures and wilderness. Kruq’nov never seen a Terran city before, but veterans of other campaigns on Repleetah spoke of Terran cities that sprawl endlessly. Since Apes ate seeds and roots, and since crops took up less space than herds of livestock, they did not need as much room to survive. Still, the mental picture of a sprawling gray mass upon a globe disgusted him.
A few Kilrathi eyed him as he and Nrsah walked along the sidewalk. Or where they eying the bag upon his shoulder. The butcher’s shop managed a good job at stripping the carcass of useless parts. Along with meat, he had a few coins in a pouch upon his belt. He was far from rich, but had sufficient funds for rent, and maybe a few drinks at the local saloon. More than a few Kilrathi in front of them parted way for the veterans.
Perhaps, the Kilrathi were looking at him and Nrsah instead. Both were underdressed by the standards of civilized society. More than few males eyed them with suspicion and loathing. To them, he was a threat, potential competition. Kruq’nov ignored them. They were no threat to him or Nrsah. Either one of the brothers could take them all in combat. Females also eyed the veterans, which was a more welcome feeling to Kruq’nov. His face and chest sported scars, souvenirs of Repleetah, proving him a strong, tough male. He tended to draw more attention than his brother, whose scars were fewer and less obvious. Fingertips did not display as well as faces.
Along with Kilrathi, a number of slaves trudged about. Most of these were Terrans. The first Terran slave he saw dismayed him greatly. He came to this planet to get away from the Apes, not to share the street with him. These slaves, they did not stand proud and defiant as the Apes he was familiar with. Not only that, most were female. Even in loose fitting robes, robes that told whose property they were, he could tell most had enlarged breasts, though half as many as a Kilrathi female. He seldom came across the gender in the trenches, but those in space fought as fiercely as any human male.
They gave the veterans a wide berth. Most Kilrathi on the street ignored them, but not Kruq’nov. So long battling a sneaky enemy, he always eyed the Terrans as they walked past. No telling when one might draw a pulse pistol and open up upon him. In a sense, it saddened him to see Apes in chains. They were a proud and resilient people, deserving a better fate than life in bondage. Of course, if these slave were freed, they would probably turn on their former owners with whatever weapon they could get their hands upon.
A couple of slaves were covered in feathers. They were taller and leaner than the Apes, and had strong beaks instead of a proper face. They appeared far more alien than any Terran. At first seeing one, he wondered if they were a new species of herd animals, ones dressed in robes for humor. He asked the butcher about them, only to have her laugh in his face. They were Firekkans. A batch of eighty arrived in the slave markets a Kahrik before Kruq’nov arrived. He heard of the creatures, but never seen one in the flesh.
“Feathers,” Nrsah hissed in disgust to Kruq’nov. “How much trouble would it be to skin one of those?”
“Too much,” Kruq’nov agreed. The Apes kept birds as livestock, and had far more experience plucking feathers. Since birds never evolved on Kilrah, the Kilrathi never developed a taste for hunting and skinning them. They would, given no other prey was available, but birds were not a chosen prey. He had eaten some bird, captured from an Ape kitchen in the trenches, and was not impressed. The meat was too dry, requiring sauces and gravies to flavor it.
Slaves aside, Kruq’nov found it refreshing to walk in such a built up area without worry that the next instant may bring a torrent of shells down upon them. The same refreshment he extended towards seeing intact buildings. The buildings of M’krah were made of local stones, Kruq’nov could not tell one from another. Maybe a geologist could, but that was not in his interest. Like all Kilrathi buildings, they were constructed at odd angles, with jagged edges and sharp corners protruding from them. Even the doorways were asymmetrical, having five, six and sometimes seven angles in them. . Streets and plots were more orderly than the buildings upon them. Houses and shops were evenly spaced, set upon lots of barren rock and sand. A few homes had herb gardens in their lots, a little something to spice up meals. He could easily spot the homes of slave owners. Not only were they larger, as one must be wealthy to own a slave, but also had Terran-style farms in the lots. It would do no good to allow slaves to starve. Kruq’nov wondered how well the Apes who farmed were supervised. Even with only farming tools, he would not turn his back on an Ape. Even unarmed, only a fool would turn his back on one. Their small size, and lack of claws forced the Apes, long ago, to develop the art of killing with bear hands.
Kruq’nov wanted to forget he ever saw the Ape, and he knew just the place that could happen. “What say you, brother, after we stock our refrigerator that we stock ourselves with some fine drink?”
Nrsah snorted. “I say that is all good and well, and that you should drink some fine drink for a change, instead of that Terran stuff. The only thing their swill is good for is pain thinner.” In the trenches, Terran drink was often the only type they could come across, and most of that cooked in the trenches. Homebrew there was truly vile, and so strong that field medics would use it to clean wounds.
As for some of the bottled and barreled stuff— “Brother, one day you will learn to enjoy the finer things in life.”
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“Rum!” Kruq’nov said, slamming his fist upon the bar. The other Kilrathi sitting on stools in the Golden Krat’gh keep respectable silence at Kruq’nov’s choice of the Terran drink. The first time he ordered it, the saloon’s regulars did not keep quiet. One was quite vocal in his mocking, and now sported several new scars where Kruq’nov pointed out the error in his ways. That kept the regulars quiet. Once he and Nrsah began to tell the tales of war, and where they fought, that gained them respect. Repleetah has long since become a modern legend among the Kilrathi, a place where only the truly strong can ever leave.
“Keep this up, Kruq’nov, and soon I’ll have no rum left,” said the barkeep as he scooped up the coins offered. He was an old male, one with gray around his muzzle. He was missing an eye, though where he lost it he would not say. It could have been in countless battles against the Apes. Or, it could have even happened as younger Kilrathi ejected him from his former kingship of a Pride. Most such males are killed in the course of Thrakrik, as the newcomers will certainly kill all their male offspring. With the war lasting so long, those practices have been relaxed, in favor of simply ejecting the young males from the Pride so that they may live long enough to serve as the Emperor’s cannon fodder.
Kruq’nov noticed very clearly that the barkeep did not have a cybernetic eye like the villain upon the throne. Die for the Empire! Kruq’nov wanted to laugh. More like die so the Emperor’s spawn can take over Prides other, more worthy males might have possessed. That was one of the reasons for choosing a frontier world; the scions have yet to reach it, thus any male deemed worthy in the eyes of the Pride queens can challenge for the right to their Pride.
His opinion was not alone in the dingy saloon. All the patrons were veterans of one campaign or another. The Barkeep did not speak much about his wounds, but the other Kilrathi were more vocal. The one next to Kruq’nov was a gunner’s mate named Sralar. He flew as a gunner on a Kilrathi bomber during the invasion of the Enigma Sector. His stories glorified the war far more than any tale Kruq’nov could tell. He spoke often enough of the Battle of Enigma, and staring into the darkness of black hole. It might have held a great deal of poetic power, but to Kruq’nov, the object was just the remains of a dead star.
On the opposite side of Nrsah, a former Third Claw named Krentr was telling a tale for the benefit of Nrsah. Kruq’nov could tell by the scowls on the other patrons’ faces, this was not the first time he told the tale. It was a mildly interesting tale, one about the boarding of Niven Station more than a Shrik ago. “They were tough fighters, and if their leaders had the same resolve, far more of my comrades would have fallen to take that station. To this day, it pained me to see them not fight to the last. Killing them all would have been more sweet if it were on the battlefield and not the executioner’s block.”
The barkeep snorted at his story. “As I recall, the Apes blew up half that station before you could conquer it.” Krentr hissed in agreement. The state of Niven Station was also the reason all the Terran survivors were executed. The legion commander killed them all out of sheer frustration.
“And how did the enemy taste?” Nrsah asked, not overly impressed by the story.
The former Third Claw snorted in indifference. “I have no idea. I, for one, would not eat the flesh of those who– surrender.” The last word was not of any Kilrathi language, but one of the Apes’. It was a foul word, but a useful one as well. Much shorter than saying ‘those who gave up the battle without much struggle’, or some other circumlocution.
“They never gave up the fight in the trenches,” Kruq’nov told him. “The cursed Apes always liked to wait until replacements arrived. Don’t ask me how they knew, but they always did. They would wait, and send out some of their own as lures. As sure as the sun rises on Ghorah Khar, the fools would charge after them on all fours.”
Krentr snarled at the image. “Curse the buffoons who write our propaganda. I know what you speak of, for more than a few of the replacements in my own legion behaved as if the Apes were nothing more than prey beasts. We should send some of them to the front, and maybe these cubs would get a real view of war.”
“I’ll drink to that!” Kruq’nov said, and proceeded to carry out his threat. “That would be one way to weed out the inbreed genes of the high born.” The last two words were said so vilely that they might have been the foulest words to ever come forth from a Kilrathi’s mouth. Not a soul in the saloon disagreed. In fact, most voiced the same opinions, if not with stronger language.
The barkeep began to speak, but a motion out of the corner of Kruq’nov’s eyes silenced the words. His attention turned to the figure strolling past the saloon, as if for all the world she owned the city. His brain froze as the sight of the most amazing female he had seen in all his born days passed out of sight. She was tall and shapely, her hair a few shades lighter than the typical golden fur. Her robes were ornate, made from the finest fibers Ghorah Khar could produce. Maybe even the finest in the sector.
As fast as she was there, she was out of sight. Kruq’nov forgot about all the other females he had ever known just from a few seconds upon laying eyes upon– her. In that instant, Kruq’nov knew that no other female would ever satisfy his taste. He would have traded a whole Pride of receptive females just for that one. “Who was the magnificent specimen of femininity who just walked past?”
His words broke the grousing of the Imperial Pride and the Eight as sharply as a bolt of lightning. The other patrons looked at each other in confusion. It was the barkeep, a male who never missed a mark, who understood. “Her? That would be Keitcha nar M’krah, one of the rulers of this fair city.”
Kruq’nov had a name to go with a face. He growled in contentment. Nrsah had also noticed her, but since his tastes were in younger females, not only younger than his elder brother, but younger than himself, he heeded her little attention. “She seems a bit too old for me.”
For his words, Kruq’nov backhanded his brother with enough force to send him off his stool. Nrsah crashed to the ground with an angry snarl. “Brother, you have no taste for the finer things in life. Young females are fine, and I would mate with them all if I could, but a treasure such as Keitcha comes around only once a lifetime.”
Nrsah stared up at Kruq’nov in bemusement. He never would have pegged the gnarled veteran of Repleetah as a male to be struck by an infection of love. Emotions muddled the mind and complicated life. He had the most unsettling feeling that his brother was planning something foolish. Kruq’nov leapt from his stool and stood over Nrsah. He extended his hand to his fallen brother. “This is no time to be laying about,” Kruq’nov said. For the first time since landing on Ghorah Khar, he had a goal wider than hunting and drinking.
Chapter 4
Nr’rek Preserve
Ghorah Khar
Kruq’nov moved forwards on all fours, keeping his body close to the ground. Slinking through the tall grasses under a warm sun without the aid of an E-suit was a nice change . It took longer than he expected to grow use to the open air once again. Even the feel of loose dirt between his fingers and toes came as a shock. At the moment, his extended claws dug deep into the soil of Ghorah Khar. Sometimes he wondered if even five jumps was far enough from Repleetah.
Ahead of him, he could spot his target moving warily through the grass. Like most things he killed over the past Shrik, it was smaller than he. It also knew Kruq’nov was near. Or rather, knew it was being stalked. As he drew closer, he could only hope his brother was in place. The point in an ambush was not to be seen. Thus, both Kruq’nov and Nrsah took cover in grasses not that different of a shade as their fur. Native grasses were quite annoying, especially to Kruq’nov. His mane kept getting thistle seeds stuck in it.
Once his target was in clear sight, Kruq’nov laid down in wait. The target, though cautious, made his task much easier. Instead of charging, the Second Claw would wait for the target to approach him. This was far from the first time in his life that his target would march right at him. It was small, but well armed. It could spear him just as easily as he could sink his teeth into its throat– which was precisely what Kruq’nov planned.
Rustling in the brush behind the target spoked it. It soon determined whatever it was hearing was behind instead of ahead. Instead of turning to face Nrsah, who was stalking behind, the target bolted forward, directly at Kruq’nov. The veteran waited until the target was almost on top of him before moving. Kruq’nov leapt from the long grass, claws and teeth bared. The target, noticing him a second too late, honked in surprise. Kruq’nov’s mass was enough to knock the beast off its feet. While dodging the sharp antlers atop its head, Kruq’nov bit down into the beast’s throat. He did not tear it out, but the force of his jaws crushed the breathing passage.
The antelope, a brown and tan animal native to Ghorah Khar, thrashed for less than a minute, before falling still. Without oxygen, the antelope simply lapsed out of consciousness. Kruq’nov yanked the long hunting knife from his belt and slit the beast’s throat. Unlike a Kilrathi’s claws, which tear and shred, the knife was designed to slice. Not just throats, but bellies as well. Which was precisely what he did to the freshly dead antelope.
Nrsah walked upright towards Kruq’nov, a grin on his face. “An excellent hunt, brother. We shall eat fine for eight more days.” An antelope of this size back during the ancient day of Kilrah would feed a Pride for a day– or its equivalent. Being tidally locked, the homeworld did not have a day as so many others. Instead, the Kilrathi clock was based on Kilrathi sleep cycles, which was not the most effective means of time keeping.
The two former soldiers had spent the better part of the last kahrik living easily on Ghorah Khar. The ships scattered in several directions after jumping to the Imperial HQ in the Enigma Sector. The ship the brothers were upon jumped back and forth, until reaching Ghorah Khar. The wounded were removed from the ship and healthy volunteers took their place. Kruq’nov had no idea what happened to those wounded, nor overly cared. A few died in route. As for the rest– Kruq’nov could only shrug. The Emperor and the Eight rang whatever service they could out of the bodies, and simply dumped them on a colonial world.
Ghorah Khar was a new colony, perhaps three shrik old. The population of the entire planet was the same as the total of two or three metropolises on Kilrah. Prides were not large yet. The two largest still remained under an octave in number. Sooner or later, those two Prides would have to battle for the position of planetary Pride, but that did not concern him.
During their time upon Ghorah Khar, he and Nrsah spent much of their time outdoors, in the fresh air, usually hunting. After so long in the trenches, eating rations, Kruq’nov decided it best to stay in the open skies, dining on fresh kills. Of course, the meat would be preserved better in a refrigerator back at their quarters than it would just lying under the sun. Ghorah Khar was far wetter than the arid world of his species’s origin, where meat would dry quickly.
After gutting the antelope, Kruq’nov stood upright and tall, and threw the carcass over his shoulder. As a veteran, he would have appreciated some recognition from the nature preserve’s staff. Alas, no, he and Nrsah still were required to pay for a hunting permit. He understood that without such measures, the Kilrathi would wipe out many species on this planet in a hurry, but that did not mean he liked buying tags. Instead of hunting, most of the colonists rely upon herds of domesticated beasts. Butchers never died poor.
And the butchers in M’krah have earned a great deal of coin from Kruq’nov. He could butcher his own kill as well as any other Kilrathi, it was a natural skill after all. He was not so good about skinning the animal. Hides brought in some income, as did antlers and other inedible parts. Every coin helped, and with his pay account being in his name, it was outside his reach. If a warrior who was suppose to be on Repleetah used his account on Ghorah Khar, that might raise a few questions.
Nrsah walked along side Kruq’nov as they left the kill site. “A great hunt indeed,” he repeated his earlier declaration, while ripping a chunk of flesh from the liver in his hand.
Kruq’nov eyed the liver. It was a tasteful chunk of antelope flesh, best served raw. He took the liver during the previous hunt, as Nrsah did the one before that. Taking turns at the choicest bits of flesh struck him as a better idea than fighting Nrsah every time. If it were any other of his species, then perhaps, but not with Nrsah. The young Kilrathi did more for Kruq’nov than any of his blood kin ever had. Not that he had much; he did not even have a sister in his brood. Kruq’nov was rare among Kilrathi. He was born in a litter of one.
“Next time, brother, perhaps I shall take the liver while you throw yourself in front of charging fur and antler.” Being of a litter of one, Kruq’nov was necessarily a better hunter than Nrsah, who was born with a sister. Any Kilrathi alone in the world who could not fend for himself, did not live long enough to worry about it.
:And perhaps I should land the killing blow,” Nrsah retorted. “And perhaps this time, I shall not miss.”
Kruq’nov laughed. Nrsah’s last attempt at a hunt ended with an antelope with claw marks gouged into its side. Brutal damage, and painful, but non-lethal. The antelope lived to see another day. Kruq’nov did not grow angry at the failure, for more hunts ended in failure than did in a kill. That is, when the hunter uses only the weapons nature provided. “Perhaps. Perhaps you should use a plasma rifle too.”
Nrsah disagreed with a hiss. “Only an Ape would hunt with a rifle.”
Kruq’nov had no answer to that. He agreed; no self-respecting Kilrathi would ever hunt with weapons. Kill perhaps, but that was different. Animals raised for the purpose of slaughter could never be proper game, and did not count in the eyes of most. Hunting one of those would be about as sporting as bayoneting a wounded Ape in a hospital bed.
After an hour walking along the game trail, the two passed one of the wardens. Kruq’nov nodded a greeting to the warden. She was a fine enough looking female, and from what he learned, she was part of the Nr’rek Pride, who runs and lives upon, the game reserve of the same name. It might not be so bad to take over that Pride, if for no other reason than to hunt whenever he felt like. Most males preferred to fight than to hunt, but Kruq’nov was one male who had a lifetime’s worth of fighting.
Her robes marked her as both a member of the Nr’rek Pride, as well as a game warden. Kilrathi clothing were more utilitarian than most species. Unlike the rest, the Kilrathi wore them almost exclusively in public as a means of identification of Pride and rank in society. Kruq’nov and Nrsah wore their own clothing as well, though theirs’ were half-robes, covering the lower portions of their bodies. After so long wearing Army uniforms and environmental-suits, even a full robe made Kruq’nov feel naked.
She was also a young female, drawing considerably more attention from Nrsah.”A fine specimen,” he noted. “What sort of Kings does the Nr’rek Pride have?”
Kruq’nov snorted indifferently. “None that could stand against us.” He glanced over and saw the eagerness of youth upon Nrsah’s face. “Patience, my brother. Ghorah Khar is a new world, and a male should not leap at the first Pride that comes along.” Kruq’nov would rather take control of a strong Pride, than a small one. He decided days ago that such an action could wait. For the moment, he was quite content to hunt and enjoy an atmosphere that would not poison him.
M’krah
Ghorah Khar
The streets of M’krah were crowded with traffic, both foot and wheeled. The city was large, and only a couple eighths of a day’s walk from the nearest game reserve. A typical Kilrathi city, a build up settlement surrounded by pastures and wilderness. Kruq’nov never seen a Terran city before, but veterans of other campaigns on Repleetah spoke of Terran cities that sprawl endlessly. Since Apes ate seeds and roots, and since crops took up less space than herds of livestock, they did not need as much room to survive. Still, the mental picture of a sprawling gray mass upon a globe disgusted him.
A few Kilrathi eyed him as he and Nrsah walked along the sidewalk. Or where they eying the bag upon his shoulder. The butcher’s shop managed a good job at stripping the carcass of useless parts. Along with meat, he had a few coins in a pouch upon his belt. He was far from rich, but had sufficient funds for rent, and maybe a few drinks at the local saloon. More than a few Kilrathi in front of them parted way for the veterans.
Perhaps, the Kilrathi were looking at him and Nrsah instead. Both were underdressed by the standards of civilized society. More than few males eyed them with suspicion and loathing. To them, he was a threat, potential competition. Kruq’nov ignored them. They were no threat to him or Nrsah. Either one of the brothers could take them all in combat. Females also eyed the veterans, which was a more welcome feeling to Kruq’nov. His face and chest sported scars, souvenirs of Repleetah, proving him a strong, tough male. He tended to draw more attention than his brother, whose scars were fewer and less obvious. Fingertips did not display as well as faces.
Along with Kilrathi, a number of slaves trudged about. Most of these were Terrans. The first Terran slave he saw dismayed him greatly. He came to this planet to get away from the Apes, not to share the street with him. These slaves, they did not stand proud and defiant as the Apes he was familiar with. Not only that, most were female. Even in loose fitting robes, robes that told whose property they were, he could tell most had enlarged breasts, though half as many as a Kilrathi female. He seldom came across the gender in the trenches, but those in space fought as fiercely as any human male.
They gave the veterans a wide berth. Most Kilrathi on the street ignored them, but not Kruq’nov. So long battling a sneaky enemy, he always eyed the Terrans as they walked past. No telling when one might draw a pulse pistol and open up upon him. In a sense, it saddened him to see Apes in chains. They were a proud and resilient people, deserving a better fate than life in bondage. Of course, if these slave were freed, they would probably turn on their former owners with whatever weapon they could get their hands upon.
A couple of slaves were covered in feathers. They were taller and leaner than the Apes, and had strong beaks instead of a proper face. They appeared far more alien than any Terran. At first seeing one, he wondered if they were a new species of herd animals, ones dressed in robes for humor. He asked the butcher about them, only to have her laugh in his face. They were Firekkans. A batch of eighty arrived in the slave markets a Kahrik before Kruq’nov arrived. He heard of the creatures, but never seen one in the flesh.
“Feathers,” Nrsah hissed in disgust to Kruq’nov. “How much trouble would it be to skin one of those?”
“Too much,” Kruq’nov agreed. The Apes kept birds as livestock, and had far more experience plucking feathers. Since birds never evolved on Kilrah, the Kilrathi never developed a taste for hunting and skinning them. They would, given no other prey was available, but birds were not a chosen prey. He had eaten some bird, captured from an Ape kitchen in the trenches, and was not impressed. The meat was too dry, requiring sauces and gravies to flavor it.
Slaves aside, Kruq’nov found it refreshing to walk in such a built up area without worry that the next instant may bring a torrent of shells down upon them. The same refreshment he extended towards seeing intact buildings. The buildings of M’krah were made of local stones, Kruq’nov could not tell one from another. Maybe a geologist could, but that was not in his interest. Like all Kilrathi buildings, they were constructed at odd angles, with jagged edges and sharp corners protruding from them. Even the doorways were asymmetrical, having five, six and sometimes seven angles in them. . Streets and plots were more orderly than the buildings upon them. Houses and shops were evenly spaced, set upon lots of barren rock and sand. A few homes had herb gardens in their lots, a little something to spice up meals. He could easily spot the homes of slave owners. Not only were they larger, as one must be wealthy to own a slave, but also had Terran-style farms in the lots. It would do no good to allow slaves to starve. Kruq’nov wondered how well the Apes who farmed were supervised. Even with only farming tools, he would not turn his back on an Ape. Even unarmed, only a fool would turn his back on one. Their small size, and lack of claws forced the Apes, long ago, to develop the art of killing with bear hands.
Kruq’nov wanted to forget he ever saw the Ape, and he knew just the place that could happen. “What say you, brother, after we stock our refrigerator that we stock ourselves with some fine drink?”
Nrsah snorted. “I say that is all good and well, and that you should drink some fine drink for a change, instead of that Terran stuff. The only thing their swill is good for is pain thinner.” In the trenches, Terran drink was often the only type they could come across, and most of that cooked in the trenches. Homebrew there was truly vile, and so strong that field medics would use it to clean wounds.
As for some of the bottled and barreled stuff— “Brother, one day you will learn to enjoy the finer things in life.”
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“Rum!” Kruq’nov said, slamming his fist upon the bar. The other Kilrathi sitting on stools in the Golden Krat’gh keep respectable silence at Kruq’nov’s choice of the Terran drink. The first time he ordered it, the saloon’s regulars did not keep quiet. One was quite vocal in his mocking, and now sported several new scars where Kruq’nov pointed out the error in his ways. That kept the regulars quiet. Once he and Nrsah began to tell the tales of war, and where they fought, that gained them respect. Repleetah has long since become a modern legend among the Kilrathi, a place where only the truly strong can ever leave.
“Keep this up, Kruq’nov, and soon I’ll have no rum left,” said the barkeep as he scooped up the coins offered. He was an old male, one with gray around his muzzle. He was missing an eye, though where he lost it he would not say. It could have been in countless battles against the Apes. Or, it could have even happened as younger Kilrathi ejected him from his former kingship of a Pride. Most such males are killed in the course of Thrakrik, as the newcomers will certainly kill all their male offspring. With the war lasting so long, those practices have been relaxed, in favor of simply ejecting the young males from the Pride so that they may live long enough to serve as the Emperor’s cannon fodder.
Kruq’nov noticed very clearly that the barkeep did not have a cybernetic eye like the villain upon the throne. Die for the Empire! Kruq’nov wanted to laugh. More like die so the Emperor’s spawn can take over Prides other, more worthy males might have possessed. That was one of the reasons for choosing a frontier world; the scions have yet to reach it, thus any male deemed worthy in the eyes of the Pride queens can challenge for the right to their Pride.
His opinion was not alone in the dingy saloon. All the patrons were veterans of one campaign or another. The Barkeep did not speak much about his wounds, but the other Kilrathi were more vocal. The one next to Kruq’nov was a gunner’s mate named Sralar. He flew as a gunner on a Kilrathi bomber during the invasion of the Enigma Sector. His stories glorified the war far more than any tale Kruq’nov could tell. He spoke often enough of the Battle of Enigma, and staring into the darkness of black hole. It might have held a great deal of poetic power, but to Kruq’nov, the object was just the remains of a dead star.
On the opposite side of Nrsah, a former Third Claw named Krentr was telling a tale for the benefit of Nrsah. Kruq’nov could tell by the scowls on the other patrons’ faces, this was not the first time he told the tale. It was a mildly interesting tale, one about the boarding of Niven Station more than a Shrik ago. “They were tough fighters, and if their leaders had the same resolve, far more of my comrades would have fallen to take that station. To this day, it pained me to see them not fight to the last. Killing them all would have been more sweet if it were on the battlefield and not the executioner’s block.”
The barkeep snorted at his story. “As I recall, the Apes blew up half that station before you could conquer it.” Krentr hissed in agreement. The state of Niven Station was also the reason all the Terran survivors were executed. The legion commander killed them all out of sheer frustration.
“And how did the enemy taste?” Nrsah asked, not overly impressed by the story.
The former Third Claw snorted in indifference. “I have no idea. I, for one, would not eat the flesh of those who– surrender.” The last word was not of any Kilrathi language, but one of the Apes’. It was a foul word, but a useful one as well. Much shorter than saying ‘those who gave up the battle without much struggle’, or some other circumlocution.
“They never gave up the fight in the trenches,” Kruq’nov told him. “The cursed Apes always liked to wait until replacements arrived. Don’t ask me how they knew, but they always did. They would wait, and send out some of their own as lures. As sure as the sun rises on Ghorah Khar, the fools would charge after them on all fours.”
Krentr snarled at the image. “Curse the buffoons who write our propaganda. I know what you speak of, for more than a few of the replacements in my own legion behaved as if the Apes were nothing more than prey beasts. We should send some of them to the front, and maybe these cubs would get a real view of war.”
“I’ll drink to that!” Kruq’nov said, and proceeded to carry out his threat. “That would be one way to weed out the inbreed genes of the high born.” The last two words were said so vilely that they might have been the foulest words to ever come forth from a Kilrathi’s mouth. Not a soul in the saloon disagreed. In fact, most voiced the same opinions, if not with stronger language.
The barkeep began to speak, but a motion out of the corner of Kruq’nov’s eyes silenced the words. His attention turned to the figure strolling past the saloon, as if for all the world she owned the city. His brain froze as the sight of the most amazing female he had seen in all his born days passed out of sight. She was tall and shapely, her hair a few shades lighter than the typical golden fur. Her robes were ornate, made from the finest fibers Ghorah Khar could produce. Maybe even the finest in the sector.
As fast as she was there, she was out of sight. Kruq’nov forgot about all the other females he had ever known just from a few seconds upon laying eyes upon– her. In that instant, Kruq’nov knew that no other female would ever satisfy his taste. He would have traded a whole Pride of receptive females just for that one. “Who was the magnificent specimen of femininity who just walked past?”
His words broke the grousing of the Imperial Pride and the Eight as sharply as a bolt of lightning. The other patrons looked at each other in confusion. It was the barkeep, a male who never missed a mark, who understood. “Her? That would be Keitcha nar M’krah, one of the rulers of this fair city.”
Kruq’nov had a name to go with a face. He growled in contentment. Nrsah had also noticed her, but since his tastes were in younger females, not only younger than his elder brother, but younger than himself, he heeded her little attention. “She seems a bit too old for me.”
For his words, Kruq’nov backhanded his brother with enough force to send him off his stool. Nrsah crashed to the ground with an angry snarl. “Brother, you have no taste for the finer things in life. Young females are fine, and I would mate with them all if I could, but a treasure such as Keitcha comes around only once a lifetime.”
Nrsah stared up at Kruq’nov in bemusement. He never would have pegged the gnarled veteran of Repleetah as a male to be struck by an infection of love. Emotions muddled the mind and complicated life. He had the most unsettling feeling that his brother was planning something foolish. Kruq’nov leapt from his stool and stood over Nrsah. He extended his hand to his fallen brother. “This is no time to be laying about,” Kruq’nov said. For the first time since landing on Ghorah Khar, he had a goal wider than hunting and drinking.