Vochi…each was clumped up together not far from the center of the field.
Nokolai Clanhome was crowded these days.
“Josh Krugman,” another voice called. “And Celia Thompson.”
“On duty,” Pete replied loudly, his voice crossing the response from the woman standing
near Cullen saying the same thing. “Excused,” they both said, one right after the
other.
In normal times, most lupi did not live at their clanhomes. Nearby, yes, if they could,
but lupi had to earn a living just as humans did, which for most of them meant living
elsewhere. Some worked at Clanhome, either as guards or for the nursery or at the
clan’s construction firm. Others owned their own small businesses elsewhere or worked
for human employers or companies. But a large number worked at companies owned by
the clan in the three coastal states that comprised Nokolai’s territory.
This was unusual. Until the Supreme Court stopped the government from administering
the drug gado to any lupi it caught, Rule’s people hadn’t dared live together in large
numbers. Most clanhomes couldn’t house even half their clan’s members, and clans hadn’t
considered it safe to have too many of their members working at the same place.
Nokolai was different because of Isen…and Vochi.
Isen had known for a long time that lupi couldn’t continue to live secretly. The world
had changed too much. He’d planned for the day they came out into the open; he’d worked
with Wythe clan to make that happen, using the country’s legal system. Even before
that, though, he’d been preparing. First he’d created a pretext for gathering forty
or fifty clan to him—the fiction that Clanhome housed a religious cult. In addition
to the homes here, he’d built dormitory-type housing for “visiting brethren.” After
Nokolai went public, he’d added a second dormitory and additional houses.
Nokolai could, at need and with some crowding, house their entire clan.
Even so, and even now, not all Nokolai lived here. Many remained scattered in California,
Oregon, and Washington, keeping their ears perked and their eyes open. That was both
strategy and necessity. War was expensive. Nokolai was a wealthy clan, but even it
couldn’t afford to fully support all of its members for a long stretch. Not when a
large chunk of that wealth came from the businesses it owned, where its people worked.
The decision to operate businesses that employed clanhad been Isen’s. But he couldn’t have implemented it without Vochi’s help.
Vochi had always been a small clan, suffering even more than most from the limited
fertility common to those of the Blood. It had always thrown too many submissives,
too few fighters. Add to that a peculiar interest in accumulating wealth, and Vochi
could have been the skinny kid in glasses getting picked on by the jocks…or, during
times of clan strife, the skinny white guy who got caught on the wrong turf when the
Crips and the Bloods were slugging it out.
Vochi knew this. They’d first submitted to Nokolai sixteen hundred years ago. Nokolai
had defended Vochi ever since, and Vochi had done much in return for Nokolai. They
were the reason Nokolai was the wealthiest clan—their acumen and, more recently, Isen’s
understanding that money meant power in the human world. And for better or worse,
that was the world lupi lived in.
In, but not of. They had much in common with humans, but they were not human. The
clans could not be run the way humans ran their societies.
Human crowds reminded Rule of flocks of birds or children, unable to tolerate stillness
for long. He stood beside his father at the center of roughly three hundred mostly
still and silent people. Mostly, because there were humans in this crowd, too—female
clan, who were as quiet as they could manage. But most were lupi, with a wolf’s instinctive
understanding of the value of stillness. Most were Nokolai. Their Rho
Nokolai Clanhome was crowded these days.
“Josh Krugman,” another voice called. “And Celia Thompson.”
“On duty,” Pete replied loudly, his voice crossing the response from the woman standing
near Cullen saying the same thing. “Excused,” they both said, one right after the
other.
In normal times, most lupi did not live at their clanhomes. Nearby, yes, if they could,
but lupi had to earn a living just as humans did, which for most of them meant living
elsewhere. Some worked at Clanhome, either as guards or for the nursery or at the
clan’s construction firm. Others owned their own small businesses elsewhere or worked
for human employers or companies. But a large number worked at companies owned by
the clan in the three coastal states that comprised Nokolai’s territory.
This was unusual. Until the Supreme Court stopped the government from administering
the drug gado to any lupi it caught, Rule’s people hadn’t dared live together in large
numbers. Most clanhomes couldn’t house even half their clan’s members, and clans hadn’t
considered it safe to have too many of their members working at the same place.
Nokolai was different because of Isen…and Vochi.
Isen had known for a long time that lupi couldn’t continue to live secretly. The world
had changed too much. He’d planned for the day they came out into the open; he’d worked
with Wythe clan to make that happen, using the country’s legal system. Even before
that, though, he’d been preparing. First he’d created a pretext for gathering forty
or fifty clan to him—the fiction that Clanhome housed a religious cult. In addition
to the homes here, he’d built dormitory-type housing for “visiting brethren.” After
Nokolai went public, he’d added a second dormitory and additional houses.
Nokolai could, at need and with some crowding, house their entire clan.
Even so, and even now, not all Nokolai lived here. Many remained scattered in California,
Oregon, and Washington, keeping their ears perked and their eyes open. That was both
strategy and necessity. War was expensive. Nokolai was a wealthy clan, but even it
couldn’t afford to fully support all of its members for a long stretch. Not when a
large chunk of that wealth came from the businesses it owned, where its people worked.
The decision to operate businesses that employed clanhad been Isen’s. But he couldn’t have implemented it without Vochi’s help.
Vochi had always been a small clan, suffering even more than most from the limited
fertility common to those of the Blood. It had always thrown too many submissives,
too few fighters. Add to that a peculiar interest in accumulating wealth, and Vochi
could have been the skinny kid in glasses getting picked on by the jocks…or, during
times of clan strife, the skinny white guy who got caught on the wrong turf when the
Crips and the Bloods were slugging it out.
Vochi knew this. They’d first submitted to Nokolai sixteen hundred years ago. Nokolai
had defended Vochi ever since, and Vochi had done much in return for Nokolai. They
were the reason Nokolai was the wealthiest clan—their acumen and, more recently, Isen’s
understanding that money meant power in the human world. And for better or worse,
that was the world lupi lived in.
In, but not of. They had much in common with humans, but they were not human. The
clans could not be run the way humans ran their societies.
Human crowds reminded Rule of flocks of birds or children, unable to tolerate stillness
for long. He stood beside his father at the center of roughly three hundred mostly
still and silent people. Mostly, because there were humans in this crowd, too—female
clan, who were as quiet as they could manage. But most were lupi, with a wolf’s instinctive
understanding of the value of stillness. Most were Nokolai. Their Rho
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