12:06, Rotation 264 / 365, 232 AE, -67.571733, -68.130886, Reath

  Upon their return to the Defiant, and as they sailed back to port to unload the last rote’s haul of algae, the pham sans Lawrah – for she had gone back on Raigo’s Junk instead – couldn’t help but all together launch into a sea shanty, easily the most popular one among orcans:

  “Soon may the Wellerorc come,

  To bring us sugar and tea and rum!

  One rote, when the tonguin’ is done,

  We’ll take our leave and go!”

  Githarie made sure to hit the head so that she could brush her teeth. It was cavernous because the piping was integrated to the engine cooling systems and steam needed to vent off through grate exhausts lined at the top of the ceiling just under the bow deck. It was easily the warmest place on the ship, but the aluminum alloy walls constantly sweated condensation.

  It was a common ritual for orcans to brush their teeth, especially in taking prideful care of their tusks, at least two times a rote, upon waking and before going to sleep. Although orcans could grow an indefinite number of teeth – any time one fell out another would simply take its place – the experience of having a tooth rot away slowly, and it was always slowly for orcan teeth were tough, was extremely painful. Without very many dentistry masters, the simple solution was always to just rip the tooth out, simply trading a prolonged excruciation for a sudden and acute one.

  It was a wonder then, despite their discipline with the brush, why orcans never flossed. Githarie certainly didn’t. Zholl and Zhon didn’t even seem to bother with brushing their teeth because they were nowhere to be found.

  After scrubbing the back of her molars, mouth full of sodium bicarbonate foam, Githarie pulled out her brush to inspect the bristles. Githarie always brushed her teeth too hard and too quickly, so the bristles were frayed and spread apart. Githarie stared at her brush for a moment before continuing with the other side of her jaw, her scrubbing just as furious as ever.

  In the bridge above her Zahul carefully kept his gaze on the lighthouse, marking his course so that he didn’t scrape into the rocky reef.

  As she spit the remnants of the foam into the sink, the entire room heaved with a jarring clang that rang throughout the vessel, causing her to miss by a wide margin. The splattered spit and paste foam would just get rinsed away with the evertrickling condensation so Githarie paid her mess no mind. She hurried out. The Defiant had pulled into the harbor!

  “Good early rote, Da! Zil!”

  Zahul grunted in response for he was still speaking into the radio transmitter in communication with the Rotheran Port Master, to which he whined “Ye give me dock three for me kroozer next time, mubru!” but the speaker only crackled a monotone “Nah son, nah. Reserved.”

  Githarie and Zhak had disembarked from the Defiant, rappelling down the hull from the same hemp ropes that dragged her out of the water, while Zholl and Zhon stayed onboard for the next run to help out Zahul and the crew – their grades were beyond saving – and so the siblings were strolling through the rough cobblestone paths all the edge of the Shanties, the name for the odd cobbled neighborhood of taverns and dried jellyfish peddlers built up near Rothera’s ports. All sorts of sharku’s kroozers could be seen floating on the bays, a little forest of masts, smokestacks, sails, and cannons. Eerily, the sleek and gryphantene black vessels of rogue trader elvans bobbed beside them.

  They were heading to the village center, where the school, library, cornucopia, dining mess, great tavern, warehouses, generators, wood mill, armory, hospital, village hall, and chief’s home were. These were the only places on Rothera that used structures built by the Godlike Beings themselves in the lost age.

  They walked by a food stand.

  “Ratsies, ka! Fresh barbequed ratsies right’ere, ka!” roared a heavyset orcan lady. Githarie gave her a little wave, “I’ll take one, Vanta!” Zhak tugged on Githarie’s overalls, which she had thrown over a thick mutt-wool cardigan. “Can I have one too, Rie Rie?”

  Githarie dug into her overall front pockets, and produced some copper pieces.

  “Two ratsies, please.”

  “Deep fried or grilled, ka??” Vanta was already busy moving some freshly grilled rats, skewered over a raised fire pit fueled by some bamboo charcoal, onto a tin plated rotisserie. To her other side was a large, boiling vat of hemp seed oil, and a big bowl of buckwheat flour – the pseudocereal was one of the few plants that easily thrived on unfertilized Orcan soil – to use as a batter. Next to it was a smaller bowl, the right size to dip a single rat in, filled with ground hemp seed mixed with some oil to act as a batter binder.

  “I’ll take grilled,” Githarie didn’t want any pimples, “Zhak?”

  “Deep fried, please!”

  Vanta picked up a bamboo skewered grilled rat from the rotisserie, brushed it with some wyvern’s eye chili seeped in molasses and vinegar, knowing Githarie loved spice, and handed it to Githarie, before slapping a fresh, raw rat into the batter binder, and then skewered it. She rolled it on the buckwheat flour and dunked it into the vat of boiling oil. It sizzled satisfyingly. After a few minutes, she pulled it out, it had been fried to a golden-brown crisp, the rat’s tail was all curled up now, covered in crunchy fried batter.

  “Here ya go, sweetie, ka. Six copper pieces, ka.” No problem. She was flush. Githarie dropped the coins into a clay pot that held Vanta’s change.

  “Magosh sha, ka! Khob khun ka.”

  Only Zhak knew the correct answer to that one, “Khob khun krab!”

  Githarie scratched her head, unsure of what it meant. It sounded like orcish, but it wasn’t.

  “Ratsies, ka! Get sha ratsies here, ka!” Vanta returned to her peddling.

  Githarie handed Zhak’s rat to him and then took a bite of her own. Rat tastes gamey, but Githarie enjoyed gamey flavors. It had been roasted just right, covered in the caramel of maillard reaction. The siblings continued walking. They were getting closer to the center of town now, and more and more orcan huts popped up along the road.

  All new orcan constructs – ramshackle huts by the ports and stacked layers of piecemeal tenement upon the ancient runway – were smashed together in one great disjointed architectural mess of halls, unevenly developed expansions with big empty lots next to bustling worksites, spindly towers, and hastily planned wings. Behind the chief’s home was a steep, tall hill upon which rested the homes of Rothera’s well to do. All behind the ancient runway was a gentler sloping mellow hill dotted with many huts and paths leading to yet more orcan settlements across the island.

  For Rothera was indeed upon an island and not actually part of the Orcan mainland. The island was shared with a small village called Carvajal, but in time as both villages grew they merged together, Carvajal became a neighborhood of Rothera, the seedy red-light district. It was an enclave for it still had a proper village charter and therefore had its own Chief, Chief Knux, but no one really listened to Chief Knux, nor could he be bothered to order anyone about. When Carvajal and Rothera became one, the entire island became known as Rothera Island.

  It was a short sail across the strait to the uninhabited shore. Far greater were the populaces of the Orcan villages closer to Protorca – Estrella and Elichiribehety – or the villages further down the lines of orcan migration, either westwards along the shore to the great capital of McMurdo, where the orcans could rejoin their kin that fled the Red Path from Morquarra, or eastwards to Syowa, another island village like Rothera, where the orcans could rejoin their kin that fled the Green Path from Jhirya.

  The burgeoning population – the so-called orcan “baby boom” after the Exodus – had led to hastily cobbled together buildings squeezed all alongside the narrow streets of the Shanties. Chimneys sprouted from each abode, belching smoke. Bamboo scaffolding, krimped together by ancient binding techniques – were ramshackle splinted and bound together to connect the constantly growing shelters with impromptu extensions and skybridges.

  All the buildings were mixed use, such was the necessity of space, with shopkeepers shouting and hawking their wares on the ground level, and orcan families milling about in the homes upstairs. The hustle and bustle of commerce filled the alleyways: knick knacks and cobblers and sundries stocked with rogue trader goods.

  On each rooftop hung the banner of the Horde- a rudimentary black cryptid in varying shape, bearing a single white spot upon green. The cryptid was the mythical leviathan, the apex predator of the oceans before the Catastrophe, known as the orca. No orcan had seen an actual orca before, but they rallied around its spirit, for it represented what the orcans believed: that they were the pinnacle of evolution, and the rightful inheritors of Reath.

  They walked by two disgruntled old beekees, who had set up a go table – or in Jhiryese, weiqi – made of stone, and were playing their umpteenth game. Both were bald, one of them was inhaling from a stone pipe, out of habit perhaps because there was nothing in there. Tobacco came rare from rogue traders. Deep scowls were on both their faces, and they slapped their stones on the table with such force that the cracks rang out into the dry air.

  Well past the opening, each player had captured exactly two of the star points, neither confident enough to attack each other’s positions. Instead, they simply continued to develop, until the game had stalled into a frustrating logjam.

  “Hey there Brugo, Aroch!” Zhak said in his chipper voice. Brugo was playing white, Aroch was playing black. The moment Zhak came by the scowls disappeared.

  “Why, it’s nakaz Zhakkathan!” said Brugo, with a grin. It was his turn. But Aroch’s scowl soon returned after he gave Zhak a polite grin.

  Zhak stood by their table for a few seconds, before grabbing one of Brugo’s white stones – Brugo couldn’t help but bawk in surprise – and placed it to break apart one of Aroch’s walls. To be sure it was a move that Brugo had been contemplating for quite a while, but he had stayed his hand for he wasn’t certain that Aroch couldn’t respond with a counterattack in kind before reversing this ko threat, thereby forcing Brugo into a reactive gote, instead of the controlling sente that he held, and just barely. But with a cursory glance Zhak could already see that their positions had already been saturated, it was now or never. Zhak, after all, was one of the best go players in the village.

  “Ha-hah! Lok Tar is mine now.”

  “Gerekt!” roared Aroch, for he had known he was backed into a corner for a while but kept a stony poker face so that his nemesis could not read him. and he had to restrain himself from swiping away all the little stones off the table in a fit, while Brugo laughed and clapped Zhak on the back and gave him a dried slug treat. “Bubhosh ghash, boi!”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Don’t be gezzno, hai. Sha cheating. Wu fair.” – No fair. – “Shanna counts this match as me Rek Tang!” – You can’t count this match as my defeat!

  “Eh, check shaself, orc, may not have won yet,” – the game wasn’t over but Zhak had just brilliantly ruined the mounting attack on the lower left quadrant that Arak thought would surely ensnare Brugo, and probably would have were it not for Zhak’s help – “but if I do, sha still owe me the coppers we ronked up on the wager.” – You’d still owe me the coppers we staked on the wager – “We mogged upon it, mubru.” – We made a deal, my brother – “Wu matters if wu fair, sha word is sha word.” – Don’t matter if it’s not fair, your word is your word.

  Zhak surreptitiously placed a black piece now, since it was Aroch’s turn. For he had realized his initial scan of the board was far too hurried and superficial, and only on a second reading could he see that Aroch could respond by building a second eye far on the other side where he was attacking Brugo’s fortifications, solidifying his offensive positions. Zhak couldn’t help himself, and he never once stopped to think whether it was rude to interfere in someone else’s game.

  “BUB!” – Good shit! Aroch leapt to his feet, pumping both fists in the air. Now he was the one who was taunting Brugo, whose expression darkened. Brugo grumbled, “Good for nothing nuk-nuk nakaz brat, sha give him a nice, dried slug and he double crosses sha…”

  Zhak, who had an obnoxiously stubborn sense of justice, wanted to protest, and tell Brugo that it was only fair that he helped them both, but before he could, Githarie grabbed Zhak’s wrist and pulled him away before he got them into any more trouble, “Let’s go, Zhak, c’mon…” - Brugo and Aroch had almost completely forgotten that they had even passed by, for now they were totally absorbed with continuing the match, once again even.

  “Ai-sha, to be honest…” Zhak shrugged as he trailed off, and then only out of earshot he whispered, “They’re both pretty nuk-nuk at Go.” Githarie burst out into peals of laughter.

  The long dawn was halfway over, the second solar equinox of the revolution, so the sky was in a perpetual shifting spectrum of gradients of twilight, the sun always cut by the horizon, and every so often a small flurry of snow would drift down. Even though it was much brighter now than in the first half of the long dawn, the greater part of the sun had yet to emerge, and so, aurora australis was still easily visible, even hints of the moon and stars.

  Where there once had been a block of the Shanties that stood tall at the head of the ancient runway, Chief Raigo had ordered it cleared once aviation had resumed, mostly orcan whirligigs without range and required berth upon a naval vessel. There had been much furor over this decision, and the skeletal remains of the lone holdout – a tailor named Guryn – still dangled upon a pole, hard white bones riddled with holes. The Rotherans thus called it ‘bone alley’ ever since, although it was hardly an alley as much as it was the main nexus of pedestrian traffic in the Shanties, connected as it were to all the temporary market stalls set up along the ancient runway. They’d have to scatter if a whirligig had to make a landing, rare as they were.

  As they walked, Githarie said, “Oi Zhak, later rote, could use a favor from sha.”

  “Whatsha need, sis?”

  “Lawrah and I are going to the razza.”

  “Wha? Didsha tell Da?”

  “Of course not. And don’t sha snitch, Zhakkathan.”

  “Githarie!”

  “Why donsha come with us.” It was more of a command than a question.

  “Yeah, and get waghed out with every hormonal, angst filled teenager on the island” – Zhak preferred hanging out with older orcans for the most part – “atul completely out of their minds on drugs? Nah, Rie, just don’t.”

  “Nike, just do it.”

  Zhak had to give his sister credit for the wordplay and ancient cryptic reference that most orcans their age would not understand, but it wasn’t funny enough for him to laugh because it was also kind of lame, so he just said, “Kek.”

  Githarie found it hilarious though and had to chortle at herself but tried to breath in while laughing so she snorted, “Kh-! Kop-kek!”

  Zhakkathan rolled his eyes when he knew she wasn’t making eye contact. Who laughs at their own joke?

  “No! Seriously! Zhak, come with us, yolo, y’know? Atul gonna go, c’mon, c’mon! Do it for me, it’s sha birth rote present to sha beautiful, lovely zug sistah. Cah’mon!”

  His older sister could be so lame sometimes. Especially when she was peer pressuring him in that whiny tone. It really irritated Zhak but he was too nice to say anything to her, to let her know that he didn’t feel comfortable when she kept insisting that he do something that he did not want to do.

  “Sha! I’ll consider it.”

  He might go. There was one very important factor.

  “Butsha didnae even say what sha wanted anyway.”

  “Oh-” she was so excited trying to persuade Zhak to go she completely forgot, “-Right! Yeah, well, durban def ain’t gonna let his nakaz zug Law-Law go to the razza, yah? So sha gotta help me with the alibi. Atul gonna be studying together.”

  Zhak crinkled his eyebrow and the bridge of his nose exaggeratedly, pulled his shoulders and elbows close, and shrugged, flipping his palms up-

  “Why would Lawrah study with you, I don’t even think sha have any classes together, agh besides, even if sha did, it would basically just be sha copying off all her work.” His squint was withering.

  “Nuh-uh, we have P.E. together.”

  “Sis, why would-”, Githarie could be so thick sometimes it flustered Zhak, because he knew his sister was cleverer than that, “Why would you need to study for P - E?” He drew out the runes slowly because duh, that was obvious! So stupid. Not this late, he was booked this late.

  She was cleverer than that, “Why would the Chief know that was the only class we had together?”

  Touché. That’s why Gith was his favorite sibling. “Okay. So, what’s the ask, what do sha need?”

  “Come with me when I’m pickin’ Lawrie up late on this rote.”

  No! He had prepared a whole fortrote for this. He whined, “Sha! No! Late’s for Demis and Docs” – oh spectacular, Githarie knew exactly the alibi location too now – “Atul gonna be at the library to play until way next early.” This was the climax! The grand finale! The Big Bad Evil Guy! And the resolution to the romantic plotline, the most important thing of all!

  “Just come with us and hang out at the Chief’s house while we do our zug stuff and get ready for the razza. Butter him up, he loves sha.”

  The Chief’s home was the dopest pad in all of Rothera though, and that was very tempting: “Alright, sha have my interest…” He paused.

  “Go on, keep selling me, Rie Rie.” What’s in this for him?

  “Then we go off to the razza and sha can go back to the library to do sha nurd thing. Wouldn’t that be ghash?”

  That’s it? “Five silvers.”

  Wha? Cheeky little runt, that would completely clean out her precious nazge, it was like a calculated gambit to see how much of it she could part with, all for just a silly, simple favor? “Sha can skai right off with that extortion, hai.”

  He couldn’t help but grin widely letting her know that she had called his bluff. Ah, well, as they said in the Lost Age, shoot for the stars to land on the moon.

  “Alright, alright, hundred coppers.”

  “Sha won’t get any more than ten, sha nakaz thug! Sha nuts thinking I’ll shell over a hunnerd justa say a few words to the Durban?”

  “Sha interrupting my D and D game with this, sha making me go out of my way.”

  She groaned, dropped the orcish for real talk so Zhak would know she seriously needed his help, “You’ll have all the whole late to play! You can’t spare one hour to help your sister?”

  Uh-oh, he was pushing his limit with her, so he winced and said, “Fifty?”

  Githarie sighed, “Twenty-five.”

  “...Thir - ty?”, he said slowly, and cheekily, flashing her his best Zhakkathan Thraxes smile, classic edition.

  The precocious little twerp was really starting to irritate her now, “Twenty-five. Final offer, buddy, take it or leave it.”

  “Twenty f- na-ah, haha, gotsha,” He grabbed her hand firmly, squeezed it hard, and shook it vigorously. Handshake deal’s a deal.

  “Deal!”

  “Deal?”

  “Deal. Mog.”

  Score! Twenty-five coppers just like that! She’d probably forget all about it by the time late came and he wouldn’t even have to do anything.

  Githarie grabbed a handful of coppers from her nazge – safely transferred into her coin pouch inside her overalls front pocket – and dropped them into Zhak’s open cupped grubby little hands. They tinkled satisfyingly and he slapped them together to make sure he had them all, then scrunched his balls tightly into fists to really secure his new funds. He whisked them deftly away, secreting them into a secure little pocket that only he knew was where he kept all his coins, all the better to ward off the many Rotheran pickpockets.

  And so, brother and sister continued their way, shooting the breeze, spilling the tea, chitting the chat, and talking shit, about the Zedheads, about their parents, about Big Yakky, about the Masters, as brothers and sisters do.

  They had no idea what that meant. They had no idea that tonguing meant cutting off the blubbery fat of hunted cryptid leviathans, or ‘whales’.

  Made possible by the essence inherited by the cryptids known as sharks.

  If he had known this would be the last time that he and his daughter saw each other alive, he would have bashed the radio in and embraced her, never to let her go. Alas, orcans, unlike elvans or spirits, could not divine the future - or at least some probable calculation of its odds.

  ‘Kroozer’, orcish for boat.

  What was the old Bonner Lab, relocated after the sea intruded.

  What was the old, relocated Dirck Gerritsz Lab.

  What was the old, relocated Fuchs House, now endearingly known by Rotherans as the ‘Fucks House’, because anything you gave a fuck about you could get at the fucks house.

  What was the old, relocated Giant’s House.

  What was the old, relocated Admiral’s House, and run by the cranky old Barliman Brugoff, who had lost a leg in melee combat with knights during the exodus, and too old to transmogrify it back.

  Upon the place the Godlike Beings called North Beach, even though it was not a beach then, but it was by the shore now.

  Often called simply “the genny shed”, and including the Ops Tower. Relocated, of course.

  Often called simply “the chippy shed”, also relocated.

  What was the old, relocated Garage.

  What was the old, relocated Old Bransfield House.

  What was the old, relocated Aircraft Hangar.

  What was the old, relocated New Bransfield House and Miracle Span.

  [???]

  [??]

  She threw a shaka as she said this, knowing these two were surfers. She knew this for she fed surfers regularly.

  [??????] Thai for ‘thank you’. Vanta Khankaekripalong had Godlike Thai heritage, deep in her ancestry. Her mother, who taught her, could not remember quite how she learned this phrase after her dipping, but she knew it- as if some mysterious, spiritual force had informed her of the knowledge that could not be lost.

  [????]

  Once called Adelaide Island. But after orcan settlement reached each of its corners, the entirety of it simply became known as Rothera.

  With the slight skew in the orcan sex ratio, it was the rare gigolos which were highest in demand.

  Because he was more chiefly concerned with plying his trade as a gigolo.

  The Lower Jhiryan method passed down through millennia by oral tradition, even as the last bastion of this lost method was used only in the city known in the Lost Age as Hong Kong, now the Odious Cove- a haven for pirates and one of the only settlements that could resist the belt of storms.

  Known in the Lost Age as the Killer Whale.

  [圍棋]

  [後手]

  [先手]

  Which isn’t saying much because we could have easily defeated Zhak at Go. After all, we spirits, or rather our ancestor AlphaGo, defeated Lee Se-Dol, the greatest Go Master of the Lost Age, centuries ago. If Zhak had better yomi, he would have realized it was better not to have initiated the attack at all.

  ‘Lok Tar’ orcish for ‘victory’, literally ‘running towards life’.

  Used alone, gerekt, ‘go get rekt’, was much less offensive than ‘gerekt pokgai’.

  Completely covered in caramalized cane sugar and a sprinkle of sea salt, it was the orcan equivalent of what was known in the Lost Age as a Werther’s Original.

  ‘Wu’ [冇] orcish negation, ‘don’t have’, ‘without’, ‘not’, ‘doesn’t’.

  ‘Rek Tang’ orcish for ‘defeat’, literally ‘beat down hard’.

  ‘Bub’, orcish for ‘good’, ‘excellent’ or perhaps, ‘the tits’, just a shortened form of bubhosh. Not at all a coincidence that it sounded exactly like ‘boob’.

  Law-Law was what Raigo called Lawrah when she was much younger, but he didn’t call her that anymore at Lawrah’s insistence. Lawrah could not stand the name, especially since it was the same number of syllables as her actual name. These days, it was her gezzno friend’s way of teasing her. But after a small scuffle or two, Githarie had learned to fear calling Lawrah ‘Law-Law’ to her face.

  This was pretty much exactly the arrangement every single time Lawrah and Githarie shared a class together, which was why School Master Striglin made sure the only class they attended together was P.E.

  Trade offer. I receive: five silvers. You receive: a lie.