by Pam Uphoff
"It sounds boring. I don't know anyone, any more." I wasn't very popular. The girls hated me, and I think I scared most of the boys.
"It's in three weeks. Tomorrow we'll go shopping." Raod eyed her sister. "And perhaps trim your hair, but you are not allowed to cut it short."
"Raod . . . I have so many scars, there's no way I can find an actual formal . . . well, there are design-your-own sites, but everyone yells at the colors I choose."
"We'll all help, Dear." Mother patted her shoulder as she walked by. "It will do you good."
"Are you going?" Rael eyed her mother.
"One no! I'm not the party type."
Rael opened her mouth to protest . . . and then shut it.
It was time to . . . remember how to party.
Her first public appearance was not easy. Even starting with something so low level as a high school reunion. Especially since it required a customized dress.
Which took a bit of creative work with a design program to get the neckline just right to expose the maximum amount of skin without allowing a single scar to show. A custom bra . . . and simple flats, with good traction on the soles. No need to be suicidal. A trip to her sister's favorite hairdresser. Who refused to even consider Rael with gelled spikes. The soft, wavy shoulder length style did look good. Sweet and innocent. Like for my first assignment. My hair was much longer then. And I acted like an airhead. It was fun, right up to the end . . . Funny, that's how the second job was, too. She studied the figure in the mirror. Still too thin, but not hunched and sickly. I wonder what my third job will be? Analyst? Or I suppose I could go back to college. I can do anything, really. She nodded to the reflection and turned away.
Raod was spectacular in a sheath three shades darker than her strawberry blonde hair, beaded and glimmering. Rubies in gold around her neck and dangling from her ears. Rael eyed her own three shades of gold and black . . . "Not my usual, but I've got to say it's as close to flattering as is possible."
"Oh, stop being so self-conscious. Honestly, I'd never have thought you'd worry about what you wore to a party." Raod sat behind the wheel of the car, but left the driving to the autodrive system. "Now, you let me know when you wear out!"
"I'll let you know, but I'll just take a cab home. I checked the system, and they'll have plenty of them out there." She looked out the window as the town lights dropped behind them and the houses fell back. Large estates, at first, then farms. The Convention center was well outside of the enclave proper, a third of the way to Montevideo, on an otherwise boring bit of the coast. They swept by fenced pastures, fields, an orchard, then swept around into the Center's driveway, under a portico.
The grand reunion crowd was . . . interesting. Fifteen years since she'd seen most of the people close to her own age . . . the few she recognized. She'd been a loner until she'd discovered sex that last year in school. The last year she'd lived here. Then she'd really been a pariah among the female students. The guys? Oners all, her age-mates looked better in their late thirties than they had at eighteen. Even Bruno—Ubno Clostuone—the forward of the Montevideo football team. He was even more ruggedly handsome, his face had fined down a bit with age. All cleaned up and dressed up in a tux, the athleticism and fitness made him mouthwateringly attractive. Even though just a Clostuone, he was pulling in women like flies to honey.
I know better than to judge by the label. He's got a strong glow. He may be quite strong magically, even with gaps in his gene insertions. The numbers are much more important than the labels. And we never disclose our numbers. It's gauche. Or a way for the Withiones and Neartuones to keep feeling superior. A count of the magically important genes that are off the insertions would be even more interesting. I know the Princess school considers them, when accepting students. I wonder if Interior, or the local policia tests for those, either for cops or to determine how magically dangerous their suspects are? And of course, the "regular" genes, the Prophets had plenty of unusual alleles there, too, now diluted, but occasionally recombining into a concentration and producing some really interesting talents.
I wonder what Target Forty-two is like, to have produced someone like Endi Dewulfe?
She turned away and headed for the bar. Her doctors had said no alcohol, damn it. She hadn't had anything resembling a buzz for so long . . . but she wasn't on pain meds any more . . . what the hell.
"Red wine."
After a year's abstinence the first sip went straight to her head. She savored it as she looked around. Failed to keep herself from analyzing the venue like a guard. Perhaps two thousand people total, in this room. Dividers had been pushed back to allow access to at least two other rooms. The more recent grads, those who were still in town, formed a self conscious group, trying to look grown up, and maybe make some contacts among the older people. Not just romance, jobs were high on the agenda at that age. No doubt they'd start spreading out as the evening wore on. Those groups were the athletes . . . lots of muscle, several bright spots of magical potential. The Clostuones tended to clump. But they were about thirty percent of all Oners, so there were several groupings, identifiable by their warm glow. Servaones dominated the room—they were over sixty percent of the Oner population—as they always did. But not the glow contest. They were mostly closed up, so they didn't get overwhelmed by the more powerful. The Neartuones and Withiones, badly outnumbered, were clustering to one side of the dance floor. Together they were eight percent of the Oner population. But they also tended to get jobs out of the area. Rael sighed. Like me. I'm used to Paris, where you can't turn around without offending some snotty High Oner. Tonight, they'd probably be less than five percent of the crowd. She eyed an artistic rainbow of plastic spheres . . . no, more egg shaped. She picked one up. It split down the middle, and held a chocolate truffle. Yummy. But why the egg things? . . . No wait . . . that old religions theme, weren't eggs a symbol of rebirth or something? She glanced at the banner above. "Christian Traditional food." Plenty of Christians, still, all over South America. Like Muslims all around the Mediterranean Sea, and off to the east. She looked around and spotted food displays labeled Islamic, Hindu, Shinto . . . Meh. I barely believe in the One as a deity, and the New Prophets were obviously a marooned cross-dimensional exploration party. With genetically engineered "magic." My teenage flirt with religion died a long time ago. But I really don't recall chocolate being a Christian food.
She nibbled, and went back to analyzing the crowd.
The brightest individual glows would be the locally important people. One forbid we pick our leaders for competence, rather than power ranking. She strolled that direction.
"Aren't you Rael? Raod's little sister?"
The speaker was a slinky brunette, all sultry eyed and . . . familiar. One of Raod's old buddies, one of the older girls who had been in and out of the house as Rael was growing up.
"Jude? Err, Joud?" Rael looked at the woman behind her. "And Pud . . . Puuj?"
Joud looked affronted, Puuj laughed.
"Trust you to remember our nicknames, Thin-as-a-Rael." Puuj's brows drew together. "We've all seen the vids . . . you look like the One's own hell."
Rael sniffed. "Do not. Now six months ago, yeah, then I looked like hell. Now I merely look bad. You two look good." Indeed. Pudge's plumpness had transmuted into a curvaceous confection, and Jude was drawing masculine eyes from across the room. She softened her own barriers and felt Jude's glow. Solid strong Withione, and Pudge had a respectable glow for a Neartuone. "What are you two doing, these days?" She stepped back to accost a waiter with tray full of wine glasses. Not the best vintage, but a pleasant, unchallenging drink.
Pudge rolled her eyes. "We're both in between husbands. Local government Game, not the kind of high powered stuff you were in the middle of, in Paris."
"And no doubt just as competitive, if not more so."
"Oh you'd better believe it." Jude's eyes drifted across the room. "I don't know what possessed the organizers to do multi-year reunions. Do you realize that
the main subject of gossip is still the identity of Raod's lover?"
Rael looked across the room. She was pretty sure Raod was somewhere in that clump of gray-hairs. "Some of those guys must have graduated a century ago. I know Raod married old men, but surely she'd go for handsome and sexy if she was going to have a fling? Oh, good grief, I think I recognize some of those men."
"Mayor Eglo of Montevideo and Governor Itsu of Uruguay District, and assorted other local politicians. One of them is the District War Party treasurer, Ogto." Pudge coughed theatrically. "Raod's first, second and fifth husbands."
Jude swapped empty for full glass as a waiter passed by. "I'm surprised Ogto's out in public again. I guess he figured a year as a recluse was enough to disassociate himself from the assassination attempt."
Pudge glanced sideways at Rael. "You made the headlines. 'Local Princess takes one for the President.' The vids, once they released them, were pretty awesome. I can't believe you jumped in front of the President like that."
Rael managed a lopsided smile. "I can't believe I didn't get a shield up in time. And then everyone else got to do awesome."
Jude sighed. "And Endi! Tell us about him!"
"Oh. Well, he was just your ordinary two meters of muscles, cheekbones, dimples, and charm. Deep deep dark blue eyes, and don't pretend you didn't see those magazine pics, I haven't met anyone who hasn't."
Pudge laughed out loud at that. "And he wasn't just a pretty face. He must have been pretty smart, to get himself into that position."
Rael shook her head. "I think the opportunity was serendipitous. And irresistible. Utterly ice cold nerves, walking in amongst the strongest Oners like that. But yeah, he was pretty smart. He used to help Paer with her math homework. It was infuriating, watching him make up calculus problems from thin air, that had solutions that were whole numbers. And act. And lie. When he wanted to get caught in a lie, he leaked just the right amount to be a 'good liar.' When he was really putting something on, you'd swear he was telling the truth. He even got away with a couple of truth matches, shielding all his other memories. In retrospect . . . he was awesome." She looked down at her glass. Empty. She stretched out an arm and a waiter corrected the problem.
Jude leaned in close. "And what was he like in bed? A Native! With magic."
"Umm, drat I think practically everything about Target Forty-two is classified. But he was magic. Very strongly so, and trained, as is obvious in all those vids." Rael took a slow sip. Am I actually drunk enough on two glasses of wine to talk about him? "You ever do it with a Bad Boy? Someone who knows how to stimulate those nerves magically?" Their eyes widened. Slight shakes of their heads. She swallowed more wine. "He was. The. Most. Incredible. Bad Boy. Ever." Rael's eyes drifted towards Bruno's entourage. "Ubno's . . . a weak example, now that I've experienced the master. But you really ought to try it. Pick up the technique." Rael winked, and stepped away to snag another drink.
And looked up to find herself next to Raod's aforementioned fifth husband. Ogto Withione.
Ogto was glaring down at her. "So, crawled home to recuperate. With luck you'll spend the rest of your life a crip."
Silence fell around them, as people boggled. Rael could hear the clink of the ice in his glass as he turned away.
"Oh, you mean after knocking the War Party down a few pegs? Yep. Crawled home. How about you? Did you go to Makkah to clear your name?" Rael smiled nastily as he spun back to glare. "So many little men, sweating to clear themselves, not realizing their small souled, petty natures and oversized egos were being seen by everyone within a hundred kilometers."
His knuckles whitened as he clenched his hand around the glass. "There was no need. There is little in common between the district parties and the Players in Paris, who have gotten so tangled in their stupid Game that they mistake it for reality."
Rael raised her eyebrows. "Oh my. Common sense. Pity it didn't strike a year and a half ago."
Ogto flushed, turned and stomped away.
"Holy One." Pudge breathed beside her. "Did you just imply he cheated on your sister?"
Rael blinked. "Oh. I keep forgetting perspective. From Paris, whether or not he seduced anyone is totally unimportant. Down here? Let's see. Raod has pretty well gone through the local movers and shakers, hasn't she? And she must have gotten pregnant right about the time of the Assassination attempt. Which was what I was alluding to, what with the upper ranked War Party personnel being the plotters.
"I hadn't realized Raod's pregnancy was anything but a minor family embarrassment." Rael shrugged, concealed a wince. One damn it all, what possessed me to come here? I can barely stand straight, can't dance, can't . . . even think about getting naked with some hunk.
"Oh, no. Ogto had a fight with her in public, and she accused him of sterility, he accused her of barrenness and she walked out. Missing for two days, then she moved back in with your parents." Jude shrugged. "Just as the gossip was really warming up, the assassination. She went with your parents to Paris . . . and all the gossip switched to whether you'd live or die, or how crippled you'd be. They came back a month later . . . and Raod was obviously pregnant. She ignored Ogto, as good a way to say 'not your baby' as you can get."
Pudgy snickered. "He accosted her in public three months ago, now. He demanded to touch the babies. Zero, zip, nada. No zing. I think the sheer embarrassment of the moment was enough to send him back into isolation for a month."
"Yeah, I was there." Rael swayed. "I wonder where she went, for those two days?" Paris, of course, and found Endi.
Pudge nodded. "And who with?"
My Endi, One damn her. And him.
The music that had been soft background ramped up in volume and cadence. A popular waltz.
Rael turned her back on the dance floor.
Puuj was looking toward the Withione circles . . . "I ought to get Raod to introduce me to some Withiones."
Rael followed her gaze and spotted her sister, apparently in a confrontation with Ogto. "Uh, oh. Three of her Ex's in one group? I think I'd better go play diplomat."
"I don't recall you ever being diplomatic . . . " The other two women looked disinclined to join the fun.
She eased into the circle of grayhairs, just in case Raod needed some back up. Or more likely, dragged away.
"Can't believe I wasted three years living in genteel poverty in your family's falling down barn."
Rael sighed. The barn was a three centuries old stucco mansion right across the Avenida from the ocean, large enough to house five families, and set in about five acres of manicured gardens. Raod had dragged her through it on an enthusiastic tour, one of the few times she'd come home for a vacation.
"You claimed to love it while you were there." Ogto glared down at her.
Raod tossed her head. "Well, I'll talk to my lawyer tomorrow. And you need to return my backup drives, including all my old ones. I asked nicely once. Do I need a different sort of lawyer to get my things?"
Ogto growled. "All your trash is boxed up and somewhere in the attic. I'll hunt it up."
Time to break up the fight. Rael giggled, and softened her shields even further, to glow at the men. "Oh, I'm so disappointed! I thought most government policy was made at parties. But all I'm finding is family feuds? I'm just crushed!"
Half the men leaned toward her. Even while smiling indulgently at the silly little woman. Men are just so easy.
"Are you all in government at one level or another?"
Several glances toward one man.
"I'm in magifacturing." Tall, dark, and handsome.
Drat, and me not fit to seduce anyone. Drat, drat, drat!
"Epru's the only mundane one of us." Ogto curled a lip and turned away.
"Mundane? Oh, you mean hardworking, productive, pays taxes instead of living with his nose in the public trough?" Rael looked around. "And only one man out of the seven of you?" She grinned, and didn't bounced on her heels, because she'd never had enough bosom to jiggle properly, and now it'd be lopside
d. Ugg. More surgery in my future.
Raod rolled her eyes. "Including yourself, Miss Presidential Directorate? C'mon sis, I think you need to switch to coffee." She hooked Rael's elbow and hauled her away, lowered her voice. "Thanks for breaking that up, Sis. Fighting in public is so déclassé."
Rael giggled. "But you were ready to jump in and go for it anyway. For shame, Sis. I ought to give you lessons in manipulation." And a bit to her disappointment, they did find coffee. And Joud and Puuj. Hugs all around, and promises to come over and admire the twins.
"We didn't want to impose." Puuj smiled apologetically at Rael.
"Staying away because of me? One! Don't be silly. Poor Raod needs someone to come and admire the babies. I'm . . . immune to what everyone says is their charm."
"Just as well, Princess." A snide tone from a passing woman.
Rael glanced over her shoulder . . . "I don't even remember her name."
"You stole her boyfriend, she's been carping about it half the night."
"I did? Who was he? I don't remember."
Raod snorted. "You probably didn't notice. And if you don't shut down your glow, you'll probably steal some more tonight."
"Oh, yeah." She sipped coffee, and worked on dimming down a bit. Not all the way, she needed all the advantages she could get. She reached for another plastic egg. Good chocolate.
She eyed the crowd. "Looks like Ogto's got an admirer."
Raod glanced, sniffed. "He wants to marry, again. So I need to prod my lawyer and get the divorce finalized."
Puuj looked surprised. "Why has it taken so long?" Then she glanced at Rael. "Oh."
"Oh, indeed. I've spent a total of almost four months in Paris, off and on—Dad hated to have Mother go alone, when she went to see Rael, but he had work to do. And then the babies, so things slipped rather badly."
Rael sniffed. "It is not my fault. Motherhood has obviously interfered with your logical thinking. You've gone all soft and gooey. Not unlike their chocolate bombs." She stepped over and grabbed a pair of eggs.
