Progenitor - Michael Jan Friedman [35]
Now he found himself in the sanctum’s Great Hall, an imperious, torturously angular chamber with floors pitted by age and slanted windows ablaze with the glory of the setting sun.
The Assemblage of Elders sat in front of him on a raised stone bench, their High One occupying its center with three of his colleagues on either side. Some Gnalish found it daunting merely to stand in the presence of those august figures, and even more so when they were flanked by their gigantic guards.
But Simenon wasn’t here just to stand in their presence. He was here to fight for the future of his family.
Fortunately, he wasn’t alone in the effort. His comrades from the Stargazer were seated behind him on one of the stone shelves that hugged the perimeter of the chamber. It wasn’t as if they could say anything on his behalf, but he was grateful for the moral support.
Not that he would ever have confessed that to them.
There were several others in attendance as well, a few dozen Gnalish with personal stakes in the outcome of the proceedings. The law allowed them to observe and participate as long as the Assemblage had no objection to their doing so.
The High One, who was also the oldest and most loose-skinned of the councillors, got to his feet. Simenon could see the blue mark on the front of his robe.
“The Assemblage has meditated,” the High One announced. He eyed Simenon. “I trust you’ve done the same.”
The engineer nodded. “I have.”
“You have brought offworlders to engage in the ritual,” the High One noted, wasting no time in addressing the matter at hand. “However, the ritual is restricted to Gnalish.”
Here goes, thought Simenon. “Normally, that’s true. But as I’m sure you know, exceptions have been made in the past.”
The councillor frowned, stretching the sac of loose skin under his chin. “Only under the most extenuating circumstances.”
“These are extenuating circumstances as well,” Simenon said.
The High One’s eyes narrowed. “In what way?”
“I have no brothers to take along on my journey. An accident claimed both their lives a few years ago.”
The councillor shrugged. “The law states that you may take first cousins in their place.”
“I have no first cousins either,” said Simenon. “My parents had no siblings who survived to adulthood.”
The High One didn’t have an answer for that. Sensing that he had gained an advantage, Simenon pressed on.
“As a result,” he said, “I have invited the assistance of some of my friends, all of whom are male and roughly my age and should therefore be admissible to the ritual.”
Another Gnalish, as tall and heavy and pale of skin as the black-garbed guards, rose from the midst of the onlookers. “I would like to speak,” he said in a deep, harsh voice.
The High One nodded. “You have leave.”
“I disagree with the one called Simenon. The laws governing the ritual are explicit.” His fiery eyes flashed with indignation as he glanced in the engineer’s direction. “It’s not enough for someone to be the right age and sex. He must also be a blood relative of the individual undertaking the journey.”
A second Gnalish got to his feet. He was considerably smaller than either Simenon or his fellow protester, and his skin had a light and dark pattern to it. He too asked to be recognized by the Assemblage and was granted the privilege.
“Kasaelek is right,” the diminutive one snapped. “The ritual is intended for Gnalish and their blood kin, not for strangers to our ways—and certainly not for the offspring of other worlds.”
Simenon smiled grimly. It was no secret why these two would have a problem with his choice of comrades. In their place, he might have objected with the same vehemence—and maybe even the same arguments.
“My competitors can hardly be considered unbiased judges,” he told the Assemblage, his voice ringing passionately throughout the chamber. “It’s in their interest to see me undertake the ritual on my own.”
“I merely seek justice,” countered the giant.
“We must honor our traditions,” the light and dark one insisted.
“Of course,” said