From Afar - Chapter 14

Chapter XIV

Tag looked out over the low buildings tucked within the natural rolling hills to the sun slowly rising in the east. The Saptan sun was very like the Pastoral sun, a brilliant yellow orb rising and setting in a fierce display of purple, orange, and crimson. Tag stared out the broad glass windows. Instead of the shiny high rises and the tight street grids with right angle blocks of New Terra, Saptan cities were built with low slung buildings and winding cobblestone streets weaving between buildings, groves of trees, and immaculate gardens. A few Saptans were on the street, light shawls thrown over their shoulders until the sun rose higher in the sky.

Kip and Rast had already left for the day. They spent hours in meetings with councils that Tag had stopped trying to keep track of. The seven councils of seven were the national governing body, but each of those councils spawned a gaggle of offspring with a myriad of functions. Tag had been interviewed several times, always with Rast in attendance, but in general government function was a kwi domain, further evidence of the stratification of the society.

Tag was alone today. The twins and Lak had gone off to one of the seas, and Bist had gone to visit the Orosians or more specifically Jim. The Orosians had been granted a small compound, or in less polite terms they’d been exiled to a remote region of the country. Tag had been out there twice, but it was somehow depressing, no matter the relative comfort of the exile, that the Orosians were in forced exile. The older Orosians had adjusted well, but Tag knew Jim was finding the transition difficult. Bist, in whom Jim confided, reported that Jim’s brief fling with Commander Brag had not ended well, and Jim was now more alone than ever. Bist had taken Jim to see his tall grasses and that was probably where they were going today.

Tag had gone with them last time. The grasslands were spectacular, the pale green grass waist-high and fluttering in the the light breeze. Herds of dramatically spotted horse-like creatures had grazed in the distance, seemingly unperturbed by the visitors. Bist had explained that it was a national preservation area and centuries of decrees prohibiting hunting or harassment of the wildlife had left the native herds surprisingly tame and easy to observe.

Jim had smiled slightly as a group of foals had played before them, dashing through the tall grass in a game of hide and seek that only they could understand. It was one of the few times that Tag had seen anything but sadness in Jim’s eyes. The Orosians were virtual prisoners on this planet, kept far from the native populations, and for a young man it spelled years of enforced loneliness. Tag knew he should befriend Jim, after all they were both of human stock, but he couldn’t bear the pall of depression that hung over the young Orosian and the longing with which he looked at Bist and even Tag. Tag had his seven. It wasn’t perfect. He still stumbled through the maze of Saptan customs, but he wasn’t alone.

Tag slipped on his shorts, tunic, and sandals. He no longer thought it strange to have his bare legs exposed. He pulled an aquamarine cloak over his shoulders, fastening it with the small clasp that marked his seven.

Outside the air smelled sweet, like the scent of new mown hay, very different from the recycled air of spaceships. Tag walked down the street, his sandals slapping on the cobblestones. On the side of the road, the bushes were alight with pink and white flowers. The Saptans on the street payed little attention to Tag. Dressed as he was, he could pass as a Saptan and even engage in short conversations before the Saptans began to cast furtive glances at him.

Tag stopped at a self-service fruit vendor and selected a Saptan apple. He ran the card he wore around his neck through the scanner and keyed in his purchase. He continued down the street, enjoying the quiet morning and the slowly warming sun. He walked several kilometers, gradually becoming disoriented in the tangle of Saptan streets. He had nowhere to go. It mattered little if he walked all day, and he could always hop on the overhead trams. Bist, Rast, and Kip had all ensured that he had memorized the correct train stop and had made him feel like a kid in the process. Rast’s quiet explanation that most Saptans were unaware of the presence of an alien among them and extensive questions for directions would surely reveal Tag’s status had only mollified him slightly.

Tag turned down the next street and noticed the street signs changed from a yellow to a purple background. On the corner, a Saptan in blue shorts and a yellow and red striped tunic was watching the traffic pass by from a small booth. Tag assumed he was a ceremonial guard. He’d seen the same uniform in front of the government offices. Tag looked around but didn’t see any official buildings nor did the traffic seem heavy enough to require a police presence. He passed by the little booth, not giving it further thought. Tag climbed up a set of stone steps cut in a steep wooded hill. The path opened into a broad field where Tag heard shouting in the distance.

Those were children’s voices, Tag thought, startled. He hadn’t seen children since his arrival on Saptan. Tag quickened his step, driven by his curiosity as an anthropologist. Children were an important element of society, and he had no information.

A group of children were chasing after a smallish round ball with bats or sticks, shouting gleefully as they tried to drive the ball between two pulled off tunics acting as goalposts of sorts. Tag thought both boys and girls were playing, but it was difficult to tell as all the players were dressed in identical blue shorts and white tunics. Waist-long braids streamed behind them as they ran, attacking the ball and each other vigorously.

A woman, most definitely a woman from the curves under her tunic, followed the pack across the field and rang a bell and pointed with a determined look. A referee of some kind, Tag surmised, when she rang the bell after a particularly vicious whack to the head with a stick.

On the far side of the field a group of adults, possibly parents, watched the action. Rowdy singing rose from their lips every time the ball approached the goal. A player with long black braids whacked the ball and it flew between the tunics cum goal posts, and a loud song broke out from part of the crowd. The ball switched sides and more song broke out as the other side scored.

Tag walked around the perimeter of the field, trying not to draw attention to himself. He hadn’t seen children before because only the si and ti had children. Ki didn’t interact with them. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Thankfully no one payed much attention to him until he rounded a fountain of colorful fish and tripped over a young woman.

“I’m sorry,” Tag apologized. “I didn’t see you.”

She smiled, her full red lips not hiding the tinge of sadness in her eyes. “You were watching the game. I don’t much like it, but it is tradition. It’s too violent, especially today. Are you here for the changing?”

“Yes, am I late?” Tag said, unable to think of a better lie.

“No, thirty minutes. Would you wait with me? My daughter will be taking part.” The woman smiled again, a sad, wistful smile. “I should be happy. Sorry. I don’t want to ruin your celebration. Go on. I’m sorry.”

Tag sat down, drawn by the woman’s obvious distress. She would be a beautiful woman in human terms, Tag thought abstractly. Her sharp cheek bones and long neck were accented by dark hair that tumbled to her shoulders.

“I’m happy to wait with you,” Tag said.

“You are kind, but this is not a day for sadness. You should celebrate with your family.”

“I’m just passing through. I have no family here.”

“Oh,” The woman said softly, her eyes wide. “This would be a hard day to be away. My deepest sympathy.”

“I have been away for many days, I have become accustomed to it.”

“I only recently lost my companion. I could never have survived long separation. How awful!”

“We are an adaptable species.” Tag knew he was walking a fine line between truth, outright lies, and the horror of discovery. “We have not been introduced,” Tag said, groping for the right social custom and hoping the ti  custom wasn’t markedly different from the customs of his seven.

“I am Klin.” She inclined her head, her long eyelashes brushing her cheeks.

“I am Tag.”

“Are you from a different province?”

“Yes,” Tag said, hoping his feeble knowledge of Saptan geography wouldn’t fail him.

“And you travel frequently?” Her tone sounded surprised.

“On business. I arrange for the sale of fruit.” Tag hoped it sounded plausible. Lak’s parents had fished and the twins’ parents farmed. The si  and ti were integral to food production. It only made sense they would market their produce.

A bell sounded in the distance.

“Come. It will start soon. You do not want to miss it.”

Tag followed Klin down the rock path. He didn’t see a way for a graceful escape, and from the number of Saptans approaching the the low slung glass walled building this was an important event, not to be missed in the community. Tag tried to recall mentions of the changing. It was a ceremony that marked the end of childhood and the movement into the adult communities which were divided by gender. This was not enough information to help Tag anticipate the ceremony or worse, prevent unexpected detection. He would follow Klin closely. Hopefully she would just think he was dull witted.

They entered a long, narrow auditorium, decked out in bunting that Tag recognized as the marks of different sevens. Rast had red and green with a tree and a sword. It was these symbols that were engraved on the buttons of Tag’s cloak, these colors that would be on his necklace if Rast would give him one. Unlike most Saptan rooms, benches filled the room and were already partially full of Saptans. Thankfully the seating didn’t seem to be separated by sex. With Tag’s near nonexistent knowledge of the ceremony, he didn’t want to become separated from the one Saptan who had swallowed his lies at face value.

Tag took a seat between Klin and a thin, sharped nose Saptan man. “Is one of your children participating?” the man asked.

“Yes,” Klin said and blinked back tears, “my daughter. She will be kwi.”

“You must be proud,” the man answered, but looked taken aback by the tears in Klin’s eyes.”

“It is an honor,” Klin said as if by rote.

“Will it be your first?”

“Yes, I’ve had three ki.”

A woman on the far side of Klin patted her knee absently, “Oh dear, have you had your mate tested?”

“Yes,” Klin said wearily.”

“Ah, no luck,” the woman said.

“His proportions were within normal range.”

The woman turned and addressed Tag. “You are both young. I’m sure you will have many more children. I’ve heard drinking santan juice increases sperm strength.”

“I’ll stock up right away,” Tag said quickly before Klin could answer and gave the Saptan woman his best smile. He didn’t want to explain he wasn’t Klin’s husband. Tag wasn’t a Saptan, but he realized with some alarm that he shouldn’t be here. Ki  were strictly separated from adult ti and si, and here he was pretending to be a si.

The plaintive notes of a wind instrument sounded from stage; Tag and the remainder of the crowd turned their attention forward. Two older Saptans stood together. One of them must be the head of the school, Tag thought, or at least he would be if this were Pastoral.

“Honored parents and guests, it is time to celebrate the time of changing and reaffirm the ancient traditions that serve us so well in this modern world. Today we have fifteen children who join the world of the ki and three who will become kwi. As always, we shall begin with the march of the ki. Please honor those whose lives will embody our ideals of labor, sacrifice, and love.”

Music rose from the corner of the stage, a mixture of wind and string instruments in a soft lament, not the strident martial music that Tag expected for a march. The audience stood and dropped to one knee. Tag scrambled to mimic their behavior. He glanced up while keeping his head bowed to see fifteen children in a tight pack three across move from offstage in a slow procession. Each child carried a colorful banner overhead, and bright ribbons were braided in their hair. Tag swallowed hard, imagining a parent weaving the braids this morning knowing they would never see their child again. Flanking the children were six adults in the brightly colored uniforms of the ceremonial guard. 

The children were guarded. My God! This is by force if needed. The children’s faces were blank. They’d been conditioned all their lives that this was normal, a good thing. Rast’s ki never spoke of it directly, but both Lak and Bist had alluded to a childhood without a close relationship to parents or siblings. Parents had to protect themselves. How could they become close to children who would be wrenched away at fifteen in a perverted celebration?

A man, probably a father, a first time father from the looks of his unlined face, reached forward for a desperate last touch of his child who was now gone forever. Tag heard a disapproving hiss from the crowd and the sharp crack of a whip. The guards had whips. How had he not noticed this before? Coiled on their left hip was a long, thin piece of leather, similar to the whip which Rast had in the small ornate box on board the Alliance ship. The man jerked back, cradling his arm where the leather had stung him. From his kneeling position, Tag could no longer see him, but he imagined the shame and the feeling of helplessness. Kip had told him long ago that every member of the Saptan society sacrificed for the common goal, the goal of peace. Was this necessary? Was this the only way to ensure peace with four genders?

The children left, and with hushed silence, the adults all resumed their seats.

A school official returned to the stage and began droning on about the accomplishments of the school and its students, speeches that mirrored the thousands of speeches that Tag had sat through as a child. There had been assemblies and speeches for winter break, for sports day and for the annual graduation. Tag had never paid much attention, as they had all been horribly similar. Even in college, as he began to win all the academic awards, he had felt more embarrassment than pride. He’d studied far more than his colleagues, always afraid to be singled out as the poor country boy from Pastoral only at the university on sufferance.

Three children moved to the center of the stage, all dressed in pale yellow. A small girl, looking far younger than her fifteen years, with large green eyes and flaxen hair stepped forward.

“That’s my daughter,” Klin whispered.

The girl bowed her head as a Saptan fastened a thin gold band around her neck. Tag couldn’t tell the identity of the figure as he or she was hooded in a long flowing cloak. Silver pins adorned the front of the cloak.

“Lin, daughter of Klin and D’Mag, enters the world of the kwi today. We honor her passage with the token of gold that symbolizes her path between the ki  and the world of her parents. She is bound between the three genders, forever a symbol of our struggles and our hard fought peace. Do you accept the weight of all our hopes, all our joys and sadness, all our futures?”

“I do,” she said, in a crystal clear voice.

“Do you vow to protect the peace of Saptan even if it means your life will be forfeit?”

“I do.”

The cloaked figure waved an arm, and two additional cloaked figures emerged from the shadows. Without a word nor a sound of protest, the girl swept her tunic over her head and passed it to the silent figure. She stepped out of her shorts and stood unflinching and bare to all. A cloaked Saptan glided behind her, and she stretched her arms overhead, interlacing her fingers. The Saptan grasped both her wrists in one hand and his other hand rested on her shoulder. The second figure knelt in front of her and withdrew a device which resembled the injection gun that Tag had used at home to inoculate the herds. His or her hand grasped the twin orbs of flesh that hung just above the junction of her legs. Her ovaries, Tag remembered from Kip’s lectures on anatomy.

Tag felt a wave of heat and then a searing coldness. He couldn’t stop the bile that was rising in his throat. Without thinking, he rose from his seat and ran for the door. Outside, he dropped to his knees and vomited, his stomach wrenching in violent protest, sweat beading on his forehead. He knelt, dizzy with despair, anger, and horror when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Are you all right, sir. You have missed the ceremony.”

“A ceremony!? That was a mutilation!” Tag shut his mouth with a snap. This wasn’t Rast or Bist; he couldn’t impugn the Saptan traditions.

“I think you are in need of a medic.”

“No, I’m fine. I think I have a touch of food poisoning.” Tag stepped back, trying to stay out of this man’s reach. If the ceremonial guard scanned his ID card, Tag didn’t know what would happen. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Yes, it was an accident, a mistake, but the Saptans valued their traditions, and they would not not take kindly to Tag flouting them.

“Easy,” the guard said, grabbing Tag’s elbow and reaching forward with his scanner. “Are any of your family inside?”

“No,” Tag said softly as the scanner chirped. Tag caught the flash of words on the screen.

“I need you to stand right here and lace your hands over your head.” The guard’s voice has slowed to the cadence of an order, and Tag saw him duck his head and speak into a microphone disguised as a silver button.

Tag’s eyes darted to the tree line. Could he make it there in time? He’d never make it once reinforcements arrived. He shifted, preparing to dart, when the lash cracked across his legs with a vicious stroke, drawing a startled and pained yelp from his lips.

“Stay still. I do not want to hurt you.” The guard’s hand closed around the back of Tag’s neck. “Where is your marking?”

“What?”

“Your necklace. Why remove it and not your ID card? You must know your ID card tells me your K’Rast’s ki. I suspect he will not be happy.”

A second guard approached at a jog. Everything about his brightly colored uniform and elaborately tied sash suggested a petty formality, but that lash had hurt, and the new guard’s hand rested on his left hip where the whip lay coiled.

“We have a disoriented and confused ki. I have already started the search for his kwi. We need to keep him safe until his kwi arrives,” the first guard said, talking as if Tag didn’t exist or was so completely addled that the words would not register.

“Rast has a meeting with the high council,” Tag said.

“You may not speak until the head of your seven arrives. It is forbidden for us to interrogate you without Rast present,” the second guard said. 

“You weren’t interrogating me,” Tag said with irritation. “I was offering you information, so I can get out of this ridiculous situation.”

“Be silent,” the first guard warned. The whip snapped around Tag’s ankles, but didn’t touch his skin. “He is clearly ill. He claimed to have been suffering from food poisoning. Maybe it is confusing his mind?”

“I hope so,” the second guard said grimly, but with a hint of sympathy. “He is too old to excuse such actions. Twenty lashes is the prescribed penalty for being out of zone, and he is without his mark.”

“He claims to not know where it is,” the first guard said.

“I did not,” Tag snapped. “I was never given one.”

“Shh.” The first guard’s hand pressed into Tag’s neck. “I am Lan. I will make sure you get back to Rast unharmed. Come quietly with us.” His voice was rising and falling in the lilting tone of a Saptan trying to soothe.

Tag started to protest before swallowing the words on his lips. He had broken scores of Saptan laws. It was better and safer for these two guards to believe he was ill or mentally unhinged.

The second guard closed the distance between them, leaned his shoulder into Tag and brushed his hand down Tag’s hip. A gesture that Tag knew was meant to reassure but from a stranger only made Tag stiffen.

“Steady,” the guard said. “We’re going to take you to our office to wait for Rast. He will sort everything out. Do you need some water?”

Tag nodded, grateful, before remembering these were Saptans with no exposure to humans. Saptans who wouldn’t see a simple nod as a yes, but might interpret it as a neurological twitch from a sick man. “Yes, thank you.”

The guard pulled a small skin from his belt and unscrewed the lid. “Small sips. We have one vert to walk. Should I call for transport?”

Tag swished the water around in his mouth, thankful to remove the taste of vomit and bile. He swallowed slowly. The guard might snatch it away if he saw Tag gulping the cool liquid. “I can walk. The nausea has subsided.” Tag wanted to walk. This would be his only chance to see the areas where the si and ti lived. 

Architecturally there was little difference from his seven’s section of town. The buildings were low with multiple courtyards and connecting buildings. Vines with large leaves and fragrant white flowers climbed the trellises between the buildings, making a natural protection from the sun and from light rain. They were walking down a narrow cobblestone street. Below them, Tag could see a more congested area of town with transit stops and buildings more closely built, some touching almost like the row houses he’d seen in the nearest Pastoral city to his childhood home. 

No one paid them any attention as they carefully walked down the street. Maybe these Saptans were used to seeing someone escorted by the police, or maybe they were too polite to stare?

The office was sparse and immaculately clean. One guard pulled a small rug from the bin and placed it on the bare ceramic floor. 

“Sit. I will try to ping Rast again.”

Tag sank down and tried to sit in those ridiculous lotus positions which the Saptans preferred. They always ended up making Tag’s knees hurt, but at least at this point he was safer not being recognized as an alien, and hopefully their police procedures did not include a strip search where there was no possible way to hide the anatomical differences.

Tag sat on the floor, trying to find a still calmness. The room didn’t look like a police station or a holding cell. Like most Saptan buildings, one side was glass, and the sun was pouring in, lighting up the room in a diffuse yellow glow. The two guards payed little attention to Tag. They logged into the computer and spoke too softly for Tag to overhear.

“Do you need more water?” Lan asked after an interminable stretch of silence.

“No, I’m fine.” He wasn’t fine, but he couldn’t tell these two guards. He didn’t understand the charges, and he was both afraid and angry: afraid over the possible penalty and angry over the fact he couldn’t speak for himself. It had to be Rast. Rast was responsible for him as his kwi. And then what he’d seen earlier; he didn’t want to think about it. Children forced from their parents, mutilated.

Tag tightened his grip around his knees and fought to stay still. He wanted to pace or at least stand and lean against the wall. All things a Saptan didn’t do. 

“I just heard from Rast. He’ll be here as soon as he can,” the second guard said, the one whose name Tag didn’t know. “Are you all right?”

He was under arrest, and they kept asking if he was OK. Of course, he wasn’t OK. Tag’s grasp of Saptan law was paltry, but he knew enough to realize he wasn’t going to escape a whipping at the least. Ki were prohibited from entering the si and ti  territory. He’d not only entered their territory; he’d attended a sacred festival.

“Are you secure with Rast?” the second guard asked. “I am authorized to intervene if necessary.”

“No, don’t interfere.” Tag dropped his head. Everything he said only made the situation worse. He clutched his legs and rested his head on his knees. It was a very human posture, but Tag was beyond caring. He was human.

Tag didn’t look up at the soft footsteps on the floor. He flinched as a hand stroked his hair, but he still kept his eyes on the sandals in front of him, the thin straps wrapping up the man’s smooth, muscular calves.

“The charges, please,” the voice demanded dryly.

“Traveling without pod markings. Failure to remain within his designated city section.”

“The minimum penalty for both crimes combined would be forty lashes,” a strange voice said.

Tag looked up to meet Rast’s steady green eyes before he looked away with the tiniest trace of amusement. “Only you,” he mouthed. Tag took a deep breath at Rast’s apparent ease.

Beside Rast stood a narrow, angular woman with jutting elbows and shoulders. Her hair was still a vibrant red despite the obvious age lines that formed a tiny spider’s web over her high cheek bones. She was dressed in in dark blue shorts and tunic with a prominent seven council brooch pinned to her breast. Her posture was rigidly straight, and her lips were pressed together in a thin line.

“K’Rast, do you dispute these charges against your ki?”

“Yes,” Rast said with simple finality. He stood close to Tag, his fingers resting against the back of Tag’s neck. Tag could smell the faint mustiness of the council chambers combined with the smoke of the candles and the warm smell of spices. 

“Please elaborate.”

“Respected councilor and magistrate, I would prefer to speak alone on this subject. I stipulate that his presence here is illegal. He is my ki. It is my right and duty to punish him.”

She motioned to two figures whom Tag hadn’t noticed earlier, hovering beside the door. From their dress, they were ceremonial guards, many years older than the two who had captured Tag.

One moved and took Tag’s wrists in his hand. He clipped a fine silver chain around each wrist before fastening them together and attaching further chain. It was light enough that with a strong pull Tag was sure he could break it. The end of the chain was handed to Rast who wrapped it casually around his fist.

“Come.”

Perversely Tag stayed down on his knees, He wasn’t a pet to be walked on leash. Rast moved forward, and his hand grasped Tag’s hair.

“I have very little power to protect you in this situation,” Rast whispered. “Do not take all my power away, Taga.”

Tag allowed Rast to pull him to his feet and stood, head down, on trembling legs. Tag knew Rast well enough to recognize the formality in his tone as a clear warning. Tag dropped his eyes and tried to look the contrite Saptan. Rast pressed his thumb onto several data pads, leaving his official signature, and they were allowed to leave the office.

Rast pulled the chain close, discreetly hiding it as they stepped back out onto the street. “This chain is symbolic, but it can become real if needed,” Rast warned, his free arm draped over Tag’s shoulders, both restraining and giving comfort. “Taga, why didn’t you tell me you wanted to see one of these ceremonies? I understand you are a researcher. With me, I could have kept your presence a secret. Now you have broken Saptan law.”

The councilor and her guards had fallen back to a discreet distance, giving Tag and Rast at least an illusion of privacy. “It wasn’t intentional,” Tag said softly.

“You’ve just committed near treason, and it wasn’t intentional.” Rast lifted his eyes in disbelief, a gesture he’d copied from Jim. “May the Seven Sisters save me.” Rast tightened his grip on Tag’s shoulder and pulled him closer, but said nothing further.

In silence, they boarded the monorail and exited two stations later. They crossed the platform, stepping over a brightly colored purple and yellow line painted on the white concrete. The border, Tag thought as they boarded the next train. How had he been a big enough idiot not to notice the guards and the changing color of the street signs? And of course, he’d heard the children playing. But by that point, his curiosity had overcome his good sense.

Tag let Rast guide him from the train at the correct stop, his throat dry as he passed the vending machines full of the bright Saptan fruit and the sculptures celebrating the four cycles of the year. Rast slid his ID card against the door, and it opened with silent efficiency. In the single main room of their dwelling, the remaining members of their seven sat clumped against the window, all silently watching Tag and his escorts. Saptan politeness was forgotten, and they were openly staring. 

Bist rose to his feet, walked directly over to Tag, and pulled him close in a tight hug. His fingers traced over the fine chains on Tag’s wrists. “Unchain him,” he demanded.

The councilor made a quick motion of agreement with her hand, and one of the guards step forward and deactivated the electronic lock. Tag rubbed his wrists, even though the light chains caused no discomfort beyond the humiliation.

“What has he done?” Bist asked.

“I had to collect him from the other side of the city where he decided on a whim to witness the festival of changing,” Rast said.

“Idiot,” Bist muttered.

“Curious, rash, and perhaps unsuitably impressed with the possible consequences, but I hardly think he’s an idiot,” the councilor said. “An idiot would never have made it as far as he did. K’Rast you logged an objection to one of the charges. Do you wish to elaborate?”

“K’Rin,” Rast said slowly, as if he were testing each word in his mind before speaking. “I have failed to offer Tag a collar. He can hardly be punished for my error.”

“You have left your own ki unmarked and at risk?” Rin’s tone dropped down an octave in disbelief.

“The bond once formed must endure. Tag must understand the ramifications.”

“This is the third millennium. The ki have a right to challenge the seven,” Rin said.

“And what becomes of such a ki? For all practical purposes, the ki is still permanently bound. All challenge must happen before I mark him as mine.”

“You do not abuse your ki; he has nothing to fear from you. Tag, come here.” 

Her eyes fell on Tag for a second, a shade of charcoal that he’d never seen in a human. Her voice was soft, calmly lilting, but the power of her command could not be denied. Tag walked slowly over to her, his head down and his hands clasped in front of him.

She touched his forehead, her fingers cool and dry. “Taga, you are ki, yes?”

“Yes,” Tag mumbled to the floor.

“Don’t be afraid of me. I am sworn to protect you as both a magistrate and councilor, and I control no little power. Do you want to stay in K’Rast’s seven?”

“Yes.”

“You trust K’Rast?”

“Yes.”

“Why were you out of your section of the city?”

“At first it was an accident, and then I was curious.”

“I see.” Rin touched Tag’s forehead and both cheeks. “You will claim him, K’Rast. Your reticence has harmed him. Twenty lashes, the minimum prescribed for being out of sector, and he will be castrated.”

“No, Rast said, “we have no right to mutilate him.”

“He is ki. His testicles serve no function. Our society has no place for something in between,” Rin said. “Either you follow my directives, or you send him to live with the Orosians. Those are your only options.”

Tag wanted to stay. He’d never been comfortable with the Orosians, except for Jim, and even with Jim the links of friendship had been frail. They’d been through Bist, who would stay in the seven.

“Taga,” Rast said and knelt at Tag’s feet. “I have failed you to have to put such a choice in front of you. I cannot expect your forgiveness for my failures, all I can offer is for you to make the choice yourself.”

“What do you want?” Tag dropped to his knees and grabbed for Rast’s hand. “Don’t make me go away. You are my only home.”

“May we have a third option?” Bist asked.

“Speak,” Rin said. 

“May we take him home, back to Pastoral?”

“Yes, that would be acceptable.”

“I have nothing on Pastoral,” Tag said. “You know that.”

“It is your home planet, and we speak of mutilating you,” Bist said. “Time will have passed. You might comfortably fit back in a farming community, or in your world where change comes quickly, Pastoral may have developed big cities.”

“You want me to go?” Tag asked.

“No, I want you to have options. Options I never had. I am Saptan. I must accept my fate.” Bist laid his hand on Tag’s shoulder. “I was born ki, but you are more ki than I’ll ever be. It should not be necessary to mutilate you to make you ki. It is what is in the heart and the brain. You are ki.”

“I want to stay,” Tag said. “I am ki.”

“Collar him, K’Rast. He has made his choice,” Rin said.

Rast rose to his feet and kissed the top of Tag’s head. “I chose a human who I thought would be most compatible with our society. I never thought it would come to this. Kneel and prepare yourself.”

Kip had moved to the storage bins, and she handed Rast a small box with ornate inlay. Rast drew out a thin string of beads. “I promise to cherish and protect you to the best of my ability. You are my ki, a member of my seven, our ki, our seven, never broken.” 

Rast fastened the beads around Tag’s neck and knelt in front of him. He touched Tag’s forehead, his right and left shoulder, and dropped his head to the ground. Tag reached forward and touched Rast’s head, running his fingers gently through Rast’s hair.

“I am honored,” Tag whispered and kissed the soft hair in front of him.

“Beautiful.” Tag heard from somewhere in the background. “A true union.”

“And now he gets whipped,” Bist snarled. “The soul of our civilization. He who absorbs all the blows.”

“Bist, we are not alone,” Rast said, rising to his feet and drawing Tag up with him. 

“This is your home,” Rin said. “If you allow such interactions, I am not one to judge. Bist is very passionate.”

“He has strong feelings, and he is often my conscience,” Rast said.

“You are fortunate to have such a ki,” Rin said. “Prepare Tag.”

A guard stepped forward, but was blocked by Rast’s arm. “He is my ki. I demand the right to administer the punishment.”

“As you wish. On K’Rin’s signal.” The guard handed Rast a coiled whip.

“Take your shirt off, Taga.”

With shaking fingers, Tag fumbled with his shirt. It was Bist who finally lifted it over his head and held Tag’s trembling hands.

“This will hurt, and you will bleed,” Rast said, shaking the coils of the whip out in front of him. “You must remain still so I don’t get your front.”

“I will hold him,” Bist said. “Put your arms around my shoulders.” Bist wrapped his arms around Tag’s waist, not giving him a chance to protest or resist. “Brace against me. I took thirty once from a ceremonial  guard. At least this is Rast. He will be as careful as the law allows. You will get through this.”

Tag felt Rast’s hand against his back. “Ready? I will do these in groups of five. May the gods forgive me.”

The first blow rocked Tag into Bist. Rast had whipped Tag before, but that had been a caress compared to this. Bist clung to Tag, whispering words that Tag’s brain couldn’t process. All he could feel, see, and think was the fire across his shoulders and working down his spine. 

“That’s the first five.” Rast’s voice sounded through Tag’s fog.

Tag gasped and labored to catch his breath. He dug his fingers against Bist’s shoulders. “I’m ready,” he choked out. He couldn’t wait longer. He’d lose his nerve.

The next series of blows was just as hard. Tag swayed against Bist, letting the Saptan’s greater strength hold him up, and wailed. He couldn’t stop the terrible animalistic sounds that were rising from his throat, and he didn’t have the energy to try. His whole existence was the whip and the flames across his back.

It stopped again. “Ten more,” Rast intoned.”

“Just do them all. Please don’t stop,” Tag heard himself say.

“I’ve got you, Taga,” Bist said. “Nothing you do right now is something to be ashamed of or regret. I’ll keep you standing. Finish it, Rast.”

Tag’s body shook and jerked at each fall of the lash. He would have fled, driven by the overriding impulse to flee pain, if Bist hadn’t held him securely. Rast was working fast. Somehow he was using both a forward and a backhand stroke, doubling the timing of the strokes, not giving Tag a chance to catch his breath, but ending the pain faster.

The room was quiet except for Tag’s teeth shattering sobs. Bist went to his knees, pulling Tag with him. “It’s all over,” Bist kept repeating, moving his hand to guide Tag’s head to his shoulder. 

Tag heard Rast throw the whip to the floor. “You’ve had your blood. Is that enough? I will never do that again. It’s barbaric. Dress the wounds, Kip”

“It is a violation of customs,” Kip said.

“I don’t care about customs and three millennia of precedent. I just tortured a member of my own seven. Make him comfortable.”

“Rast, we are not alone,” Bist said, mirroring the words he’d heard earlier from Rast. “We understand. Tag will not hold it against you. He will be grateful it was you and not a guardsman, a stranger.”

Tag still couldn’t speak. He was fighting too much pain to make coherent sentences, but he understood Bist, who reflected Tag’s own feelings. Rast wouldn’t truly hurt him.

Bist shifted, and he must have pulled Rast down because Tag felt tears splattering down his neck and bare shoulder and the weight of a head against him. 

“Taga, I’m going to numb this before I dress it,” Kip said. The initial coldness of the anesthetic spray tore a yell out of Tag’s throat but was followed by a blessed coolness. “Better?”

“Yes.”

Tag heard the sound of a cloth being rung out, and through the surface numbness could feel Kip’s steady hand as she washed the welts. 

“You will have faint scars, much less than Bist because they are being treated immediately. Kneel up so I can bandage it.”

Bist helped Tag into the correct position. Rast seemed incapable of doing anything more than sobbing. He’d buried his head in his hands and was lying limply at Tag’s feet, his body racked with sobs.

“Stop. We need you.” Bist grabbed Rast’s shoulders and shook him. 

Rast tried to pull away. “I don’t deserve you. I can’t protect you.”

Bist spewed a string of Saptan curses, raised Rast’s chin, and backhanded him hard. “You’ve come this far. You don’t give up on us now. Not on my watch.”

“I can’t protect you.”

“You try, which is more than anyone else has ever done for me. You played your hand the best you could. We are all trapped.”

“I hurt him.”

“You are hurting him more now, lying around in a pathetic heap. The last part of the sentence must be completed. You need to go with Tag. As his kwi, they cannot deny it.”

“I haven’t the strength.”

“Find it.” Bist struck Rast across the face again. “I will beat you bloody if you don’t do your duty.”

Rast looked up, his green eyes filled with tears. “I’m no good at this. I shouldn’t have been kwi. I’m a fraud.”

Bist ran his hand down Rast’s cheek with surprising gentleness, the calloused fingers skimming the red handprint he’d just imprinted. “You are my kwi. I gave myself to you. I find you worthy.” Bist kissed Rast’s forehead and both cheeks. “I need you.”

“You honor me.” Rast wiped his eyes with his arm, struggling to find his composure. “Kip, is Tag all right?”

“I have dressed the wounds. With appropriate pain management, he need not suffer.”

“I trust you to do the right thing.”

“You are violating law and custom,” Kip said.

“I do not care. A councilor and magistrate is in attendance; she can arrest me.”

“You are walking a fine line, K’Rast,” Rin said. “I understand your distress, and I’m allowing you some leeway, but it would be wise to heed the warnings of Kip and Bist. Do not put Bist’s or any other of your seven’s safety in jeopardy by your rash acts.”

“I no longer trust our customs.”

“We’ve had peace for twenty-five hundred years. You do not throw that out on a whim,” Rin said.

“It is not on a whim,” Rast said. “I have hurt my ki on your orders, and I will continue to hurt him. Let’s get this done.”

“It matters little,” Tag said. “I am ki; I live on your world. Ki are sterile. My world doesn’t have ki.”

“They have ki,” Bist said. “They merely don’t recognize it, as we don’t recognize that I am...” Bist fell silent as he looked at the councilor. “Never mind.”

“I have transport waiting,” Rin said.

“I just beat him,” Rast said

“Postponing it will not be a kindness,” Rin said. “Bring him.”

Tag took several halting, painful steps before Bist swung him into his arms. The micro car stood parked outside, a ceremonial guard in the driver’s seat. Rin turned to her two other guards and dismissed them, ignoring their protests. Bist laid Tag in the back seat, and Rast climbed in the other side. 

“Take care of him,” Bist said.

“I intend to,” Rast said.

Tag lay in the back seat, half dozing as they seemed to drive endlessly through the city. He’d never imagined a medical clinic or a hospital could be this far away from the city center.

“Where are we going?” Rast asked after they’d driven an additional thirty minutes. 

There were no windows in the rear of the vehicle. Tag’s imagination, fired by the earlier whipping and now by the pain killers, worked overtime. He visualized in his fevered brain prisons or permanent exile.

The driver turned around. He’d put the car on the automatic long distance directional relay and no longer had to drive. “Relax. We still have an hour.” 

A thin silver chain swung around the man’s neck. He’s ki, Tag thought, that’s odd. He’d thought the ceremonial guards were all kwi. They interfaced with all segments of the population. This guard couldn’t be ki.

“I’m not kwi,” the guard said. “I’m not a guard either.”

“What?” Rast asked and tightened his arm around Tag.

“He’s my ki,” Rin said as if that explained everything. She reached over and stroked his hair. “I needed someone whom I could trust.”

“Where are we going?” Rast asked, his voice becoming more insistent.

“Baiknar,” the now exuberant ki said.

“Baiknar?” Rast questioned.

“You will see,” Rin said. “Now rest. I assure you your Tag will not be harmed.”

“I understand this no more than you do,” Rast said, stroking his hand through Tag’s hair. “But they seem little inclined to provide more information. We wait.”

*******

Bleary eyed, Tag was helped from the vehicle. The guard or what was really Rin’s ki had   snugged up his uniform shirt, hiding his thin collar and to all eyes becoming a kwi guard again. 

“This way,” Rin said and herded them into an elevator. They went up many flights. Tag lost count of the rising lights. They exited into a large corridor with transparent walls and ceilings. Tag looked down, surprised to see a small city many meters below. Saptan cities didn’t have high rises.

“It’s the spaceport,” Rast said, noticing Tag’s confusion.

“Are they sending us into exile? I thought you weren’t sending me home,” Tag said, trying to swallow his rising panic.

“I do not know,” Rast said. “We must wait for Rin to enlightened us.”

She said nothing but waved a badge in front of a door labeled authorized personnel only. This corridor was narrower with a less spectacular view, only a thin ribbon of windows. The floor had changed from the plush carpet to a more industrial surface. They went through several more doors and Tag recognized a docking ramp as the metal swayed underfoot.

“Your new ship,” Rin said as she stepped onto the control deck. 

“I will go nowhere without the rest of my seven.” Rast said.

“They will be here shortly,” Rin said. “We had to collect Jim.”

“I do not understand,” Rast said.

“K’Rast, you are our future.” Rin’s fingers traced over her seven council pin. “We have lived this way for nearly three millennia. There are others out there now; our ways cannot be cast in stone. Tag is ki. I see that in his face, in his motions, in his love for you.”

“Why this charade?” Rast asked

“I had to be sure. I’ve read your reports. I knew you believed that Tag was ki and Bist was something you couldn’t describe, but I had to see myself. Ki is in your heart, not in your body or your birth. I have been suspicious with my Lars.”

“You made me hurt Tag.”

“I had to know. Don’t you understand?”

“No. What I understand is you made me whip my ki, and now we are still going into exile.”

“No, K’Rast. You with your seven are going to return to space, ostensibly to explore the Kinzin region, but in truth it is to provide the next philosophy of Saptan. You are the heir to the famous philosophers, to the great Kar, whom you admire.”

“I am not a philosopher. I am a simple kwi.”

“Do not kid yourself. You have Bist, the ki who would be kwi if he were free to choose. You have Tag, the ki who by all our standards is si.”

“He is not si.”

“Only to you who understands that gender is more than a set of reproductive organs. By any traditional standard, you cannot argue that Tag is ki.”

“You had me collar him, whip him. He is bound to me, and now you claim he is not ki.”

“He is ki without a doubt, but he is the new way--a ki by choice, not by birth. He is a member of your seven the way it should be--by choice, not by force or by default.”

“I am not a revolutionary.”

“You are. Only you refuse to accept that role.”

Rast looked up at the gentle click of the control panel in front of him and the image of a group of people walking toward the vessel.  

“It’s everybody else,” Rin said.

“Why is Jim with Bist?” Rast asked, staring at the screen.

“He belongs with you.”

“That will give me eight, and he is si.”

“Seven was never meant to be a magic number or even an ideal. It was meant as a guide. We have let our fear of deviation turn our society into a parody of the great philosophers’ thinking. Kar would not recognize our world. Take your seven.”

“Our eight,” Rast corrected.

“Go with them. Honor our tradition by beginning a new one.”

Rast watched silently as Bist, Jim, and the remaining members of the seven walked into the ship and onto the command deck. Bist came first, his hand tightly gripping Jim’s elbow. “K’Rast?” Bist said.

“Jim, do you wish to be with us?”

“Yes, sir.”

“With Bist. Prepare the engines.”

Bist dropped his head in silent understanding, no expression on his face but quiet obedience.

“No, wait,” Rast called. “Do you understand?”

“I understand that we have eight. I understand that Tag is with us and has not been castrated. I understand we are leaving the home planet. That is all I need to know. I am your ki. I yield to your orders.”

“You should be kwi.”

“I accepted this.” Bist fingered the narrow thong and the few beads. “I am your ki, and it is an honor. My status is not less with you. I must prepare the ship and train my si. I have no experience in such matters.”

“None of us do,” Rin said. “I wish you a good voyage. Your flight status is green for launch in sixty minutes. May the gods favor your endeavor, and may our world someday value your learning.” 

“You will be arrested,” Rast said.

“We are taught at an early age that sacrifices are needed to preserve the peace. This is my sacrifice. Take care of your eight, K’Rast.”

Tag watched her go, her cloak trailing across her shoulders, her arm wrapped around her ki. Tag swayed against Rast, weakness rising up his legs despite his determination to fight the exhaustion and the burn coming from his back.

“Kip, make Tag comfortable,” Rast said, an unnecessary order as Kip was already moving toward Tag and pushing him toward the lift for the below decks. Tag heard the noise of a ship coming to life. He was home.

The End