Creaking footsteps and the brash aroma of morning coffee woke me, yet I knew something wasn't right. My servants always drew the curtains first.

Two dim figures lingered at my open door.

"Go back to your duties. I'll serve him."

A domestic robot trudged away, and a woman entered with my breakfast tray. Her captivating face glowed in the winking light of a candle.

"Mother." I scrambled upright.

"Happy birthday, Silas."

Duke sensed my alarm and snuffled a bark.

"What are you doing here?"

"Paying you a visit. We see so little of each other these days. Your father keeps you far too busy for your age." She set the tray down and paced closer. Still in her pale, gauzy dressing gown, hair wrapped for sleep, she sat slowly at the foot of my bed.

"What do you want?" I moved closer to Duke.

"I just want to talk a moment," she said.

"There's nothing I wish to discuss."

She sighed. "Your father is correct about one thing, we're strangers. I haven't been a good mother to you."

"Waking me unannounced isn't the best way to remedy that."

Her smile curled. "It's the only way I can capture you, and have your undivided attention, without others leering over us. I do wish us to be closer, so that I can be more...beneficial to you. And this, well, I thought I'd start with a tradition. Serving breakfast to one's firstborn child on their fourteenth birthday is customary on Tri-Jovian, where the rest of your family dwells. They want to be a part of your life, too."

"I don't find this amusing."

"I understand. I have an offer for you. Then, I'll leave."

"Say what you must."

"Your Uncle Holten is soon taking a three-week excursion to Mars, to assess a new building contract. He's bringing Castor along, and he asked me to invite you as well."

Uncle Holten, Mother's younger brother, was the CEO and chairman of Jaster Construction. I'd only met him once, a distant and supercilious man, with an admirable talent for business. His company's profits had soared when he assumed the helm, and continued to grow every year since. As he'd never taken more than a shallow interest in me, I was suspicious of his sudden regard, and Mother's also.

"Tell him I'll consider it," I said.

"Very well." She continued to stare, as the widening slats of sunrise peeked through cracks in the drapery.

"You told me you'd leave."

"You're so much alike. I can scarcely believe it." With trailing, embellished sleeves, she reached for my hand.

"Get out." I pulled away, weary of her cloying presence.

"One day, you'll see it," she said. "You're my son, not his."

She drifted out the door. The candle died behind her, a thin gasp of smoke coiling above the cold serving platters. The coffee was lukewarm, but I drank it anyway. After the debacle over last night's dinner, I was glad that breakfast was served in bed to the hunting party. The time spared was needed to dress properly. It also avoided another outburst between my parents, which I didn't want on such a marvelous day.

The robots removed my dishes, and my valet, Mr. Whitlock, arrived shortly after.

"Good morning, sir," he said. "And happy birthday."

"Thank you kindly."

I took a hot bath, while the robots tended to Duke.

Afterward, Mr. Whitlock removed my hunting suit from the armoire, still wrapped in its thin paper cover. A plain moss-green tweed jacket in a herringbone weave and its matching cap complemented my solid gray wool waistcoat, while the plus fours were a deliberate contrast in striped shades of rich brown. My tie was of a matching earthy hue, with field boots in polished brown leather laced to my knees. A leather belt fitted with utility slots suited me well, as did the accompanying hunting bag slung over my shoulder on its thick, durable strap.

Mr. Whitlock polished the specialized glasses I wore for these occasions. Then I placed them on with utmost care. They were my most expensive and yet least worn pair, as they were designed for a single purpose--to track and subjugate my prey. Sensors to detect motion, enhance visibility, and search for desired parameters were but part of their customization. I'd also recently installed an application just for Thohadoun, including an electronic version of the guide Castor had given me, and various detailed satellite maps of the vast area. These were accessible off-Net, an appealing quality, as I knew this day presented many challenges.

A domestic robot fetched Duke for me, outfitted with a rugged collar and lead. I walked him downstairs, into the savannah garden, which faced the southern pavilion and adjacent airfield.

Grandfather, Castor, and Mother waited at the gate.

Mr. Vernon and several domestic robots stood at glistening attention beside them.

The sweet smoke of Grandfather's imported cigar drifted around me. "There you are, Junior," he said. "Ready to vanquish the mighty beasts on your birthday?" He rasped a laugh, and patted me on the back.

"Of course," I said.

He and Castor wore sporting suits in similar mahogany shades of coarse, checked twill.

Mother bent to help Castor adjust his tie, then kissed his cheek.

Castor was unusually quiet this morning. After the emotional deluge last night, I wasn't surprised.

"You look marvelous, dear," Mother said, her gaze sweeping over me.

I nodded, but remained distant. I was still alarmed after her attempt to corner me earlier, and by her unexpected desire to have a relationship with me.

She was nevertheless an impressive sight, dressed in a black satin frock, adorned at the pleated calf-length skirt and shoulders with fashionable blue ribbons. Beneath this, a striking white organdie blouse poured into generous, triangular-pointed sleeves and a pretty cascading collar, matching the brilliant white spats buttoned over her slippers. Her hair was loosely knotted, with a row of precise spit curls defining her alabaster complexion. She wore dark makeup at all times of day, for the dramatic effect of a scarlet-lined smile, or a kohl-framed glance. A long, thin cord woven of midnight blue silk dangled from her wrist, extending to a nearby tree. She raised a hand with a dainty twirl and whistled for her companion.

"Juno, to me."

In a flurry of glossy black feathers, her obnoxious pet bird descended to her call and settled upon her outstretched fingers. The tether attached to one scaly yellow leg looped to the ground. It squawked loudly, annoying everyone but Mother.

She stroked its chest. "That's a good girl. Say something clever for our handsome hunters."

"All the brave men," Juno said, through a bright red tongue split for mimicry. "All the mighty horses."

Mother raised a finely penciled eyebrow. "I wonder where she learned to say that."

Father emerged from the house, impeccable in his coordinating black and gray shooting apparel. He walked toward us distractedly, conversing with someone on his wristcom.

Juno flapped loudly to land on Father's shoulder, stole his cap in its vibrant, golden beak, and flew onto a branch above.

"What the hell?" Father's face reddened. "Get back here, pest."

"Always right," Juno shrieked, dropping the hat at Father's feet. "I'm always right."

He retrieved it. Dusting it off angrily against his trousers, he glowered at Mother. "Keep that thing away from me, or I'll break its scrawny neck."

Juno's chattering sounded like a giggle.

"There's no reason to be cruel, dear," Mother said. "It's all in fun."

"All in fun, all the brave men," Juno replied.

Father scowled and returned to his call. "I apologize for the rude interruption, Mr. Tremaine," he said, the gate rolling open before him. "My wife's friends are vexing at times."

As I left, Mother seized my arm. "Wait a moment," she said. "I have a gift for you."

"I don't have time."

Before I could retreat, she presented a sheathed knife. About seven inches long, the handle bore intricate carvings, chiseled into aged bone inlays. "Keep it close," she said, clasping both of her hands around mine. "It will protect you."

"I already have a knife, Mother."

"Not like this one. Just do it. Please."

I put the gift into my bag.

She stroked my face. "Promise me you'll be careful, and that you'll watch over your brother."

"I promise." The reply came unbidden, as if Mother had somehow pulled the words from my throat.

I hurried away nervously, clutching my cap against the prevailing easterly wind.

The shuttle was stowed in its hangar, the maintenance crew hard at work on cleaning and routine inspections.

Today we were taking Father's charter plane, which he always piloted himself. Aviation was one of his dearest pastimes. This craft was his favorite, a most recent model Axelrod D-3. Resembling the robust structure of an interplanetary shuttle, the sleek fuselage, wings, and tail gleamed in the sun, while the proud logo of Blane Industries swirled along the sides in bold streaks of blue, silver, and rust.

We boarded quickly, and Father settled into the cockpit. His former displeasure with Mother faded into a boyish grin.

Minutes later, all passengers and cargo efficiently secured, we soared into the broad summer sky, the cabin humming with the pleasant, steady drone of the propellers.

It wasn't a long flight. The fortified steel gates of Thohadoun lay only a hundred miles from Highveld.

After a while of listening to Grandfather and Castor discussing things I had no interest in, my thoughts wandered to the enigmatic knife from Mother. I took it out of my bag, examining it more closely. The sheath, handle, and blade were all made of bone. It appeared to be very old, from the smoothed wear and discoloration. My first thought was to the impracticality of the thing. What was it for, and why had Mother insisted it would defend me when it would shatter upon any attempt to cut?

Then I noticed the small details engraved into the hilt--skeletons, three animal, and one human. A wolf, bird, deer, and man were jumbled together in a stylized manner. Runes and other primitive icons branched to the razored tip, stirring a vague recollection. It had been years, but I'd never forgotten the night when I was eight, in Moskloberg, with the dancing firelight upon time-worn skulls, the Kaezer's stone circle, the mysterious voices he claimed to hear in his oracle bones.

This knife must be a Pruessian ritual object. Though it served only a decorative purpose, I attached it to one of the slots on my belt. and concealed it beneath my jacket. I wanted to know more about it and would be sure to ask Mother when we returned.

The plane pitched gently downward, engines steady as Father began our wheeling descent.

I rested my chin on one palm, and stared pensively out the round window beside me, watching the golden-brown sprawl of grassy hills dotted with lonely trees, and the snaking, muddy River Thohadoun, from which the preserve derived its name. Soon, the landing gear thumped and squealed against the runway.

We disembarked well before noon, and a courtesy vehicle transported us to the hospitality grounds. Several quaint thatched buildings perched along a shady, scenic bend in the river, and formed the hub of civilization in this self-contained wilderness.

"Welcome, friends. My name is Malachai. We've been expecting you." The cheerful voice of our guide seemed to promise impending adventure. He was a tall man, with a broad, flashy smile and stalwart build. His jacket and breeches were pressed and white, of contemporary style, with a rifle and bandoliers strapped about his shoulders. In contrast, he wore a roughly made wide-brimmed skin hat, a fashion among the indigenous people in this region of Sahajia.

Father shook Malachai's outstretched hand. "Thank you, sir. Has the rest of our party arrived yet?"

"They have indeed, Mr. Blane, and all are waiting for you in the Celebration Lodge." Malachai bowed and gestured toward the nearby complex. "I'd be honored to escort you there."

A cobbled path led through the circle of huts, onto a central pavilion surrounded by swaying trees and hardy local flowers. The resonant pluck and chime of a marimba player rang beside a bubbling fountain in the middle of the courtyard. A long teakwood bar was framed beneath a sturdy veranda of woven grass, with a boisterous crowd of a dozen men to receive us.

"There they are at last," bellowed Mr. Fritz Tremaine, an older man with a striking fringe of silvered chops along his jaw. He was one of Father's closest business partners. "Let's hear three cheers for this strapping young gent, now on his fourteenth loop around the big blue rock."

Deep laughter and the collective clink of cocktail glasses followed, many cigars were lit, along with abrupt, congratulatory slaps on my back and shoulders. Two pretty dark-skinned girls in colorful, traditionally wrapped gowns surrounded me and kissed me in turn. A hot blush rose in my cheeks as they stepped aside for Father.

"My eldest is now a man," he said, grinning. "And I couldn't be prouder. I love you, son." He hugged me, a somewhat uncomfortable gesture. Father was usually reserved, even towards his family and closest associates. His arms were strong around me, and I returned the embrace with equal fervor.

Everyone applauded, and the girls joined with a melodic trill.

Grandfather stood beside me next. "Since you're the reason for the festivities, you get to choose our quarry today, Junior."

Stunned, I cleared my throat and glanced at the expectant faces around me. "I haven't given it any thought."

Father laughed. "You can decide after lunch."

We sat along the hand-carved tables provided, beneath the vivid, fluttering canopy, and enjoyed a magnificent feast of spicy, flame-roasted meats and stuffed vegetables. The libations and flavors seemed endless, and the rejoicing was high.

Mr. Forsyth and his son arrived a little late, but they met us with many well-wishes.

Gerald Forsyth shook my hand vigorously, his hazel eyes filled with excitement. "Congratulations on another year of life," he said, tipping his cap over his light brown curls.

"It's funny," I said. "I don't feel any different, but everyone insists that I'm now a man. Go figure."

"I suppose fourteen is the age of virility, then," Gerald said, with a sly grin. "I'd better warn those beautiful girls over there."

"They've both kissed me already, so I'm off to a good start."

Gerald laughed. He was an incorrigible flirt. We'd become close friends over the years, as our fathers worked together often. A mischievous lad, only a few months younger than myself, Gerald possessed a keen mind and a creative soul. He was a talented painter, and also a devoted huntsman like myself. With so much in common, we might as well be brothers. In fact, he was more like me than Castor was.

Once all of the tables were cleared, Malachai called me to stand with him before the assembly. "I'm pleased to present the Chimerae of Thohadoun," he said.

The holo-vision at the center of the bar flared on, as well as all of the flat-panel displays along the walls. Flickering blue and silver holographic images appeared, displayed in unison.

"First, we have Old Nobbin," Malachai said. "The most long-lived of our three legendary beasts."

A stout, muscled creature vaguely resembling an antelope appeared on screen. One long horn spiraled to a sharp point atop its squat head.

"Nobbin is a feral hybrid, of oryx, warthog, and hyena material. He escaped from a research facility on the Lystra-J1 habitat, and they sent him to us rather than euthanizing. He's eluded capture for almost five years, and is ranked as the most dangerous animal on the grounds."

There were many appreciative whistles and nods.

Next was Gash. "A great cat with enhanced speed and senses," said Malachai. "Gash is a sure challenge to any hunter who seeks another hunter." The sleek, elongated feline stretched and yawned, and spread out to nap upon an outstretched acacia branch, its tawny coat mottled in the sun.

Finally, the video cut to the third elite beast. Malachai smiled at me. "Beware what lurks beneath the waters. Moordnar is a mix of crocodile, hippopotamus, and bear genetics. A most unique design, and experimental in every way." Only a dark, triangular wedge was visible, amid ripples of water. Then, with a deafening roar, a wide mouth lined with sharp, wayward teeth opened toward the camera.

I had to choose, now. To select one of the hybrids meant a specialized supply team would be assigned to us, and I knew it was the more expensive option. I could always decide to just pursue the standard plains game. But as I looked about, and saw the audacious expressions around me, I knew that I couldn't hold back.

To capture one of the Chimerae alive would earn the highest recognition, as well as a generous bounty. Killing one offered a less prestigious reward, but was still honorable.

"Let's go after Gash," I said.

And with a resounding hurrah from my comrades, the mission was set.