Robert Sawyer - Fossil Hunter

—a mad scramble to get back to his feet, toeclaws slipping and sliding in the brown ooze, unable to find purchase—

—at last righting himself, lunging forward.

But it was too late.

Pain shot up his spine. Lastoon looked back. Right behind him was Garsub, something big in his mouth.

The end of Lastoon’s tail.

Sheared off in one massive bite.

Lastoon tried to run on, but he felt nauseous, and his stride was thrown off by the change in balance.

The others were fast approaching.

Garsub lunged forward again, and again Lastoon found himself sliding headfirst across the mud. The hunt leader was upon him. Lastoon rolled his eyes to look up at her. Garsub’s left arm came swiping down, claws extended. Lastoon felt a sharp pain in his side and then an incredible cold. He struggled to roll her off and in the process saw that his intestines were spilling out onto the mud.

The others reached him now, great jaws lined with sharp curved teeth snapping shut on his arm, his leg, his tail, his rump. Lastoon watched in a final, almost detached, moment as Cartark’s gullet extended, gulping a hunk out of Lastoon.

Blood was everywhere, and then, soon, there was darkness.

As his life ebbed from him, flowing into the muddy water, Lastoon thought his last thought.

At least I had the decency to swallow the children whole.

Huffing and puffing, Dybo made his way up the sloping path to Afsan’s rock. Normally the Emperor didn’t like coming out here: the trip made his dewlap waggle in an effort to dissipate heat. But today he welcomed it, for his meeting with Afsan required absolute privacy. No one could approach within a hundred paces without being heard or seen.

There was Afsan, up ahead, straddling the granite boulder, his tail hanging over the back. Snoozing quietly beside the rock was Afsan’s pet lizard, Cork, its lithe body curved into a crescent shape. Afsan was sometimes accompanied by Cadool, or a scribe, or someone who could read to him from books, or by students who had come to ask him about the moons and planets and the Face of God. But today he was alone, just sitting on his rock.

Thinking.

That Afsan thought great thoughts Dybo already knew, though the idea of just staring out into space and thinking for daytenths on end was something he could not fathom. But, of course, that wasn’t right, either. Afsan was not staring out into space. Rather, he was in perpetual darkness, seeing only those images his mind provided. It had been sixteen kilodays since Afsan’s blinding, and, although Det-Yenalb, the one who had actually pierced Afsan’s eyes with an obsidian dagger, was long dead, Dybo still felt guilt each time he saw his friend, each time he realized yet again that his friend could not see him.

Did Afsan still think in pictures? Still remember the things he’d seen when he’d had eyes? Still cherish, say, the sight of a flower or a marble sculpture? Dybo tried briefly to remember what, for instance, the tapestries that hung in his own ruling room looked like. Colorful, of course, and ornate. But the details? Dybo couldn’t conjure them up. Would Afsan’s memories of vision be like that, only even more attenuated, having faded over time?

And yet, it was apparent that Afsan’s mind was as sharp as ever, indeed possibly even more keen than it had been when he was sighted. Perhaps the lack of distractions enabled him to more fully concentrate, to give over his thought processes to whatever problem he sought to solve. It staggered Dybo, his friend’s intellect, and sometimes it frightened him a bit. But he also knew that Afsan’s counsel was the sagest and most logical and purest of heart of any that he might receive.

Dybo saw Afsan’s head snap up. “Who’s approaching?” Afsan said into the air.

Dybo sang out, “It’s me, Dybo.” He was still many paces from Afsan, but, once the gap had narrowed, he said, “I cast a shadow in your presence, Afsan. May I enter your territory?”

Afsan made a concessional bow without getting up from his rock, and said, “ Hahat dan .” At his feet, the giant lizard stirred, opened an eye, looked at Dybo, and, apparently recognizing him, closed the lid and went back to sleep.

Dybo found another rock to sit upon. The stone had warmed nicely in the sun. “It is peaceful here,” said Dybo at last, looking around at the grasses, the trees, and the great water visible beyond the cliff’s edge.

“More peaceful than the palace, I’m sure,” Afsan said quietly.

Dybo nodded, then, remembering Afsan’s condition, said, “Yes.”

Afsan’s muzzle turned toward Dybo. “You’ve come about Rodlox’s challenge, haven’t you?”

Dybo was quiet for a time. Afsan had known him so long; knew him so well. “Yes,” the Emperor said at last.

“What do you intend to do?” asked Afsan.

“I don’t know. My constitutional advisor tells me I need not respond at all.”

Afsan’s head turned slowly to follow the sound of a wingfinger making its way across the sky. “What you must do legally and what is wise to do are often different things,” he said.

Dybo sighed, long and loud. “Indeed. My authority is already diminished, they tell me, for the people know that my ancestor, Larsk, was not a divinely inspired prophet.” Dybo was surprised at the sudden bitterness he felt toward Afsan. After all, it was through Afsan’s efforts that Larsk had been reduced. But then, he thought, what Afsan did to me and The Family was done without malice. Can I honestly say the same about what I did to him? Dybo pressed on. “I am the first Emperor to not rule by divine right.”

Afsan’s reply came quickly, perhaps too quickly. “You rule because the people respect your judgment.” A pat answer, soothing to hear.

Dybo nodded. “Some of the people do. But there are dissenters.” And again he surprised himself with his anger, for it was Afsan who had burdened Dybo with the task of getting the Quintaglios off their world before it disintegrated. “There are many who feel I am pushing us in the wrong direction.”

“You are pushing us in the only direction that will ensure the survival of our people. No other choice is possible.”

“You know that. That is, you understand the reasoning. I accept that. That is, I trust your judgment. But there are others who neither understand nor accept the necessity of the exodus.”

Afsan’s turn to sigh. “Yes, there are such people.”

“Those against the exodus oppose not just it, but me personally. Those who believe The Family no longer has a right to rule also oppose me. And Rodlox, who apparently is my brother, he opposes me, too.” A pause. “You knew about my brothers and sisters?”

“I suspected it,” said Afsan softly.

“Why?”

Afsan said nothing.

“You suspected it because you could not see how one such as me could be the best of a clutch of hatchlings,” Dybo said flatly.

In the light of day, there was nothing for Afsan to say.

“I may not be physically strong, Afsan, but I try as best I can. I put the interests of the people before my own interests, and it’s not every leader who can say that when the sun is shining.”

“That is true.”

“But there was a time when even you wished for a different ruler?”

“There was a time,” Afsan said softly, “when I had eyes.”

Dybo was silent awhile. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” The silence between them protracted to an awkward length. Afsan pressed on. “You cannot rule under these conditions. We don’t have time for dissent.” He gestured expansively, taking in all of Rockscape and everything beyond. “The world is coming to an end. We must have unchallenged leadership. We must have an Emperor who can take us to the stars.”