Chapter Two

Darq

 

“Okay, men, listen up.” Enoki, our council leader, raised his arms, and waited until the rumble of voices quieted. “One hundred women will arrive, twice as many as the first time.”

“Obah! Obah!” We cheered and slapped each other’s backs. Though many ships had landed with supplies, this was the first in two years to bring what we really desired: females.

After the commotion died down, Enoki glanced at Andrea, a Terran female mated to a healer named Groman.

“One week from today,” Andrea announced. She assisted our leader in his dealings with Earth. My brother’s mate, Starr, had said Andrea was a hacker, supposedly a bad thing on their planet, but her abilities had helped us tremendously in using the equipment the Terrans had installed.

“Obah!” I cheered with the others. My mate was arriving! Deep in my bones, I sensed her presence already. The winds of fate had decreed I would get a mate in this shipment.

“As with the first time, each tribe was allotted a specific number of females based on clan population.” Standing on a riser, Enoki motioned to baskets lined up behind him. “Your names were whittled on a chit and placed in these baskets. From each one, Andrea will draw an appropriate number of chits. Those men will exchange the name chit for a numbered one, which will determine the order in which you pick your mate. Any questions?”

“If we’re not chosen, how long before the next shipment?” someone asked.

Enoki looked at Andrea.

“I don’t think the next time will take as long,” she said. “They’ve worked out the details now.” Once it had become public Earth’s government was using the treaty to get rid of its female criminals, the exchange program had been put on hold.

“But how long?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll try to find out,” she replied.

“Let’s focus on the positive today,” Enoki said. “We have names to draw. Andrea?”

Her braided hair swung like ropes as she stepped onto the riser. Her skin was a rich brown tone, slightly darker than our own. Though shorter than a Dakonian, she was among the tallest of the Terran women. Many considered her comely, myself included. I hoped my mate looked like her.

Her teeth gleamed white in a crescent grin. Chits rattled as she shook the basket. “Is everybody ready?”

I was bursting with ready.

Until the Terrans, in search of the illuvian ore they needed to light their cities and power their spaceships, “discovered” Dakon, I had become resigned to never knowing a mate’s love. Then we’d learned our two species were biologically compatible, and when Terra had offered to send us priceless females in exchange for worthless rock, well, everything changed.

My brother, Torg, had acquired a female in the first group. Watching him and Starr Conner so much in love, and now expecting a child, made me ache all the more for what they had.

I often caught them meshing lips. Kissing, Starr called it. Both seemed to enjoy it very much, and although I’d found the idea of pressing mouths revolting at first, I’d gotten accustomed to seeing it and had begun to wonder what it felt like. After my mate arrived, I would find out.

Enoki peered into a ledger. “The first tribe is Viltor’s. They have five chits allotted.” He signaled to Andrea.

She reached deep inside the basket and fished around before pulling out a wooden chip and handing it to Enoki.

“Baranko,” he called.

“Obah!” Baranko grinned from ear to ear. His tribemates pounded him on the back in congratulations, but I saw jealousy on the faces of others. I swallowed my own envy. My time will come. This is just the beginning. The winning of a female in Viltor’s tribe in no way lessened the odds for Torg’s clan.

Andrea drew another name.

“Roqa,” our leader announced.

After the last man’s name was drawn from Viltor’s tribe, the five winners congregated at the back of the meeting place while the unchosen stomped away in angry disappointment. A blast of cold air swept into the room as they shoved the flaps aside and exited. There would be more losers than winners, more unhappy people than happy ones today.

Dakon had fifteen tribes, and I had to wait while twelve of them went through the process before they got to Torg’s tribe. By then, the crowd had thinned. Enoki ran his finger down the ledger. “Torg’s tribe gets three chits.”

This was it! I stood up straighter. I felt sorry for my fellow tribemates who would lose, but excitement swelled to a crescendo inside me. The winds had predicted my fortune. Would Andrea give me a nod before she gave the chit to Enoki? Our acquaintance was by sight, but she and Starr were close friends. Basket mouths were wide, and Andrea could see the chit before she handed it to Enoki.

That would be cheating.

She pulled out a name.

“Sural,” Enoki called.

My tribemate bounded forward, and I congratulated him heartily.

Two more. One of those was mine.

Andrea dipped into the basket.

“Korbett.” Enoki nodded at my tribemate standing next to me.

He grabbed me in a kel hug, and I thumped him on the back. “Congratulations,” I said.

“Final one,” Enoki announced.

This was it! I shifted on the balls of my feet, prepared to leap forward and claim my right.

Andrea dipped into the basket. A chit changed hands.

“Ignato,” Enoki called.

No. Not Ignato. That couldn’t be right.

But his bellow confirmed it. Odds were against winning, but facts did not deter the heart. I’d been so sure I’d get a chit. “Congratulations,” I mumbled and stumbled out of the lodge.

How could this have happened? There had to be a mistake. I raised my face to the wind; it still whispered my mate was coming. My fate was in the air, I could still feel her, smell her, hear her. She would have mud-colored hair, a sunny smile, and a quick mind.

I tugged up the hood of my kel and shoved my hands into the pockets. I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t face the condolences of Torg and Starr or the jubilation of the strutting winners. The same wind that had predicted my future now jabbed me with icy shards. Could I have been wrong? My certainty had been absolute.

The tavern smelled of yeast, kel hide, and defeat. A dozen men nursed tankards of ale. I stalked to the shelf laden with jugs of fermented grain, grabbed a cup from a tall nest, and poured myself a draft. Foam spilled over the sides onto the earthen floor and my kel boots. I took a long pull; the ale was as bitter as my disposition. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Over here! Join us.” Jofvan, a male from a neighboring clan, waved me over. He and four tribemates clustered around a small table.

I did not wish for company, but it would appear rude if I refused the invitation.

“You look as cheery as the rest of us!” Jofvan slapped me on the back.

“I am disappointed,” I admitted. Stunned. I had been so sure.

“We all are,” Jofvan said.

“What if it takes two more years before another shipment arrives?” What if I didn’t get chosen then? Many men wished to acquire a Terran female. If a mere hundred arrived once every two solar rotations…I was twenty-eight solar rotations now! What if I didn’t get a female for twenty solar rotations?

“The Terran woman said it wouldn’t take that long,” said a male named Chuk.

“Andrea also said she didn’t know exactly.” I took a swig of my ale.

“She is going to check on it. We must be patient,” Chuk said.

“There is always Icha,” said another. The men laughed.

“Better schedule quick. She will be very busy,” Jofvan said. They laughed again.

Icha was a Dakonian female who shared her favors. She’d taken several “mates,” but affection waned, and none shared her kel hides for very long. Once, she had belonged to my tribe, but after she’d set her sights on my brother, Torg, and poisoned Starr with some tainted macha, he’d banished her.

“Maybe there are women on the other side of Dakon,” Chuk said. “Maybe the situation is reversed. Maybe they have more women than men.”

“And maybe the moon is made of macha,” I said. “We were hit by the same asteroid. They were affected by the same virus that caused declining female births.”

Chuk nodded. “And, it could be there are no others. We might be the sole survivors.”

“Enoki wants to end the conjecture and find out. With the Terran snow skimmers, we can travel fast, so we can explore the other side of Dakon,” Jofvan said.

We had long wondered if there were others, but three short months of ice melt didn’t allow enough time to send an expedition and get back before winter. Having skimmers meant the climate wasn’t as much of a limitation, but it was still treacherous.

“I hope Enoki decides against sending scouts,” I said.

Jofvan frowned. “Why?”

I gestured to the men drinking away their sorrows. “If there are other survivors, we’ll have more competition for Terran females.”

“Only we have the treaty to trade illuvian ore for females,” Chuk said.

If the allocation of females was based on intelligence, Chuk would never get one. “Dakon is covered with illuvian ore. There’s nothing to prevent them negotiating their own treaty and giving the Terrans better terms.”

“Oh,” Chuk said.

Jofvan drained the dregs of his tankard. “Anyone for another round?”

I raised my stein. “Fill it up!”

He poured, and foam streamed over the side to soak into the ground. Conversation shifted to other matters, particularly the coming three-month thaw and all that needed to be done during the short growing season.

I drank my ale and half listened. Despite the company of other men, I was lonely nearly all the time and desired a special female to share my kel. There had to be more to life than my own handshake in the middle of the night.

* * * *

The tavern had long since emptied, and the moon had risen in the night sky by the time I staggered out. The wind had subsided, and ashes from the burnt embers of dreams and the lodge fire scented the air. The meeting place, the center of Dakon, was deserted. I’d waited, and drunk, and waited some more until every last man had left.

I faced a two-tripta hike back to camp. Torg’s clan had been allocated two skimmers, but twenty of us had traveled to the meeting place, and I’d lost the toss for a vehicle. I pulled on fur-lined mittens, tugged up my hood, and made a beeline for the lean-to latrine on the far side of the lodge.

The cold had turned the ground sticky, and it grabbed at the ale-soaked soles of my boots. Still, I almost slipped twice, owing to the fact I was also ale-soaked. But I made it to the lean-to.

I grabbed a post for support, tore off a mitten, and unfastened my leggings. Steam rose from the stream of urine I aimed into the pit. Once relieved, I quickly fixed my clothing, donned my mittens, and lurched away.

Moonlight shone on a pouch in the snow.

I picked it up. It was a simple, unadorned kel bag with no identifying markings. It contained something hard. I undid the drawstring and shook the pouch.

A wooden disc, about two knuckles in diameter, tumbled into my palm.

Twenty-three. Somebody’s chit.

My heart pounded. The certainty my mate was on her way washed over me again.

Whoever owned this one was twenty-third in line to pick a female. I held the pouch up to the moonlight to see if there was any clue as to whom it belonged. None.

When the owner discovered his loss, he’d panic. Chances were, he’d retrace his steps and come looking for it. Should I put it back where I found it? I peered up at the stars. The sky had cleared, but a storm could sweep in at any time. If I left it here, and it snowed, its owner might not find it.

I dropped the number back into the pouch. I would deliver the chit to Enoki who could figure out who’d drawn it.

If it had been mine, I would have guarded it with my life. It was more valuable than all the kel on Dakon. I shook it out of the pouch again. Twenty-three was a pretty low number. Whoever it belonged to would have a good selection of females to choose from.

I hope he appreciated the trouble I was going through to return it. Enoki’s camp was a three-tripta hike in the opposite direction from my camp, so I’d have a five-tripta journey from here then eight tripta back to my camp. I’d be walking all night.

Unless I waited until morning. I probably could get a ride then.

Unless I didn’t go at all.

Unless I kept the chit.

I glanced over my shoulder.

I have to return it. It’s the right thing to do. The owner will come forward, and Enoki maybe remembers my name wasn’t drawn.

Would he really recall who got what and who didn’t? I couldn’t remember who’d gotten this one.

Except, my brother, Torg, had been informed his clan had been allocated three chits, and by now the winners had arrived with the news of their success. So he would know I hadn’t gotten one.

I dropped the chip into the pouch and tied it tight. The tavern lay in front of me, a few huts down from the records hall where we stored our few books. Those fortunate enough to get a mate recorded pairings and births in one special tome.

The ledger with chit allocations was there, too.

Had Enoki marked down who’d drawn a chit? What if he hadn’t?

I veered toward the hall of records. Inside, I lit one of the flameless illuvian-powered lamps. In the past we’d always used kel-oil lamps, and still did in many dwellings. However, the hut contained our history, and if the hall of records burned, we would lose our knowledge of the time before the meteor strike. The survivors of the disaster had written down everything they could remember of their old lives in parchment tomes.

Enoki’s tribal ledger sat on a shelf. I flipped through the heavy pages and found the sheet with the chit allocations. He hadn’t recorded the names of the winners—not yet, anyway.

Torg’s Tribe – 3. In our language, the numeral three looked very similar to a four. In fact, to write a four, you drew a three and then added a little cross mark.

Who’s to say my tribe wasn’t allocated four chits?

Torg knows we were only awarded three.

I could say we’d been misinformed and had gotten another draw.

The true winner will come forward to announce he lost his chit.

They still won’t know if someone has it.

Someone will recall Enoki’s announcement my tribe had only three.

Would they, though? Everyone focused so much on their own concerns, their own tribe’s draw, they probably wouldn’t remember what had been announced. How many chits had Jofvan’s tribe been awarded? I didn’t have any idea. Or Groman’s? Not a clue.

Memories were faulty. That’s why we recorded everything. If the ledger said Torg’s tribe had had four chits, no one would question it. Not even Enoki himself.

Three draws.

Or four?

Could keeping the chit be so simple? Perhaps the winds of fortune were giving me a second chance? Perhaps I had been meant to find the chit.

I grabbed a quill and dipped it into a pot of ink made from ash and kel oil.

It was meant to be.

I’m cheating someone.

He’ll get one the next round. When he doesn’t get a mate, as consolation, they’ll probably award him a female in the next shipment. If I give this one up, I’ll have to wait for the next lottery without guarantee of success.

I slashed the number three.

Guilt dogged me all the way home, but it wasn’t strong enough to suppress my elation. I was going to get a mate!