8:10, Rotation 264 / 365, 232 AE, -67.529230, -68.001392, Reath

  “C’mon, Githarie, make a wish!”

  She blew out the candles and thought to herself- I wish to meet a handsome, kop ting, cool gofboi at the razza. Secretly, though she did not dare use thought-words to think it, she was hoping to finally lose her virginity.

  They had decided to honor opposite rotation rules in honor of Githarie’s birth-rote by eating the puffy aerated cake, completely glopped all over with frosting first. Unearned reward, dessert before the meal.

  For the orcan appetite the cake was hardly filling and after scarfing her slice, Githarie immediately piped up, “Waitaminute, aren’t atul missin’ spinsum, sha?” – Aren’t we missing something? She sprinkled just the hint of annoyance into her words.

  Sitting next to his nakaz sister, Zholl nabbed the palm sized hemp paper envelope – dyed red with beetroot scraps – tucked underneath his seat, and tossed it nonchalantly atop the table, right at Githarie’s placement. It hit the wood with a jingle, a clink, and finally a heavy thud.

  Githarie had to gasp.

  Zahul made sure to interject- “Atul pitched in together” – we all pitched in together – “for yer birth-rote laisee [利是], darling dolphin.”

  “Happy birth-rote, Githie,” Zahul, Zholl, Zhon, Gnosta and Lawrah said together. But it hardly had the enthusiasm of their singing this time.

  “Pham!” she exclaimed, as she nabbed the hongbao [红包] – it wasn’t even Golden Fortrote yet! – she had to make fun though, “This is the laziest birth-rote gift ever-” Zhon and Zholl shared cross looks. They give the most, their father takes the credit, and then it doesn’t even go appreciated.

  Her eyes grew wide, her grin stretched so wide that her tusks elongated. She clutched her precious nazge birth-rote present close to her chest, almost incapable of waiting until she was alone to rip it open to count the cash. Of course, knowing that doing so in front of her giftors was against the proper etiquette of laisee packets, so first all she had to do was exclaiming-

  “-But I fucking. Love. It.”

  “Language, Githie-”, scolded Gnosta, but it couldn’t be noticed as everyone – all the party save for a dutiful orcan servant standing by, who wondered when the last time was that she celebrated her own birth-rote – into a pham group hug.

  “Ter-i-maa ka-asih, pham!” Githarie shrieked in Thraxes singsong lilt. A string of cheerful “sama samas” rattled off in response.

  “Ahem-,” The servant cleared her throat, “Ser, is atul ready for brunch?”

  “Yes! Yes, Kal, thrak brunch.”

  A platter of pastries – thick and fluffy arepas, crispy fried acarajes – piled modestly high. Maize and black-eyed peas could only be grown in warmer climes, so they had to have been imported from Protorca, most likely by a rogue trader. Only winter cereals grew on Orca.

  There was a big vat of feijoada of smoked ants, grilled roaches and rats, and black beans, thick and viscous, the brown stew was flavored with bay leaves grown in insulated greenhouses and smelled infinitely better than Gnosta’s kelp stew.

  Thick stacks bamboo steamers were kept warm under ports that piped residual heat of the engines running through the voluminous fresh water tank held various Lower Jhiryan delicacies – known as dim sum [点心], and Githarie’s favorite, simply because of the sheer variety – and there were ground termite shumai [烧卖] dumplings, mealworm beancurd sheet rolls, lo bak gou [萝卜糕] cakes, cabbage stuffed spring rolls, and even unshelled beetle meat xiao long bao [小笼包] dumplings. Every time she would try and plop a xiao long bao on her spoon and nibble the little hole to suck out all the soup, the proper way to do it, she would spill the precious juices, so she hazarded burning the roof of her mouth by pinching one from the top and popping it back. “Hah! Hah!” she panted as burst open bao soup scorched her tongue. She didn’t expect them to be this piping hot!

  Raigo had caught some jellyfish himself, an aurelia aurita, or moon jellyfish, and had prepared a ceviche himself with some apple cider vinegar. Apple cider vinegar! How did the Chief afford such luxury? There was also a copper pot of curry, a pav bhaji for dipping with the arepas and acarajes, but there was even a loaf of freshly baked true-bread, made using the scavenged flour from the mess of cake making! It was a simple sourdough, but it was baked with orcan grown winter wheat, and so by pride alone it tasted sweeter.

  Wheat was by far the most prized orcan crop and when it first began to grow on Orca it was considered a miracle. Although more plots could be tilled to grow the staple every rote as Orca slowly got warmer, the supply never quite met the ravenous demand, not to mention that most of the wheat produced ended up going to beer production – for the only thing that orcans loved more that bread was beer – so true bread remained a luxury. Served with the food were big steaming pitchers of barley tea.

  All the Thraxes' jaws hung agape, in disbelief. Did the Varokas eat this well every meal?

  “Kalulah, you can thrak the jollof now,” Raigo said softly.

  Kalulah Kanni, the Chief’s servants, then circled the table, carrying a huge bucket of jollof lice, flavored with onions, fermented black garlic, ginger, scallions, thyme, and protorcan ghost peppers. Each diner had their own bowl and plate, as well as aluminum cutlery – knife, spork, and chopsticks – and Kalulah went about ladling large globs of lice for each, asking them “How much?”

  How much?! More! For more was never enough. Raigo looked away as they all, save for the two Varokas, asked for their bowls to be piled so high as to be brimming full, biting his lip as inevitably a few would spill upon the table. Though Raigo wanted all the best for Lawrah, he hated waste, and that all-too-familiar feeling of his generosity being abused crept upon him.

  Smelling the food, Lawrah’s mutt sidled up to her leg. He was a pudgy little thing, leafed fur overgrown and wild, and wagged his tail while staring up at Lawrah with big, moony eyes. “Oh, hey there Crunchie!” She scratched the green skin behind Crunchie’s ears.

  Raigo shot a stern glance at his daughter, “Don’t feed him, gurl.” Raigo rarely said zug, he found it indecent.

  Lawrah bit her lower lip, “Oh come on, father…”, Crunchie began to pant eagerly, sensing Lawrah’s crumbling resolve. “Just a little treat?” She was already rolling a small ball of lice together with her fingers.

  “He needs discipline! We can’t have Crunchie begging by the table every meal!”

  “Fine…”, Lawrah rolled her eyes and picked Crunchie up, who began whining, knowing all too well that his ploy had failed. Githarie could not help but notice Lawrah surreptitiously slip the ball of rolled up lice into Crunchie’s wagging tongue as she scooped him up, and she tried to hide her smile so that Uncle Raigo would not catch on.

  “Let’s go, Crunchie,” Lawrah whispered sweetly, but Githarie also noticed an all too familiar look of scheming on her face, “I’ll be right back”, she said as innocently as she could, and carried Crunchie to her cabin.

  When Lawrah returned, the Thraxes gobbled the food up ferociously. Even Lawrah had to cast her eyes down as Raigo always reminded his daughter to eat mindfully. Raigo sighed. He had hoped to bring some of the leftovers to the workers back in the bomb factory.

  Githarie had to wipe the sweat from her brow, for although the jollof’s spice burned her tongue, she could not get enough. Zahul rocked back on the hind legs of his chair and belched. Zhak had barely finished inhaling a turnip cake before going for another. The twins took turns tipping the now empty vat of feijoada into their maws, slurping up all the remaining juices. Gnosta tried elbowing Zhon to mind his manners as she picked her teeth with a ratbone, but Zhon paid no heed. Before Raigo knew it, there was not one bite left to eat, save for crumbs scattered about the table. Kalulah, standing by, stared at the absence morosely. She was counting on those leftovers.

  Gnosta cleared her throat. “Thank you, Chief.”

  And, the children, noting their mother’s signal, all used the same singsong lilt in unison, “Tha-ank you, Chief!”

  Zahul just slapped Raigo on the shoulder and gave another nod.

  But the shows of appreciation did warm Raigo’s heart, and the corner of his lips curled up ever so slightly. He could not deny that the War Master held a special place in the village. All looked up to him. He did, after all, save many, many orcan lives. While Zahul was envious of Raigo’s wealth, truth be told, Raigo was also envious of Zahul’s heroic exploits. Since he was delivered during the Exodus, he had never left Orca. Soon, the curl turned to a full-blown smile back at his guests, and he said simply, “Welcome.”

  Raigo had not eaten much before he stretched his arms. Zahul noticed his teacup was empty, so he grabbed one of the pitchers and refilled it. Raigo rapped two knuckles on the table, an old Jhiryan gesture indicating appreciation for a tea pour, before blowing on it briefly – it was still quite hot for Kalulah made sure to keep each pitcher topped up with freshly boiled water – before taking a measured sip.

  Zholl began to speak while still chewing, which forced one of the Chief’s eyebrows up; he had felt that Gnosta would teach her children better manners than that. He also could not help but notice that Lawrah, who had taken no more than three reprimands to build the habit, paid rapt attention. He couldn’t understand how she could stare into that open maw without disgust.

  “Chief! Y’all eat this ghash - ah” – you all eat this good – he had popped a shumai into his mouth mid-sentence – “erry-mph,” he had stopped to swallow it without even chewing a single bite for only then did he realize he was talking with his mouth full, “-erry rote?”

  Raigo rocked back on his chair and smirked. Well, he was Durban after all. A baller. He had worked hard for this. If they were going to come and eat all the food, why not at least acknowledge his success?

  “Heh. Boi. If you think this is good eating, you should come by for our solstice feast.”

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  The chewing collectively stopped and now everyone was listening to their Chief, for once. But Lawrah just sank as deeply as she could into her chair, which was not much given her lanky frame. Father was such a braggart sometimes.

  The Durban paused for dramatic effect.

  “What do they say? Winner winner-” he trailed off and let someone else finish the sentence.

  “Chicken dinner,” only Zhak was able to gasp it back in reverence, for the rest of his family were too busy with stunned, silent salivation. For just a moment before erupting into hubbub.

  “Chicken! Wha-”

  “Da! Why don’t we ever celebrate the solstice?”

  “Skai, dolphin, it’s just another rote! Shannae be complainin’ when we be feastin’ right now on your birth-rote-”

  “Yeah, but we’ve not once had ayam, Da.” Eh, maybe she hadn’t, Zahul thought. But there was no way his broke ass could afford feeding them chicken right now. They’d just want more, and he wouldn’t be able to get enough. A morsel of a single wing, and no more? The disappointment would just make them all even brattier.

  “I’m Lawrah’s plus one.”

  “Zholl, no! Lawry, it’s gotta be sha ash best friend,” – your one and only best friend – “right? I invoke birth-rote dibs!”

  “Skai, Githie, happens every rev. Sha know that-” – the rare time Zholl paid attention in class – “-It ain’t that rare that-”, he counted the table, “-outta eight orcans, two share the same birth-rote?”

  “Yeah? What are the odds.”

  He couldn’t remember the exact figure, “Ai-sha-”, he punched Zhon on the shoulder, “We got the same birth-rote right here!”

  “Ha-ai. That doesn’t count.”

  Zholl had aroused Zhon’s attention, “Yo, why not me.”

  “Why would Lawrah invite you, Zhon?!”

  Chicken, or in orcish, ayam, was the most prized meat in all the realms. It was widely believed that no other form of animal husbandry survived the Catastrophe. While the elvans had massive factory farms on Upper Reath that could process millions of chickens, so that chicken and eggs were the principle staple protean of affluent Amallarkeans, only very few specimens survived the journey to Orca. These yard wyvern chickens, much more fragile than orcans and their mutts, were often butchered well before a suitable mate could be found, impatience being a trademark orcan trait. Breeding orcan chickens was a precious labor.

  The vain Chief basked in the admiration. But he could only appreciate it so long.

  “I’ve some notes to look over, so I’ll be retiring to my cabin” he said, “but please, atul, feel free to stay as long as you’d like.” They had already eaten everything! No harm left.

  Zahul’s meaty hand grabbed Raigo’s and shook it.

  “Thank sha, mubru,”- my brother, he said, and although it could be clearly seen on Raigo’s face that his mind was preoccupied with Chief’s matters, his other hand clasped the back of Zahul’s. He knew that despite Zahul’s gruffness it would take but a Chief’s summons for Zahul to stand by his side and defend Rothera, should a dreaded village war ever break out.

  “It’s my pleasure, War Master.” And he meant it. If it was just Githarie, Zhak, Zahul, and Gnosta, he would have scarcely minded their fellowship. Those ravenous twins, however, Raigo knew that they were troublemakers.

  “Ready for me to thrak away the plates, ser?”

  Raigo surveyed the party. “Everyone done?” Hearty burps in response.

  “Please, Kalulah.”

  And with that, he retired, to ruminate on production margins. While Kalulah dutifully swept in to clear out the cutlery and crockery.

  Zholl belched, then turned to Zhon, “think we can score one more set?”

  “Bro.” It was uncertain exactly what Zhon meant by that, but he said it wholeheartedly.

  Rejuvenated by the meal, and noting that the swell had picked up, the twins raced off once again to contest each other for waves. Meanwhile Zhak, with a bow to the Chief, whipped out his arcane tome in a performance that he was to resume his studying. Gnosta promptly followed.

  The remaining three broke into the warm glow of post meal chatter.

  That would not happen for a while. And eventually, she would lose something far dearer.

  It was the only way to scale the cake to Lawrah’s specifications with what flour was available.

  It was more of a banana bread, for bananas had to be used as replacement for chicken eggs as the binder. Chicken eggs were damn expensive, only rogue traders sold them, usually pasteurized, and always smuggled.

  With coconut oil base and simple orcan grown cane sugar.

  ‘Spinsum’, orcish for ‘something’.

  If Lawrah was going to have a co-conspirator for the most important thing, it was going to be her crush.

  Zahul had most certainly had not, skint as he was. It was drawn mostly from Lawrah’s allowance, and the extortion and drug deal profits from Zholl and Zhon’s jobs for the Lions. He made sure to beat his vig out of them, they would know they would get a whipping if they didn’t hand over their black market coin whenever he simply said, “Taxation.” He would then of course hypocritically reprimand them, demanding they quit their involvement with the Lions. Sometimes. But never seriously meant it. He had six orcan mouths to feed.

  A Lower Jhiryan custom of just handing over a packet of money for celebrations, including birth-rotes, instead of, say, a considered and thoughtful gift.

  It was hard to be enthused when giving away exchange-utility, which could be made to whatever one’s markets could reach. Lawrah thought of a new comb. Zholl and Zhon thought of their next surfboard to add to their shared quiver. Zahul wondered how he could beat more of that gang loot out of the Zeds.

  ‘Nazge’ - orcish meaning ‘bling’, or ‘loot’, usually used to refer to jewelry, especially rings. ‘Naz’ - orcish for ‘shiny’, or ‘glow’.

  She would really regret ever wanting to be alone later on her birth rotation, for she would be so for quite a while.

  Cash Rules Everything Around Me. C.R.E.A.M. Get the money.

  But of course, she would never know. If she interrogated any of them, they would baldly lie to her face. Gnosta was the kind of orcan who would take a compliment even if it were not true.

  Meaning ‘to pick to one’s heart’s content’.

  Meaty dumplings, originally made with pork, and sometimes fish, but both those cryptid meats were unattainable now.

  Turnip cakes, dotted with little morsels of baked crickets.

  Soup dumplings, which often required the eater to pinch carefully by the top – lest the skin break – upon a spoon, a small opening nibbled out so to slurp the hot soup, to prevent the scalding of the roof of one’s mouth. But of all the Thraxes, only Gnosta knew how, or rather bothered, to eat these properly. The rest of her family just popped them whole into their mouths, invariably followed by “Ha- Ha- Hot!”, panting. This did piss Raigo off. Didn’t they know to eat with their mouths closed?!

  Various available veggies, this variation included incredibly rare hydroponically grown tomatoes, an essential ingredient in pav bhaji, as well as beets, carrots, leeks and parsnips, wok fried together with a heaping amount of clarified hemp seed oil ghee.

  These were not actually lice, but rather more white grubs – mealworms, weevils and various larvae – steamed and meant to replace the common carbohydrate, rice. But rice was almost impossible to grow anymore, for it required large amounts of water, and where there was abundant water on Reath, there were also storms, ripping the crop apart before it could mature.

  The mutt was the one creature that the Horde Master took care to build a new essence template for, granting the mutt the same transmogrification abilities as the orcans, albeit with restricted intelligence. It was possible only because the mutants had mutated their familiars as well. Descended from canis familiaris – the dog – the mutt was the orcan’s best friend. It also made it easier to convince mutants to undergo dipping if he could promise that their pets could join them. In times of war, the mutt would be further transmogrified into the beast known as the warg, far larger and aggressive, and used as mounts. Only brave orcans would dare to ride the greatest of wargs, known as dire wargs.

  Although at the same time he was already piecing together a speech to Lawrah about how she should be just a little bit more thoughtful before she gave out invitations willy-nilly.

  Every day I spend my time, drinking wine, feeling fine, waiting here to find the sign… that I can understand. Yes, I am.

  While Raigo only used this term in his youth, and would never be caught dead speaking it now, in his thoughts it was still how he saw himself sometimes. He couldn’t have accomplished all he had without some ego, after all. Such was the way of the androus.

  It was orcan tradition that during the darkest and coldest rote of the long night, the night solstice, that each household would huddle for warmth together in a great big bonfire and feast on the best foods they could find, singing songs together and drinking heartily and merrily. It was known as Lok Amon, or “run song”.

  For Raigo, this was not a feast, this was meant for Gnosta and Githarie, which is why the dishes were tailored uniquely to their tastes. Not that he had any idea what those were, that was entirely Lawrah communicating with the chef. The rest of the Thraxes, including Zhak, were all too happy to eat junk. The Thraxes bois ate to live, they did not live to eat. But Raigo, who did not much like his job, had to flex somehow. For he was flexing for Gnosta in particular. He knew it meant he was breaking the Tenth Commandment, but Raigo didn’t follow the Mystery of the Redeemer.

  ‘Ayam’, an orcish word for chicken. Githarie said this a little too loudly. She’s allowed to be obnoxious on her birth-rote!

  ‘Ash’ - Orcish for ‘the one’, sometimes ‘the one and only’, or ‘the number one’.

  This was one of those words Githarie was very proud of knowing.

  He had left out Kalulah.

  5.56%

  Taken from the living language Bahasa Melayu. Still to this revolution the Malay language, and all its variegations, for it was not one language but a continuum of dialects, was spoken across Orca, although the orcans had forgotten the language’s origins. The orcans who spoke it simply saw it as just a wildly different dialect of orcish in and of itself, and many Malayic words had entered the general orcish lexicon.

  Chicken thievery became the number one cause of banishment from the orcan capital of McMurdo, that is if the thief could survive to banishment. Too often they had to first face the vengeful wrath of the orcan he stole the chicken from, and that orcan’s buddies.

  Also, there was no way in hell that he was granting Lawrah a plus one to their solstice feast. He’d might as well just invite them all, just like how they all invited themselves right now.

  ‘Mubru’, orcish for ‘my brother’. There were a lot of words for brother- bro, bru, brah, breh, brudda, etc.

  As Chief, he was aware of the thuggish little gang that they led- the Lions. He tried not to think about those mischievous bois starting something that could spiral into a broader village conflict.

  As well as to half-heartedly try and reduce the inbox of villager’s grievances that always seemed to pile higher and higher, no matter how many he tried to address.

  She also tried to sweep whatever stray morsels she could find on the table to give to her son upon disembarking.

  But truthfully, he snuck off to Lawrah’s cabin to play with Crunchie.

  To ensure that Zhak did not play with Crunchie and kept up with his studying, by playing with Crunchie herself. But in the end, neither could resist the cute charms of the mutt, and the three played together.