From Afar - Chapter 8

Chapter VIII

Tag sat between Bist’s legs, the burly Saptan’s arms loosely draped over Tag’s hips. Bist was droning on about the Saptan home planet. Tag shifted and watched the twins perform some impossible gymnastics feat in the far corner, involving handstands and leg contortions. Bist’s words flowed over him unheard.

“Tag, is Saptan geologically and environmentally similar to Pastoral?” Bist asked.

“I guess,” Tag hedged.

“Did you hear anything I said?”

“You were talking about the percentage of fresh water.” Tag fingered the edge of his tunic; he didn’t know what else Bist had said. Bist’s voice had hit that same flat listlessness, reminiscent of Tag’s worst teachers, that always put him to sleep. The twins‘ gymnastics had been far more interesting. 

“I thought you would find me telling you about my home world more interesting than reading it on the computer. Was I wrong?”

“No, but can I get the summary?” Tag asked with unexpected cheek. Bist usually intimidated him, sometimes more than Rast, who was more controlled. Tag, as a rule, didn’t tease Bist. Maybe the close proximity to Bist, his heavy arm draped across Tag’s shoulder, was changing Tag’s perspective.

“Taga, that was the summary. We have many months left to travel. You do not have to speed learn.”

“Where did you grow up? In a city or the countryside?”

“I grew up in a village, but that is unimportant. I am responsible for teaching you this information. You must function in our seven. Your lack of knowledge has already caused you many difficulties.”

“You yourself said I didn’t need to speed learn.” Tag hesitated. He was a researcher. He needed more knowledge about the individuals, not only the broad sweep of melting ice ages and erupting volcanoes. He needed this information to survive in this society, in this seven; it wouldn’t be prying to ask. “Bist, you know about my home world, you’ve seen my reports from the space service. You have probably even seen my elementary school report cards and my earliest attempts at research papers, but I know nothing of any of your pasts. Understanding that Saptan has a similar climate and evolutionary pattern to Earth or Pastoral will not help me. It’s a given we came from similar types of worlds; we wouldn’t be breathing the same recycled environment if we hadn’t.” Tag listened to the comforting hum and near silent hiss of the environmental controls. The Saptans breathed and thrived on his human air. Their worlds were similar; he didn’t need a geology lesson.

“Our pasts are not important. Our adult life begins at the changing, and the past is not revisited.”

“I never returned to Pastoral, but that doesn’t mean I never remember the almost silent trickle of the water in the nearly dry streams of summer or the howl of the wind against the windows as the first storm of winter blew in from the north.”

“You were closer to your home than I.” Bist ran his finger over Tag’s ear, tucking the growing hair away from the human’s face. “My home is here.”

“Locked in a cargo bay? You didn’t spring from the bulkheads. You were in another seven. Why can’t I learn of your past?”

Bist made a brief humming sound, a Saptan sigh. “I was born in a northern province, only a few hundred kilometers from Rast’s home city. My parents were farmers, like yours, but we grew citrus. The house always smelled of fruit, and for years I wouldn’t eat fruit. Saptan children know their destiny is not to remain at home if they are ki. We don’t put down roots; we prepare for our changing. Our family is with the seven, not with our birth parents. Childhood is a time of preparation. I didn’t wander off to look at streams or chase puppies.”

Tag shivered. Bist’s childhood sounded cold and lonely, a world without affection or attachment.

“Tag, it wasn’t a bad time. You’ll understand more if you’ll let me continue our lessons. My parents weren’t cruel or neglectful, but they had to prepare themselves for losing their child. Your parents didn’t know you were leaving.”

“I hurt them,” Tag said softly.

“Without a doubt,” Bist said with the customary Saptan honesty. “You felt out of place in your world, but you have memories of warm sun and bouncing puppies. I don’t long for any part of my past. My place is with K’Rast.”

“You weren’t originally with Rast?”

“No, I was with Taz. He was chosen because of his engineering and math skills. I learned many skills from him.”

And you hated every minute of it, Tag thought. “Do you miss him?”

“You already know that answer. It was difficult, but I would have been difficult for anyone. I could not have been here. I wasn’t ready for Rast.”

“Why not?”

“Later, Tag. Rast has charged me with teaching you about Saptan. I do not plan on defying him.”

Bist returned to his dry lecture mode. Tag forced himself to listen, even though each minute dragged on as if it were an hour. Saptan sounded similar to Pastoral or even to ancient Earth. It was the Saptan’s original world, the planet on which they evolved both as a species and as a civilization. Unlike humans, they didn’t seem to be driven by the need to colonize or expand, and Tag guessed their population had been stable with a large portion of it unable to reproduce. They weren’t trapped under the crush of an ever expanding population.

“Almost three millennia ago--this was well before the era of modern weapons--my people were engaged in a war more bloody than our history had ever known. It would not be an exaggeration to say blood ran in the streets. It was the revolt of the ki against the si. Children killed their parents; parents killed their children, even the babies who were born ki were slaughtered by a fearful populace.”

“You can tell a ki as a baby?”

“We are born this way, as were you.”

“I’m a normal male.”

“Tag, I thought we had already talked about this. You are ki. You are part of our seven.”

Tag dipped his head and dropped his eyes to the left. 

Bist touched Tag’s forehead in the Saptan gesture of acceptance. “The seven has accepted you; the matter is closed. For your earlier question, a ki can be recognized at birth. Our genitals are a mixture of si and ti. Some of us are closer to one or the other. Outwardly as a baby, I would have appeared si. It wasn’t until I was older that my testicles never truly developed. In today’s world with modern medicine, we are genetically screened at birth. My parents knew immediately.”

Tag wondered if the birth of a ki child was celebrated or met with the disappointment of female infants in some cultures. Could he ask? The Saptans were open about their bodies, well, at least Rast was. He’d seen the others without their shirts, slim with almost the shape of a  prepubescent teenager, but he’d not seen them without their shorts.

“Three millennia ago, we had no genetic screening. Babies were evaluated physically at birth. Undoubtedly some ki escaped the slaughter and some si and ti were killed by mistake. We know from the Chronicles that San the Great survived the slaughter, and the great kwi philosopher Kar was hidden by his parents because they mistakenly thought he was ki. It probably explains his great sympathy toward all our sexes that was not reflected in other writings of the era. He was originally thought to be the feared ki and hidden by his own parents: si and ti.

“The ki had always borne most of the burden of the state. They were the soldiers, the sailors, the peasants, and the laborers. Our lifespan was twenty to thirty years less than our masters.”

“The ki were slaves?” Tag understood slave cultures. Slavery had been a part of human culture for centuries, and those comparisons would make the Saptan culture more understandable.

“Slaves, or a valued, but silent and obedient, population, depending on your perspective. In the earliest days before written history, the archeological sites suggest that ki lived within the tribal unit--more like today’s arrangement. It was sometime during the transition from tribal to feudal and later city states that the status of the ki  as a subject population became enshrined within the law. By the time of the Great Rebellion, we had been slaves for centuries. Midwives took the ki babies immediately upon weaning and by six most were at work and by fifteen many had already died in the endless skirmishes between different city states. Fifty years before the start of the Great Rebellion, Dak the Awesome began the process of unifying the city states of the north. There was a need for more soldiers and a professionally led army able to work and be controlled far from home. Throughout the Chronicles, there are stories and cryptic references to si choosing castration to work among the ki. Kir the Explorer was one of the first known kwi two hundred years before the Great Rebellion. Fortuitously his remains were interned in a cave with lead lined walls and later exhumed to provide proof that his testicles were missing. Dak the Awesome institutionalized this process by choosing selected si generals for castration and deployment among the ki troops. These were the first official kwi.”

“Rast told me kwi weren’t castrated?” Tag’s eyes roved across the cargo bay. The twins were busy with another game of Califf. Rast appeared to be half playing, moving his pieces distractedly as he spoke to Kip and casting frequent glances over his other ki. Rast and Kip seemed normal, happy if Tag was any judge, but they’d been mutilated, turned into a shadow of their prior selves. How did a civilization find this normal and acceptable, even desirable? Tag jerked his attention back toward Bist when he started speaking again.

“They aren’t surgically castrated anymore. This was before modern medicine and before ti could become kwi.

“The new kwi maintained discipline, while the fertile population remained on the home front. The battles raged down the southern peninsula. Information on these people is sparse, as their culture and religion were effectively absorbed within the northern tribes. From the little that can be gleaned from the notes of the invading army and especially from the kwi generals, these people enjoyed a life of peace among all their sexes. They worshiped the pantheon of ancient and discredited gods represented in our night sky by the southern crescent, a crescent of seven stars. It is from a religion and culture that were annihilated, or perhaps more correctly stated, submerged, that the idea of seven became a central theme. The peninsula people were not warriors. The si and ti were slaughtered, and their ki were captured and enslaved. Far from home, under the direction of kwi and absorbing an influx of a new population not conditioned to slavery, the ki became restless.

“The first rebellion was on the island of Magak. Geographically our northern and southern continents are joined together by a series of islands. This island was the main stopping point for the ships transporting both fresh troops and newly captured ki to the northern city states. The shifting population became heavy with ki and especially heavy with ki who had lived with a degree of independence. A shipment of food had been ruined by water damage during transit. On the first night of the rebellion, the resident ki raided the butchers and the bakers to feed their brethren. The governor of the region reacted with brutality instead of compassion. He ordered the troops to massacre the rioters. There were two garrisons stationed on the island: one with troops recently arrived, the second with battle weary troops. General Zir went to the governor and pleaded with him to be allowed to use his troops to restore order, but to also distribute foodstuffs. The governor refused. He was adamant that all rioting ki  must be arrested and executed. The general refused to turn his troops out of the garrison. The second garrison deployed and large numbers of ki were herded together into a temporary stockade. It is unknown if the stockade caught on fire by design or by accident, but roughly five hundred ki were burned alive. This was not a large island, and the entire population inhabited one town on the seaport. General Zir’s report wrote of the air being thick with the smell of charred flesh and of the screams reverberating across the island. No one knows the exact details, but during that night, despite the kwi orders to remain demobilized, the ki soldiers left the garrison, and fires started throughout the town. An observer offshore described the night sky as an orange fireball. By morning, at least three hundred si and ti, the free residents of the city, lay dead: burned, stabbed, or beaten with clubs.

“The rebellion was met with harsh penalties, not only on Magak, but throughout the now loosely linked city states of the north. We had been the soldiers for all the people, and while we were technically slaves, we had lived a relatively free life within the garrison. We were allowed freedom, or at least as much freedom as any soldier would be permitted. When we were stationed in our home states, we could be on the streets day and night; we could assembled together without supervision, the ki who were not soldiers or sailors lived a comfortable peasant existence. Most landowners allowed them to earn small sums of money selling produce and even permitted them to acquire livestock, and most importantly they were not sold. 

“Fear swept through the free population and this changed. Ki instead of being tied to their ancestral homelands could be sold at any time, curfews were enacted, and all ki had to be secured and chained at night. I think you can understand the increasing rage among the ki. We had been valued members of society despite our lack of freedom, and we had enjoyed a modicum of comfort. Many aspects of our life were not significantly worse than the lower ranked free populace. The new laws changed everything. Our status as slaves become the overwhelming theme of our existence. We could never escape it ”

“Crackdown is a common response to rebellion in authoritarian states,” Tag said. “I assume it led to further rebellion.”

“It worked for a time, but crushing legitimate unrest through force required far more overseers and more expense. It became customary for younger sons to be forced into the rank of kwi. By tradition, all property went to the eldest son. Daughters had only slightly more freedom and perhaps less worth than ki. A spouse was secured with a hefty dowry. Families without resources for a bride’s price experimented with changing their daughters to kwi.”

“You sterilized your women?” Tag said, unable to hide the surprise and the horror in his voice. Castrating men, while barbaric, was not unheard of in ancient Earth civilizations. The reasons for it were now considered outdated and ethically unsustainable, but did have a twisted logic. A sterile male could not sully a woman’s womb. To intentionally make healthy women sterile was beyond Tag’s comprehension. Children, especially in primitive cultures, were a mark of wealth and prosperity. Among the civilizations of Earth, the women’s role had been focused on childbearing. A woman would have had no value without future offspring. Removing the ovaries was also a greater medical challenge. Eunuchs among the slave cultures were common, but sterilized women never. They would have died in the process. Tag twisted his hands together; it was all he could do to stop himself from shielding his own testicles. 

“We have ki, a sex who cannot reproduce. A juvenile sterilized female is no different than a sterilized male.”

“Was medicine advanced enough to remove the ovaries?”

“I don’t understand.”

Tag blushed. Why couldn’t he control his response to any mention of sex? This was a medical question. “Human ovaries are internal.”

“In Saptans, they are located in the same place as the testes. You can ask Kip, but I don’t believe medically the process was more challenging.”

Tag nodded, trying not to imagine the process. This was before the development of modern anesthesia and antiseptic surgery if the Saptan’s society’s medical progress matched human’s. Hand washing didn’t start till long after the feudal period. Humans certainly had customs that had been equally cruel and barbaric. “This was done to adults?”

“In females and most males, before the onset of puberty. Females were married off at the same time. If there was no bride price, or in some cases to punish a family or the girl herself, the girl was made kwi.”

“What about men?”

“Most were done at the same time. Some men did choose later in life to become kwi. They could choose it as an option to escape family responsibilities, or in some cases it was an option for convicts.”

“Convicts controlling a restless slave population. That sounds promising.”

“Murderers and thieves weren’t given the option.”

“Political prisoners must have worked out well.”

Bist cocked his head. “In retrospect it wasn’t the wisest decision. As you have surmised, some of the kwi joined with the ki in opposition to the ruling free population. Slave rebellions spread throughout the city states. In some the kwi participated; in others they remained neutral, and in some principalities they joined with the si and ti. Two centuries of violence followed. At first it was spotty and followed by long periods of repressive peace, but by the end of the Great Rebellion, no family had been untouched. It was then that the kwi negotiated the peace that remains today.”

“There has been no governmental change in the last two thousand years?”

“It’s closer to three thousand. We have maintained and honored the settlement since its first days. You must understand that nearly half our population was destroyed. It must never happen again, especially with the modern weapons available today. Our world would be dust and ashes. 

“The settlement was negotiated by the kwi. Kar, Rast’s favorite philosopher, was instrumental in the writing of the Treaty of Panwar. Panwar was the most powerful city state, and during the period of war, it had still managed to expand and incorporate a substantial portion of the northern continent. There was a council of seven kwi who wrote the treaty. We still celebrate them on Peace Day.

“The treaty separated our people into three classes. The ki were freed and given the responsibilities of defense, exploration, and colonization. Education was opened to them. Contact with the si and ti was prohibited once a child reached the age of change. A selection process was developed for choosing future kwi. After the treaty, the decision to become kwi had to be made before the changing and becoming kwi became a great honor. The kwi are the peacemakers.”

“How are the kwi chosen?” Tag asked.

“It’s a complicated process, and Kip or Rast, who have been through it, can better explain it. By law the oldest son or daughter cannot choose to be kwi. All candidates must pass a range of examinations to determine their suitability to be separated from their family and to be in charge of a pod.”

“A seven is always controlled by a kwi?”

“Yes,” Bist said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “When we come of age, we swear our obedience and loyalty to our kwi pod leader.”

“Rast asked you if you were challenging his leadership.”

“I’m not sworn to Rast; he has never required it. If we were closer to our home world, he could not give me this freedom.”

Tag reached for the computer pad. He wanted to write this down, to sort it out in his mind, and to hide his own personal feeling of horror. Bist said he wasn’t a slave, but if Tag was understanding him properly, he was sworn to obey a leader, and he had no opportunity to rise in rank. His official designation might be as a free ki, but for all practical purposes he was still a slave. From the most optimistic viewpoint, he was some type of feudal liege. They said Tag was ki; he’d have to swear allegiance to Rast and submit to his will.

“You must always submit to a kwi?” Tag asked, trying to keep his own feelings out of his voice.

“Rast is the protector of the ki. He and Kip stand between us and the si and ti.”

“He can hurt you.”

“Rast can punish me. He would not hurt me, and he has been more than generous with you. You are an out of control ki.”

Tag wrapped his arms around his knees, hugging himself. What horrid power did Rast have over him? He’d wanted to explore new worlds. Why hadn’t he stayed at home? His father had warned him that his wanderlust would end badly. He was no longer Pastoon. He was Saptan, a defenseless ki who had to swear loyalty to a kwi.

Bist’s fingers brushed down the back of Tag’s neck. “What’s wrong?”

Tag ducked his head into his chest. He was a slave. They’d joked at university about finding cultures with slaves or harems of concubines. Tag had never enjoyed that ghoulish humor, that joking about some of the worst travesties in human history. He had to survive this and warn his fellow citizens of the danger of the Saptans.

Bist wrapped his strong arm around Tag’s waist and lifted him to his feet. “Do you have an illness? You are very pale.”

“No, Tag said, shaking his head, “I’m fine.”

“You are not. You shouldn’t lie to me.”

Something else he could be punished for. How many lashes for a lie? Tag felt the thin hands of Rast across his shoulders. He was pulled into the Saptan’s chest.

“You are part of our seven; there is nothing to fear.”

“I want to go home.” Tag didn’t know why he said it. The thought was impossible and absurd. They were somewhere in space, well beyond the usual Alliance territory. He might as well have asked for the sun or the moon.

“I cannot take you home,” Rast said softly, his voice pitched close to a hum, his hands stroking down Tag’s back. “I have no control over this vessel. The Orosians speak minimally to me. You are my ki. What can I give you to make this better?”

Tag shrugged. There was nothing Rast could do to make it better. He was the master; he didn’t take gifts from a master.

“Collar me,” Bist said firmly. “I wish to swear allegiance to you.”

Tag could feel Rast shift. The Saptan must have taken a hand from Tag to touch Bist.

“I am ready, and I have a responsibility to Tag. He is in our seven, and he is ki.”

Tag wanted to scream no. Don’t give up whatever tiny sliver of freedom you have in a misguided attempt to protect me. He couldn’t get his mouth to work. He was a coward. He let Rast tow him across the room. Tag was in some type of fog; his body didn’t work independently, caught in the slave mentality.

“Tag, come with me.” It was Kip. She had grabbed both Tag’s wrists and was pulling him toward her. “Bist and Rast need time to prepare.”

Tag couldn’t move. He wanted to run to the Orosians. He could feel his heart pounding under his ribs, his breath coming fast and shallow.

“Tag, stop it.” Bist’s voice was hard, and he grabbed Tag’s hair, jerking the human’s head up. “You will obey me. Go with Kip.”

Tag heard the words, but it was if he were in a deep cavern and the words were reverberating off the walls instead of sinking in. His feet refused to move. He blinked and snapped his head back, reacting to the sting across his cheek. He pulled one hand free from Kip and rubbed his cheek.

“Breathe, Tag.” Bist reached for Tag’s face again. Tag pulled back. “I won’t hurt you. Breathe.” Bist bent forward and kissed Tag’s forehead in the same possessive parental kiss that Rast had used earlier. “Go with Kip. I have to make arrangements with Rast.”

“Don’t do it.”

“Tag, it’s not a bad thing. I am and must be part of a seven, and I trust Rast. He will be my protector. The commitment goes both ways. You will see.”

Tag kept his eyes down and to the left. He tried to steady his breathing; he had to do this. What other choice did he have? He couldn’t take the solution that D’John had taken; he was too closely watched. Slavery, castration, what other horrors would the Saptans reveal?

“Tag, go with Kip.” Bist kissed Tag’s forehead again. “Everything will be fine.”

Nothing would be fine again. Tag was trapped in a world of virtual slavery. As a ki, he was predestined to obey all kwi. They had all declared him a ki. He didn’t understand the definition. He was a sexually intact male. All the other ki were without sex organs, or at least that was what he understood. How could he be ki? He could reproduce. Kip had called him ki, and no one had opposed her. She’d said that without a sexual attraction he was ki. And there was the other part, the part they didn’t speak clearly about. Obedience and servitude were an intrinsic part of the ki personality. Somehow even the ki themselves had been brainwashed to believe this. They were trained from infanthood to believe that they didn’t lead, and they accepted it as just and right. Bist, with all his strength, was going to allow Rast to collar him in a perverted attempt to guide and reassure Tag.

“Come, Tag.” Kip tugged at his arm, and she clearly expected him to follow. “Bist and Rast will be fine. Rast should have collared Bist months ago. He needs the stability, the security. He has been lost without D’Tan.”

Tag followed meekly behind Kip, absently rubbing his cheek.

“Bist shouldn’t have slapped you.” Kip touched Tag’s cheek with the back of her hand. “You need time.”

“It didn’t hurt.”

“You don’t need to be afraid of us, and by the Seven Sisters, will you stop lying.”

“The Seven Sisters?” Tag asked, grabbing at anything to distract himself.

“The stars in the southern crescent.”

“Bist was telling me about it. The seven came from the south?”

“We believe so. The peacemakers used the idea when the Treaty of Panwar was written. Do you know about the treaty of Panwar?”

“Bist was explaining Saptan history.”

“Is that what upset you, that our history is violent?”

“So is human history.”

Kip sank down to the floor, tugging Tag with her. “Watch Bist and Rast while we talk. They will negotiate the collaring. You will see that it is not one-sided. The bonds encircle both of them.”

“A ki must obey. He is always under the authority of a kwi. I won’t be your slave.”

“I don’t want a slave. My people never had slaves, and Rast would be horrified.”

“He is a master.” Tag couldn’t stop himself from shaking.

“Taga.” Kip started to hum, her hand stroking down Tag’s back. “Trust your comrades. Watch.”

Bist and Rast were sitting cross legged, their hands on each other’s shoulders. Rast’s lips were moving; he appeared to be questioning Bist. Bist’s face was peaceful, his eyes resting on the carpet in front of him.

“Do you think Bist is cowed by Rast?” Kip asked.

“No,” Tag finally said. He’d seen Bist argue with Rast or at least what passed for arguing in the Saptan world. More confusing, he’d thought he’d seen Rast acquiesce to Bist. Acquiesce was a neutral word; the Saptans would call it submit. “He is dependent on Rast’s goodwill for his protection.”

“We are all dependent on each other’s goodwill for protection.”

“Rast doesn’t own you.”

“He doesn’t own Bist either.”

“He’s going to be collared.”

“What does being collared mean in your society?”

“It doesn’t happen on Pastoral.” Tag said, feeling a flush on his cheeks. He’d been naive as a young man. He’d never imagine whips or collaring until walking accidentally into a strange bar at a spaceport. He’d only wanted directions. To make matters worse, his roommate had spotted him, and he’d had to endure a week of jokes about the good little Pastoon wanting a whip across his shoulders. To be fair, his roommate had kept the jokes private, and to Tag’s horror had even offered to show Tag the ropes. Tag hadn’t wanted to think about the double entendre in that phrase. Perry had actually been his best roommate.

“Tag, my boy, I get off when a guy or gal submits to me. I like to whip people. Most people find that pretty odd. If you get off, sitting alone in our cabin I’m good with that, and hey I don’t have to worry about stumbling over your newest girl. It makes my life easy.”

Tag couldn’t remember Perry all that clearly. He’d had freckles, red hair, and a great big smile. He wondered what happened to him. After the mishap at the bar, Perry had taken him out at their next port. He’d joked around saying he didn’t want to find Tag bound in some sleazy nightclub. They’d gone to a butterfly show. The colors had been magnificent, brilliant orange and black wings fluttering through the air. Perry had draped his arm over Tag’s shoulders and dragged him off to an expensive steak dinner for which he insisted on paying. Perry had been transferred that same week. After he’d left, Tag found a data chip on his pillow and a handwritten note.

“You’re a good kid. Be careful and know what you want.”

Perry was his age. Tag never had understood why he called Tag kid. The chip had been disgusting: pictures of people in all kinds of lewd positions, essays on submission and dominance; descriptions of equipment that seemed appropriate for the Inquisition. Tag had thrown the chip into the recycler.

“Taga, you become all quiet when you don’t want to answer a question, and your skin changes colors.”

Tag could feel the heat rising from his neck to the tip of his ears. He dropped his head, letting his longer hair hide the blush. “It’s the curse of fair skin.”

“It’s not a curse; it’s a blessing. It lets us read your feelings easier. You’re not the only one trying to find your way. We had D’John, but he was troubled and grief ridden. We spent over a year on New Terra, but your forces limited our contact with humans. We were never allowed outside, and the few humans who spoke with us were behind barriers of protective, transparent carbon. Taga, what does it mean to be collared?”

“It’s associated with non mainstream sexual practices.”

“I’m afraid that answer wasn’t helpful. I’m hardly familiar with mainstream sexual practices.”

“On Pastoral, a boy at time of maturity is supposed to take a girl’s hand in marriage and start a life together. In my family, new land is cleared, and the new couple becomes farmers, children usually follow within a year, two at the most.”

“The couple gives each other a gift to represent their love and fidelity, don’t they?”

“Rings.”

“And a collar?”

“Not on Pastoral.” Tag blushed deeper.

“You know what it means though?”

“Couples who hurt each other. They give collars. It’s not about love. It’s about pain and humiliation. The stronger partner collars the weaker one.”

“This is not only between a man and a woman?”

“No.”

“Both partners enjoy this?”

“Supposedly. It’s wrong.”

“Why?”

“How can you want to hurt someone?”

“Is it always about humiliation, or is it about submission and protection?”

“I don’t know. It’s not something I did.”

“Is it something you wished you had tried?”

“No. Never,” Tag shouted.

“You are ki.” Kip said, and ran her hand down Tag’s back. “You need to be honest with yourself.”

“What does that mean?”

“The ki are submissive.”

“You arrogant--racist!” Tag shouted. You condemn a whole group of people.”

“Tag, stop!” He could feel her fingers pushing into the back of his neck, no longer pleasant. Submission is not a negative trait. It is part of our gender dimorphism. Females of your species have a lighter bone structure. It is no different.”

“Many generations ago women were condemned to a lesser status. They were the property of their husbands or their fathers. You haven’t outgrown that stage.” Tag knew intellectually he shouldn’t have said that last comment. An anthropological observer must remain neutral, but he wasn’t only an observer now. He was caught in the fabric of their civilization. He’d been declared ki and would be forced to live by their standards. He couldn’t pack his bags and leave the bush. He was millions of kilometers from home, and even if he were home it was no longer his epoch. He didn’t want to contemplate the passage of time on his home planet. His sister’s grandchildren were probably marrying. He wouldn’t even be a memory since his name had been struck from the book.

“You wouldn’t hire petite women to manually haul rocks. No amount of forward thinking can change their muscle mass.”

“It’s different. With modern equipment the size differences are negligible.”

“Tagat, you are intentionally being stubborn. You will be a worthy challenge for Bist.” There was a pause before she continued, “Do you have a question?”

Kip read him better than Bist or Tag. She’d realized when he’d looked up that he had a question. 

“Did Bist explain his role?” Kip asked.

“He gave me rules.”

Her brown eyes flickered, almost appearing yellow for a moment. “That sounds like him. Tact is not one of his strengths. Bist is the senior ki. The other ki chose him. Our senior was killed in the same explosion that wiped out most of Bist’s seven. None of the remaining had a suitable disposition. D’Tan originally took the role, but with his death, it fell to Bist. He must provide support for the rest of the ki. It is time for him to truly take D’Tan’s role”

“They were both in a different seven.”

“Yes, has Bist not told you his history?”

“No, he told me about the Great Rebellion and the Treaty of Panwar.”

“I see.” Kip ran her fingers through Tag’s hair. “It was not a pretty time in our history.”

“I understand the choices made then. The Saptans were desperate to end a war, but why hasn’t it evolved?”

“How do you mean?”

“The ki are still locked into obeying the kwi.”

“Each gender was assigned a specific role. We kwi never see our families again after the changing. We are tasked to be the buffer, the peacemaker between the ki and the si and ti. Usually a kwi is always alone. This seven has two kwi; this is a concession made to the stress of deep space missions. The si and ti are confined to certain areas of the home world. They and the adult ki never mix. Their primary duty is to the next generation. We each sacrifice to keep the whole as one. It is for the collective or the consensus, and it works well for us.”

Tag rested his chin on his knees and watched Rast and Bist. He didn't have an answer for Kip. Only in his gut, he knew it was slavery disguised by pretty words and glorious justifications. Human culture had plenty of examples.

“Do you want to hear how Bist joined us?”

“Yes,” Tag said. He wanted to know more about the Saptan, even though it felt like gossip or a violation of his privacy.

“Do you know how ki and kwi are matched?”

Tag shook his head.

“It is not a random process. As you have surmised and feared, the kwi wield enormous power, and in the wrong hands it could be used for evil. There are plenty of examples in our history. What do you think of Bist?”

Tag shrugged. He didn’t want to answer.

“I know part of your job shipboard was to evaluate the group dynamics of the crew and help maintain a successful group dynamic. I have read your service record. Your trained as an anthropologists, but the only culture you had to study was your own within the fleet.”

Tag had been tasked to assist the psychological services in maintaining shipboard morale. He’d been awful at it. He could stand back, study, and classify the group dynamics, but he could never be part of it. His last section leader had recognized the dilemma and assigned him to editing endless reports and collating survey data. 

“Tag, you need to answer questions when they are asked. It’s impolite in our culture in general, and destructive within the seven, to evade questions. We are under Charter law. Rast has the power to punish you for anything he considers destructive to the seven.”

Tag swallowed, trying to moisten his mouth. He could taste the threat. Kip had sweetly told him he could be hit for not answering questions. “I don’t know enough about the Saptan culture to make statements about individuals.”

Kip made a choked sound that might have been a laugh or a snort. “That was a dodge. I’ll make it simple. Do you like Bist?”

Tag wanted to walk away, but Kip had wrapped her arm around his waist, something that in his own culture might be considered romantic if he wasn’t reminded of a constrictor snake ensnaring its prey. He’d taken psychology courses. He knew what they were doing. They were forcing him to analyze himself. They were forcing him to address his inability to fit into the group. He wasn’t stupid; he knew he avoided it. He didn’t cause trouble, and most counselors became distracted by the noisy ones: the ones who started fights, the ones who partied too hard, the ones who stopped sleeping and begged the doctor for drugs. He never did those things, and they left him alone. The Saptans threatened pain when he politely avoided them, and it worked with him. He folded into a blubbering, shaking wreck and then ran to his tormentors for comfort. Kip was rubbing his neck, and he liked it. He wanted to be touched. He’d spent his whole life avoiding touch, and now he wanted it.

“I’ve seen Rast and Bist use mild coercion with you. Do I need to do the same thing?”

Kip’s hand on his neck had stilled.

“I didn’t like Bist at first.” He was a coward. Kip hadn’t even made the threat overt, and he was blabbering like one of those nonsensical toy dolls that spoke when they sensed body heat. It wasn’t intelligent conversation; it was just noise. “He was gruff and not very communicative.”

“Do you like him better now?”

“He helped when...” Tag trailed off. He couldn’t talk about that. He’d clung to Bist when Rast had whipped him.

“He was gentle with you when Rast whipped you,” Kip said in a matter of fact tone. “Bist is like you. He hides what is underneath. He is a consummate actor and protector of his inner self. He guarded his true feelings with such success that he was disastrously matched in his first seven. Bist’s outward stubbornness was taken at face value, and he was matched with a kwi that wasn’t a negotiator. Taz broke him under the whip. It took you to get him to trust Rast.”

“Rast whipped him because of me.”

“Yes, and he wasn’t hurt, and you weren’t hurt. He knows he’s safe now. Taz hurt Bist with the whip. You saw the scars?”

Tag nodded. He didn’t want to contemplate the horror of being whipped hard enough to leave permanent scars. “Taz should have been arrested.”

“It is not our way, and I expect Bist goaded him. He is a difficult ki.”

“He still shouldn’t have been beaten bloody. I don’t care if he’s difficult or whatever nice term you want to use. He didn’t murder someone.”

“Rast would agree with you, but few kwi have his skills with difficult ki. He avoided physical punishment with Bist. The one incident where it was unavoidable he had D’Tan punish Bist. Yesterday’s incident was painful and frightening for you, but it was a breakthrough between Rast and Bist. Bist was punished by a kwi and not hurt, and Rast was merciful with you.”

“Rast shouldn’t be allowed to hit at all.”

“Why not?”

“It’s wrong.”

“Tag, we know your culture doesn’t condone corporal punishment. Rast asked you the first day about discipline. Do you remember? You’d hurt yourself intentionally, and Rast had thought he’d interpreted the information wrong. Instead you talked about paperwork and transferring the problem, separating someone from the group to us seems unbearably cruel. I know any one of us would rather be whipped than confined to quarters or transferred. We do not do well alone. For us your style of punishment would be far crueler.”

Tag hugged his knees tighter. He liked Kip; she seemed fundamentally gentle, but she accepted physical coercion as normal. She was kwi; she was part of the ruling class who kept the ki in submission.

“Tag, you will see. You were not born to our world, but your world has no place for you. You are ki.”

He wasn’t ki. They didn’t know. He was a human male; a member of a species genetically ordained to reproduce and to want to gain power. Every human male was driven by the same urge as their primate relatives to become leader of the band or troop, to be the great silverback gorilla. Men were not submissive; they were not followers. His father had cleared the land for the farm with his own hands. He’d built a home; he’d led a family. What did Tag do--his supposed son? He collapsed at the first sign of adversity. His father had been right to strike Tag from the family book. He was not worthy of his family.

“Tag, now what? You are chewing on your lip and curling your hands into fists. What have I said that has offended you.”

“I cannot be ki. I cannot be a submissive.” What was wrong with him? He could feel tears on his cheeks. Pastoon men didn’t cry; that was for women with knitting circles and excitable temperaments. Men chopped wood; they plowed the earth.

“That’s like saying you can’t have black hair or blue eyes. You are as you have been since birth. It’s not a reason for discrimination or self-hatred.Your culture equates ki characteristics with weakness?”

“Men are not submissive.”

“Did you want to make captain?”

“I’m a researcher. I’m not interested in rank.” Tag wiped his face, viciously scrubbing off the dampness with his fists.

“You were still a lieutenant. Is it common for someone with your years of service to hold such a low rank?”

“I wasn’t interested in rank.”

“You weren’t suited to lead. No one was audacious enough to tell you directly. It would have saved you much pain. We chose you because we knew you’d fit in our seven.”

“How? You hadn’t met me.”

“We had your service record and the review tapes from your evaluations.”

Tag cringed. He’d hated the quarterly evaluations. His research was always highly praised by those buffoons who didn’t understand it. They probably couldn’t understand the abstract unless he was careful to write it in one syllable words. The reviews were never about his work, which was universally praised; they were always about him as a person. He was always cajoled to be more of a team player. What did a fleet captain know about his research? He had to stay apart, be a dispassionate researcher. It would be tainted if he became one of the guys.

“How did Bist become part of this seven?” Tag wanted desperately to talk about something besides himself.

“We were stationed aboard a research and extraction ship. Our seven was responsible for the research and flying the vessel, Taz’s for the extraction of the minerals. Bist and most of his seven were on the surface of the planet Bist noticed abnormal readings in his oxygen meter. Taz overrode Bist’s recommendation to recall the entire seven to the ship. Bist was the engineer; Taz should have listened, but they had a history of constant feuding, and this clouded both their judgment. The oxygen gauge wasn’t faulty; there was a failure of the environmental containment; only D’Tan and Bist survived. We lost two of our own in the explosion, our ki D’Past and D’Mar.

“The usual procedure when members of the seven are lost is to return to our home planet for reconfiguration. Rast took D’Tan and Bist into our seven. He is the right kwi for Bist.”

“What did Taz do to him? Why wouldn’t he listen to Bist?”

“He exercised his authority, and Bist resisted. Neither of them trusted the other’s judgment.”

“Is that a nice way to say he treated Bist like a defiant idiot. ”

“Taga, it is the kwi’s job to protect the ki.”

“They only need protection because your society is backward and barbaric. We quit seeing women as property hundreds of years ago. Protection is a code word for repression.”

“Tag.” Kip’s voice sounded wistful, almost sad.

“Aren’t you going to hit me or something? I just mouthed off to you.”

“I don’t punish what isn’t understood, and I am neither leader of this pod nor Bist. I expect Bist would punish you. He does not tolerate rudeness.”

“You’re kwi. Can’t you punish any ki?”

“No, I can bring it to Rast’s or Bist’s attention if that’s what you want.”

“Oh good! You can keep your hands clean and let someone else whip me.”

Kip was quiet, her hands resting on Tag’s shoulders. “I had hoped a gradual unveiling of our society would make your transition easier. I was wrong. You need guidance.”

“And you, an alien, are going to leap in an offer guidance like some teenage fantasy--gorgeous teen finds love beyond the stars. I’m not a teen, and I’m not naive enough to fall for the snake oil you’re selling, I am Lieutenant Tag of the Alliance Space Service. My serial number is--.”

“Stop. Do I need to sedate you?”

“No,” Tag spat. “Of course it would be more convenient to have me be a drooling idiot, staring placidly at the floor. Or maybe you can chop off my balls while you’re at it? You’re culture seems to have no trouble with that idea.”

“Stand up.” 

Kip pulled Tag to his feet with surprising ease. She hadn’t looked that strong. Both Rast and Bist were standing before Kip and Tag reached them. Bist’s burly arms came around Tag, pinning him easily and dropping both of them to the floor. He said nothing. What did he want? Tag wasn’t fighting him. He was sitting still. What did he want?

“Do you need assistance, Bist?” Rast was at his most polite, a slight dip in his head, his eyes focussed off and to the wall.

“Not at the moment K’Rast. Tag has discovered that he’s ki, not at the time of changing, but as an adult. The transition will be difficult. We must allow him to vent and flail as you allowed me when I came to this seven.”

Tag sat trapped in Bist’s arms. He wanted to protest that he wasn’t ki, but no one would listen to him. He couldn’t fight alone.”

“I thought I was wild and stubborn,” Bist said, his voice warm. “Poor Rast. He has to earn his position with us. What do you want to talk about now that it’s only us ki?”

“I’m not ki.”

“Tag, I’m proud to be ki. It’s not a second class status. I suspect in your world it would be. In ours each gender has compromised something for the whole, and all are proud of their contributions. We ki are content with our place. I can be an engineer, hold a position in a powerful an well respected service of our planet, and I don’t have to be the patient diplomat, always forcing the badly fitting pieces into a completed puzzle. I could never do what Rast does; I haven’t the steadiness.”

“You’re not given the opportunity.”

“It’s not right for me.”

“You lead the ki.”

“They are young, and they have suffered much loss and disturbance. I’m not good at it, but I’m the only choice.”

“Brin, Tisp, and Lak like you. They come to you.”

“They also go to Rast and Kip. Rast insisted I take this role. D’Tan was a natural. He was my friend and confident.” Tag listened to the several bars of tuneless humming. It seemed to take the place of a prayer or a ritual for the dead. “Taga, I don’t understand your culture’s rejection of you, but you are ki. You are one of us. You have come home.”

“I’m not Rast’s whipping boy.”

“We use corporal punishment. I know it’s different for you, but you respond to it. This display of temper is more than a delayed reaction to a whipping.”

“Taz hurt you.”

“Are you afraid Rast or Kip will hurt you? They won’t. I wouldn’t let them, but they would never try.”

“You can’t stop them. They hold all the cards.”

“Rast is a consensus builder. He will not force us to yield if it is something that you or I or any other ki consistently opposes. He’ll use his power of persuasion and his near infinite patience. You have seen our ceremony.”

“He has Charter law. Taz hurt you.”

“Taz was faced with me as a young man. I was a difficult ki, and he was a kwi of limited imagination. It resulted in a relationship that was stilted and difficult, but not much different than a soldier saddled with a martinet as a commanding officer. I was strapped often, but D’Tan understood and protected me. D’Tan taught me to hold my tongue, something I badly needed to learn.”

“Taz wasn’t punished.”

“He died.”

“That wasn’t punishment. That was bad luck, and he took yours and Rast’s comrades with him.”

Bist dipped his head and hummed for a minute. “If I’d taught him to listen, they wouldn’t have died.”

“You couldn’t make him listen.”

“I fought with him over everything. I taught him that I was always hostile. I knew it was more than my oxygen gauge.” 

“Did you know then or only after the event?”

“You sound like Rast and Kip.”

“I’ve done accident debriefing. I guess it was how command made use of a xenoanthropologist when there were no alien civilizations. As a lieutenant, it was my duty to inform my commanding officer, but he or she made the decisions. If I truly thought it was a reckless decision or violated the uniform code, I could disobey or report it to a higher authority. I don’t think you had that luxury.”

“We can force a consensus. We always outnumber the kwi.”

“This was a split second decision.”

“I could have ordered the ki; they would have obeyed me.”

“And what would have happened if you were wrong?”

“I don’t know.”

“Guess.”

“I could have been expelled from the seven.”

Tag could hear the pain in Bist’s voice. Tag had been expelled from his own family; he thought he was far more equipped to live alone than any of these Saptans. They depended on the support of each other and the discipline and connection of the seven. Tag didn’t believe this was ingrained, instinctive behavior like they were claiming, but more a learned behavior, an environmental conditioning. He was sure that ki were told from the time they could understand words that their destiny was to be a member of a seven and subordinate to the kwi. Wasn’t this the same mentality that had driven women for centuries to approach adulthood as a time to search for a husband and still dominated the girls’ lives on Pastoral? His sister used to brush her long auburn hair, the waves falling across her shoulders as she stood in front of the mirror, and talk about her latest crush on a classmate. Her destiny was marriage and motherhood, and she seemed happy, or at least she didn’t voice her concerns. Tag had been too young to really know. During his university training, he’d begun to realize how limited her choices had been. He could see her fate compared to the civilizations he was studying, and her future was as controlled as those with religious taboos or in need of large dowries.

“Did Taz whip you?” Tag asked.

“He was freer with the lash than Rast, but he didn’t damage me. Rast is a consensus builder; he is a disciple of Kar. When your language skills improve, you should read Kar; it will make Rast’s motivation clearer for you.”

“It will be difficult.” 

“Very. I have to read the commentaries. You should study it with Rast; he is the expert. It will explain the motivation of the kwi, and you will see for yourself. Kar loved the ki. He wanted to protect San and Tar.”

“Were they lovers?”

“We cannot be lovers in your context.”

“They could have been bonded in friendship.”

Bist’s arms loosened around Tag. “Now you are starting to understand. The bond between the ki and the head of the seven is not only the bond of the general with his troops, but the bond of friends. Rast is the boy hanging onto a fistful of brilliant kites, the streamers in their tails whipping across the clear blue sky.”

“What is Kip’s role?”

“It’s only in the fleet and in a few branches of the military and government that a seven contains two kwi. She supports Rast either by backing his choices or by suggesting a new choice and using the consensus if necessary. This is a dangerous profession. She will be pod leader if Rast is killed or becomes incapacitated.”

“When you and Rast were arguing about my position in the pod, he asked if you were challenging his leadership. Would she have become leader?”

“I never intended for it to go that far. I can be rash. Rast is pragmatic and calm. We are a good match.”

“Can someone else become leader?”

“Kip could take the role, and precedent suggests the challenge should come from her. Ki on the rampage would be split up.”

“But it’s not always the ki on the rampage,” Tag said, frustrated. Bist was intelligent; Tag had no doubt that the Saptan was probably brilliant, in the genius range, but he was entirely blind to the possibility that the ki could have legitimate reasons to stage a mutiny.

“You distrust authority figures.”

“It’s a common human condition,” Tag said, trying to make a joke.

“Tag, you are ki. You want an authority figure. Trust Rast.”

“I am ki  becomes somehow you--Saptans, an alien species--have determined that my personality matches with a ki. You don’t know me. You don’t understand humans.”

“Kwi are observers. They are trained in that skill and selected for their natural ability. Rast chose well. We couldn’t save D’John. He was si. You are different. D’Tan tried to stop him, but our genders have a long history of incompatibility. We nearly annihilated each other.”

“That was almost three thousand years ago! They are your parents.”

“We are separated from them at your equivalent of fifteen. I can’t even recall what they looked like. I think my father was dark like I am. I know my older brother was. He was funny. He used to go swimming with me even when he was old enough to realize I was ki.”

Tag reached out and squeezed Bist’s hand. It wasn’t a gesture he usually made but to know when you were fifteen you would never see your parents again, your brothers and sisters, the whole gaggle of cousins, aunts and uncles who he had called family. He’d left at eighteen and that had been hard enough. Bist had known as soon as he was able to understand that he would be ripped from his family. 

Bist had already told Tag of his childhood and the isolation of being ki, but somehow it was more painful with the slight glimpse of his brother. He did remember something of childhood; it wasn’t as past as Bist pretended to believe.

“You’ve seem to have calmed. Are you going to remain calm when Rast collars me tonight?”

“Yes.” He could hold it together for Bist. He hadn’t even like the Saptan at first, but Bist had lived a hard life; he’d drawn a bad hand of cards as Tag’s father used to say--an odd expression for a man who never played cards.  

************

Dinner was deadly again. Tag looked longingly at his plants, but they were still too small. In another few days, they could have lettuce, but it would be weeks before the first red tomatoes or hot peppers. 

Rast and Kip had trapped Tag between them. He didn’t have a choice. Eat, Tag told himself; they’ll insist. Tag stirred the food again. It was supposed to be spaghetti with tomato sauce; a dish when made with real food he actually liked. He would have tomatoes and basil. They could remove the strange sauce, closer to shocking pink than the burgundy of real sauce, and replace it with the genuine article.

No one moved when dinner was finished. Rast stood, gracefully rising to his feet. His hand touched Tag’s back. Was it meant to reassure or as a warning to stay in place? Bist rose. He lacked the easy grace of Rast with his shorter and heavier build. Earlier Rast had folded a blanket into a neat square; atop the blanket was a necklace identical to the ones on the other ki. Five beads were spaced on what appeared to be a leather thong.

“Tag, do you know what the beads represent?” Kip whispered softly enough that she would not disturb the others. 

“No.”

“The center bead of red and black represents the blood and death of the Great Rebellion, the blue the sky and sea, the emerald green the grasses, life itself. Those three beads are on all ki collars. The two end beads are Rast’s colors, red and green.”

Bist stood in the center of the circle, his hands crossed in front of him, palms up. Rast lifted the necklace from its resting place, holding it fanned out between his fingers. Bist brought his lips to each bead, kissing them gently. He sank to one knee, his posture reminiscent of a knight receiving benediction. His hands were now linked behind his back and his head lowered, leaving his neck unshielded and defenseless. Rast stood above him, his face serene. He placed the necklace around Bist’s neck and sealed the clasp with a twist of his thumb. To Tag’s surprise, Rast dropped to his knees and held his hands crossed and palms up. Bist’s hands came forward and covered Rast’s hands momentarily as he rose to his feet. In Rast’s palm shone a slim silver wire with a single crystal.

“He had one,” Kip breathed. “They took ours.”

They, did she mean the New Terrans? And what was the significance? It was a wire with a bead. Jewelry frequently played an important role in ritual and was an outward indicator of status. Tag had been blind not to notice the slim ring of leather and beads around the ki’s necks. He wasn’t focusing on his research. This was his job.

Rast held the small wire on his palm and lifted both hands toward Bist. Bist stood facing Rast, blocking most of Tag’s view. With a sudden movement, he grabbed the wire and pushed in through the lobe of Rast’s left ear. Tag hadn’t seen any piercings, but if the New Terran MPs had taken the jewelry, the skin might have grown back. Rast stood and ran his fingers through Bist’s hair as if checking for knots. They broke apart. Not a word had been spoken during the ceremony.

“It is done,” Kip said, and she, like the other Saptans, rose and congratulated both men. At least Tag thought it was congratulatory behavior. They mingled amongst each other, talking animatedly and touching frequently. It reminded Tag of a group of humans after a wedding ceremony, before the reception started.

What had it meant? Tag thought he understood collaring ceremonies. It had started no differently than any subordinate pledging to a master, but Rast had knelt. He had taken the jewelry that caused pain, a reversal of the usual master’s role.

“You’re analyzing again.” Rast was standing over Tag, a slight flush on his cheeks as if he were excited, or for humans, as if he’d been consuming alcohol. “Life would be easier for you if you would just ask. You are part of our seven; nothing is taboo.”

Tag couldn’t ask for weeks about Saptan gender because of the consensus, and now he was being told he could ask anything about a ceremony that was central to Saptan social life. “Why did you kneel?”

Rast’s eyes fell on Tag with an uncomfortable intensity. Tag had become used to the Saptan custom of no direct eye contact, and he felt himself squirming under the steady gaze.

“Tag, you’ve misunderstood the purpose of the collaring. It’s not a ceremony of me possessing Bist or any other ki; it’s a ceremony of bonding. We belong to each other, and I hope someday you will also find joy in belonging to us.