Troubadour

Chapter 01:An unseen threat stalked her every move. The spreading foliage of the yorba trees cast deep shadows, providing unlimited places to lie in ambush. In places, a splash of sunlight seeped through the foliage, presenting a tempting place to nap. That was not an option. Ginger never considered sleeping in her current state. Her tail swished in a side-to-side motion. She was ready to launch herself to safety at the slightest provocation. Her emerald green eyes peered into the shadows, searching for any movement. Any sign of the attackers she knew hunted her. Somewhere out in this jungle, a horde of miscreants waited for their chance to pounce. The only thing that stopped them was Ginger’s abilities. She needed to be smarter than them, or she would fail in her mission. For Ginger, the mission was everything. Instinctively, her right ear twitched when an insect approached. The movement chased the pest away but could have revealed her location. Pausing, she checked to make sure the skintight camouflage chameleon-suit continued to shift colors. She was blessed to have one. The material also regulated her internal temperature. This close to the equator, the temperature rose to blistering levels over the long Scritian days. The suit covered her body save tail, paws, and head—small targets for anyone to see at a distance. Moments like these, she was happy to be a short hair, and not one of the cursed genera, the long hairs from the far north. Flowing fur might look luxurious, but she imagined the pelt was murder to keep clean. A quick lick to her yellow forepaw settled some unruly fur back where it belonged. A bath and nap were called for, but first, she needed to finish the task set before her. The trail she followed edged closer to the waterfall. It would be the perfect place to lie in ambush. The reverberation of the falling water should mask any sound of the attackers lying in wait. It’s where she would launch an attack from. She dropped to all fours. The lower silhouette made her near impossible to spot in the heavy undergrowth. The huge leaves flanking the path helped to soak in the small amount of noise she made while creeping toward the water. The sound of chattering teeth drifted through the brush. They were close. The sound betrayed their inexperience. This was too easy. Before she made a comment to correct the mistake, the first attack came from the right. Two males lunged before the command was given. Ginger pushed off the ground. All four limbs propelled her safely away from the rushed attack. With a sideways twist, she cleared the bodies and landed safely behind them. Two more dove from the left. They landed on top of the two males. Ginger bit her lower lip, and her fangs broke the skin. The taste of blood filled her mouth. It would not be prudent to laugh at the failed attempt. There was a lesson to be learned, even in failure. Hopefully, they would learn to think in more directions than the simplest two planes of attack. Third-year students, they had a great deal to learn. At this age, there wasn’t much difference between the males and females, perhaps a broader hip base for the females. Truthfully, there wasn’t a massive variance between the two sexes. Even an adult Scrits was slender, with few bumps to make a discernible difference. However, scent made separation of the two sexes much easier. Ginger stood. Her voice rang out clear, “Come out, this attack failed.” She turned off the chameleon-suit and waited for the others to show themselves. In an instant, she shifted from her hunting to teaching technique. The shift allowed her claws to relax. Not that she needed them against the children, but the instinct of the hunt was difficult to suppress. The young pride leader came from the forward position where she belonged. The youngster’s head was held in shame, tail snaked around her right leg. “The males didn’t follow directions,” she blurted. The student stood too far away, or Ginger might have cuffed her behind the ear. She settled for a verbal rebuke. “It is a weak leader who blames others for their failures.” Before the pride leader spoke up, one of the other females rose to her defense. Her whiskers twitched while she pleaded the case. “The plan was set out clearly…” She pointed to the pile of bodies lying in a tangle. “They didn’t do as they were told.” She happened to be the second of this failed attempt. “And why is that?” Ginger asked. “Because they are… males. They lack self-control,” one of the females from the ground chimed in before rushing to stand tall. The pair of overeager boys stood ridged, ready to defend themselves, each coat puffed out in defense. All that was lacking were the hissed tones of anger and fear. All the students carried the markings of high-born status, multicolored coats of the elite class. If not for Ginger’s position as professor, they might have ignored her. As it was, they needed her for a grade. The students would be wise to not upset someone who held control over their advancement. “An intelligent leader would take that into account and plan for all variables when possible. Your placement was good. The execution lacked… inspiration.” She lowered her tone just enough to rebuke the leaders. They needed to learn from this failure. “When there is more than one point of view, there is no guarantee all present will view the event in an identical manner. It is only natural for our mind to change an event in order to make us the hero.” “You moved before we attacked. That’s not fair.” The nearest male struggled to maintain his composure. His complaint only served to prove Ginger’s point. “You will often find life is not fair.” Ginger struggled to not laugh in her student’s face. That would not be proper at all. “Professor… what gave us away?” the second finally asked. “A most intelligent question. What do you think?” The leader shrugged. Ginger waited, but when no one came up with the answer, she said, “Someone got excited and started chattering before the signal.” She turned to each one as she spoke. “Remember to use all your senses when in the jungle. You never know which will save your life.” “Why do we have to do this, anyway? It seems so… archaic… wild and feral,” the youngest male asked. “Because it is part of the curriculum put in place by the Central Committee,” Ginger said softly, reaffirming the city’s line. The youngest male blurted out, “My father says the Committee should get stuffed.” “My mother says the Central Committee is a load of idiots who couldn’t catch a cold if they worked on a quarantine ward.” Surprisingly, this came from the second. The professor clenched her jaw. How she reacted was as crucial as the seditious statements. This was an awkward location for these two children to practice their subversive tendencies. However, she noted the offenders and place the statements were made. Reports would need to be filed, and the city’s lines reinforced over the next several lessons. Ginger glanced over her shoulder. An ever-present recorder hung from a cable. The authorities could make them less ubiquitous, but she knew the devices were left in plain sight as a deterrent. What worried her were the hundreds that went unnoticed, hidden from the closest inspection. Turning back to the children, she kept her face as emotionless as possible. Whispered rumors ran wild: the Committee acquired the technology to read a person’s thoughts by the subtle changes in facial expression. Ginger thought the idea farfetched, but she was never one to risk the ire of the Central Committee. She liked her position too much. “I’m sure you warned your father and your mother of the dangers of subversive thoughts… even in the confines of your quarters,” she scolded the students. The male lowered his head. “Yes, ma’am…” The female followed the boy’s lead. “Sorry, Professor.” Ginger looked over her class. “Can anyone state why we run these hunting practices?” The young female leader recited, “It is each citizen’s responsibility to protect the city of Sayvan and the Central Committee from hostile forces. We do our best to be prepared.” The pack leader used her elbow to jab the mouthy male in the ribs. “Precisely.” Ginger glanced at a camera that sat in front of her. “It would be wise to remember I only teach those lessons the Central Committee deems important to your development.” “Yes, Professor,” the students replied in unison. “Now, I expect a report on the issues with the planned attack and what could have been done differently to achieve success—” The directions were met with a universal groan of complaint. “Wait for it…” She paused while her class settled down. “Right after you go for a swim and get cleaned up.” She clapped her forepaws three times, and the students disappeared into the brush. Splashes reached her ears. The group didn’t hesitate to dive right into the purified river. “Hopefully, they took their training suits off first,” she chuckled to herself. She walked toward the classrooms located behind the waterfall. The dome overhead kept the worst of the heat and biting insects at bay, and the climate control maintained the humidity perfectly for the vegetation’s growing conditions. This section of the rain forest flourished in the center of the city. If this had been a wild jungle, she never would leave the students unattended. The danger was too great. The river would have been forbidden as well. Too many hazards lurked in the waters of Scrits. Ginger hated the wild and everything it represented. Never one to delude herself, she knew everything past the city borders, were a danger to the more civilized Scritians. It was a documented fact that only the hardiest survived outside the city. Despite the fact she taught survival skills, Ginger possessed no intention of venturing outside to test her ability to survive in the real world. This cloud forest conservatory was only a small portion of her classroom and school. The safe space provided her what she needed to train these students and teach the other classes. In many ways, she counted herself lucky. She met with each class intermittently with plenty of freedom for naps between sessions. Her life was perfect for a member with a lower-standing background. A three-tone chime warned the rain would start shortly. She picked up her pace to escape the drenching. Like the city proper, everything here ran in accordance with a plan. Now she needed to fill out the reports on the parent’s subversive attitude. Hopefully, they would simply get off with a refresher course on the rights and responsibilities of citizens of the city. The alternative was unthinkable for such a minor infraction… Ginger would never speak the words aloud, but she thought punishments for the most trivial of transgressions tended toward the harsh. “Lack of responsibility breeds chaos.” She spoke the city motto before entering the classroom building. The saying happened to be the vocal recognition password, a gentle reminder when entering the structure of their duty as a citizen. It was one more way the city monitored its citizenry’s activities. The very buildings watched the inhabitants. She bypassed the elevator, instead opting for the ramp. The weight of inaction pulled on her body. If she wasn’t careful, she would no longer fit in her chameleon-suit. A life of leisure only led to decadence and a backside wide enough to park a spaceship. On the third floor, she pushed open the door to her classroom and froze. Two strangers waited for her. The pair dressed in dark blue jumpsuits only meant the worst thing possible. The red and brown tortoiseshell fur confirmed it. These two individuals represented the Directorate of Accountability, more commonly referred to by the acronym DOA. They were members of the highest-ranking station. Several levels above Ginger and her professorship. The ones who watched over each individual’s activities and judged their actions. The pair had made themselves at home, propped on the first table before her lectern. She knew better than to make them wait too long. Only the guilty feared what the DOA represented. “Good day… How may I help you?” If the pair overheard the student and her swift rebuke, there should be no problem. Ginger did what was required of a professor in such a situation. She had the full following class period before the required report was due. “I must apologize, I was not expecting an audit visit.” Ginger stepped fully into her classroom and made sure the door was closed behind her. As a final safety measure, she flipped the do-not-enter warning sign with the turn of the lock. Now she only hoped her students followed the procedures outlined and didn’t bang on the door to get in. The pair watched her. Eyes narrowed while assessing her every move and nonverbal cue. Out of reflex, Ginger wrapped her tail around her waist—anything to keep the nervous twitch to a minimum. They both smiled, she assumed to set her off guard and put her at ease. It did neither. The male had work done on his mouth: his fangs filed off. With his thin lips, he now looked alien, more like a serpent ready to eat a rodent than the familiar feline appearance… ready to eat a rodent. The female had a portion of her last meal stuck between her first and second fang. The professor forced herself to not stare despite the distraction. The male spoke first. “We are here representing the city.” The missing fangs made his words sound slurred. If not for the dire circumstances, Ginger would have laughed at the ridiculous articulation. The female chimed in, “Long may they serve.” There was no flashing of credentials, no badges to be shown. The patterns of their fur and uniforms was the only authority needed. She didn’t dare question their rank. Ginger swallowed her fear. “I understand that, and I am here to serve.” The male continued, “Your position is a testament to your loyalty. You must have found it difficult to overcome your youth and heritage to rise to such a lofty position.” “Thank you… I’m sorry… but is there a question?” Her tail tip twitched, and out of reflex, Ginger stroked it for comfort. The female said, “We are here concerning your sister.” “My sister?” Ginger wanted to sit. It would help her look more relaxed. But fear and uncertainty of the situation forced her to remain standing. “Yes, Amber,” the male said. “I only have the one…” Ginger’s head spun. What had her sister done now? The female’s turn to make her feel uncomfortable: “When did she last make contact?” Ginger nearly blurted an answer, but if she were caught in a lie, her life would be over. “It has been a while… I’m sure you have the records.” “Please answer the question,” the male pressed. Ginger remembered their last meeting. It ended in a huge fight over Amber’s attitude and her dangerous beliefs. She should have reported her for the stand she took, but Ginger couldn’t bring herself to inform on her only family. “Over a cycle, at least. I’m not certain of the date.” “And nothing since?” The male checked a tablet. “I’m sorry, no.” The female stood. “If she contacts you, please inform us.” She took measured steps to the door. “It would be in your best interest to comply.” Ginger risked a question. She needed to know more. “Might I ask to what this is pertaining?” “No, you may not.” The male followed the female. “Remember, it is our duty to protect the city.” “Is Amber still… alive? Please, she is the only family I have left.” With great effort, Ginger maintained her composure. The female interjected, “Your sister Amber has become connected with subversive elements in the interior. If she contacts you, we need to bring her in to… debrief her.” With that final declaration, the mysterious pair disappeared out the only door.