by M. A. George
CHAPTER 3
As Ewenami and I kept chatting, Sabela and Dominick arrived to join us for dinner. Sabela looked as tired as I felt…Apparently I wasn’t the only one losing sleep over our father’s disappearance. We all visited around the table as we ate (or at least attempted to eat). Sabela was doing about as well as I was in that regard.
Eventually Aeron arrived to complete our party. I stood from the table, offering to prepare something for him to eat. He took a look at my plate, his face growing concerned. “Palta, you’ve hardly touched your food…Does it taste that bad? What can I get you that you’d like?” He stepped toward the pantry, rummaging through the food stores for something that might suit my tastes.
“It’s not the food, Aeron,” I assured him. “I just don’t feel like eating right now…”
He understood my meaning immediately, stepping over to enfold me in his comforting arms. “He’s going to be okay, Palta,” he whispered in my ear. “They kept him alive for a reason.”
I looked up to meet his eyes, my brow furrowing as I tried to decipher what that reason might have been. It was a familiar riddle to my sleep-deprived brain…the exact question that had puzzled me throughout the previous night:
Why would Bito Obo want to capture my father?
Several theories seemed plausible…Maybe he knew that Aeron was looking for my father, and wanted to use him as bait to draw Aeron in. I certainly didn’t like that prospect.
Or perhaps his intent was to force my father to join in his cause…Together their powers of mind control would bring the monarchy to its knees. I suspected he knew my father better than that. As his half-brother, he would surely know that Father was the most ethically-conscious person on either of our worlds.
From the little I knew about Bito Obo, I had the impression he was a vindictive power-monger. It was possible his sole purpose was to force his half-brother-turned-rival to watch as he destroyed the empire my father had dutifully served. Yet again, I was far from thrilled with that option.
Aeron reached up to outline the crease in my forehead with his thumb, his own mind straining to come up with some way of unburdening my thoughts. “Don’t mind me,” I tried to put on a stoic face. “I’m just a little tired.”
“You’re exhausted, Palta,” his expression was still deeply concerned. “Emotionally and physically…Yesterday was horrendous,” he reminded me, as he began gently tracing his fingers about the numerous bruises and abrasions that covered both my arms—the souvenirs from my tumble down the forested hillside, as we laid siege to the rebel ship. “I told you not to waste your energy healing my insignificant little scrapes. You have no strength left to heal yourself…” His eyes filled with regret. “Please eat something,” he begged me softly, “I’ll cook anything you want.”
“You can cook?” I tried to lighten his somber mood. “I like a man who knows his way around the kitchen.”
“I can hold my own,” he smiled. “Try me. Whatever your heart desires…As long as it comes from a can,” he cringed, as he looked around the shelves loaded with pitifully unappealing options. It reminded me of a Y2K shelter.
“Save your skills for another day,” I suggested lightheartedly. “No reason to waste what I’ve already got on my plate.”
“I can finish that off and get you something better,” he offered.
“You’d eat my leftovers?...” I felt like such a prima donna. “You’re a king.”
“I’m a…hungry…king,” he shrugged, as he unassumingly glanced to the side. “I’m not picky.”
“Well, neither am I,” I affirmed with an unyielding raise of my eyebrows. “I refuse to allow you to cook something special for me, while you live off my scraps. Go sit down.” I took hold of his shoulders to turn him around, pushing him toward the table. “I’ll have your food ready in a minute.” He protested, but I gave him a stern eye.
“I suggest you give up, Aeron,” Sabela teased, as I shoved Aeron toward the table. “She’s got her game face on…Trust me, she won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”
He reluctantly conceded, turning to give me a look that made it clear he was doing so under protest. I responded with a triumphant smile, dusting my hands as I pivoted on my heel to revisit the pantry.
I returned in a few short minutes (There’s only so much you can do when working entirely with non-perishables), setting a plate in front of Aeron. His smile was overly appreciative, considering the unappetizing appearance of the meal. I took my place beside him, forcing down the food in front of me with a carefully preserved smile. I was no less worried than I had been ten minutes ago, but I resolved to keep my worries to myself from now on. Aeron had enough on his mind without having to fret over me.
As we wrapped up the meal, the five of us moved to the recreational room, making ourselves comfortable on the chairs and couches. Aeron resumed the Onontian vocabulary lesson, with Ewenami assisting by projecting words up on the video screen. It was bad enough trying to mimic the pronunciation of unfamiliar words…Now we had to add an entirely foreign alphabet?
Sabela put me to shame, having spoken the language until the age of six. Though it was dredging up long-forgotten memories from a lifetime ago, the lesson was clearly sparking some sort of subconscious recall. I was selfishly relieved to see that Dominick, at least, was struggling as much as I was.
I didn’t realize at the time, but this would become our routine after-dinner activity. The days would have a tendency to blur together in the infinite darkness of space. We tried to keep ourselves to a timetable by setting up a schedule of sorts. There was more than enough time for kicking back—so much so that I began to feel a little stir crazy. I actually grew to look forward to the “classroom” time, especially once I started to get the hang of things. Somewhere in the course of our journey, I found myself growing more confident with my conversational skills. I was even able to recognize all the letters of the Onontian alphabet…Granted, I hadn’t even attempted to tackle writing yet.
We agreed early on that it made sense to change ourselves over to Onontian time—a day on Onontí was roughly thirty-one hours. I could see where that might be nice…It never seemed like there were enough hours in the day on Earth. And it shed some light on the way Aeron was always able to stay awake longer than I could…He was accustomed to longer daylight hours.
I also liked the fact that a year lasted 522 days—by Onontian standards, I was no longer over a century in age. Though I made the transition to the new system relatively smoothly, I couldn’t help but keep simultaneous track of Earth’s calendar. I suppose I wasn’t quite ready to let go.
The course of our flight included what would have been my birthday on Earth. Assuming I was the only one plotting out the days on two separate calendars, I didn’t expect anyone to take notice of this particular day when it arrived. Besides, I had long since outgrown the need to treat my birthday as a monumental occasion. In truth, it was always somewhat clouded by sadness…The date of my birth coincided with the date of my mother’s death.
Apparently I wasn’t the only one keeping track of multiple calendars. Midway through the day, I rounded the corner into the dining area to see a completely unanticipated spectacle: balloons, streamers, a cake…the whole nine yards. The only thing missing was a cluster of 118 candles atop the cake—I was glad Sabela had at least drawn the line there. Though the whole group was joining in for the traditional birthday serenade, I knew my sister was at the root of things. She had undoubtedly plotted this as she was racing around grabbing supplies for our last-minute flight. I was torn between irritation at the over-the-top display and weepy sentimentality for Sabela’s unfailing generosity of spirit. Knowing my inclination for remorse due to the association between my birthday and the anniversary of our mother’s death, she always went out of her way to make it a joyous occasion.
There was only one person who took greater effort to buck up and put on a happy face for my birthdays…my fath
er. I blinked feverishly to control the tears that threatened to flow…I really didn’t want to put on a blubbering display in front of everyone. I hugged my sister tightly, whispering a feeble “Thank you” into her ear.
“I wasn’t about to let you skip out on turning one hundred and eighteen. If I had to do it…so do you, Sis,” she winked. “When you match my one hundred and thirty-one, then you can start counting by Onontian years—not a day before,” she added with a teasing smile.
Dominick stepped over to give me a brotherly hug. “Whoa, Palta…” he ribbed me, “Is that a cobweb in your hair?”
“At least I have hair,” I smirked. “Remind me what you see in this guy?” I gave Sabela a kidding look.
“He’s perfect…” she gushed, as she looped her arm in his.
“Yeah, yeah…” I rolled my eyes, “So you say.” I reached up to teasingly muss Dominick’s hair.
Ewenami came over to give me a quick hug. “I know you don’t like being the center of attention,” she smiled sweetly, “but you deserve a special day…I hope you enjoy it.” As I thanked her, she stepped aside to make way for Aeron.
He tried to respect my unspoken plea to avoid making any more of a production than had already been done. He simply pulled me into a tight hug, whispering into my ear, “Happy birthday, Palta. I love you…now and always.”
It was certainly not the first time he had expressed his love for me, but I was struck by his heartfelt tone. It was the best birthday gift I could have asked for…his promise of everlasting love. I looked up to meet his gaze, hoping my eyes would convey the gratitude I felt. Words just didn’t seem to do it justice.
We gathered around the table to visit and enjoy a leisurely lunch. Sabela delighted in telling a few stories from my childhood. To nobody’s surprise, my headstrong nature was a recurring theme. Thankfully, it wasn’t in her nature to tell truly embarrassing stories—or to claim center stage for more than a few minutes. Eventually, we wrapped up the celebration to return to our individual corners of the ship. On most occasions, that was Aeron’s cue to accompany me to my quarters.
We spent most of our free time camped out on my couch—usually just talking—albeit intermixed with a fair bit of making out. Though it was sometimes challenging, we always managed to stop ourselves just shy of “sealing the deal” (for lack of an expression actually used by someone over the age of twenty-one). It wasn’t actually something we discussed in so many words…It just became some sort of unspoken agreement. In truth, I wasn’t exactly sure why. For my part, I was admittedly a little old-fashioned. Through a combination of my upbringing during a different era on Earth, my father’s staunch moral fiber, and my obsession with classic romantic literature—I was inclined to believe that a man and a woman should commit to a marriage before they entered into that kind of physical intimacy. I suspected that Aeron was either similarly traditional, or perhaps was just being a gentleman and following my lead. Despite my tendency toward self-doubt, I was certain it wasn’t because he found me unattractive.
Though I was completely comfortable discussing just about anything with him, I hadn’t felt compelled to ask his reason…possibly because I didn’t want to freak him out that I was pushing him toward marriage. That was a topic we hadn’t really broached yet. Under most circumstances, it would be an expected progression of a relationship such as ours. However, I wasn’t naïve enough to believe that it was that simple for royalty…Surely he had to consider more carefully his choice of a wife. Even though I truly believed he would love me forever, I tried to mentally prepare myself that he might not actually be expecting to marry me.
It wasn’t hard to dance around the subject—our conversations flowed so easily, we were always occupied with other topics. We touched on a little bit of everything. I was eager to learn everything he could tell me about the Onontian culture—its history and customs, the geography of the main world and surrounding colonies. Admittedly, what interested me most was anything that pertained to his own life history. Although he happily answered my myriad questions, he was determined to interrogate me in return. He already knew most of Earth’s history—some of it better than I did. He was purely interested in my personal story. He practically demanded that I start from my earliest memories and give a play-by-play narration of even the most mundane details. I found it absurd, but it was also impossible to resist—he was addicted to my chronicle like a prime time drama, eager to hear a new episode each day. I recounted all of my trials and triumphs, none of which were anywhere near as exciting as he seemed to think they were.
I confessed how many of my years had been spent wandering aimlessly through life. I was never lazy…I was always either working or attending school, often both. But I did a lot of random jumping from one career to another. As I wove my tale, I would often find myself thinking out loud, reexamining my chosen course of action. I justified my apparent inability to stick to a given career path as a form of denial…I knew I was naturally suited to a medical career, but that almost pushed me further away from it. I suppose it was a manifestation of my characteristic stubbornness…I didn’t want to be pushed into something like it was my only option. Somewhere along the way, I caved and followed my predestined calling. It turned out to be the path that brought me the most peace of all. As I found myself reliving all of my life choices, I realized how much I would miss being a physician. I hoped I could eventually master the practice of Onontian medicine…I couldn’t bear the thought of returning to a life of purposeless drifting.
Continue reading Relativity
About the Author
M. A. George is part proud mother of two adorable children, part super top secret agent…Oops, probably just lost that job.
Writing is what keeps her up into the wee hours of the night. Fortunately, she has a lot of energy (Read: caffeine is her friend). She has a bit of an obsession with music (It does a fantastic job of tuning out rambunctious children while she attempts to focus).
She sincerely hopes people out there enjoy reading her work as much as she enjoys writing it. And if anyone hears of work for a super top secret agent, she’s now available (Discretion guaranteed…).
