The manual from Combined Simian Embassies was in the drawer under his bed somewhere. He tossed the detritus of study notes onto the floor, shoving crinkled papers and reports out of the way until he found the old green book with CSE printed on the cover. He was sure there’d been something in there about increased pregnancies, and that it was not in the “everything normal, don’t worry” section of the book!
He cut his finger flipping too fast through the front half of the book. The thing really ought to have been better organized. Calamity events should have been in the front. Or at the very least all together in one section instead of spread throughout the book as though some back-office CSE administrator imagined simian ambassadors were able to spend time reading this tome in the breaks between swinging between tree branches.
Ah! Here it is! He read the section carefully. Then he read it again, even more carefully.
It didn’t get any better the second time through.
CSE had documented several cases of primates and higher order monkeys increasing their populations without a change in food supply. In the seasons that followed the clans invariably began organized conflict. As a consequence, CSE “strongly advised” ambassadors to carefully monitor the fertility of their assigned clans and to advise clan leaders to limit procreation.
Chan Rahool snorted. Teach the Minarti clan grandmother to suck eggs why didn’t he? The bureaucrats had the worst ideas. Still someone needed to know about this.
He abandoned the mess in the sleeper half of the cabin to go write Dorrick a note. Dorrick needed to know about this immediately, but chan Rahool knew he’d have to find someone at CSE himself. He had to tell them about the pregnant chimps, and this wasn’t something that could wait for normal channels.
Of course, whoever he told about it was going to want to know why it was happening, and he didn’t have a clue. The Minarti had seemed peaceable towards Dorrick’s clan, which were their closest simian neighbors, and no humans had done anything idiotic lately, so why in the gods’ names was-?
Wait. Humans. Oh no! Arcana. Chan Rahool cradled his head in his hands. The Minarti clan grandmother was preparing to defend her holdings in case the Arcanans managed to get this far. But if the war didn’t reach them, the chimps would have to start a fight of their own to secure the resources their enlarged populations would require!
Chan Rahool grabbed his travel satchel and started throwing things into it. This was bad. This was very, very bad.
* * *
Cetaceans also prepared, though no stevedores had bought their human representative any drinks, and their ambassador hadn’t been nearly as warm to the TTE staff as chan Rahool had been. But then, she was also much, much harder to surprise.
The orca took that as a challenge.
Teeth Cleaver sprayed water in triumph to announce his arrival by the pier. Shalassar Kolmayr-Brintal, Cetacean Ambassador, reluctantly went out to meet the large orca.
‹I report. The large-minds hear. They will sing on it.›
Teeth Cleaver launched himself into the air to twist and look along the railway leading up to the Cetacean Institute. The rails were free of cars at the moment, but a large train happened to pass on the cross line visible in the distance while he was airborne, and he landed with a satisfied splash.
‹Three of those to start. With feed cars. My sisters and brothers must not arrive too weak to hunt in the new oceans.›
Shalassar tossed the black-and-white a fish from the feeding barrel by the pier. Teeth Cleaver swallowed it whole and opened a wide toothy mouth for the next installment. She tossed in a half dozen more.
‹I’d like to hear what the large-minds sing of this.› Shalassar said, finally.
The orca smiled. ‹They will sing and sing and sing. But in the end we orca will go.›
‹Do you know where to go?› Shalassar asked.
Teeth Cleaver said nothing. That was a no then. Orca didn’t care to admit ignorance.
‹The portal is at Larakesh. I’ve made arrangements with a team at the port there to load aquarium cars. If-› She held up a flat hand and gave it a wiggle to indicate a cetacean’s dorsal fin signing uncertainty-‹the large-minds sing that you should go. You’ll need to swim up through the Ylani Strait to get there, but it’s a deep ocean path and we can make arrangements to temporarily stop shipping.›
Teeth Cleaver made a dismissive noise with his blowhole. ‹Porpoises swam it. Scared little porpoises went there and back. Orca need no “stop shipping.”›
Shalassar considered him. The portals were hardly a secret, but she hadn’t expected an orca to consider logistics enough to have another cetacean do a trial run. And why had the porpoises been “scared?” Orcas seldom thought much of porpoises, but still-
A squeal distracted her, sounding in the distance and followed by white crested splashing from a fleeing porpoise pod. Teeth Cleaver’s tail twitched, and Shalassar saw a host of black fins rise in the incoming tide.
The orca whales were eating the distance at attack speed and crisscrossing their own wakes. Even from this far out she could sense something harsh about the group. These weren’t the playful types who routinely visited the Cetacean Institute out of simple curiosity.
‹Are these your sisters and brothers?› Shalassar asked.
Teeth Cleaver gave a tail and body wiggle of negation. ‹Cousins these. These hunt the white sharks. But sharks swim alone. These hope for shark pods in the new oceans. More fun better fight, say these.› The orca snorted water in derision. ‹Don’t eat all their kill, these.›
Shalassar furrowed a brow. Cetaceans were not normally so wasteful. What kind of outcasts were these? ‹Why not eat the whole shark?›
‹Taste bad.› He supplied. ‹Except liver. All liver tasty, even shark. Also these leave shark bits for smaller whites. Want small white shark eat, eat, eat so grow big and be strong for hunt again later.›
‹But not I.› Teeth Cleaver turned a large smile at Shalassar. ‹I, I shall eat all. Taste and sing of Arcana flesh. I swallow all.›
She was not relieved.
* * *
Lady Merissa had stopped wearing the excessively pungent citrus perfume. Andrin Calirath, Crown Princess and heir to the Empires of Sharona and Ternathia, was deeply, deeply grateful.
Her lady-in-waiting’s normally light scent had begun to stink. Or, rather, Andrin’s nose had become exceptionally sensitive. And of course Lady Merissa’s eyes had lit entirely too brightly when she’d first complained of the smell. Everyone but her was enjoying this.
It could just be a horrid stomach bug, but they were all utterly convinced a new prince or princess was on the way. Though “everyone” in this case was limited to those who knew: Howan Fai, Lady Merissa, her mother, her father…and Lazima chan Zindico and Munn Lii. The two lead bodyguards couldn’t be left out. One or two maids might also have figured it out, but if so, they hadn’t breathed a word of it. Andrin had even managed-barely-to keep herself from telling her sisters and writing letters to Eniath about it. She and Howan Fai would at least wait for a doctor’s confirmation. And they would once again pretend absolutely nothing was going on.