Genetopia
I. Farsamy
"Faster, faster!"
Henritt Ofkyme leaned forward in his carriage's deep bucketseat. Banana-leaf screens shielded him on three sides, so that all he could see of Farsamy was the cobbled street, the jostling crowds and the tight-packed buildings to either side. Henritt took a crop from its carved holder and flicked it at the sweat-streaked flank of the nearest mutt. "Faster," he said again.
This place had an air of transience, of lean-tos and smart huts thrown casually together — here today, but probably not the next — against a backdrop of trees, hills, the great river, luxuriating in their ancient permanence. It made him uncomfortable.
He flicked again at the nearest mutt then, catching gentle old Pilofritt's look, eased himself back into the cushions. Pil had been with the clan for octades, a bondsman given in tribute to Henritt's father Kymeritt by the neighbouring Tenka clan, as part-settlement in some obscure dispute.
Henritt chewed on a jaggery stick, then tossed the sugary husk out into the street when he had finished. Pil would be right, of course: there was no hurry, no need to work the beasts too hard. It had been a long journey and everyone was tired. He closed his eyes, sick already of the sight of so much flesh, human and otherwise. Sick of the smells of shit and sweat and dirt, the babble of voices, the occasional raised beseechment to the gods. And yet... the clamour, the tension of mixing with the world beyond the clan — it was exciting, too. He, Henritt, purebred son of Kyme of the clan Ritt, had been to Farsamy many times before, but this was the first time he had led the delegation. As Pil kept reminding him, he had much to learn. And also, so much to see and do!
~
His head hurt, his stomach burned, his throat was dry and swollen, making it hard to talk or swallow. Not that he wanted to.
Pil had woken him too early — deliberate, he felt sure. Market day, stock to buy, heads to clear. Last night, slumped at the roadside, Henritt recalled the street rats sniffing at him, trying to work out if he was garbage to be consumed. He'd flapped at them, driven them from him. They should have been able to tell. He couldn't remember returning to the lodging house. No doubt Pil would fill him in on the details if he could be bothered to ask.
Set in an open square in the centre of Farsamy, the market's stalls and stock-pens were arranged in a grid formation. Wide tracks between them left plenty of room for the people and their bonded and mutts to pass.
Morning rain gave the cobbles a surface slick with slurry and smart algal scum.
"Hey, Janos!" he croaked, waving at a young bonded behind the Ritt stall. Janosofritt looked moribund: hooded eyes sunk deep into his pallid face. Just as he should: for much of the night the two friends had matched each other drink for drink.
The boy smiled, waved. He was good company, even if his fawning did verge on the outrageous. He was a good worker, too.
Henritt stepped behind the stall, eyeing the arrangements critically, gesturing at Janos or one of the mutts to refine the display.
Under the canopy he was sheltered from the rain, but there was no respite from the humid heat and the pervasive smells of the stock. He sat on a cushioned stool, ready to do business, ready to take his first serious steps in multiplying the clan's wealth.
The Ritt delegation had brought samples of some of their best smart fibres to the Farsamy market. Their livelihood was founded on the fibre beds, the techniques for farming and moulding the smartstuff jealously guarded, passed down through the generations. Clans would travel for days and weeks to buy in stocks of Ritt fibre and its products: woven together the fibres would bond and scab over, forming waterproof sheeting that could be used for clothing, bottling and other containers; depending on the after-treatment, Ritt fibres could even be used in the construction of buildings, boats and carriages. The stock they would sell at Farsamy market would finance the trip and the purchases Henritt was to make; the longer term deals and contracts initiated here were what really mattered.
Henritt had spent many such trips studying at the feet of his father, or Uncle Chardinritt. He was aware that he sometimes gave the impression of callowness, of disinterest even, but he was well-taught and his brain was sharp. He would not let the clan down.
~
Give him a mutt, any day! Mutts were straightforward in their loyalty and devotion: a good mutt could be nothing but obedient, after all. They didn't have it in them to be condescending, to patronise their betters in the way that Pilofritt had perfected, to simultaneously obey their master's every word and yet undermine his standing in the company of equals.
And Janosofritt! The boy had loved it.
"Perhaps the finest you will find in all of the eastern provinces," Henritt had told one customer, allowing her to run the loose fibres through her hands, feel their quality.
"Most certainly the finest," Pilofritt had chipped in, simultaneously defending the clan's standing and undermining Henritt. He had been like that since the start of trading, and Janos had not even troubled to hide his delight each time the old bondsman had corrected Henritt.
By mid-morning Henritt had reached his limit. "I am going to inspect stock," he said, addressing no-one in particular.
"I will accompany you, sir," said Pil immediately.
"You do not trust me to choose wisely?" demanded Henritt.
"You are my master and superior, sir. I merely advise and help you to refine your judgement. It is my duty."
Henritt met the old man's gaze. Turning away, he plucked another jaggery stick from behind the stall and bit into it, enjoying the kick from the coarse palm-sugar snack. He knew Pil disapproved of such stimulants. He tossed the husk into the gutter for the street rats. Why should he care what the bondsman thought? Pil might be purebred, but he was no freeman.
He led the way into the heart of the market. Bodies pressed all around. The wealthier freemen wore fabrics made from Ritt smart-fibres, their poorer fellows and bonded in cottons and woollen cloaks.
Henritt knew that if he paused for Pil's advice he would be told to explore the engineering stalls in the western quadrant. The Ritt clan might be blessed with the source for some of the finest raw materials in the region, but innovations in their uses came from other quarters. There would be gadgetry and clever devices aplenty in the western quadrant, but the real trade there was in talent and forging longer term partnerships: talented engineers to be recruited to the clan; innovative clans with which to construct alliances.
But Henritt was young and, he would readily admit, easily bored. His older brother Willemritt was the one who had been groomed in the mystical techniques of fibre production and it was Willemritt who was obsessive about the clan's product. Henritt was smarter than that. He knew that the real power lay in marketing and politicking. Let Will bury his head in the fibre vats day and night! It was Henritt who came to town, Henritt who saw the sights and met the people from outside the clan's small world.
And he knew exactly what would please his father, Kymeritt, far more than any exotic gadgetry. "Okay, Pil," he said. "Where's the livestock?"
~
They were chained by the ankle to loops bolted to the cobbles. Thirty, forty, perhaps. The smell was almost overpowering: faeces and urine but, more than anything, a booming, musky body odour. It made Henritt wish it was still raining, something to wash some of the stench out of the air.
He stood before a group of five males. They varied in height from one that barely reached Henritt's chin to one that towered over the others, like a mighty tree amid saplings. Despite the variation in body size, they looked as if they were all from the same stock: flat faces with almost no nose at all, wide mouths that split open to reveal even teeth in an expression more nervous than threatening. Their fur was thick, matted, starting above the eyes and extending over the head and down across the upper part of the body where it became thick and tangled, like the pelt of a goat.
"Janos would like them, no?" said Henritt, half-turning to address Pil. The bondsman chuckled, then looked pointedly downwards. Henritt reached over the stock fence with his crop and flicked at the loincloth of one of the mutts. "Ah," he said. "I see." They'd been gelded. "I'm sure he could find a use for one, even so."
The beasts had good broad backs and shoulders. They might be worth the reserve price. Pil put a gentle hand on his arm, shook his head. "Good stock don't need gelding," he said. "They must have needed calming. Probably wild stock — didn't want 'em rutting."
Henritt nodded. It paid to be careful. Most of the mutts he had known were, by their nature, obedient, hard-working. But he knew that many were flawed in some way: sickly, untrustworthy, malignant. Imbuto was the term they used: superficially healthy, but harbouring corruption in the core. His father would not thank him for bringing imbuto stock into the clan.
A herd of piggies in a nearby stall attracted his attention, squealing and chattering excitedly. One had blood smeared across its face, its features a curious mixture of hog and other. A street rat was dangling, twisting and writhing, from a mouth disturbingly human in form. The piggy bit deep and the rat went limp. The beast tossed its head back and swallowed while all around the other piggies pushed and snapped and chattered in their singsong voices. As a child, Henritt had pretended to identify words in those voices, had imagined an entire language of piggery. The beasts were vile things but, bred true, they had a loyalty to humans ingrained in them as solid as that of any mutt.
Henritt took Pil's arm and left the piggy stall behind. "I want something special for Father," he said. A plaything, a toy that will ever remind him of his youngest son's devotion and fitness to take on the clan's affairs. "A gift."
"The clan will be served well enough with the contracts we are negotiating today," said the bondsman. "Gestures impress. Good business sense repays the faith your father has invested in you."
"True," said Henritt. "But I want to impress him, too."
~
"You won't find better than this one in a year of Farsamy markets," said the trader. "Bids have already passed double the reserve price."
Henritt smiled, nodding absently. This mutt was the best he had seen. A bitch, the top of her head barely reached his chin, but she was finely proportioned, the musculature solid around shoulder and thigh, but not too heavy. Her skin was a pale amber, furred with a light downy fluff that grew more thickly across chest and groin. She could almost have been human, but for the fur and the dark, dark eyes: black at the centre, fading to a glowing tan hue where the whites would normally have been. The hair on her head was dark, cut short to emphasise the evenness of her features.
He stepped close, reached for her mouth, pulled the lips apart to examine two even rows of teeth. Dugs firm, no sign of lumps or slackness. He turned her, checked for signs of rot or infestation; gestured with his crop for her to walk as far as her chains would allow. She moved well.
He glanced at Pilofritt. "The bidding will go too high," said the bondsman. "We have several of this breed already."
"Ever the cautious one, eh, Pil?" Before Pil could respond, Henritt went on: "Father would enjoy her, don't you think?"
The bondsman bowed his head. "He would be impressed," he conceded.
~
When Henritt returned just after the middle of the day, someone had upped the bid. He was glad to be alone now, with Pil remaining at the Ritt stall. "I'll match the price," he told the trader. "And up by a tenth."
Someone else was examining the bitch, pulling her about, pawing at her. The mutt stared resolutely at a point above the woman's head, waiting for her to finish.
There was something in this one's look, her stance, that marked her as different, Henritt thought. A defiance, perhaps. Not a good thing in a mutt, but in this instance it raised her above the rest.
He went to her, studied her again. "Are you a talker?" he asked. Most mutts were dumb, at best communicating only with grunts and some simple pidgin. Some could be trained, though, he had heard.
She looked at him, parted her lips to expose her neat, off-white teeth. No sound passed her lips, though. Her expression lacked anything human and in that instant Henritt was struck by the animal nature of the thing he was buying for his father.
~
That night, he and Janosofritt celebrated a good day's trading.
"Clan Coltar have confirmed orders through to hawksrise," said Henritt. "Clans Treco and Willarmey, too."
"And did Pil tell you of the deal he is negotiating with the Riverwalkers?"
Henritt put a hand on his friend's arm. "He tells me everything," he said. "I'm in charge, see? He has to tell me, doesn't he?" The Riverwalkers were from an engineering enclave about ten days upstream from Farsamy. When Pil completed the negotiations they would supply bonded engineers to Clan Ritt in exchange for materials and protection.
So much business! After only a single day, the trip had already been a huge success.
And to complete his triumph, Henritt had managed to see off the rival bids and only an hour earlier he had taken the female mutt into the protection of his clan's trade delegation. Now she was in a wagon at their lodgings. It had been a good day.
Just then, a girl at the bar caught his eye. She was plain, but well proportioned. He leaned even closer to Janos, nodded towards the girl. "Whaddya think?"
"I suppose you don't have to look at the vat while you're stirring the fibres," said Janos.
Henritt clapped his friend on the back and stood, went across to the bar. It looked like being a promising night.
~
Back at the lodgings. Head aswim with drink and narcotics, Henritt leaned on a doorframe to steady himself.
He'd come back alone. Janos was still out there with some whitewood salesman he'd met earlier in the day. Wendoftenka, the girl at the bar, had been fun, had rutted like the world was about to end, but had to get back to her lodgings before her clanfolk came looking for her.
So here he was, drugged and sexed out, end of a long day... why didn't he just go on up to that feathered mattress the clan was paying for?
Their wagons and carriages were out back. This was where their mutts slept, under the shelter of the clan's vehicles. The new one... she was still inside one of the wagons.
His eyes were already adjusted to the dark, but inside it was even gloomier.
He knew where she was from the sounds she made: feet on floor, breathing.
"It's okay," he said. "Just checking."
He could make out her shape now, backed into the farthest corner, hands held in front of her as if to protect herself. "No touch," she gasped.
"You speak?"
Her voice was quiet, the words strangely formed.
"Good girl work hard. No touch."
He couldn't place the accent. "Where are you from?" he asked. Then, "You hometown," he added, trying to remember how to talk pidgin.
"No touch," she repeated. And, again, he was struck by the animal in the human, the human in the animal, of her nature.
He backed out, locked the door, pissed long and hard against the wheel of the wagon, then made his way inside the lodging house.
~
He dreamed of her, the bitch, although by morning all that lingered were a few fleeting images, startling in their mundanity. A half-formed image of her backed into a dark corner: No touch. Her easy, rolling gait as he had led her back to the lodging house after his successful purchase. Dark eyes: brown on tan, as if cast in resin.
He ate fleshfruit on the way to the market, drank copiously from the bottle Janos carried, trying to clear his head for the day's trading and negotiations. He thought, again, of Wendoftenka, heard her cries repeated in his head. He wondered if he would see her again today, tonight. He felt suddenly reinvigorated, ready for the day and night to come, for the triumphant return to Rittasan the day after.
~