Footsteps
© 2021 by Walter Reimer



It was a warm morning, the type of weather that promised a hot, humid afternoon, and the yellow swallowtail pennant of the planet’s ruling family hung limp from its pole at the center of the mosaic garden. Maratha was a generally pleasant place to live, but the estate’s location on the equator promised long and hot summers.

Moka finished smoothing fresh mulch around the roses near the flagpole and got to his feet, the tiger stretching to ease his spine and dusting dirt from the knees of his trousers. Adjusting his wide-brimmed sun hat, he started pushing the artigrav cart to his next task, the arbor at the north end of the gardens. To the south, the estate sprawled, the sounds of automowers echoing off the native granite walls. Half the way down the path, he paused and looked down.

Damn.

There were footprints in the freshly smoothed path heading toward the arbor. The small robots that did the task for him would have to be summoned again.

Pushing his cart in front of him, Moka followed the trail until he paused at the edge of the arbor. Whoever it was had gone off the path, blazing a clear trail through a stand of Markellan blue roses. The tiger shook his head, looking over the damage that he’d have to fix. The Empress would not be pleased.

He suddenly raised his head, ears swiveling.

Crying?

He left the cart behind and went to investigate.

The arbor was set up in a series of radial spokes with a gigantic banyan tree at its center. The original members of the family had brought the tree all the way from Terra, planting it beside a mature oak, and some of its prop roots had been trained (bent, really) to support several benches around the massive central bole. The oak tree was long gone by now, killed by the enveloping banyan. Moka slowly made his way around the tree and paused.

Huddled on a bench was a young leopard, his knees drawn up to his chest as he sobbed.

Moka stepped closer, and sat cross-legged on the bare ground a few meters away until the child sensed that the tiger was there. He snuffled back mucus and used a sleeve of his gray shirt to wipe his eyes, and the tiger said, “Good morning, young Master.”

“Who’re you?” the young Indochinese leopard asked in a quavering voice.

The tiger smiled. “My name’s Moka. I’m the gardener here.” He kept his paws on his knees. “Are you all right, Sir?”

“My name’s Vladmir.”

“Vladmir,” the tiger said, and smiled, although his tail gave a slight flick of apprehension at omitting the young Emperor’s title. “Are you all right?”

Vladmir shrugged helplessly. “I’m running away from my lessons.”

“Why?”

“I’m the Emperor,” and a sulky tone arose. “I shouldn’t have to do lessons.” His ears perked as Moka chuckled. “What?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry, sir – “

“Vladmir.”

“ – Vladmir, but I just suddenly heard myself saying the same thing at your age,” Moka said. The tiger shook his head. “My father used to make me finish all my work from school before I could have dinner. If I didn’t finish,” and he shrugged, “dinner was cold.” He saw the younger feline’s lower lip quiver. “What’s wrong?”

“M-my father . . . “

Moka nodded. Like everyone else, he’d heard about it, and had seen the recording. “It was an awful thing for them to do.”

Vladmir sniffled. “I thought they were just going to talk to him, and Father could come home . . . “ Quietly, he started to cry again.

He flinched a little as the older feline sat beside him on the bench and slipped an arm around his shoulders, and Moka said softly, “It’s all right to cry, Vladmir.”

So the young Emperor did, twisting around and hugging the tiger as his tears began to flow again. Moka stroked his ears and headfur. Sure, his trousers and shirt were dirty, but tears and a little mucus wouldn’t matter much.

“Feeling a little better?” Moka asked after a few minutes.

Still pressed against the tiger, breathing in the smells of soil and uprooted plants, Vladmir nodded.

“I’ve been here for years,” the tiger said. “I was a cub – well, maybe a little older than you are - when your grandfather was here.” He paused long enough for the leopard’s ears to swivel before adding, “When your grandfather went out on active service, I signed up and went out with him.” He chuckled. “That’s how I got this,” and he raised his right leg. “You can’t even see the seam in the fur above my knee.”

“Y-you can’t?”

“No. They did a great job, and your grandfather gave me a job here. Been here ever since.”

Vladmir looked up at him, letting go of the tiger to sit facing forward. “Did you see my father?”

Moka shook his head. “He was always too busy to come out to the gardens. Your father was a good man.” A pause. “But he wasn’t a great man.”

The leopard looked up at him, startled. “Wha-a-a-at?”

The tiger put his paws between his knees and hunched forward slightly. “Don’t get me wrong. Your father could have been a great man, Vladmir, the very best.” He sighed. “But he made mistakes.”

“Mistakes?”

“Uh-huh. His biggest mistake, and this is just me talking, was picking a fight with the K – “

“Critters,” Vladmir snarled. “I hate them.”

Moka sighed and put his arm around the younger feline’s shoulders again. “Vladmir, can I say something?” The young Emperor nodded, and Moka said, “Papa always told me that if you hate your enemies, you’ve already lost.” Vladmir turned and looked up at him, blinking, and the tiger said, “I don’t mean any disrespect to your father, Vladmir. He was a good man, from what I could see.” Moka gave him a puckish smile and leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ll bet he hated his lessons too.”

Despite himself, Vladmir ibn Felix giggled. “There you go,” Moka said. “Now, you know what I’d do, if I were you?”

“Go back to my lessons?”

Moka nodded. “And I’d try to learn everything I could, even about the Kashlani. Understand them, Vladmir, don’t hate them.” His ears swiveled at a sound. “Ah. That’ll be your guards, probably wrecking my roses on the way here.” He sighed and stood up.

There were six of them, all in plainclothes but with weapons drawn and ready. Two aimed their pistols at Moka, and the gardener stood very still as one guard ran a scanner over him. The ferret said, “He’s clean. ID checks as Moka Bustani; he’s on the staff.”

The leader holstered her pistol and saluted the young leopard. “Sir. Are you all right?”

Vladmir got off the bench. “I’m fine.” He blew his nose on his sleeve and said, “I’m ready for my lessons.” He took a few steps forward, paused, and turned toward Moka. “Can we talk again?”

Moka nodded. “Of course. You can always find me in the gardens.”

“Did he hurt you, Sir?” the security supervisor asked.

“No,” Vladmir declared. “Leave him alone,” and the ferret pocketed his pawcuffs. “We were just talking,” and the ten-year-old Emperor started back to the house, the guards trailing behind him.

The supervisor glanced at the tiger before joining her detail.

Moka sighed and walked out from under the shade of the banyan tree and shook his head at the sorry state of the plants and the paths. He pulled his padd from a pocket and summoned the robots to smooth the paths again, and he started to carefully assess the damage. “Deus,” he sighed, “these roses take forever to come back, but do these guys care? No, straight line, straight to where they’re going . . . damned shame.”

Getting a pair of shears from his cart, he glanced at the estate and saw the Emperor going back inside before Moka bent to start trimming back broken stems.