Disclaimer:
This work is fiction. The work has no relationship with any person existing at any time anywhere whether real or imaginary or copywritten. Everything in this work is mea culpa.
This work is the property of Kerrik Wolf (saethwyr@ (SPAM) hotmail.com). Please remove (SPAM) to contact me.
You should not read this work if you are under the age of legal consent wherever you reside. This work may or may not contain any and/or all of the following: death, dismemberment, violent acts, implied sex, explicit sex, violent sex, rape, cannibalism, blasphemy (depending on your religion), BDSM, torture, mimes, and just about anything unwholesome that you could consider.
The pokegirl universe was first documented by Metroanime and to him all of us who reside or visit there owe a debt of thanks.
Feedback is encouraged. I enjoy hearing from people. Positive feedback will be appreciated, cherished and flaunted in front of people. Negative feedback will be appreciated, cherished and listened to, that I might continue to grow. Flames will give me a good laugh. Feedback may be delivered to: saethwyr @ (SPAM) hotmail.com. Please remove (SPAM) to contact me.
This story is AU and takes place in the same Earth as New Beginnings.
One
(Tirsul, Tirsuli Confederation - all conversations translated from Tirsuli)
The wall display lit to reveal a smiling woman’s face. “Sir, we’ve landed and you’re free to disembark. We want to thank you for using Wiltanni Transport.”
The young man rose and headed for the door of his stateroom. “Come.” Behind him, a large container lifted off to hover a handful of centimeters from the deck and silently followed him.
The tang of sea air met him as he walked down the gangplank and onto shore. Like many ports, this one was based on the sea, where any shuttle accidents would crash into the ocean, minimizing collateral damage. While it had been nearly three centuries since such an accident, it was understood that eventually one would happen and therefore this particular custom had remained unchanged.
His luggage bobbed behind him as he headed for a line of personal flitters, each slightly different in shape and color. None of them particularly appealed to him, so he marched up to the closest one and touched his ring to a small pad next to the hatch. The flitter’s computer deducted the price of a hire and the hatch slid open. “In the back.” The luggage floated inside and headed to the rear of the vehicle as he proceeded to perform an external inspection of his new rental. Once in the back, the container settled down over restraining clamps which automatically locked down when the container was in position.
Satisfied with his choice, the young man headed inside the flitter and settled down at the control panel. He quickly ran through the preflight check and lifted off on manual control, turning the craft and heading north as he climbed steeply to cruising altitude. Once at altitude, he set the autopilot and rotated his chair back for a nap. The flitter continued heading for its final destination, a small facility on a remote island.
The beep of the alarm woke the young man, who sat up to see that the flitter had landed and was ready for him to disembark. He met his luggage at the hatch and it followed him off the craft, which closed its hatch and lifted off to return to its owner’s closest maintenance facility.
The young man headed for the gate and halted in front of the kiosk next to it. A woman opened the door and stepped out. “Good morning. I’ll need to see your identification before you’ll be allowed to proceed further.”
The young man held out his fist and the woman touched his ring with her own. The rings exchanged information while also verifying the wearer’s DNA. The woman nodded as a small red globe materialized next to her. “Welcome. If you’ll follow the guide, it’ll take you to processing, which will start when you get there.”
There were about thirty people in the processing room. The only person in uniform, an attractive blonde, gestured him over. “Welcome. I’ve already processed everyone else. I noticed according to your data you’ve decided to change your name.”
He nodded. “That’s right. It’s a pretty substantial change in my life, so I thought a new name was in order. Besides, it will help me to pass.”
She smiled. “You’re not the only one to do so. Go ahead and change clothes. When you’re done, we can proceed.” She motioned to a cubicle. “We’ve got two people here with nudity taboos, so please use that area.”
The man changed quickly and rejoined the group. The woman looked them over professionally. “Ok, I have verified that your gear doesn’t break any proscriptions for the world where you’re going. Those of you with traveling cases won’t be allowed to take them off of the island of Haven, but you’ll be able to keep them in your residence should you decide to return to the Confederation. Once there, you’ll be in-processed by one of the Wolf family. They don’t have our tech, so it will probably take a little while. Are there any questions?” When there weren’t any, she gestured at a door as it slid open. “Then come this way and we’ll get you transferred.”
(5/30/06 1230 Kingdom of Haven)
The dimensional portal hissed shut and an Oriental woman wearing samurai armor looked at the new arrivals. “My name is Yushiko and I want all you Wolves to come with me.” She turned and headed off. All but one of the people who’d stepped through the gate followed her.
A muscular red-furred woman cocked her head at the lone holdout, her ears twisting curiously. “I don’t suppose you are deaf?”
He chuckled. “No, I’m not.”
“Then why aren’t you going with Yushiko?”
“I’m not a Wolf.”
The ears went back and she gave him a suddenly suspicious look. “I thought everyone coming here was part of Clan Wolf. Who are you?”
“My name is Caradoc.” He gave a slight bow. “And you are?”
“Molly.” She looked him up and down. “This is a new situation for me. Let me contact Shikarou.”
A moment later, Shikarou appeared with a black haired woman wearing a short dress. “What is it, Molly?”
She jerked a thumb in Caradoc’s direction. “He says he’s not a Wolf.”
Shikarou’s ears canted backwards almost exactly like Molly’s had. “You’re not?”
“I never claimed to be. I’m clanless.”
“We’re taking clanless?”
“I filled out your paperwork without any problems and if you were only taking clan, it should have been caught there.” His eyes narrowed. “Is there going to be a problem?”
Shikarou frowned for a heartbeat. “That’s probably father’s doing. Still, you’re as good as any clan and are welcome here.”
“Thank you; I’ll endeavor to be useful.” Caradoc’s voice was thick with sarcasm.
Molly glanced at her tamer. “I’ll take him to processing.”
(6/15/06 1020 Atlantic Ocean South of Tropic League)
Caradoc adjusted the tiller of his trimaran and watched the compass. Satisfied, he lashed the tiller into position and adjusted the sails to make maximum use of the wind. Once finished with that, he squinted at the sun before checking the fishing lines that trailed behind the ship, feeling the drag to confirm that he hadn’t lost his baits. Then he settled down on the seat and considered his past and near future.
After processing, he’d been taken to meet with Shikarou who’d wasted no time in getting to the point, something Caradoc could appreciate. “I understand you’re from the Dryas Belt.” The Dryas Belt was one of three asteroid belts in the Tirsul system and was considered rough even by Tirsuli standards. The people who hailed from there claimed to be tougher than anyone alive and it often seemed that their boast wasn’t an empty one.
Caradoc nodded. “I am.”
Shikarou waited for a moment. “You don’t talk much.”
“I don’t have anything to say.”
“I’ve reviewed your records. You did some work as an infiltrator for your family. I would like you to do that for me.”
“How dangerous?”
“It’s very hazardous. I need eyes on the ground in the Tropic League. They tried to put a colony on my island and I pinched it. Where they should have been angry, they’ve just been quiet. Something’s not right.” He leaned back in his chair. “Besides, the stories I’ve heard of the atrocities down there are incredible and I need to know if they are true.”
“Tourist?”
“No, you’ll probably need to be an émigré or a refugee of some kind. I doubt anyone from the kingdom would be welcome there at all.” He stared into Caradoc’s eyes. “I know that most of the people who come here from Tirsul come for pokegirls, but you would have a better cover if you didn’t have any.”
Caradoc gave a rolling shrug. “I didn’t come here for pokegirls. I came for a new start.”
“What happened?”
“I’m the last of my line.” When Shikarou stared at him in shock, Caradoc elaborated. “Pirates.”
“Then forget I asked for this. I’ll find someone who isn’t the end of a bloodline.”
“I can do it.”
Shikarou regarded him silently for what seemed like a long time. “What kind of start?”
Caradoc hesitated for several seconds. “Space killed my family and it almost got me. It’s not home anymore.” He paused. “I know dirtside can kill me just as quickly, but I’m not going into space for a while. The homeworlds are crowded to me, so I came here.”
“Are you angling to start your own clan?”
Caradoc refused to commit himself. “Once we were all clanless.”
“That’s true enough, although many clansmen forget that little fact. If you do this, I’ll support you in your plans as long as they don’t infringe on mine.”
Caradoc came back to the present when his boat jumped slightly. He knew that there were supposed to be a couple of wet elves keeping station with his boat to protect him from water ferals. He knew that he wasn’t supposed to see them, but not seeing them made it hard to believe they were there. They were supposed to nudge the boat if they saw anything.
Moving so as to avoid making any extra noise, he slowly eased to the side of the sailboat and carefully peered over the side. Nothing moved in the water for as far as he could see. He moved slowly back to his seat and forced himself to relax.
Once he’d been taught the basics of sailboat operation, he’d been given a beat-up looking sailboat. Afterwards, he and his boat had been lifted by lighter to south of the Tropic League and dropped into the ocean. His cover was going to be that he was fleeing the pogroms currently enveloping Belize as the leaguists brought the populace into line. It would take his trimaran only two and half days to go from San Pedro to Kingston, Jamaica; he carried minimal food and water to add veracity to his tale of a quick escape ahead of league forces who didn’t have any pokegirls. Ones with pokegirls would probably have captured or sunk his boat before he could escape.
His boat jumped slightly again and Caradoc checked his boat before looking around. Nothing.
You are on a planet, not on a two dimensional plane.
Caradoc resisted an urge to slap his forehead at his twee’s acidic comment. It was right. He looked up.
A dot floated in lazy circles overhead.
Living almost your whole life in space made you an expert at estimating distances and Caradoc did some quick math. At its altitude, the dot had to be at least a meter and a half in diameter. That meant it was probably a pokegirl. Since he hadn’t been assigned any sort of aerial support, it wasn’t from the kingdom.
That meant it wasn’t friendly.
He locked his gaze on the flying pokegirl and he felt the tightening as his eyes changed slightly. The pokegirl swam into focus. She was feathered and her legs were tucked up under her torso, eerily reminiscent of true birds. He noted idly that while her chest was bare, she wore a loincloth with a design on it.
A window opened in the lower right quadrant of his vision and a zoomed view of the loincloth appeared. Pidgeota. The flag is that of Jamaica, one of the current symbols in use by the Tropic League until they standardize their flag. While he was training, his twee was getting constant downloads to give him information that he might need on this mission. It had as complete a pokegirl related lexicon as Shikarou’s AIs could provide. Interestingly enough, it had been noted that psychic pokegirls usually missed the presence of the twee and therefore the information had been uploaded to it instead of into his mind in an attempt to keep him from being discovered.
“So it begins,” he muttered.
A few minutes later, the pidgeota began to spiral downward. Suddenly, she dropped like a stone and zoomed over his boat closely enough that the wind from her passage made his sails whip. She whipped around to circle his trimaran as she yelled. “You will continue on your present course or I will sink you!”
Caradoc cupped his hands and yelled back. “I understand and will comply!”
Soon something broke the horizon and gradually became a ship headed straight for him. He peered closely at it. It had started life as some kind of powered vessel, but had been modified with the addition of a sidewheel. He could see an open deck covered by an awning and under the shelter several females of varying species were sitting on benches, pedaling a geared system that powered the sidewheel.
Pokegirls, his twee confirmed.
It came alongside as the pidgeota moved away. A man with skin so dark that it shone purple in the sun raised a megaphone as two others leveled rifles at him. “Drop your sails and prepare to be boarded.” Caradoc hastened to comply.
The sidewheel maneuvered close enough for one of the riflemen to leap onto the trimaran. He carried a rope which he lashed to the mast before checking to make sure he was out his companion’s line of fire. “Who are you and where are you from?” He spoke accented English.
“I’m Caradoc Bishop and I’m an American. I’m coming from San Pedro in Belize. They tried to kill me and I grabbed the first boat I could handle by myself.”
The Tropic soldier eyed him curiously. “Why did they try to kill you?”
“I think it was because I’m an American.”
The soldier laughed evilly. “Well, you’re now a member of the Tropic League and, while we’ll kill you for a lot of reasons, belonging to a defunct government isn’t one of them.” He produced some handcuffs. “Turn around.”
“That’s going to make it hard for me to climb into your ship.”
The soldier shook his head. “You’re going to sail this one to Kingston since none of us know how, and we’re not going to abandon it. Turn around or we’ll figure out how to do it without your help.”
Once Caradoc was secured, the soldier quickly searched the boat. “You ain’t got shit,” he muttered in French.
Caradoc sat and gave no sign he understood the language as the soldier finished ransacking the trimaran. Finally the soldier came and stood over him, switching back to English. “Where’s the loot, mon ami?”
“I barely escaped by stealing this boat. There is no loot.”
The soldier kicked Caradoc in the belly. “Liar. There’s always loot.”
Caradoc wheezed as he fought for breath. Finally he could speak. “There is no loot.”
The soldier leaned down and hissed in his ear as he pulled off Caradoc’s watch. “If you are lying to me and I find any loot later, I will see how well you swim with those cuffs on.”
“You won’t.”
The soldier rolled Caradoc over so he could look up and pointed at the pideota. “I’m going to uncuff you and if you even look like you’re going to try anything, she will kill you before you can move.”
“I’m not stupid. I did not flee death just to do something so you can kill me.”
“Good. You’ll make a good worker with that attitude.”
Caradoc looked at him. “I don’t suppose I could be a soldier so I can kick people instead of being kicked myself?”
The soldier barked a laugh. “Anything is possible. All you have to do is catch a pokegirl during your free time.” He rolled Caradoc over with a boot as he reached for his keys. “If you live.”
(6/16/06 1020 Kingston, Tropic League)
The dominatrix ran a hand down her body, smearing the blood into the sweat. She smiled cruelly. “You’ve been a very good playtoy and I’m glad our time isn’t up yet.” Her smile vanished when the door to her workroom opened. She bowed, dropping the whip to her side where it was almost invisible. “Master Carlos.”
“Has he said anything?”
“Nothing new, master, and he broke several hours ago.”
“I know; I could hear his screams through the soundproofing.” He stepped around his pokegirl and looked at the dominatrix’s toy.
“He is an American, master. He would have told me the truth if he were lying.”
The tamer shrugged. “Very well. Will he live?”
Caradoc hung limply from the shackles. His back and chest had been stripped of skin and blood and sweat ran in rivulets down his legs to pool on the floor. Fresh wounds indicated that the pokegirl had just started on his buttocks and thighs. The dominatrix shrugged. “I don’t know. Master, you told me to be thorough.” She gave her master a look from the corner of her eye. “Can I keep him?”
“Janine, we need the workers, if he lives. Turn him over to the medics and tell them to give him some basic care.”
“Can I geld him?”
The tamer considered for a long moment and she began to smile. It vanished when he shook his head. “I don’t think you’ve done anything noteworthy recently enough for me to let you have such a gift.”
The dominatrix hissed in displeasure. Her face went blank when her tamer raised a hand and slapped her hard enough to split her lips. Her head dropped and she spat. For the first time that day, her blood hit the floor. “I am sorry, master.”
He dug his thumbnail into her lip and twisted as he pulled her head up to look at him. His voice was firm. “I was considering letting you have a bit more fun. Now, you are to give him to the medics immediately and you are not to play any more.” He wiped his hand on her hair. “And see that you get your lips healed for this evening.”
“Yes, master.” She waited until he’d gone and then turned and angrily slashed the whip with her full strength, the strike peeling meat from her toy’s shoulders and arms. When she moved to release Caradoc, he promptly collapsed to the floor. “Weakling.” He moaned as she took him by the leg and dragged him out the door.
(6/17/06 1100 Kingston, Tropic League)
Caradoc lay curled up in a fetal ball. Spots of fresh blood and lymphatic fluid dotted the bandages that swathed his torso. Make sure that I heal almost as slowly as anyone else around here would.
His twee gave back a feeling of annoyance. This level of physical damage would probably kill any normal human from shock. You will probably also want to scar badly, right? It might cripple you.
Caradoc considered his options. Then keep the scarring as superficial as possible to prevent that. If I’m unable to work, they will try to kill me.
The door opened. He didn’t bother to look up. There was a clink and a female voice spoke gently. “You need to eat. If you don’t, you won’t heal and they will kill you.”
He lifted his head in time to see a woman closing the door. She was dressed plainly and had a tiny “M” either branded or tattooed in the center of her forehead.
The Tropic league is working hard to rebuild their population and went through testing all of the females to see who had been affected by the Bloody Flu. Those who were sterilized by it were marked to designate their status as mules. The fertile women are kept in breeding stockades for the ruling elite. The mules were put with the rest of the workers. From a practical standpoint, it is very efficient, but then so were the pirates when they spaced your family because they considered them a waste of resources.
Caradoc shoved down a wave of hatred at the senseless brutality and reminded himself of his mission. He slowly uncurled, ignoring the spreading wetness as scabs tore, and crawled across the floor to the bowl the woman had left. It was filled with a thick fish soup and he drank it so fast that he burned his mouth before licking the bowl clean. Any portion of the floor was the same as any other, so when he finished he put the bowl down and simply lay where he was. Sleep proved elusive, but finally he slipped into an uneasy doze.
(6/19/06 1430 Tropic League)
Caradoc favored his left side as he limped forward. This morning someone had apparently decided he wasn’t going to die and he’d been forced from his cell to join a contingent of nearly fifty workers heading to a community that had been abandoned after the Red Plague. The authorities had decided it needed to be resettled for strategic needs. Bog Walk was on the main road between the north and south coasts and in a heavily agricultural area that needed put back into production.
He glanced around as he walked. Most of the people here were native Jamaicans; he supposed they should be called Tropicals now. Although thin, they appeared relatively healthy and most were in good spirits. Apparently, once the pacification had been finished, the league tamers had immediately begun working to win the hearts of the people. However, there were six tamers along on the trip and they traveled with their pokegirls prominently obvious. They were to ensure that the workers made it to the town as well as provide the security element for the townspeople as they rebuilt.
He did take note that each tamer had one pokegirl, with only the leader having two, in his case a tigress and a rack.
Some of the workers in the group had been impressed from a local neighborhood and, while they had apparently been warned beforehand, they weren’t happy at having to relocate. They didn’t complain out loud, but one woman and her two teenage children cried from time to time. When they weren’t crying, they were staring at nearby tamers with hate filled eyes. Caradoc figured that a member of their family had been made an example of, perhaps to get the others moving.
The tamers also worked to keep people from straggling and chivvied the group back together whenever it started to spread out.
The first day they traveled to Spanish Town, a distance of roughly ten miles. Caradoc didn’t see any other traffic on the road, and the tenseness of the tamers and their pokegirls hinted that ferals or rebels were somewhere in the area.
Spanish Town had sustained a lot of damage and was mostly uninhabited, but the beauty of the city still impressed Caradoc. The town had held nearly 150,000 people before the war. After the Red Plague, only about 10,000 remained and they had still been in shock when the leaguists moved in. There had been little resistance and the survivors now functioned smoothly, although the loss of electricity and running water island wide had hit them hard.
Some of them had been siphoned off to provide needed manpower in Kingston, and currently the population of Spanish Town was just over 8,000.
The workers camped just outside of town and some townsfolk fed them a vegetable soup and some fish that had been dried with lots of spices. Many of the workers had brought some basic supplies and spread out in families and other social groups to sleep.
Caradoc went up to one of the tamers. “I request permission to forage in the abandoned buildings. I’d like to find some sheets so I can change my bandages and maybe a blanket or two.”
The tamer gave him a lazy look. “You’ll never come back. No.” Caradoc looked at him evenly for a long moment before turning away. “Wait.” Caradoc turned back to see the tamer holding out a blanket. “If you bleed on it, wash it before giving it back to me. You can keep it until we get to Bog Walk.”
“Thank you.” Taking the blanket, Caradoc found shelter under the lip of a half fallen building and made himself as comfortable as he could.
The next morning, after being fed more soup and jerked fish, they turned north, the road following the Rio Cobre, or Copper River. The road continued for only a few miles and then it suddenly turned into broken ground covered with bits of asphalt. Picking their way over the treacherous ground slowed them considerably, and they only made a few more miles before night fell and they camped for the night.
The tamers fed them more dried fish and they were allowed to forage until it became too dark to see. Caradoc could see perfectly well in the dark, but he didn’t want to reveal any unusual abilities and stayed with the others, ignoring his stomach as it demanded fuel for his healing body.
The next morning, the tamers gave out more fish and ominously announced that there was no more food until they reached Bog Walk where some supplies had been cached.
The sun was approaching midday when they got underway from a rest break. They’d hardly started when an orange furred pokegirl stepped out of the trees to the left of Caradoc and the small group that he followed. She yowled and her ears went flat as her tail lashed.
There are no firecats in the tamer’s harems.
Ignoring the pain exploding down his back and chest, Caradoc instantly threw himself flat just before the cat-type breathed a torrent of flames at the humans around her. Heat washed across his back and people began screaming and running away. He looked back up in time to see the firecat grab a smoldering body and begin dragging her meal back into the woods.
From somewhere behind him, a stream of water smashed the firecat in the face, knocking her sprawling. She jumped to her feet and yowled as a brown furred anamorphic pokegirl stepped over Caradoc and hit the firecat with another watergun attack.
Slottern.
The firecat was spun into the trees and raced off. Once she thought she was safe, she turned around and screamed her fury. The slottern was waiting for this and hit her with a much more powerful water attack, the water spear sending her flying deeper into the woods. The firecat hit and lay still.
“Good job,” the slottern’s tamer patted her on the back and a smile spread on her face.
The leader’s rack zoomed overhead and dropped into the forest briefly, appearing with the firecat in her arms. She climbed and headed in a line for Spanish Town to drop off the latest recruit for the Tropic League tamer forces.
While the slottern and her tamer moved to make sure that the forest wasn’t going to catch fire, Caradoc slowly climbed to his feet and made his way over to begin helping the survivors. Soon, others joined in.
(6/22/06 0800 Bog Walk, Tropic League)
“You are a doctor?” It was the leader of the tamers, a man named John Manley.
Caradoc shook his head. He’d dressed the wounds of the injured and taken charge of getting litters made for them so they could be carried the rest of the way to the town. “I know some basic first aid.” He looked back at the shed where the critically wounded were being housed. “Two of them are going to die soon, unless there is some medical aid.”
Disappointment filled Manley’s eyes. “That’s a shame. We could use a doctor and it would get you out of heavy work. We have no medical aid available. I could send Rachel back to Kingston for what she can get but there is nothing for them to give her.”
Caradoc made a decision. “What about a pokegirl with healing abilities?”
“They don’t work on humans.” Manley gave him a surprised look. “You know about pokegirls?”
“Anyone who fought them knows something about them. Pokegirl healing does work on humans, it’s just that sometimes it doesn’t work as well. If you save even some of their lives, then the others will be more loyal.”
Manley looked thoughtful. “I will send a message to Kingston and see if they will let me have one. What were you before you came here?”
“Several things. I was a fighter for a short time.”
“You were an American soldier?”
“No, I belonged to a guerilla unit. I was not an American soldier.” Caradoc put some of the distain he felt for organized militaries into that statement.
Manley nodded even as he relaxed. “If I get a pokegirl that can heal here, you will instruct her in how to help the injured. You can have her heal you, too. She will not be your pokegirl and you will not try to tame her, even if she asks for you to. If you do, I will have to kill you.”
Caradoc nodded. “What will you have me do now?”
Manley gave him a toothy grin. “You strike me as an intelligent man and they can be trouble. You will get a plantation of your very own and the help of a few people who are not smart enough to have a plantation. It will be a lot of work and will keep you out of trouble. You’ll also help in town when we need you. What do you think?”
“I’m not sure I should be grateful.”
The smile widened. “See, I knew you were intelligent.”
(6/22/06 1600 Bog Walk, Tropic League)
Caradoc shook his head as he looked at the house on his “plantation”. It was actually a small farm of an acre or so and it looked like it had been abandoned for years. Put politely, his house was a shack. Put honestly, his house used to be a shack and was now a ruin. The roof looked sound and the cinderblock walls were straight, but the door was gone and if the windows had ever held glass, he couldn’t tell.
He circled around the house and began exploring his new property. It was heavily overgrown and even he could tell that there was a lot of work to be done. The plot was rectangular and bordered on the other end by the river. The land around his farm used to be other farms but hadn’t been assigned to anyone; he suspected that if he could take care of them, he could claim them as well. However, first he had to get land producing before he’d consider expanding. There was just one small problem.
“I don’t know anything about farms.”
Apparently John thinks you can learn. Or perhaps it is a gift designed to neutralize your intelligence and make his life easier. There was a pause. Stop. Caradoc froze. There is no danger, but step backwards three paces.
Caradoc looked around warily as he obeyed. His twee had saved his life before and he didn’t question it when it started giving orders. He found himself looking at a large bush with dagger-like thorns several centimeters long. Strangely enough, it was covered with yellow flowers as well as huge green and purple berries. Nearby some smaller bushes of the same plant stood, probably they were the offspring of the first bush. They were also were covered with fruit and blooms at the same time. Something about it niggled at his memory. “What?”
That is a great grape. It’s a pokegirl berry bush.
Caradoc nodded as he remembered the lessons he’d gotten before leaving Haven. There were three types of berries that Sukebe had designed to aid his forces and, sometime during the Revenge War, they’d been scattered to the four winds either accidentally or by design. Now, they could be found all over the planet.
Once they matured, all of them bore flowers and fruit simultaneously year round. The flowers and fruit each had different properties and, for most berries, the properties changed as the fruit ripened. The great grape’s five centimeter purple berries were the ripe ones.
Carefully avoiding the thorns, he began picking the ripe berries until he had a handful. Then he sighed and unwrapped some of his bandages. These he turned into a makeshift bag before he went back to picking berries. Once he had picked all of the ripe ones, he headed for town, looking the whole way for someone to send after John.
Behind him the great grape dimly registered the harvesting and responded by directing more growth to its roots so it could increase production as it had been designed to do.
John met him at the shack with an annoyed expression. “What is this great emergency I’ve been told about?” Kathy, his tigress, watched the exchange with interest.
Caradoc held out the crude bag. “These berries can heal your injured.”
John eyed them dubiously. “And you know this how?”
“Remember that I’m an American, or at least I was.” Caradoc smiled mentally when John nodded unconsciously at his acceptance of becoming a Tropical. “The brunt of the fighting took place there, but so did most of the initial captures. Some of those captured pokegirls included technical personnel who had information on the berries. This one is called a great grape, because of how the ripe fruit looks like a large grape. The fresh juices of the ripe fruit, when introduced into wounds, heal them almost like a healing technique had been used on them.”
“You want to use this on the wounded.”
Caradoc nodded. “You said it was unlikely Kingston would send medical aid here, so this is their best chance for survival.”
John shook his head. “I can’t let you use something that hasn’t been tested on the wounded. What if you’re wrong? Some of the ones who might live could be killed by your berries.”
“I’m not wrong and they won’t die from the berry juice.”
Manley’s eyes narrowed. “Prove it.”
Caradoc gave him a confused look. “What?”
“Use the berries on your own injuries. If you heal, then I’ll let you use them on the injured.”
Caradoc stared at him for a moment and then put the bag down before stripping off his shirt. Manley blinked at the expanse of bandages that covered his torso, but didn’t say anything until Caradoc grabbed the edge of the bandages and jerked. Fabric tore and the bandages fell away, pulling the scabs off to leave ugly oozing meat exposed to the air. John went white. “Good god, what happened to you? I knew you were injured but I didn’t know it was that bad. You look like you should be in the shed with the others.”
Caradoc’s voice was strained as his twee let a lot more of the pain through his blocks. “I was questioned when I was captured.” He squatted to keep his torso motionless and picked up the bag. He pulled a berry from the bag and put it down. Standing, he leaned backwards and crushed the berry over his chest. Juice ran down it and spread on its own like oil on a flat surface before sinking into the skin, leaving a purple stain behind.
Manley’s jaw dropped as the wounds visibly knitted and skin regenerated to leave thin scar lines all across Caradoc’s now purple chest. He crossed himself.
The pain vanished from Caradoc’s chest, but instead of bringing him relief, it only made him more aware of the fire across his back. He took a hissing breath between clenched teeth. “May I use these on your wounded?”
Manley knelt and plucked a great grape from the bag. “Turn around.” Caradoc did so and almost gasped with relief as cool liquid spread across his back and the pain vanished, replaced by an almost as painful pins and needles feeling that washed over his back and disappeared.
John stepped back into view. “Why did someone torture you?”
Caradoc shrugged as he picked up his shirt. “I have no idea why your government did that to me, except they claimed not to believe my answers to their questioning.”
Manley almost flinched. “I was hoping you’d tell me that we weren’t responsible.”
“You weren’t. Someone else was.” Caradoc popped the crushed berry he still held into his mouth. One them would feed a human or pokegirl for a day and his body required more calories than a normal human’s even when it didn’t have damage to heal.
John nodded as he dropped his berry into the dirt. “Yes. I also want you to bring me part of this berry plant so I can show it around. We’ll need to know if there are more of them. Is the color permanent?
“No, it’ll fade in a week or two.”
John looked thoughtful. “Can it be cultivated?”
It could, but Caradoc wasn’t going to reveal how much he knew. Too much knowledge could get him questioned again and he would rather avoid that. Instead he gave Manley a twisted grin. “I intend to find out.”
(6/23/06 0830 Bog Walk, Tropic League)
Caradoc stood with the other workers in the center of Bog Walk. Manley had sent Kathy around to inform everyone that he wanted them to assemble for an announcement.
He blinked when a man stepped in front of him. “Sir, I want to thank your for saving my wife’s life yesterday.” He gestured to a heavily shawled woman who bobbed her head in greeting. Like all of the adult women, she wore the M on her forehead. The female children would be tested when they came of age. The Tropic League had considered sequestering the children until they could be tested, but the populace had rioted when they’d tried.
Caradoc remembered her from the shed. She’d been burned badly over her head and upper body. Most of her hair had been lost and her head had been turned purple from the berries. That probably explained the shawl. “I’m glad I could help her.”
The man shook his head. “We have nothing now, but that will not always be. I cannot reward you for her life as you deserve, but we will show you our gratitude when we can.”
Caradoc looked slightly embarrassed. “I don’t think I deserve this, but I thank you.”
He broke off when Manley climbed onto some planks that had been laid out to form a crude platform. “Good morning,” he said pleasantly. “I know you would rather be settling into your new homes, but two days a week you will be working for the league. Today is one of those days. On these days, I and the other tamers will take charge of groups of you and give you assignments. Any assignments not completed on that day will be continued on other workdays until complete.” His expression cooled. “I expect all of you to work as hard as you can on these days and I know you won’t disappoint me.”
A voice called from the back of the group. “The women need to cook.” There was a murmur of agreement from the small crowd.
Caradoc frowned slightly. He was almost certain that the questioner was one of the tamers and not one of the workers. Then he nodded slightly to himself when he realized that the other tamers and their pokegirls had drifted to surround the crowd. Manley was controlling this meeting as much as he could to prevent trouble. A wise move.
John shook his head. “Everyone will work when you work for the league. I’d suggest preparing meals the day before that you can eat cold on the workdays.”
“What about today?” That was a villager.
“As you know, the supplies I expected to find here had been plundered, probably by a feral pokegirl. However, there are enough foodstuffs remaining to feed you today. I won’t let you starve.” Manley gave the crowd a grim look. “This village needs rebuilt and you have been chosen to rebuild it. Since you’re going to live here from now on, I’d suggest you do a good job of it the first time. If not, you’ll do it over until it’s done right.” He rubbed his hands together briskly as members of the crowd looked at each other. “Ok, today most of us are going to be scavenging. The village was abandoned suddenly after the plague swept through here and a lot of potentially useful stuff was left behind. What we find will be brought here and at the end of the day we’ll be parceling it out. This includes everything such as clothing, cooking gear and tools. Once you receive something it becomes yours to keep.” He looked around. “If you receive tools, you will be expected to care for them and to bring them to future workdays.” He pointed at one side of the little plaza they were in. “All heads of household and single people move over there so we can divide you up. Families will go with their head of household after the division is complete unless we think it necessary to split you up.” He clapped his hands together ringingly. “Move.”
(6/23/06 1945 Bog Walk, Tropic League)
Caradoc dropped his new used shovel and a couple of blankets on the floor of his shack and headed for the river for a quick wash. What he really wanted for his farm was an axe so he could start clearing brush, but the shovel would prove useful too. Besides, he knew how to use a shovel. Axes were a bit more problematic and he knew the learning curve with them often involved injuries that could prove severe.
Still, he needed one for the farm.
At the river, he paused to glance around, listening to the night insects. Nothing seemed amiss. He squatted and picked up a rock. “It’s time to plant the beacon.” The left side of his face went numb as his twee blocked the input from the nerves. Steeling himself, he slammed the rock into the left side of his jaw.
Reaching inside his mouth, he felt the last molar on the left side and mentally relaxed when it moved. He tugged and twisted until it came free and his mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. He got up and moved to a place he could easily find again before kneeling and driving the tooth deep into the soft mud of the riverbank.
Since your back and chest are healed, I can focus the replicants on your jaw. You will have a real tooth there by morning.
Caradoc stripped and quickly dunked his body in the warm waters, rinsing out his mouth as he did. Having no urge to draw any feral pokegirls that might be living in the water, he didn’t linger any longer than what it took to rinse his clothes before heading back to his shack.
It was dark, but the star lit sky provided more than enough light for his eyes to see clearly and he stopped by the great grape to grab a berry for a meal. “Lunch” had consisted of picking through the damaged food supplies in the looted cache and separating out everything that could be salvaged. Only then had the tamers parceled out a meager ration before taking the rest, ostensibly to keep for the village.
Caradoc suspected it would go to feed the tamers since they didn’t have any farms or families.
Back at his shack, he spread the blankets out on some branches to air before blocking the doorway with the remains of the door. He thought briefly about trying to make a fire before deciding against it. Something had destroyed the bridge across the river, and while the damage looked at least a year old, that didn’t mean there weren’t any ferals around. The nights weren’t cold and he’d be ok until he could cobble up some defenses that made him feel safer, even if it was only in his imagination.
His last thought was perhaps he could cultivate great grape bushes around his shack to deter prowlers. He made a mental note to examine that idea more thoroughly in the light of day and drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, he finished surveying his property before deciding that his first work would be on his new home. His first plan, to use the shovel to remove the years of debris that had been blown into his shanty, came to naught when he drove the shovel into the floor and realized that it was earthen. He glared at the floor for a moment and then went back to digging, starting where the floor was still flat and working towards where the refuse formed a noticeable mound. Excavating the floor a foot or so beneath the level of the ground would give him cover if a feral decided to send some kind of attack through his wall. The dirt he removed would be put around the house to provide a berm against rain. Later, if he could do so without seepage filling it with water from the river, he’d consider continuing the digging to make a cellar for storing foodstuffs. He’d have to put in a wood floor, but that shouldn’t be too difficult. Weavers were always needed for something important like repair parts for oxygen generators, so people living in the asteroid belts knew a lot about ad hoc construction.
The digging stopped when Caradoc reached the mound and he uncovered a naked foot. Immediately he stepped back, raising the shovel for use as a weapon. He lowered it slowly when the foot didn’t move. Reaching out with the shovel, he prodded it, first gently, then harder when it didn’t respond.
Kneeling, he pushed a clump of dirt off of it and felt the foot with his hand. It was cool to the touch.
It is the same temperature as the earth around it.
“What does that mean?”
I don’t know. I would say the foot is dead, but it is not even slightly decomposed.
He sighed and hefted the shovel. “Well, there’s only one way to find out what’s going on.”
Digging more carefully now, a few minutes later he uncovered another naked foot. He paused and frowned at it. “Something isn’t right.”
I don’t see anything unusual. Perhaps there is a whole body under the dirt. Usually they come with two feet.
Caradoc’s eyes widened as he realized what was bothering him. “Both of those are right feet.”
There was a feeling of surprise from his twee. You are correct. There is a quote from a piece of literature from this world’s past that describes this situation. Curiouser and curiouser.
“Do any pokegirls have two right feet?”
No, but there are some tauric pokegirls. However, I am unaware of any with human feet in their tauric form. A titto could theoretically have two identical feet, but I do not know why one would do such a thing.
Caradoc sighed and went back to carefully excavating. Each shovelful went outside to add to the berm and he watched cautiously as he reentered the shack, so progress was slow. An hour later, he stepped back to survey the result.
His digging had revealed three complete bodies. Obviously pokegirls, all were small, smaller than his 165 centimeters, and slender with shoulder length hair. Each one’s hair was a different color; one green, one an icy blue and one a deep red. They were clad in cotton clothing that had rotted to rags.
He knelt and leaned down close to the face of one of the still forms and sniffed carefully. “She’s not dead and she’s not breathing.”
They are elves, who have a feral state that involves hibernation. The information I was given suggested it was a form of torpor, but this resembles some kind of suspended animation. If it is, they could remain that way for centuries.
“Will they wake up if I move them?”
They will only wake if tamed.
Caradoc pulled the pokegirls to the side and went back to his excavations. “Then I’ll get John after I’m done. I suspect once I do, my work here will be over for the day.”
(6/24/06 1425 Bog Walk, Tropic League)
John Manley gave him an incredulous look. “I thought I put you out there so I wouldn’t have trouble from you.”
Bishop shrugged. “I didn’t put the pokegirls beneath my floor. If it troubles you that much, I can rebury them somewhere else.”
Kathy made a choking noise and her head twisted around to stare at him. “Please tell me you aren’t serious, villager.”
Caradoc shrugged. “I’d prefer not to, but if my only other choice is to be troublesome to the leader of the military forces in the village…”
Manley burst out laughing. “New additions to the league forces are always welcome.” He got to his feet. “Let’s go see them.”
A short time later, Manley looked at the three pokegirls. “Why were you digging out your floor?”
“We learned that if we did so and were attacked, the pokegirl’s first attacks often went over our heads.”
Manley turned to look at him. “You’ve had a lot of experience fighting pokegirls, haven’t you?”
“I’ve had experience surviving pokegirl attacks. The best way to fight pokegirls is with other pokegirls. I did a lot of running away.”
“Still, you have a lot of experience it takes us years to get.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Choose.”
Caradoc blinked. “Choose what?”
Kathy snickered. When Manley looked at her she dropped her gaze to the floor. “Master, it is funny.”
He smiled at her. “True.” The smile faded as he turned back to Bishop. “You have experience that it takes tamers here years to get. I need access to that. The best way to get that access is to make you a tamer.” He waved a hand at the elves. “So you get one of them. Choose.”
Caradoc didn’t hesitate. Being a tamer would improve his operational standpoint immeasurably. “I’ll take the green haired one.”
Manley motioned to Kathy. “Get the others. We’ll ship them to Kingston in the morning.” He turned to Bishop as the tigress gathered up the two elves. “I’m the administrator for Bog Walk, so you’ll work for me. Don’t make me regret doing this and you can’t add to your harem without my permission.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Come to town after you’ve tamed her awake and I’ll set you up there.”
Caradoc hesitated. “Elves are woodland pokegirls. I think she’d be better off if I stayed here.”
Kathy swung around to stare at him in shock as Manley looked surprised. “You want to stay out here for her?”
“I’m way behind on how things are done in the Tropic League, and out here I can train without worrying about trashing the town.” Caradoc forced a puzzled look on his face. “Am I doing something wrong? I thought that it would help since your team has probably trained together for a while and they might resent me joining their ranks.”
Manley rubbed his hands together. “I don’t see where you living out here would cause any problems. You’re not that far from town,” his eyes lit up, “and you can keep an eye on the river. I was going to station someone to do that, and this way I don’t have to listen to them complain.”
Caradoc nodded. “I’ll do it.”
Manley nodded and stuck out his hand. “Welcome to the ranks of the elite.” Caradoc shook it, trying to ignore Kathy as she continued to look at him with a puzzled look. “Are you ready to go, Kathy?”
“Yes, master.” The tigress continued to watch Bishop as she edged past the two of them and headed outside.
Caradoc followed Manley out of the house and watched them until they vanished from his sight. He stood for another minute, thinking, before he went back inside his house. He slung the elf over his shoulder and grabbed the shovel before heading down to the river.
Once there, he carefully put the elf on the ground and sat down next to her. He looked at her for a moment and then shook his head. “I can’t do this.”
“You must. She needs you.” At the first sound of the voice, Caradoc whipped around, the shovel held low for thrusting or blocking. The head of a mottled blue pokegirl with light blue hair was held out of the water as she looked at him. He relaxed slightly. It was one of the wet elves who’d been following his boat. She smiled. “Your reflexes are excellent. We are alone, or I would not have revealed myself to you. I have sent word of your safety and your supplies are on the way.” She glanced at the body next to him. “She will be like that until she is tamed or dies. Waking her is doing her a service.” Grey eyes met his. “Her life is in your hands. Will you rescue or abandon her?”
Caradoc set his shoulders as he glared at the wet elf. “She’ll need cleaned. Will you watch for predators while I wash her?”
“Give her to me. I will clean her for you.” She smiled. “Unlike me, my sisters do not have tamers and they would want to play with you. Instead, they will stand watch while I bathe my cousin.”
He stripped the elf of her rags and carried her down to the water’s edge. The wet elf surged out of the water and lifted the still form from his arms. They disappeared into the depths without a ripple.
Caradoc waited patiently. Soon the wet elf appeared again, sliding out of the water with the elf in her arms. “She is clean and ready for your attentions.”
“Thank you.” He took the elf and stood as the water pokegirl slipped back into the depths.
The walk back to the house seemed longer than ever but, finally, he looked up to see himself standing in the doorway. He spread out a blanket and laid the elf on top of it, stripped and did what he had to do. He took little pleasure in the act and dressed when he was done. He tucked the blanket around the pokegirl and rose to go outside when she made a deep gasping sound and began breathing. He waited nervously for several minutes, but other than breathing, she didn’t move. Finally, he grabbed the shovel from where he’d leaned it against the wall and went outside to work.
It was nearly dark when he returned. He’d spent the time scavenging the ruins of another farmhouse next door. Apparently the family there had died from the Red Plague and nobody had disturbed them since. The house had been broken into by what looked like pokegirls with clawed feet. While they’d gnawed on the remains and slept in the place, they hadn’t disturbed the stuff he was looking for and he’d returned with a couple of armloads of treasures, including some rusty farming tools, bedding, cutlery and even some mouse eaten clothing that he’d turn into something useful. He’d left the wheelbarrow he’d found, its tire was rotted through and he’d have to find or make a replacement before it could be used. He’d go back for more tomorrow, if he wasn’t called into town for a workday.
He even had an axe, although the head was solid with rust and would require a lot of work before it was serviceable.
Caradoc had piled everything next to the unconscious elf and after getting another berry, began sorting through the pile.
When her breathing changed, he paused, looking over at her. She shifted position and slowly opened her eyes. They were emerald green. She tried to sit up and fell back weakly. Her eyes swept the room and went wide when she saw him.
He didn’t move, and spoke quietly in an even voice. “You went feral and entered hibernation in this house. I found you and woke you. There were two other elves with you, but I couldn’t keep them and they were taken away.”
She tried to speak but only made a rasping noise. Caradoc had put a bucket of water in the house and he filled a cup he’d salvaged. She was too weak to help herself, so he lifted her head and let her sip until the cup was empty. She cleared her throat slowly and looked up at him. “Will they also get masters?” Her voice was low and melodic.
“That’s what I was told.”
Her eyes closed in relief. “I will miss them. It is good they will get masters, too. We need masters to avoid the Nothing.” She looked at him again. “What is your name, master?”
“I am Caradoc Bishop.”
Her lips moved as she tried his name. “Please forgive me, master, if it takes me a while to say your name properly.”
“Take all the time you need.”
“Names are important. I will work to say yours properly, master. What is my name?”
He’d known this moment would come and was ready for it. “Naomi.”
“Naomi.” She smiled. “My name is simpler than yours.” Abruptly she yawned. “I am sleepy. May I rest, master?”
Caradoc fed her one of the great grapes and let her head gently down. “Yes, Naomi. Rest.”