by London, Lia
How grateful I was that Dag’s status allowed us our own private space, smaller but fashioned like any Surface home except for the lack of a kitchen. I had no real reason to leave our quarters if Dag brought me food. It would be a breach in policy, but I knew he’d do it if I asked.
I turned to face him. “I’m sorry. I was just…”
“Hurt.” He nodded, tears forming in his own eyes. “I understand.”
“Thank you.”
It wasn’t until he left for the cafeteria to bring me food that I glanced down at the digi-pad and saw what he’d been reading. A message from the stationmaster informing him his position was being reconsidered due to some new complaints from residents. They’d become aware of his inclusion of gypsy remedies in their care and were uncomfortable. If the overseeing committee deemed his techniques too risky, he’d be demoted back to standard medic and asked to relinquish all substances he had acquired from the Surface.
25 ~ Felly
A message from the Quarantine Deck summoned me down to the Clean Room next to the intake area. Transparent panels allowed me to see those arriving with minimal risk of contamination, which the attendant deemed essential given my very maternal state. My daughter would be born in the next few days, I hoped.
“Why am I here?” I asked. “Don’t you want Dr. Artemus?” He’d been allowed to keep his position on the understanding he’d stow all gypsy remedies in our family quarters and never use them on Arxon residents again.
“The request was for you.” The wiry man with the digi-pad glanced up, taking in my rotund belly. “Wait over there, and your visitor will be escorted to you.”
Confused, I wandered down the transparent wall, noticing for the first time that small openings at chest level appeared about every two meters. I stationed myself by one of these and waited, curiosity battling with the pressure on my bladder. I hoped my mysterious visitor would show up soon.
“Wow. You’re an old woman.” Saloma strode up in flowing skirts and bright blue and green vests. Her wild hair was pulled back from her face with a single rope of braided scarves.
“Old?” I hadn’t expected her or the greeting.
“Pale and tired.”
I lowered my lids at her. “I am nine months pregnant, in case you can’t tell.”
She gave me a knowing frown. “But that’s not where the weariness is coming from. Am I right?” Her eyes flickered over my smooth, bobbed haircut and regulation maternity coversuit.
“It’s been a rough adjustment,” I conceded.
“I brought you something,” she whispered. Unfolding the cuff of her blouse, she revealed a tiny paper envelope of the kind gypsies used to vend herbs.
“What is it?” I scanned the room, but no one paid us any attention.
“Felly flower seeds. Jule said you liked them.”
My eyes watered at the kindness of the gesture.
Saloma grinned. “You have a way to plant these?”
I nodded. “We have a tiny herb garden in our quarters. Hydroponic.” She slid the envelope through the opening, and I clasped it to my chest protectively. “That was very gracious of you. Thanks.”
“I’ll need to go through the whole quarantine thing now, but I hope we can talk later.”
“Where are you going?” I asked, sensing the eyes that watched us from a distance. I’d never even realized this room existed even though it stood in plain sight.
“Craggy.”
My eyes widened. “Why on earth would you want to go there?”
“We’ll talk about that later. It’s a long and involved story you will definitely want to hear.”
“One with a happy ending?” I quipped without mirth.
“That will depend on many things.”
“Time, miss,” said the attendant, stepping closer. He gave me an indulgent sneer. “The gypsy needs to see the medic now, and you should report directly to a washroom to wash your hands before continuing to your quarters.”
Crumpling the seed packet into my fist, I knocked on the partition that separated us. “Good to see you again, Saloma. Thank you.” Our eyes locked, and we probably both looked oddly sad. Surely she was disappointed in what I’d become, and I was overwhelmed with gratitude at the gesture of the felly seeds.
OOO
Through the marvels of technology and a sip of gypsy pearl powder tea before going into labor, I managed to bring my baby girl into the world without any complications and in record time, according to Dag.
He chuckled, cradling our infant in his arms and gazing at her. “Your mother is part comet,” he cooed. “She does everything quickly.” He gave me an awed look. “It doesn’t hurt that you’ve kept your strength up so much. I’m sure you pushed harder than any Arxon mother ever did.”
“Is she beautiful?” I asked, reaching for her now that I’d been cleaned up as per Arxon medical protocols. On the Surface, she would have been handed to me straight from the womb.
“I’m afraid she takes more after me.” He gave a charming grimace and passed her to me. “Do you still want to name her Licea?”
The blend of our two mothers’ names sounded dull in my ears. “What if her name reminds us of our losses?”
Dag knelt beside the bed where I lay. “What then, darling? What’s something that would make you happy every time you said it?”
I hummed as I thought, then felt a smile bloom on my face. “Felly.”
“The flower?” His lips parted in a soft laugh. “She’s a delicate little thing, isn’t she?”
“And pretty, no matter what you say,” I teased. The whole upper half of her face definitely took after his genes.
“Good morning, Felly.” He swirled the light brown fuzz on her head with his fingertip. “Welcome to the Arxon.”
“Welcome to the whole Granbo System,” I added. “You can see as much of it as you want to someday.”
Dag licked his teeth behind a forced smile but didn’t argue. “I’ve got to go log her birth in the registry. Do you want to keep her curled up with you?”
“Yes, please. See you in a little while.”
He stepped out of the maternity room, closing the door behind him. Adjusting Felly on my chest, I stared down at her wondering if she’d love being in space. Would she want to explore the Surface?
For the first time, I understood my own mother’s fears, raising a child of mixed heritage in a time of tension. I didn’t want Felly to be treated unequally, but at the same time, I didn’t want her to reject her gypsy and colonist heritage to escape prejudices. My mother’s lessons on how to interact with people from all places without conflict rolled over in my mind, and I realized her primary tactic had been one of conciliatory deference. It kept the peace, but it didn’t leave an impression of strength at all.
If I was a gypsy comet, shouldn’t my daughter shoot across the sky in a brilliant blaze, too?
26 ~ A Visitor
“Let’s just say a lot of the people getting out of Craggy’s Penitentiary aren’t swimming in currency to get off-planet quickly. They have to get resourceful.”
“You mean illegal.” I rolled my eyes at Saloma. “It’s a wonder these contacts of yours ever see the light of day.”
“There are ambiguous lines between legal and illegal on a planet with so much space between its colonies.”
I frowned. Unlike Tye, which was almost all water, Craggy was a ball of spiky rock. Underground thermal streams and rare snowfall kept the sparse vegetation alive, but most food had to be imported from elsewhere in the system. If ex-convicts filled the spaces between mining colonies and the local government hubs, they would indeed need to be resourceful.
Saloma sighed. “We need currency, and we need weaponry for all we have planned, and…” She stopped when I flinched. “What?”
“I…” Shaking my head, I fought a groan. “The guns are just…” I shrugged. “Isn’t there a way to bring people together? Do we have to eliminate an enemy? Can’t we make diplomatic ties?”
&n
bsp; Her face pinched into a skeptical scowl. “Is that how it’s working for you here on the Arxon?”
I dropped my face into my hands, acutely aware my hair no longer tumbled past my shoulders. In pure Dulcea Glenn fashion, I’d acquiesced to make peace. That was not Saloma’s style. If I heeded the nagging burn in my stomach, I’d admit it wasn’t really mine, either. “I guess we can debate the pros and cons of overthrows versus alliances later. This is all still in its first stages.”
“Second.”
“All right, then. What do you need from me?”
“Talk to me about the dignitaries you see. Which colonies actually send representation beyond their own planet? Who is open to change, and who is voicing aggression towards the gypsies?”
I studied Saloma through the plexiglass barrier, appreciative of how thoroughly she thought things through, how many details and contingencies she researched. She was a formidable woman, and if she’d donned the ceremonial garbs of some of the colony ambassadors, she might be a highly respected dignitary in the System.
“I confess I haven’t been assessing anything at all. I don’t get the chance to interact with dignitaries much.”
“Isn’t your husband fairly high-ranking in this box?”
I smiled sadly. “He is. He is also very closely watched because of my influence. It’s unfortunate for him gypsies are deemed unclean when his profession requires even more sterility and sanitation than the rest of the ICS.”
Saloma muttered a few choice words and then circled a finger in the air, indicating my hair. “So that’s what this is all about? I understand you now.” She nodded. “Go ahead. Play the part. Use it to our advantage. Learn as much as you can, and I’ll be back in another rotation or so. Intelligence is power.”
27 ~ The Party
Felly became a bridge from me to other women on the Arxon. Births were rare enough that babies were a treasured novelty. Everyone wanted to hold her, and to obtain permission to do so, they let down their walls one preconceived notion at a time until tentative friendships formed.
For all of this, I thanked Felly, though she of course didn’t understand me yet. It made living in a box in space minutely less claustrophobic and dull. But sleep deprivation got to me, and I felt my brain congealing like the cafeteria food. My life revolved around feeding and bathing her and trying to catch up on rest when she dozed.
Half-way around the Granbo star, a miracle of sorts happened. Jana Lew became pregnant. As the wife of the Arxon’s Council Chair, she was invited to every social event involving people of power, and as a friend who now wanted to know the ins and outs of pregnancy, she fixed herself at my side whenever she could. She peppered me with questions about the mundane aspects of weight management, prenatal nutrition, and controlling her complexion and food cravings. In turn, I expressed interest in her world, namely entertaining the dignitaries.
“Oh, they’re so boring!” She rolled her eyes and flipped her golden bangs back with a shake of her head. “Really, except for finding out what native fashions are crossing the System, there’s nothing about those dinner parties that interests me. Who wants to hear so much talk about politics and regulations?”
“I wouldn’t mind hearing about things on Caren,” I said mildly.
“Well of course, as a former colonist, you’d care.” She said it without judgment because she always brushed over my gypsy identity and latched on to the stationary heritage. Her grandmother had been from somewhere on Caren, too. “Say!” She patted my knee. “Why don’t you find someone to watch little Felly and come with me to the next one? No one will even notice you there if we keep busy with the refreshments.”
My eyes widened at the opportunity. “But I don’t have a thing to wear.” As soon as the words escaped my lips, I gulped back a laugh. It sounded so trivial, but the only time people ever wore something other than the coversuits was when they dressed up for the dignitaries. My gypsy skirts and vests and Ikekane sheath dresses would never suffice.
“Let me fix you up!” she exclaimed. “I’ve got a flowing thing that might work while you’re getting your body back. I can even style your hair more fashionably.” If she even realized the way her remarks slighted me, she was oblivious. I’d notice Jana Lew didn’t think much before speaking, but she rarely meant to say anything unkind.
She found out when the next event was planned, and she began coaching me on protocols. Dag found the whole affair promising in that Jana Lew was so well-connected. A friendship with the Lews might help secure his position.
I tried not to feel like everyone else’s prop: Felly’s mother, Dag’s wife, Jana’s tag-along tedium tamer, or Saloma’s spy. Some days, I was sure I was a child’s construction toy, assembled and dissembled in the image desired by whomever I was with. Perhaps I should have been pleased I became very adept at giving others the face they wanted.
But what did I want?
OOO
The day of the party came, and Jana arrived in our quarters dressed in a shimmering blue and gold gown that seemed to be little more than two floor-length capes hanging front and back, tied with a beaded belt in the middle.
“You aren’t leaving much to the imagination for anyone standing in your profile, Jana,” I teased. “Please tell me I don’t have to wear something like that.” I glanced nervously at the bundle of cloth in her arms. She was letting me borrow one of her gowns.
“Of course not. Yours is more exotic. It’s called the Cleopatra design.” She held it up. “Isn’t it charming?”
The gown shared the same shimmering quality in white, sealed at the sides and featuring an elaborate gold collar.
“White? What if I spill something on it?”
“Don’t eat anything that drips. Choose crumbly foods instead,” she advised. “Now sit down. I need to do your hair first.” Without asking, she tapped our holographic display open and searched for something in the data bases.
“What are you doing?”
“Here.” She waved her fingers at the transparent image. “This is what the original Cleopatra looked like. Or at least an artist’s rendition.”
“She was a real person?”
“A real queen. Very powerful.” Jana’s eyes shone with enthusiasm. “Absolutely eons ago on the home world. She was stronger and smarter than all the ruling men of her day, they say.” She wrinkled her nose at me. “Won’t it be fun to dress up like her? You’ve got the hair and skin for it.”
I stifled a skeptical laugh and allowed Jana to play dress-up. Who was I to argue with elite fashions?
Still, when she finished and steered me in front of the mirror, I gasped at the sight. Something about the attire felt very regal indeed, and I wondered if I might even be able to play the part of a person of power. A smirk crept onto my lips.
“Ooh, yes! Keep that expression on all night! The governors and ambassadors will think you’re plotting something turbulent! You’ll be all the intrigue. The mysterious new dignitary.”
“I’m going to get arrested as an imposter.”
“Not with my husband being the Arxon Council Chair.” She hooked her arm through mine. “Come on. We’ve got fifteen minutes to get to the conference suites.”
“Speaking of husbands, you’re sure Dag can’t come?”
“Oh Brita, you know I’m only allowed to bring one guest.”
“But his position. He’s second in—”
“Second, Brita. That’s just it. These little soirees are for firsts.” She giggled at her stupid joke. “You won’t meet anyone useless here.”
“Except the two of us.”
OOO
I had no trouble keeping a mysterious smirk on my face during the party. The hard part proved not letting it morph into a full sneer of malcontent. Every single one of the visiting dignitaries had an ego the size of a Tye moon, with just as much influence on the tides of conversation wherever they wandered. Arxon’s stationmaster and the members of the city-station’s Council were equally pompous but far less inte
resting.
As the self-congratulatory speeches progressed, I quickly learned to listen to the content and ignore the delivery. I didn’t care about the politicians, but their perceptions of what happened in the colonies mattered.
Only one governor from Craggy came, and she had a decidedly suspicious air, as if guarding great secrets about the rocky wastelands. She also spoke more openly of violence among the citizenry, deeming it common enough a problem to make law enforcement difficult.
About a quarter of the governors from Tye were present, but Ikekane was not represented, which saddened me. I’d half wondered if I’d see Boss Bemis of Haikou, but then I remembered bosses ranked lower than governors, and this was a gathering of firsts, not underlings.
I eyed the governors from Caren with a measure of resentment. Because their factious grabs for power—or those of their predecessors—unraveled my grandmother’s unifying work. How magnificent might it have been to have a party with Queen Levia of the Carenian Empire as a guest?
With that vision in my mind, I wandered closer to a cluster of governors and mimicked the complimentary remarks I’d heard Jana speak about fashion. “I’ve seen that particular pattern in the Jammu Colony among the gypsies there, on their scarves. Is it coming into style now?”
The woman flared her nostril and stroked her sleeves protectively. “Certainly not. I mean, yes. It is the height of fashion, but there’s no gypsy influence.” Her shudder triggered a round of murmurs from the others in the circle, each tossing in a disparaging word about gypsies in their regions.
Though my stomach wanted to revolt, I lifted my brows in an innocent query. “Oh dear, is it really as bad as all that? You must have to deal with such disorder!” I hoped appealing to their biases would loosen their tongues.
“They’ve become an absolute infestation!” remarked the original woman. “And now they have those disgusting faneps in tow everywhere they go.”
