The Starchild

by Schuyler Thorpe

  “Come on.” She invited then. “Let’s get you cleaned up and ready for dinner. We have a long night ahead of all of us.”

  “Okay.” I said, respecting her wishes–while she led me to the back of the store, down a small connecting hallway where another door of sorts greeted me.

  But it was such a tiny walk space–no bigger than my own bedroom as a matter of fact.

  Fran waited for her son to come back even as the mood lighting in the background changed to something a little more ethereal in nature and I was treated to a sight that took my breath away.

  “Wow…” I breathed in quiet amazement.

  “Not too shabby, huh?”

  “It’s like…a dream of sorts. A wonderful, exciting dream!”

  “It can be like that–if you want to look at it that way.” Fran said, before her son walked towards the two of us with a sense of purpose.

  “It’s all done, mother.” He informed us both.

  “Good.” The shopkeeper said in response, taking out a different key and inserting it into an old-fashioned lock. I was a bit surprised by what I saw because I always assumed that everything was technologically advanced in some ways–more so than what was presently on the surface.

  Bayen noticed the look on my face and smiled a bit.

  “Old technology, Isis. This was here long before I was born or even mom.”

  “This used to be my grandparents place a long time ago. Before this part of the shop was even built as an addition.” Fran was telling me.

  “So there’s going to be some things that you may find quaint or interesting in comparison to what you’ve already discovered for yourself.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “You’ll see. You’ll see.” She told me as the lock clicked once. Pulling out the key, the woman pocketed it, and then turned the knob.

  “Ready?”

  I nodded.

  “Ready.”

  “Here we go then.” Fran announced to everyone next to her.

  The door creaked open and I found myself in another world that defied even my own imagination and whatever lingering hopes I might have at leaving.

  ~23~

  With my boots clacking softly on the smooth tiles, I looked around for a moment, drinking in all sights that lay before me: The crystalline ceiling above her resonated with a soft inner light of its own, bathing the surrounding area with its gentle magnificence.

  Or the tiled floor beneath my feet, stretching outwards to a radius of thirty feet; beginning with a sunken floor at about ten feet from the door, gently sloping down, merging into lavish carpeting in the end. A large, red sectional sofa reached out to me a bit as its mean end angled at a perfect 45 angle.

  From where I stood, I couldn’t see very much. But right next to me–at my immediate right–sat a very large bookcase, made of the finest apple wood. Inside its two-tiered ornate glass display cases were books, guides, and other assorted reading essentials.

  To the left of me, sat a flower basin with a built-in, free flowing, water fountain, as well as a small set of overhead display lamps–dark for the time being.

  “Come on,” Fran beckoned. “We’ll get you started with the bath first.”

  “Okay.” I said easily enough–following the woman around the sunken living room and past a darkened cubicle, only to end up next to a closed door on her left side.

  The shopkeeper opened it and let herself in. I followed.

  The bathroom itself was positively enormous! Much more so than I would have believed possible in such an environment like this.

  But it was no dream. It was certainly no fantasy. I was here, taking in everything as humanly as possible, but knowing that I would never fully understand the concept of pure luxury. It simply wasn’t my style to begin with and probably would never be, even if by some miracle chance that her own day to day circumstances were to suddenly change.

  “Take a seat on the toilet over there,” Fran instructed, pointing a finger next to the tub. “And I’ll get your bath ready.”

  I did so, gliding past the raised porcelain sink and its gold-plated fixtures, before taking my seat on the toilet. Looking around, I saw a huge vanity mirror standing right across the bathroom, finding myself looking back at myself.

  For a split second, I thought I saw long brown hair and a similar face gazing back at me with earnest eyes.

  The image startled me for a grand total of a couple of seconds and I looked away. But when I looked again, I found a perfect mirror image of myself staring back at me–no brown hair this time around whatsoever.

  Just red.

  Okay, I thought. That was mighty weird!

  Turning back, I caught sight of Fran doing something to one of the tub knobs and the next thing I heard was the sound of free flowing water coming out of a immaculately curved faucet.

  Scooting over to see this up close and personal, I positively marveled at the thin stream of hot, murky water splashing against the bottom of the tub.

  Fran smiled at my child-like curiosity and reached over, turning the knob a bit so that more water would come at a greater quantity and speed.

  “You’ve never seen this much free water before, huh?” Fran asked.

  “No.” I answered in all honesty. “Anything we have is on strict water rations. That and sponge baths.”

  “So you’ve never had the luxury of having a full bath?”

  “Not in a good long while.” The girl reflected. Not since my father lived with us. I thought. He always found a way to stretch the rations, or make them do something they weren’t normally suited for.

  I stared into the steaming water reflexively–seeing the shimmering image of myself in it. Then on instinct, I stuck a long, tapered finger into it.

  A sharp prick of pain immediately registered in the back of my mind, causing me to jerk back suddenly in surprise and shock–while at the same time, putting part of my slightly burned finger into my mouth–sucking on it fiercely in a bland attempt to dull the pain.

  “Ouch!” I hissed, wincing reflexively. “It’s hot!”

  Fran found herself chuckling softly. “Of course it is. Didn’t you even know that?” Readjusting the temperature controls, the woman made sure this time I wouldn’t accidentally hurt myself again.

  “No.” I muttered dourly in embarrassment, wishing I hadn’t done something as stupid as that. Glancing around, I found something missing.

  “Where’s the sterilizer tank?” I asked. In my mind’s eye, it would usually be sitting snugly next to the toilet, no more than five to six feet high. (Depending on the model in question.)

  The shopkeeper was mildly surprised by my odd question.

  “What tank? Our water comes straight from a recycling/purifier system in the Core.” As an afterthought, Fran added some cold water to the already drawn bath in order to balance it out, but not enough to endanger its already heated properties.

  Going over to the sink, the woman snagged some small vials–various bath oils–and a jar of specialized muscle-relaxing herbs for the water itself.

  Setting everything in their respective places, Fran began sprinkling each vial and eventually the jar of herbs in a generous amount, mixing them together in an order to produce a pleasant scent–one that quickly filled the room.

  Once finished, she got to her feet and beckoned for me to do the same.

  “Now, it’s time to get you into that tub.” She announced abruptly, walking over to me and proceeded to help me undress myself in a completely causal fashion, beginning with my black bomber’s jacket and then my teal-colored shirt with the hole still in it.

  In that moment, I resisted. For whatever reasons there for.

  Fran sensed this and asked me what the problem was.

  “Do I have to undress?” I asked in a straight forward manner.

  Nodding gently, Fran replied, “Of course. Unless you’re planning on taking a bath in those filthy clothes of yours?”

  I looked at myself and then back
at Fran in question. Smiling sheepishly, I saw the wisdom in the woman’s words and went on with getting undressed.

  That’s when I saw Bayen.

  Standing there with an enchanted look on his face–

  I freaked, covering myself in the span of a moment.

  Fran spun around, discovering that she had left the door wide open.

  “Bayen! You horrible child!” she scolded outright, before marching herself right over and confronting him. “Can’t you see that that I’m trying to get Isis bathed?!? You can talk to her later!”

  Before Bayen could say something in defense of himself, his mother promptly turning him around, steering him by the elbow alone, and out the door–slamming the door into his face.

  Fran walked back to me, running a hand through my sand-coated hair.

  “It’s okay. There’s nothing to be scared of. I’m here for you, okay?”

  Taken in by her comfort, I breathed out a sigh of relief, then managed to undress the rest of the way with Fran’s assistance without any further awkwardness–feeling much safer in the shopkeeper’s presence now than I did before.

  I was right about one thing, I saw. She wasn’t trying to deliberately hurt me.

  Fran on the other hand was astonished by what she was being presented with in terms of a profile. It didn’t bother her that I was in the nude, but what grabbed her attention was the noticeable scarring that ran back and forth across the lower half of my back like tiny raised trails.

  Fran stepped back and saw more of the same down the back of my right leg. What got her attention the most was the nasty jagged welt which ran halfway down from the top of my neck (at the base of my skull), reaching all the way down to my left shoulder blade in a sidewinder-like pattern.

  The woman gasped in silence, stunned by the amount of scars that a pretty young woman like me would have on such an otherwise healthy-looking body.

  Where did she get them all? Fran asked herself, reaching out with motherly concern, tracing the scar on my neck ever so slightly. This caused me to cringe from her gentle touch.

  Drawing back sharply, Fran apologized for her unintentional transgression.

  “I didn’t mean to cause you any discomfort. It’s just that I never saw this much scarring on a person before.”

  Accepting her touching concerns, I put one small foot into the tub, than the other–astonished by how good the water could feel against my skin, my body, everything as I settled in.

  Then I relaxed into the bathtub, agitated water sloshing this way and that, feeling the oils and herbs going right to work on me almost immediately.

  “It’s okay,” I consoled gently. “They’re mostly from injuries that I sustained from racing.” Sprinkling some water on myself languidly, I spent the next couple of minutes soaking everything in like a sponge. When I had finished with the immersion, I began talking again.

  “That particular scar has always been case sensitive. I got it taking a blaster pulse to the back of my neck a couple years ago.” The memory of that day was never far from my consciousness, as I instantly recalled the agony ripping through my body–feeling the pain increase and increase until I could no longer endure it. That’s when I fell into blessed unconsciousness; the firm belief of never waking up again wedged into the back of my mind.

  Shaking myself free of that one horrifying memory, I looked up at Fran and finished with, “If it wasn’t for Calis’s quick thinking, I would’ve died right then and there.”

  Fran went over and picked up a small stool parked underneath the sink, and sat herself next to the bathtub.

  Leaning over my head, she retrieved a small cup behind me and dipped it into the bathwater–while shielding my eyes with a free hand.

  Pouring the cup’s contents onto my hair, she then asked, “How did this happen?”

  I closed my eyes, recalling the events that led up to my near-fatal injury.

  “During a race at Shark’s Bay. I had just finished winning the pre-heat event in my Viper X-1 auto-frame when someone came up from behind me and hit me with a narrow blaster pulse. I didn’t even see it coming.”

  Fran replaced the cup with her hands as she began to massage the my scalp carefully, but firmly, getting it all nice and ready. Then she applied some cool and soothing shampoo on it. Working it up into a nice lather, she grabbed the cup she used earlier and filled it with clean water from the faucet tap.

  “That wasn’t very sportsmanlike.” Fran commented while pouring the cup over my head, the repeated it over and over until my hair was nice and clean.

  I agreed, feeling the water course through my hair, as it poured down my back.

  “No, it wasn’t. I found out later that the man responsible had lost a great deal of money in the pre-heat by betting on the wrong pilot. Of course, that was little comfort for me. After Calis stabilized my wound, I spent the next three weeks in a regeneration chamber at the expense of myself until I was strong enough to return to racing. But by then, I had already lost my position in the grand prix standings and had to spend the next three months working my way back up again.” I explained, bitterness lacing my voice. Though I wouldn’t admit it to anyone, that loss still stung, despite the fact I had improved greatly since my last race.

  “I’m sure that you’ve improved since then,” Fran echoed with praise, finishing up the last touches to her hair, before getting up. Handing her a beige wash cloth and a yellow bar of soap, she said, “Here. I’m going to put your old clothes in the cleaner. Then I’m going to go out and get you some fresh ones.”

  Watching her exit the bathroom with a small wave and a smile, I accepted the small gifts I being was given with a certain amount of worry.

  New clothes? But I liked my old ones the best! I thought.

  ~24~

  No more than a few seconds had passed after Fran had closed the door, when her son was there in a flash.

  “So?” He asked between short breaths. “Can I see her now?”

  The shopkeeper responded like all women did in the past by taking a hold of his ear and dragging him towards the stairs of the sunken living room.

  “Ow! Ow! Ow!” He cried out indignantly, pleading with her to let go of him, which she finally did.

  “Would you prefer to go in while she’s bathing, or could you possibly wait until she comes out?” Fran answered gravely. “Or am I asking too much of you, Bayen Yelou?”

  Bayen gazed at his mother and nodded, slightly embarrassed by his earlier behavior. He wanted very much to talk with Isis about many things and understand what it is like to be a surface dweller.

  Isis being the first he had ever seen.

  “Very well, mother. I shall wait.” He said.

  Fran respected his decision and replied, “Good. Then I’ll trust you to watch out for Isis while I’m gone to get her some new clothes.”

  Bayen glanced over in the bathroom’s general direction.

  “I will watch her,” he said quietly. “I’ll be right here when you return.”

  “I’ll be back in about a half hour.” She told him. “Stay out of trouble until then okay?”

  “Okay.” The sky dancer answered.

  The bath had done wonders not only to my body, but my overall self-esteem as well.

  I looked and felt a million times better.

  Staring back into the vanity mirror, I saw the subtle beauty of myself reflecting back and she was more proud of the change in her than embarrassed.

  No dirt, no ragged hair. I’m whole again!

  Whole.

  Wrapping a body-length towel around myself and anchoring it tight against my body, I grabbed another–smaller–towel and wrapped my head up in a nice turban, then left the sanctity of the bathroom, crossing over from the bedroom to the sunken living room, looking for a nice place to sit down and dry myself off in private–not expecting anyone to be there.

  But I was even surprised to see Bayen there, curled up on the couch, facing away from me, with a book covering his face part way
while he read.

  Pushing away any regret or consequence for the time being, I saw an opening in which I could use to my distinct advantage.

  Sneaking up on him as quietly as possible, I leaned over and said, “Hello.” in the softest voice I could muster–scaring the poor sky dancer half to death.

  He looked up at me in shock as I towered over him like a hungry giantess ready to pounce on her unsuspecting prey.

  Then I grinned.

  “Sorry. Was that a bit intentional on my part? I just wanted to see if you were awake or not.”

  Bayen licked his lips. “I am now. Thanks for scaring the daylights out of me.”

  I giggled. “You looked like you were almost asleep with that book of yours,” I said–glancing over at the cover. Felicia McGregor vs. The Martian Space Pirates.

  “Good book?” I pleasantly inquired, poking at the laminated holograph.

  “I’m about halfway through. It’s my seventh reading.” He said. “You?”

  “Never read it.” I answered for him.

  “Seriously? This used to be one of the classic vid series of all time!”

  I shook my head in turn.

  “Sorry, but I never got into much reading at home. I spent more time in my dad’s workshop than anywhere’s else. Tech manuals is all I know.”

  “No fiction at all?”

  I shook my head again.

  “My mom wasn’t big on books. We didn’t have the room for such amenities. Just ask my brother the next time you see him. He’ll say pretty much the same.” I explained.

  “That’s unfortunate to hear,” Bayen said softly.

  “I’m not upset. I have my vid slides and such to keep me occupied. I’m not that completely deficient.” I explained up front, before moving away from him and taking a seat by his feet.

  “Not saying you are. I’m just surprised that you don’t have as much access to reading materials as we do here up at Stratos City.”

  “Have you ever been down to the surface, Bayen?”

  “My dad was. A few times when I was little. But that was during the war. His unit was called upon a great many times to put down any resistance by the settlers involved in the conflict. And he went willingly of course.”