by Alma Boykin
A Father’s Choice
By
Alma T.C. Boykin
© Alma T. C. Boykin 2015
Cover art © Algol| Dreamstime.com – Future city – Robot Sentinel at Sunset Photo Used with permission.
A Father's Choice
Marleena Patterson stared at the certified letter, shaking her head, hands starting to shake. “How dare you do this to me, Dad?”
In black print on white paper, real paper, under the seal of the Bureau of Nomen and Cognomen, she saw the words, “To the daughter of the former Andrew T. Patterson” and his personal identification number, “Greetings. Be here advised that from this day forth, you will be knows as Marleena Sylvestra Drakulovna. In recognition of this, your documentary records have been updated with all governments and appropriate sub-level agencies,” and so on. Marleena stared at the new name and wanted to swear. But that wouldn’t be wise, not with her coworkers peering over her shoulder to see the real, official paper letter.
“Wow! Your father dragoned. That’s amazing. I wish my parents would do something that brave,” Pete said.
“Hmm,” Kelsie said with a little sniff. “Your family must be a lot better off than you look, for your father to be allowed to dragon.” Marleena could almost feel Kelsie studying her clothes, or what showed under her cover-all, and totaling up the cost. “Slummer,” Kelsie whispered before sauntering off, the sound-generators in her eight-hundred-credit work boots making little chiming sounds with each step.
Marleena folded the letter, slid it back into the envelope with great care, and tucked everything into her inside pocket, safe from the workshop’s sawdust and paint. “I,” her voice sounded weak to her ears, and she tried again. “I believe we have a quota to meet before the holiday rush starts? We’d better get back to work, right?” She wasn’t a supervisor; she couldn’t give orders, at least not yet.
One of the newbies protested. “Yeah, but it’s not everyday you hear about someone going dragon. Can we read the letter? When do you get to see your dad?”
“No, and I do not know. Let’s get back to work, please?” She’d be the one to get blamed for the work stoppage once the bosses saw her record change.
“Yeah, no work, no pay; no pay, no fun,” Pete reminded the rest of the shift. Grumbles and moans of disappointment rose and fell as people scattered back to their work stations. The sounds of scrapers, saws, and the soft tap of mallets on chisels began anew. Marleena picked up her small saw and returned to roughing out dovetails for the custom-ordered box. She triple checked the CAD-drawn plan and measurements, then cut a little more before shifting to a chisel and mallet for the almost-final trimming. After four more dovetails she rough-fit the two pieces together, tagged them, and carried all four to the next work position for fine fitting and having the bottom added.
She didn’t enjoy plain carpentry. Marleena sighed to herself as she passed Alonzo’s bench. A long white curl of wood shaving curved up from the tip of his chisel as the blade cut into the fine-grained wood, adding depth to a swirl of leaves and wheat-sheaves. She’d rather be carving, but everyone had to learn every skill before the masters allowed people to specialize. Alonzo didn’t look up and Marleena kept moving, returning to her worktable to find another stack of wood waiting.
The dark reddish-black color made her suspicious and she touched the rough end of top slab. A hint of oil confirmed her hunch. Marleena wanted to cry. Just what she needed, on top of the letter, and Kelsie’s nasty remark, now she had to work blackiron. If she ever found the geneticist who had thought up crossing mahogany with ironwood, she’d beat him with a large piece of it until he apologized. She’d be at her bench until sixteen hundred at least, trying to get the things cut. For an instant she imagined downing her tools and stalking out. Then she shook herself, pulled out her waterstones and a clean-ish rag, and got ready to sharpen before she started cutting.
Three hours later, Alonzo coughed, getting her attention. “I’m done. Would you like an assist?”
Pride warred with frustration and lost. “Yes, please sir.” The senior carver set his traveling toolbox down beside her table and she moved over, giving him room and the best light. “I’ll start this panel, sir, if you would like to finish the rough-out.”
He picked up the piece she offered, turning it with his big, scarred hands. “Graduated dovetails?”
She handed him the plans. He shook his head, the beads on his headband clinking a little. “Graduated dovetails it is. Someone must have ordered an illusion box, although blackiron?” He shook his head again and mounted the piece in the second vise. “Technology improves but taste never does.”
Marleena tried hard to ignore Alonzo and stay focused on her own work. She’d gotten all but the last dovetail roughed when something slammed against her shoulder, knocking her hands off the wood. “Ow!” She stared at the blood starting to pour from the gash between her thumb and forefinger, then whipped her arm back to keep the blood off the wood.
“Hey kid, heard you got some news,” a jovial woman said. It was Olivia, the floor boss. “Care to share?”
“Need to bandage this first,” Marleena said. She set down the chisel and mallet, holding the injured hand away from the table as she tried to open the med-kit one handed.
“She’s such a klutz,” Kelsie opined from behind Olivia. Olivia turned around, giving Marleena a good look at the new poison-green stripes in her cascade of braids. “And she’s a slummer. Her father dragoned.”
“Marleena is also working the hardest cuts I’ve seen come through the workshop this year, and is doing almost as well as Paul did before he retired,” Alonzo said, cutting off Kelsie’s whine. “Look at them please, Olivia, and giver her a signoff.”
Marleena concentrated on bandaging her hand. The chisel had taken off her hide but had not cut deep enough to do serious damage. She would have to scrub the tool before touching the wood again, however, and now she’d lost even more time. As she cleaned up the mess and re-packed the aid kit, Marleena counted to a hundred by threes so she wouldn’t complain to Olivia. The woman knew damn well not to jostle people!
“Yes, I saw Miss Drakulovna’s new title when it pinged her hour record,” Olivia was saying. “She should have informed us of it before today, however.” Olivia’s tone could have chilled a liter of hot oil.
“Your pardon, ma’am, but father did not inform any family members of his decision. I only knew when I read the letter, ma’am. I apologize for not stopping work to inform you.” Marleena didn’t want to apologize, but she really couldn’t get on Olivia’s bad side, not now, not with everyone thinking that she was a slummer and not a real need-student.
“Really.” One bright green eyebrow rose half-way to the custom scalloped turquoise hairline.
“Olivia, just sign her off on these pieces and argue accounts later, please. We’re holding up the order.” Alonzo flexed his fingers before pointing to the roughed-out side panel. With a grumble and a glower that boded ill for Marleena at the end of shift, Olivia studied the pieces, compared them to the drawing, and signed them off. Her recorder buzzed, then chirped and a green light flashed twice. “Thank you,” Alonzo smiled, revealing large, yellowing teeth that made him look a little like a beaver. He returned to work.
Olivia turned to look at something and Marleena confirmed that the chisel blade held enough edge for her to finish. Gripping the mallet made her hand hurt, but she worked through the ache. At least it distracted her from the day’s woes and reminded her to pay attention. And to listen for idiots sneaking up behind her.
“Can you finish the clean-up and fit?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you very much,” Marleena said.
“You’re welcome. That’s what workmates do.” With that Alonzo packe
d his tools and returned to his own bench. Marleena completed the fine trimming, fitted the pieces together twice just to make absolutely certain, and carried the pieces and plans to Leonora’s workbench for her to do the next step. Then Marleena cleaned her bench and checked all her tool edges, sharpening a few and wiping them with a light oil before putting them up for the day. Well, she thought, squaring her shoulders, she might as well go see if the creature that had once been her father had cost her the one job that she loved.
Only the assemblers remained at their benches, sparing Marleena people gawking and staring at her. She pressed three fingers against the touch pad, opening the door to the locker room. A retinal scan opened her storage cube, and she hung the work coat and cover-skirt on their pegs for the sono-cleaner to freshen. The damned envelope rustled and she pulled it out of the coat pocket. She wanted to shred the paper, or wad it into a ball and hurl it into the flash incinerator. But you didn’t to that with critical legal documents, and so she slid the envelope into her satchel and stalked out of the locker room.
Olivia, Kelsie, and Mr. Otterson were waiting at the time clock. Marleena gulped, pressed her hand against the gen-reader, and felt the familiar warm brush of the sensors as they confirmed her identity. The big hand on the time clock advanced with a little thunk and a green light flashed. She could go home. Instead she stood waiting, trying not to panic.
“I was rather surprised by the news in my personnel box today, Miss Drakulovna,” Mr. Otterson said. “Usually we are informed of such matters in person.” She couldn’t tell from his voice or expression if he was angry or curious or both.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. I did not know either, not until the letter arrived.” She pulled it out of her satchel and offered it to him.
“No, thank you. I know what those look like,” he said.
Instead, Olivia snatched it out of Marleena’s hands, unfolding it while Kelsie read over the floor boss’s very broad shoulder. “This is dated yesterday.” Olivia looked back at Marleena, her face folding into a scowl. “You did know, and you are lying to us.”
“No, ma’am, I’m not. I’ll take a blood test or truth meter test if you want, ma’am, but I’m not lying. Please, I have not spoken to or seen my father in seventeen years, ma’am, sir.” Marleena sounded desperate to her own ears. “Please don’t release me from the program, please. I’m not a work-stealer, sir.”
The angular man folded his arms, tipping his head a few centimeters to the side. “It is well known that dragoning is not permitted without proof of fiscal ability or special government authorization, Miss Drakulovna.”
“Yes, sir, and my parents separated without financial commitment, and my mother left me at the crèche when she went to Epsilon Colony. I can get additional copies of the records from the crèche, sir, if you want to see them.” Marleena felt sweat starting to run down her face and realized that she’d already soaked through her shirt. Kelsie smirked and mouthed “slummer” again.
Otterson shook his head. “Oh, calm down, Miss Drakulovna. I already confirmed them as part of the name alteration protocol.” He turned to Kelsie. “Miss Patrino, I realize that you are most eager to do your duty to ensure that financial and merit awards only go to those who deserve them, much as your parents are known for. However, I am growing very tired of your, shall we say, increasingly excessive zeal. Miss Drakulovna is not a work-stealer. Unlike yourself, she truly needs the training stipend granted by the co-op and her residence benefit. A stipend, Miss Drakulovna, which I am delighted to say has been increased by ten percent as a reward for your continued hard work and attention to detail. Alonzo Morgan is right, Miss Drakulovna, you have a rare skill with wood. Congratulations.”
“Th— thank you, sir.” That seemed to be all she was expected to say, and he nodded.
“You may go. Olivia, Miss Patrino, come with me, please.”
Kelsie looked daggers at Marleena. The white-haired, dark-skinned girl’s bright green eyes narrowed and while she didn’t say anything more, Marleena knew that Kelsie wouldn’t stop digging until she found a way to get the younger woman removed from the work list. Marleena made a mental note to triple-check her documents. It wasn’t fair, she snarled as she waited for the personnel transport pod to arrive. Kelsie had two parents in the home, two god-parents, a promised career, an unlimited allowance because of her parents’ work, and everything she could possibly want. She’d be finishing her labor year in a few months and going on to career training. Kelsie had bio-sculpt, and the best tools and work-clothes that credits could buy. Why was she so determined to get Marleena dismissed?
The pod hissed up to the gate and Marleena got in. She strapped herself to a standing position where she could see out the viewport and kept one hand on her satchel, just in case. There hadn’t been a track or tube failure in several years, but you never knew. The pod’s fuselage slid closed and the tiny flare of the sealer slid up the side, locking the pressure and any fumes out of the pod. With a familiar bump and hiss the pod glided into motion within the tube.
Marleena let herself relax as the pod slid along the route. She loved looking out at the city. The sun had almost set and lights sparkled and shone from New Omaha’s pillars and sprawl. Only two weeks until New Founders’ Day, she sighed, when everything would be lit up and fireworks and laser shows would dance among the buildings and stars. A dozen or so birds flapped past and she noted a few aircraft and hover-trays moving around the cityscape. In three more hours, the big cargo transports would start coming in, their lights making a string of beads against the night-dark skies. Marleena craned her neck to see if the volunteer corps had lit the Founders Memorial yet, but she couldn’t see them from the pod even if they’d been turned on. She shrugged and relaxed some more.
After four stops Marleena got out of the pod, swiped her credit pin, and walked the last half-kilometer to the crèche’s apartments for former residents. One of the trustees had come up with the idea, purchasing two towers of undersized residential units and obtaining permits to use one as a rental property, the income augmenting the crèche’s endowment. The other block became apartments for people who had aged out of the crèche but who had not married, joined the Services, or found other housing. Residents had to be employed and the rent was not low, but it wasn’t excessive, either. Marleena showed her pin and the door unlocked, letting her in. The lower lobby smelled like fried food and she grinned. Maybe Barb had gotten take-out for supper. No matter how many filters or scrubbers anyone put into the delivery line, the smell of “fried” carried through the delivery tube. The only thing stronger might be cabbage, and no one ordered that, at least not that Marleena could remember. They cooked it, though, usually after getting permission from the neighbors, or at least warning them.
Marleena decided to take the stairs. She only lived six levels up, after all, and she needed to exercise to help her relax. Well, that and she wouldn’t risk crossing paths with Max in the lift. He bounced too much for her. Barb thought he was cute, and Marleena couldn’t disagree. She just didn’t have the patience or energy to deal with cute at the moment. Marleena took the steps two-at-a-time for the first three floors, then did the rest the normal way. The stretch in her legs and back felt good.
The good feeling died when she saw the new name projected onto her apartment door. “M.S. Drakulovna/B. Thompson/O. P. Hartser” the screen proclaimed to the world. Marleena wanted to reach into the ceiling, pull the little projector down, and stomp it to bits. But she’d be evicted, and have to pay for the repairs, and it wasn’t worth it. Instead she made a rude gesture toward the new name and unlocked the door after knocking four times.
“Hi Mauri, I left some for you. Oops and I are helping with the park cleaning crew tonight, be back later,” Barbara’s voice called as the safety light turned on. The soft glow along the baseboards led Marleena to her sleeping cubby. She set her bag in the storage box, changed out of her work clothes and took a seven-minute shower. The extra minutes cost a little but she
didn’t care, not after getting a bonus at work. Someone had refilled the soap pump with something crisp and pine-smelling, and Marleena approved. After the warm air drier finished, she pulled on her most comfortable, mis-matched, “wear only at home in the dark” shirt and skirt, then slid her feet into fleece-lined scuffs, a gift from her roomies. Marleena followed the faint scent of fried back to the tiny food bay. She found two fish planks made with real whitefish, heated them along with some rice and leftover veggie curry, and devoured the treat, licking her fingers and patting them on the plate to get every last bit of fish and fried. She cleaned up the plate and sterilized it, then programmed a pot of tea to be ready for her roomies when they got back.
Then and only then did Marleena flop onto the couch in the small commons space and pound the cushions with her fists, tears of anger in her eyes. “Damn you, father, damn you. How could you do this to me?” She whispered as hot tears blurred the walls. “You selfish, vain, greedy, arrogant jerk.” First he abandoned her, then he dragoned without telling her or giving her time to prepare for the news. For the hundredth time she wondered what her mother had seen in the creep. Not that her mother was much better, dumping her in the crèche to go wander the stars and become a famous planetary pioneer, but at least her mother’s selfishness didn’t threaten Marleena’s job and future.
Anger vented for the moment, Marleena pulled her knees up to her chest and stared at the deep shadows in the apartment. She’d left the lights off. Dark was better for sulking, and she wanted a good long sulk. It wasn’t fair. Her father had enough substance to be allowed to dragon, and he never offered to share any of it, or to do more than the bare minimum legal acknowledgement of her existence. Marleena didn’t care that he’d made the Change. So many people did that it wasn’t the Big Deal it had been before the New Founding. But to dragon, that was different. You had to have a lot of money or land to be allowed to take a form that large and dangerous, because you had to have a hunting preserve and wing-space and a buffer between you and the next Changer. Or so everything she’d read and heard claimed. Marleena didn’t doubt it, given the history feeds she’d watched about the Change and the early problems.
