God's Dogs Book 2

‘Healing,’ Papa would tell me, ‘is not a science, but the intuitive art of wooing nature.’

W. H. Auden

The safe house the shuttle landed at was in the mountains behind the palace. They weren’t there long. One of the unarmed passenger shuttles from the ship slipped over the mountains to retrieve the group. Within the hour, the royal family was aboard the destroyer.

Pax was sticking close to them, and his read was the king and queen were confused and frightened, which was normal, but also angry at some betrayal while at the same time feeling smug about it.

He told Moss and Quinn over their link, “It doesn’t make sense. There’s a deeper game here.”

Moss said, “Royals tried to distract their own people from dethroning them by declaring war on the Berndt. The war goes bad immediately, and the Berndt invade the imperial city and take the royals hostage. For some reason, the Masul and Berndt join forces against the Congress. Yeah, it doesn’t make sense.”

“The warships backed off when we got here,” Quinn deepened the mystery. “The ground war was localized and lacked air support. And, yeah, why did the two militaries join forces?”

“And how, if at all,” Pax compounded the issue, “do the sponsors factor in?”

“Let’s get these people to the ward room,” Moss proposed. “Get some food in them, and get them talking.”

Quinn alerted Charvo to their intention as they exited the shuttle. A junior officer came running and showed them the way.

The Masul were graceful creatures with long limbs, a fluted torso, and an oblong face. They wore their hair as a wide, bristle-thick Mohawk that extended down a slim neck. Their skin tone was a faded blue that was like blue porcelain – a faded translucent shade that added to their graceful carriage.

Their clothing was flowing pantaloons and three-quarter length tunics belted at the waist by a wide leather belt. The colors were pastels – yellows and greens for the males; reds and purples for the females. They looked comfortable and relaxed by this stage of their ordeal, and ordered dinner from a ward room steward.

While they waited for dinner to be served, Quinn sat across from them and pointedly asked, “What is going on?”

The king started to deflect the question, but the queen elbowed him. He sighed and answered, “This region of space, a few millennia ago, was decimated. We think a nova wave front passed through, and the radiation killed a lot of people. During the ensuing centuries, myths developed on the worlds where there were survivors.”

The queen leaned in. “The radiation caused mutations that didn’t stabilize for many centuries, and that natural phenomenon added to the myths.”

“Yes,” the king resumed. “The myths – all of them – evolved to include a prophecy that a savior would come to restore what the ancients possessed.”

The teen girl said, “They all think I’m this savior, but what does one do with a savior?”

Then she laughed, a bitter sound, before she continued, “And I refuse to be their savior.”

“Does this include the sponsor races?” Pax wanted to know.

“It does,” the king said. “They primarily want control of Timi, but that means they need us as well – the whole family.”

Moss leaned in, “What needs saving? Why a savior?”

The queen chuckled at that. “Nothing, of course. It’s an excuse to impose their idea of utopia on the rest of us. The savior would be a unifying symbol, but united into what and by whom? Whoever wins control of Timi thinks they can rule this area of space.”

River entered the room about then, fresh-scrubbed and wearing a clean skin-suit. Becky, her A.I., filled her in on the conversation so far. She sat next to Quinn.

The king eyed her and observed, “A female warrior. The Congress doesn’t usually employ females in combat roles.”

“We know,” Moss grumped.

Quinn added, “We’re new to the Congress, and our race is less compartmentalized. More egalitarian.”

Pax asked the girl, Timi, “What do you want to do with your life?”

Timi was staring at River and abruptly turned to Pax. “I don’t know. I’m good with herbs and healing.”

Pax glanced at his teammates. River took the cue, “If you defined the savior role as a healing role, maybe we can find a way out of this.”

“I can do that?” Timi exclaimed.

“It’s your life,” Moss emphasized. “You can do whatever you want.”

The younger brother piped up, “I want to be a starship captain.”

“Well,” River smiled. “Maybe you would take your sister to where people need healing.”

The king and queen developed sour looks at this exchange, and the king said, “There are traditions a royal family must follow.”

Moss snorted. “Not any more.”

The queen nodded. “Sadly, I know that is so.”

The king protested, “We can regain it all. The royalist party is still strong.”

The queen disagreed, “The Berndt, their sponsor and our sponsor will use Timi for their own ends. In fact, they are already fighting over who will own her.”

“So that’s why they joined together to fight us,” Moss said. “They need us out of the game so they can compete freely for Timi.”

“Of course,” the queen shot back. “If you are involved, which you now are, it introduces too many variables to the problem.”

River said, “The variable we can pursue, if it pleases you, is to help educate Timi on healing practices. We know something about that.”

“You’re warriors,” the king said in confusion.

Quinn answered, “Our training includes traversing alternate realms of reality and learning what can be done in each realm. Healing is the easiest to learn.”

“Like shamanism?” Timi asked.

“Yes,” Pax answered. “Do you have a shamanic tradition?”

“It’s a secret society,” Timi said, “one that is tightly controlled throughout this region of space.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Pax asserted. “We are all children of the Universe. We should be at home in all the realms of creation.”

“Perhaps,” the king allowed, “but if they find out you’re teaching her, there will be an outcry across all the worlds in this local area.”

“It’s the same secret society?” Moss asked.

“Yes,” the queen said. “We have long suspected they manipulated our politics towards division and racism for their own ends. The savior will be their way to take control to bring unity.”

Moss started chuckling. “Well, now we know how to blow this problem up. Do you think we’ll survive the consequences?”

Their dinners arrived, and the talk turned to more neutral topics. They also learned the names of the rest of the family. During the meal, Quinn had his A.I. replay the relevant parts of the conversation to Charvo. Quinn wasn’t about to make this decision unilaterally. He knew, though, that training Timi was the answer, as it would also free up shamanic training in general. He also knew power blocks resisted getting broken up. The shamanic guild would not be happy.

As the stewards removed the plates, Charvo entered the ward room. He introduced himself to the royal family and asked them what they wanted from the Congress.

Timi perked up. “I want Coyote River to train me in healing practices.”

Charvo nodded and asked her parents, “You know the political mess that will create, don’t you?”

The king, Damin per Sangoro was his formal name, answered, “It’s already a mess, commander. The knowledge of her training will force us to clean up the mess. Congress oversight will preclude attempts to eliminate those opposed to the cabal that has manipulated us for centuries.”

“Would other world leaders in this region agree with you?” Charva queried further.

“Not all, but some would, and the opposition leaders would approve of Timi’s training.”

“Alright,” Charvo said, “what do you see as an immediate outcome?”

“The prophesied savior is Timi and she is a healer,” Dami, as he preferred to be called, began. “Masters of the ancient traditions were directed here to train her because the local training is inferior.”

“Not pulling any punches,” Moss chuckled, “are you?”

“It’s politics,” Dami said. “Lead with your strongest punch and hope for a knockout.”

“Which won’t happen,” Charvo commented dryly. “It will put them on their heels, though, which will allow us time to plan for their counter.”

They talked strategy at the table, but River took Timi and her brother, Ronto, out of the ward room. She led them to the training room, which was mostly empty. The troops had cleaned their gear, ate dinner, and were either sacked out or in their common rooms swapping stories.

River had them sit cross-legged in front of her.

“We call what I’m going to show you meditation,” she began. “There is probably a tradition of something similar in your culture. The point I want to make is meditation is how you access all the levels of Spirit, including specific locations where healing energies are found.”

“Is it hard?” Ronto asked.

“In its own way, yes,” River said and smiled. “It’s boring.”

“Oh,” he said in a small voice.

“So,” River took on a serious face to explain, “breathe normally and count your exhales: 1-2-3-4-1-2-3-4. When your mind wanders, start over at 1.”