Oath of Humanity - Prologue

Boab the Genemaster was not angry yet. As he made his way to the city gate his stride was resolute but not hurried. The sullen dawn was a thin red stain above the silhouettes of stone-built houses and shops, with their ragged reed shutters here and there blinking open. Boab rarely left the citadel, and still more rarely at this time of day, so in spite of his latent ire he watched the stirring of early-risen citizens with interest. They mostly turned aside or hid from him, and never met his eyes.

The watchman who had summoned him was mumbling nervously one respectful step behind, but Boab ignored him. He knew enough already: yet another mutant had appeared begging at the gates, making typically outrageous claims about the purity of their lineage. Despite the existence of a simple, infallible test for Truhumans, the only race known to be of true human descent, it seemed that every week the gate watchmen would somehow fail in its application and a Genemaster would be called upon.

Boab had taken the night duty in full awareness of this risk but that made it no less irritating, especially just as the dawn was heralding the end of his shift. To be on call in the night had its advantages, not least that he could usually conduct his studies into Genelord and Truhuman history in peace. But they had been frustratingly inconclusive on this occasion, which did nothing to improve his temperament.

As he approached the city wall the buildings and their occupants grew more destitute. Many houses stood abandoned in various states of ruin, and all that could be seen of citizens was furtive eyes hastily withdrawn. The wall itself was now in sight: it was low and poorly maintained, little more than a steep rise of earth and stone topped in places by woven fencing, although well-guarded by sentinels standing at intervals. Not for the first time Boab felt a subtle and guilty anxiety for the decline of the Truhuman people. The Genelords seemed unable or unwilling to reverse or even recognise it, and although it was the unstated motivation behind his studies Boab was a mere Genemaster and would never dare to try and influence his lords. Not yet. One day he would be a Genelord himself, and perhaps he could speak openly. For now he pored over the scarce historical documents in secret, and so far, in vain.

The gates were two ragged panels of coarsely woven fibre hanging between dirty stone watchtowers. Their hinges were little more than slack loops of rope, and they leant away from each other so that even when closed anyone could leap through the gap between, if it were not watched. Now one stood slightly open.

Several watchmen in unliveried grey tunics were gathered there, standing uncertainly and quite uselessly around a single individual. This one was cloaked and hooded so nothing of his features could be seen except his height: comfortably a head taller than any of his guards, and nearly as tall as Boab himself.

‘Return to your posts,’ he commanded as soon as he was in earshot, and although there was no hint of annoyance in his voice, the idling watchmen leaped guiltily away in either direction with eyes averted.

The tall figure remained, hood downcast, hands clasped together beneath the folds of his robe, waiting. Boab raised an eyebrow in slight surprise. Those few mutants that even stood their ground on the approach of a Genemaster would be furtively defiant, and quite rightly terrified of imminent death or enslavement. Boab halted an arm’s length away. The watchman who had followed him from the citadel now overtook and commanded, ‘Abase yourself before the Genemaster, mutant, or meet your end!’

Boab rolled his eyes and gestured at him to back away. The figure raised a hand. Boab saw that it was lithe, a woman’s hand, and with it she folded back her hood. A cascade of black hair settled around a serene and beautiful face. Boab was stunned. She was quite unlike any mutant or Truhuman: plainly healthy and strong as well as tall, but at the same time delicate, with an aura that he could not immediately identify but that struck a perfect melodic chord into his mind.