Fossil Hunter

*46*

Dybo’s authority was no longer in doubt. He ruled now unchallenged the eight provinces and the Fifty Packs.

Spenress, the only other surviving child of Len-Lends, had given up her claim to eventual power in Chu’toolar, and, instead, had accepted a minor position in Capital City. The thirst for blood was slaked, and no one was calling for further sanctions against her.

In six of the outlying provinces, siblings of Len-Lends still ruled, but they were slowly agreeing with the will of the people: their eventual successors would be appointed on the basis of merit, not bloodline.

And in Edz’toolar, the only province in which one of Dybo’s generation had already been ruling, instead of just apprenticing, there was currently no one serving as governor, for no one had been groomed to replace Rodlox. That problem would have to be solved soon, and perhaps it could provide a model for the subsequent successions in the other provinces and—the thought still startled Dybo somewhat, although he was learning to accept it—here in the Capital itself.

Dybo could live with all that, but there was one more issue in the aftermath of Rodlox’s challenge that gnawed at him, keeping him from sleeping. He wished it were not his responsibility, but knew, though it saddened him to the very core of his being, that he must deal with it quickly.

He had come to Rockscape many times of late, seeking the sage counsel of his friend Afsan, and now, slimmed down, he no longer found the trek to the ancient stones uncomfortable. He hoped Afsan would have a solution for him once more. With six of his own siblings dead, plus hundreds of others killed in the mass dagamant, the last thing Dybo wanted to contemplate was more death.

He saw the blind one up ahead, straddling his rock, his muzzle tipped up, enjoying the warmth of the sun. As Dybo drew nearer, Afsan turned to face him. “Who’s there?” he called out.

“Dybo.”

Afsan nodded. “Welcome, my friend, and hahat dan.” Gork was nowhere to be seen. Off hunting, perhaps. Dybo was silent.

“The garrulous Dybo at a loss for words?” said Afsan, gentle teasing in his tone. “What troubles you?” Dybo’s voice was heavy. “The children.”

Afsan at once grew serious. “Yes,” he said softly.

“There are thousands of them,” said Dybo. He shook his head. “A census is not yet complete, but so far it seems that in at least two hundred and seventeen clutches, every hatchling got to live.”

“Seventeen hundred and thirty-six children, then,” said Afsan automatically. “Assuming no abnormally sized clutches.”

“Yes,” said Dybo. “Something has to be done soon. The overcrowding is far too dangerous. Every Pack is on the verge of another mass dagamant.”

Afsan pushed himself up off his rock. Startled, a blue and yellow snake slithered away from the base of the boulder. “I understand for the first time, I think, the burden borne by the bloodpriests,” he said.

“No other choice is possible, is it?” said Dybo. “Than to eliminate the excess children?” Afsan exhaled noisily.

“I am blind, but rarely do I feel helpless. And yet, in this instance, that’s precisely how I do feel. No, I can conceive of no other solution.”

There was a long silence as each of them digested his own thoughts.

“What is the status of the bloodpriests now?” said Afsan at last.

“They’ve been reinstated in just about every Pack, as far as we can tell, although word from the more distant provinces is still coming in. You were right, though, as usual: as the envoys return from here, having watched the spectacle in the arena, the news that no one, not even The Family, is exempt from the bloodpriests’ culling is making the reinstatement easy. And, frankly, it seems that just about everyone is irritated by all the youngsters underfoot. They’re calling out for population controls.”

Afsan nodded. “Have you appointed a new imperial bloodpriest yet?”

“To replace Maliden? No. His body lies at Prath, and the palace is still mourning his passing.”

“But is it not the imperial bloodpriest who leads the entire order?”

“Yes.”

“Then a replacement must be appointed soon,” said Afsan.

“Granted. But who? Maliden had no apprentice.”

“Toroca.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Kee-Toroca. My son. Make him the new imperial blood-priest—or, at least, assign him the task of determining which should live.”

“But he’s a geologist.”

“Yes.”

“Why him?”

“Toroca is special. He has no sense of territoriality.”

Dybo nodded. “I’ve noticed he has a tendency to stand too close to people.”

“It’s more than that. He doesn’t feel territoriality at all. He thinks it’s a secret, but, even blind, I am more observant than he knows.”

“No territoriality,” repeated Dybo. “Amazing.”

“You and he have much in common, really,” said Toroca. “I heard from Cadool about how you helped quell the frenzy in the streets.”

Dybo clicked his teeth. “I have my good days and my bad. I’m certainly not free of territoriality.”

“No, but yours is subdued compared to most people’s.”

Dybo grunted. “Perhaps. But you think Toroca, because of his lack of territoriality, should be the new imperial bloodpriest?”

“Exactly,” said Afsan. “It’s a sad fact that almost all of those seventeen hundred children will have to be killed. Someday, perhaps, when we do finally get off this world, there will be room for all our children to live, but until then we must have population controls. Most of the hatchlings in question are old enough now to reveal more than just how fast they are. Let Toroca devise a way to select among them. He knows what to look for, I’m sure. I guarantee he won’t simply choose the fastest or strongest.”

Dybo sounded worried. “But that will change—”

“Change the entire character of a generation of Quintaglios,” said Afsan. “Maybe not by much, but it will be a step in the right direction.”

“A whole generation chosen for something other than aggressiveness,” said Dybo. “It’s a daring thought.”

“But a productive one. We all need to be able to work together, Dybo. You know that. The old saying is true: time crawls for a child, walks for an adolescent, and runs for an adult. Well, our civilization is now past its childhood, and time is indeed running now—running out, for this entire world.”

“I had exactly the same thought myself many days ago,” said Dybo. “I agree, a reduction in territoriality would be a useful thing.”

Afsan’s tail swished. “And remember the giant blue structure Toroca has found in Fra’toolar. When we do at last leave this world, we may be entering someone else’s territory. I have a feeling that, whatever’s out there, we might do well not to challenge it.”

Dybo nodded. “Very well. I shall appoint Toroca. He won’t want the job, I’m sure…”

“The fact that he won’t want it is perhaps his best qualification for it,” said Afsan. “Once the current overpopulation problem is solved, he can step down.”

Dybo bowed at his friend. “You are wise, Afsan. We need more people like you.”

Afsan dipped his muzzle, seemingly accepting the compliment. He said nothing, keeping his promise to Maliden, but held on to a single thought. No, Dybo, we need more people like you.