Tensions begin to heat up in the Kashkin

A clean chapter, and a short chapter (that's why I'm posting this at the same time as the next chapter). This was originally the first chapter for the story, and in a sense kicks off the actual plot. Patreon subscribers, this should also be live for you with notes and maps and stuff.

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute--as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

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A map, hopefully to help keep things straight. There is an interactive version on writing.dog, which you can update to see the new borders reflected above.

Crucible, by Rob Baird. Part 2

Nakitsa, Arkadiensee south bank
Kashkin, Jericho
17.4.2560

“All this excitement isn't good for you, Zarkhan…"

The tiger shook his head. “I should've stayed in Hana Lanja. They told me the fishing would be better on the Arkadiensee."

“It is better on the Arkadiensee," Diha told him. “That's why the humans are so possessive of it."

The Sledokut al-Hunza was not the first boat to have found itself on the wrong side of one human militia or another. Generally, the damage was slight: Zarkhan's vessel had taken no hits to the hull from what—Diha supposed—were intended to be 'warning shots.'

More and more of those warning shots had been fired in recent months, it seemed to Diha. Having been able to fire on the Commonwealth's fishing fleet with impunity, Arcadia—collectively, the Yucatec-occupied part of the continent—was pushing to be even more aggressive. It had to stop somewhere, the Rottweiler believed.

But their cabinet was silent, and even Zarkhan simply took it in stride. She watched him go, sighed, and stopped at the sight of her coworker, who was recalibrating a pair of goggles and had said nothing through the exchange.

“Doesn't it bother you?"

Looking up for a moment from her equipment, the Border Collie fixed Diha—Hudasat Dihakhrastdun, whose name meant arguing with the thunder in spring, and implied the same sort of futility—in a piercing glare. “Of course it bothers me. What do you want us to do? Start fighting?"

“I've heard worse ideas."

Kalija rolled her eyes and returned her attention to fixing the goggles. “What would those be, Dunnich? You're going to start going on about 'surrender' again…"

“I don't want to be patching up bullet holes."

“Neither do I. The best way to avoid them is to not do things that get you shot at, jansarunga."

“Sometimes they seek you out."

“Sometimes they do. Why try to find more?"

Kalija spoke like that often. Diha was all but inured to it. The collie would help her patch the ship up, and then they'd go home together, and that would be that. Perhaps, in bed, the Rottweiler might start to complain again; perhaps Kalija would listen patiently, or perhaps she'd close her wife's muzzle gently until Diha gave up.

At dinner, though, it was their husband Jakadath—the most easygoing in their pack of four—who raised the issue. “How was your day? I heard you had a boat in. Lishani was concerned."

Lishani's restaurant catered to those who—like its proprietor, and for that matter like Zarkhan—had emigrated from Hana Lanja and missed its abundant seafood. She also had a tendency to become overexcited. “Lishani is often concerned."

Jakadath laughed, grinning at the Border Collie and taking the tray of dumplings she passed him. “Yes, that's true. But you do, right? The Sledokut al-Hunza. Zarkhan and Lishani came over from Hana Lanja together—they had a ship by that name before, too."

“And now his new one has been shot at. Moderate damage to the superstructure—"

“Light damage," Kalija cut off Diha's explanation. “I did the survey."

The Rottweiler didn't feel like backing down. “A dozen holes, two of them the size of my fist. The radio mast is a complete loss. We may be able to turn it around quickly, yes, but it's not insignificant."

“It can sail again tomorrow, Dunnich."

She growled. “And be shot again tomorrow, too."

Jakadath held out the tray for her. “Eat. You're cross when you're hungry."

“I'm cross when—"

“Kalija? Did she skip lunch, jankito?"

“She skipped lunch."

Diha huffed her way through another growl, sliding a handful of dumplings onto her plate. “It's ridiculous that we have to put up with all this: that's all I'm saying. We shouldn't be downplaying it."

“We're not." Jakadath set the tray down before Kalin Huskelja's seat, waiting for him to join the other three. “It's happening more often. I heard people talking about it at the café. The president's going to announce a new directive."

“What's that?" Huskelja asked from the kitchen. “Sail our ships over to Port George Moody so the humans can just have them?"

“No. Ordering the fleet to stay on the south coast of the Arkadiensee."

Huskelja's derisive snort carried. “What did I say?"

“It's prudent, dear," the leopard said. “Don't you think?"

“According to our treaty, we have free access to the entire lake. What's the point of a treaty if it can just be ignored?" Huskelja was, apparently, finally satisfied with the tea; he joined them at the table, pouring each cup full in turn. “The president could at least try baring his teeth, for once."

“You dogs…" Jakadath's smile was affectionate, but teasing. “You're so territorial."

“Not all dogs," Kalija reminded him, earning a pat to her paw from the leopard. “Huskich, it's not as simple as 'according to our treaty.'"

His brindled hackles were up. “ And it's not as simple as being 'territorial.' We need to look after the pack. We all look after each other, don't we?"

“We're also all married."

On good days—calm days—Kalin Huskelja's eyes reminded Diha of the charms their friend Runtaluka sold in the downtown market. They were made of carefully polished petrified wood, at once gorgeous and speaking to something timeless and deep. Now his eyes flashed, and his lip curled. “You mean: 'according to our marriage contract'?"

“Huskel…" The leopard's soothing tone aimed to be disarming. “Yes. You're right. We look out for each other. What do you want President Kalaghanar to do?"

"Start by understanding that the humans aren't our friends."

“They aren't our enemies, either."

Diha came to the mutt's defense: “they act like it. Treat them that way."

“And send in the military?" Diha wasn't surprised that, in turn Runukalija joined with Jakadath. “Do you think they'd back down? After everything?"

“We wouldn't know unless we tried it, Kalija. Or the cabinet could at least back Ossena's petition to arm the fishing fleet, rather than telling them to put their tail between their legs."

“A petition the Defense Ministry doesn't even support." The leopard was right—at a surface level—but oversimplifying. Diha didn't have to point that out; Kalin Huskelja was quick to reply on his own.

The OVKK, their self-defense force, rarely consented to anything that might look like aggression, and by standing policy they never proposed such action. If it was brought to a vote, however, they used their best judgment. Such tradition dated all the way back to the Commonwealth's independence, the declaration of which they refused to introduce despite then-Minister Altalanuk's fervent belief in it.

“And what does the minister believe now?" the feline challenged.

Diha snapped. “We don't know. You don't know—nobody's willing to ask. So we just keep going on, pretending that if we're polite, if we make a few more allies, if we broker a few more trade deals, eventually Arcadia will let us be. They're not going to let us be."

“So we fight."

“Yes. Or we let them drive us into the sea. There comes a point where you can't negotiate with this anymore, Jakadath. Where you can't keep turning the other cheek and thinking they'll stop hitting you. We hit back. We have to hit back."

“And what if we lose?"

“We're losing, either way. We might as well fight for it while we still can. We might as well pretend that we have a voice."

He wasn't a coward. She didn't think he was a coward: he was, of course, as upset as any of them. But he wasn't willing to take action—was willing to keep his head down, keep making his delivery rounds, and hope that the storm would pass them by and things would return to normal.

That, Diha decided, was the problem. 'Normal' was the problem. It had never been good to the Kashkin, and it wasn't going to start. Human oppression couldn't be bought off, or appeased, or rationalized. It had, after all, never been rational to begin with.

Jakadath wanted to enjoy dinner. She let him do that; the argument wasn't going to solve anything. It wasn't even going to begin solving it—wouldn't do anything but raise her blood pressure. But afterwards, in bed, she thought of work the next morning. She'd tell Zarkhan about the petition, talk through everything that could be done to his ship, dumb as it was to think it would make a difference. It was something.

Kalija had been right; from a structural point of view, repairing the fishing boat didn't take very long. She was done cutting the new plates out and fixing them in place by mid-morning, and looking at how much power the Sledokut's engines put out.

“Have you thought about arming it?"

If she'd expected Zarkhan to be shocked, or to protest, she was disappointed. The tiger laughed bitterly. “We have. We filed for permission, even. Denied. They deny all requests."

“Why?"

“Officially, I'm not qualified to operate military hardware. None of my crew have experience with it—only one of them even served in the OVKK. Unofficially, well… I told you: they deny all requests. They don't want to cause trouble."

“You could do it anyway."

The tiger smiled. “Well. Yes. That would be causing trouble, and I don't want to risk that. And I can't afford it. And I imagine you don't have any cannons in storage ready to be installed, either."

“No," the Rottweiler admitted. “I don't. But what will you do, then?"

“Catch fish." He patted her shoulder. “That's all I can do. I can let the humans know that I'm not afraid of them. Maybe the cabinet will see that, too—maybe they'll realize they could grow a spine."

“I feel like that's not… likely."

“Maybe. Some citizens have started becoming more restless, though. There are demonstrators in front of the capitol building every day."

“Does it help?"

“It buys us a little time before Kalaghanar does tell us to stay in port. And until then, well—like I said, Diha. I'm going to catch fish. We get back to work. We have to. That's how we show them."

And, Diha supposed, she was waiting alongside him—for all she could do was tell the tiger that she wished him well. She took a detour into Davis, though, on her way home. Sure enough, a small crowd milled in front of the capitol: just a few dozen, but it was a start. It was someone else who believed the way she did.

Three days later, a grumbling Huskelja brought news that the president had, at last, ordered the Kashkin's fishing boats to stick to the Commonwealth's shore of the Arkadiensee. And, more than that, he said the captains were not inclined to obey. He hadn't spoken to Zarkhan or Lishani, but others at the harbor planned to sail the next morning: business as usual.

“Will the government try to stop them?" Jakadath asked.

“That would be… dangerous. And it wouldn't look very good to set the OVKK against our own civilians. But who knows? It doesn't look good for the Cabinet's authority to be questioned, either."

Diha grunted. “It should be. Is anyone fighting back?"

“The ones who aren't sailing say there'll be a larger demonstration. They want the order rescinded. And they want Ossena's petition brought to a vote, as long as we're correcting our past mistakes."

“We should join them. We work on the boats. Why do we work on them if this is what happens? What do you say?"

Jakadath had a morning shift, as did Huskelja—who might have agreed, otherwise. Kalija would not, and did not. Diha bit back the urge to growl with her conviction when the Rottweiler declared that she'd gladly go on her own. If they wanted to ignore their responsibility to the pack, wanted to stick their heads in the sand…

By the time she reached Davis there had to be at least two hundred moreaus in front of the capitol building. More filtered in over the next half-hour, along with confirmation that the fleet had sailed. Not all of it—but the OVKK hadn't tried to stop anyone, either.

Each boat whose name was called out drew a cheer from the crowd, and a widening grin from Diha. There was an energy to it, a strength in their celebration of defiance. Humans had no right to chase them from the Arkadiensee; the cabinet had no right to give in so easily to such bullying.

And now, maybe… now, President Kalaghanar would see that. He'd see that his people were strong, strong enough to stand up for themselves. Timidity was the wrong answer. If needed, they would take what lawfully belonged to them.

Her communicator started buzzing; she tapped her ear to activate the speaker. “What is it, Huskich?"

“I thought you'd want to know. I just heard from Lishani that Zarkhan's boat has been sunk."

“ Yassuja." Her stomach dropped. “When?"

“Half an hour ago. She doesn't know if there were any survivors, but the OVKK is sending out a search party. It seems to have deliberate… I guess… from the distress signal. Whatever hit them, it was powerful enough that they didn't have much of a chance to escape. Lishani said she was told to expect the worst."

“What about the rest of the fleet?"

“Heading back. Or they hadn't reached the shoals in the first place."

Diha muttered another quiet oath and, lost for further words, ended the call. A white shepherd, watching nearby, padded over. He gestured at the Rottweiler's lowered ears. “Are you alright, comrade? Troubling news?"

“Another attack." She was still stunned, and trying without much success to recover. “A fishing boat we worked on last week. Sunk."

“The crew?"

“I don't know."

“Who attacked them?"

She shook her head, the gesture sharp and reflexive. “I don't know. We'll find out eventually, right? When they tell us—if they tell us."

Through reeling, fuzzy thoughts she heard the shepherd trying to reassure her. He said he hoped the crew would be rescued. He hoped the cabinet would react. He hoped this would be the last time they'd hear something like that.

An amplified voice rose over the gathering. “Comrades. We've been told to expect a short statement from the president in a few minutes." Why? someone asked. “All I've been told is that it will be on this topic. No further details."

It would, of course, be about the Sledokut al-Hunza. Diha knew that already. She patted the white shepherd's shoulder, trying to steady her own nerves by comforting his, and pushed her way through the crowd to the moreau with the amplifier. “Can I speak?"

“Who are you?"

“Hudasat Dihakhrastdun. I know what the president's going to talk about."

The moreau cocked his head, but gave her the microphone. “The floor is yours, then, sarunga."

Comrades, she began, as he had. Her voice was stronger, though—the crowd quieted at once, giving her their attention. “Whenever it is his pleasure, Honored President Kalaghanar will tell you that—even as we call for action here—another ship has been fired on." Murmurs ran through the moreaus; they looked at one another tensely. “It seems to be a complete loss."

“What ship?" someone asked. She was too distracted to perceive individuals in the crowd.

“The Sledokut al-Hunza. I'm a machinist. Like all of you, I want to create, rather than destroy. We repaired the Sledokut al-Hunza last week. I told the captain he should appeal for protection to our government. He said that he had tried, and failed. I suggested he arm his vessel in self-defense. He said that it had been forbidden. Now, we see the consequences. Now, we must act."

Her audience stirred, and began to draw closer. Their shock, like hers, was quickly turning to anger. In the moments after she'd heard the news, when the shepherd tried to reassure her, Diha had struggled to understand the course by which that anger would escape.

But she knew. “We are under attack, comrades. All of us are under attack. All of us have been conscripted into this fight. Make no mistake: the Sledokut al-Hunza was a warship. President Kalaghanar and his cabinet disarmed her before they sent her into battle—but she was a warship, all the same.

“ Inana Zarkhan, her captain, knew the risk when he set out today, a risk we shouldn't ask anyone to take if we don't at least have the decency to defend our packmates when they need it. If we're a commonwealth, then we stand together against our enemies—and yes, we have to call them that, because that's what they are. Our enemies sunk Zarkhan's ship. Now, we fight back.

“Zarkhan didn't choose conflict. None of us in the Kashkin chose conflict. We never had the choice: it was made for us. And, since it has been made, it's beyond our ability to unmake it. No leader fit for the purpose can promise that and retain his credibility. Remember that, when the president speaks.

“If Kalaghanar urges calm, we make it clear the time for such pleasant stories is past. There's a suppressed measure to allow the fishing fleet to defend itself: put it to a vote. There are ten thousand of our citizens ready to take up arms: unmuzzle the OVKK so our neighbors understand they can't act with impunity. Demand the bare minimum from our government—that they acknowledge reality. That's all I ask."

Nodding to the rumbles of agreement, she handed the microphone over and slipped back into the crowd. She thought about looking for the white shepherd, or calling Huskelja back, but didn't make it that far before someone called her name.

“Diha! You said you would 'join.'" She turned at the sound of Runukalija's voice. “I thought perhaps I'd find you with a sign, at most."

“You said you wouldn't join," she countered. “If you didn't want to see me at my worst…"

The Border Collie took her paw, squeezing softly. “Aren't we packmates? Perhaps I've been… naive? Too innocent, or too blind to what was happening; I'm not sure. If we can't appease our neighbors, then… then we fight and die, or we give up and die."

“Or we win."

“Perhaps."

“Huskelja called me. Where's Jakadath?"

“At home—with Huskich. Tensions were… high," Kalija said carefully. “We got the news before either of them headed to work. It was going to end in blows or with Jakadath losing his clothes again… either way, they needed space."

“Why did you come here?"

“I told you already. We're packmates. I shouldn't have abandoned you." She licked Diha's muzzle soothingly. “We don't have a choice about being in this together, either, right? So let's do whatever we can."

A rising murmur called their attention to the front again. President Kalaghanar and an aide were approaching. At first the retriever looked simply weary, but as he sensed the demonstrators' mood Diha thought she saw apprehension join his exhausted expression.

Someone handed him the microphone. “Yesterday," he began. “The cabinet recommended that the Commonwealth's commercial fleet keep to a distance no greater than one kilometer from the southern shore of the Arkadiensee. We did this to protect—"

Growled protests silenced him. Kalaghanar waited for them to calm down; it took nearly a minute before they decided the president could speak again.

“The Sledokut al-Hunza is lost with all hands. Clearly, you don't want to hear me say that this act of aggression proves why we must be careful. But I must, in any case, give you the honest answer. And that is: we cannot win every—"

That time, the growls didn't quiet. They would not be pacified, and every time the retriever opened his muzzle they snarled their anger until he gave up. Diha snarled with them, and she felt Kalija squeeze her paw as the roar built. Kalaghanar turned, finally, and retreated back inside the capitol building.

“What now?" Kalija asked.

There was no answer by mid-afternoon. A few of the other moreaus drifted away. At last, Diha followed their lead, and Kalija padded after her. It was too late to open the machine shop for the day. Back in their apartment, Diha set about making dinner. The Border Collie helped, and said nothing.

Huskelja, when he returned, said nothing either. His ears twitched, and tension was writ over his taut muzzle. He joined the two others, chopping vegetables in silence, until Diha began measuring out flour. “Bread?"

“Yes. The molasses recipe."

“Do you have enough for a second loaf?"

“Probably…"

Huskelja nodded. “I'd like to bring it back with me. Somebody should… be with Lishani. Most of their pack is still off-world."

Kalija looked up. “That's where you were?"

“Yes. She's… calm. Calmer than I would be." The mutt's muzzle clenched hard. “Calmer than I am. But she shouldn't be alone."

“None of us should be. Yes, of course I can make more bread. And we'll have plenty of stew." She saw Huskelja tense again, and the knife rapped hard against the cutting board as he took his emotions out on the carrots.

The doorknob turned. Jakadath didn't even bother trying the lock: their door never was locked. Diha had never marveled at that before—never realized just how comforting it was to have a pack. To know that one belonged.

The leopard glanced at the three of them. “No radio?"

“No," Kalija said.

“Nobody's following the news? Some revolutionary council we are."

“ Dathich," Diha warned curtly. “Now isn't the time."

“It might be."

“Another attack?" she guessed.

The leopard shook his head. “The fishing fleet threatened to call for a general strike, and I suppose you can guess there's no question of whether the other unions would support it."

They would, by reflex. What else was the point of a commonwealth? “I can guess."

“So the cabinet released a brief statement: they're tabling Ossena Rodakija's petition. Voting first thing tomorrow morning. Can't do it without the defense ministry, and Ashenar just resigned."

“ Yassuja. Did she say why?"

“No. But apparently her last order was to Deputy Minister Genakhot. He's to vote in favor. So." Jakadath fixed Diha in a cautious stare. “What now?"

“Now they vote. And we go to work."