by Beva John
He just laughs, which turns into another coughing session. He croaks out the words, “Highly unlikely.”
After a silence, he says, “No. Truly. Why did you come to talk with me?”
He is my closest friend. I don’t have to pretend with him. I say, “My surrogate’s name is Lottie. And she is very distracting. I shouldn’t have brought her to live in the palace. But I like her, and I find her fascinating.”
Tomor pushes himself up on one elbow. “Tell me more.”
“I think about her all the time and I don’t know what to do.”
“It’s simple. Brix her.”
I look at him sharply. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Isn’t it?”
Tomor knows me too well.
He says, “Brix or as humans say fuck her. Have sex with her. Spend time with her. I have found that human women may be interesting for a week or two, but after that, they are all alike. You’ll be bored within a month, and then she will no longer be a problem.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not? You’re not ill, are you?”
“No, I’m in excellent health.”
“Then what is holding you back?”
“Lottie is my employee. If I brix her, I’m taking advantage of my position.”
Tomor snorts. “Everyone does.”
He’s right. Nearly everyone I know would take advantage of a human female if the opportunity arose. But it’s against the principles that my father taught me. “If I do not treat her with respect, then how am I any better than the Katoll, abducting women and taking them off to their caves until they give birth? We’re supposed to be better than that.”
Tomor says, “You’re not a Katoll. She’s already pregnant, anyway.”
Tomor isn’t helping me. He is only saying what half my mind said to me already.
After a silence, Tomor says, “You always did think too much. Why can’t you just enjoy life? Have fun?”
I smile wryly at that. “It is not in my nature. I am ruled by duty not fun.”
“I may live only half as long as you do, but I’ve enjoyed myself three times as much.”
I nod. “That is true, Cousin.” When he was younger, Tomor lived his life dangerously – fast vehicles, intergalactic travel, constant brixing, and drinking nearly everything he could find. No doubt he finds my life boring in comparison.
We are very different travelers.
When we were younger, Tomor had a dozen mistresses while I had only one. It was expected. My mistress was a beautiful, experienced Brune female eleven years older than myself. I enjoyed her company, but over time, she had expectations – wanting me to buy her more jewelry or help her relatives advance with political appointments. When we would have sex, she would often look at me with a calculation that chilled me to the bone.
During sex, at the moment of release, one is momentarily vulnerable, and I discovered that I did not like that.
I decided that it was better to keep myself to myself.
Since then, I have been alone.
My hand was perfectly capable of meeting my sexual needs.
Gradually, I learned to keep my distance from others, not wanting to be touched.
As Prince, I would give my life for the benefit of my species, but my body was my own.
And now, for the first time in a long time, I want to touch another creature – my surrogate Lottie.
It does not make sense, but I was hoping that Tomor could understand.
But he does not.
We chat of other things. Tomor asks about the health of my mother and my sister. I do not ask about his family, because he is the last of his line. His parents died years ago, and he never had siblings. I wonder if he surrounds himself with human females because he is lonely. I wish to encourage him. “Get yourself another heart so you can come to the naming ceremony.”
Tomor coughs. “I don’t think I’ll last that long – even with a new heart.”
I look down at him and my heart fills with sorrow. Tomor is my cousin, my friend, one of the few people who sees me as an equal instead of a prince. “I shall miss you.”
He smirks. “No farewells, yet, if you please. I am still breathing.”
“As you wish.”
I return to the palace, determined more than ever to keep my distance from Lottie.
LOTTIE
The palace gardens are vast and ornate, even more beautiful than the drawings I have seen of Central Park in New York City. There are walkways and fountains and ponds, and various buildings similar to pagodas where one can sit and admire the expansive views. I think I will never get bored here.
One day as I am admiring some waterfowl that are like ducks but with orange stripes on their wings, I notice a man silently trimming one of the trees and placing the unwanted limbs into a machine that grinds them into woodchips.
It is rare to see a human male in the palace, and I watch him for a moment. He is a tall man, about six feet tall, and athletically built. His dark hair is longer than the styles of 1872 – he has tucked it back behind his ears and it brushes his shoulders. He is clean shaven, though, which I greatly prefer to all the scruffy beards of my era.
When he notices my presence, he turns off the equipment he is using and makes a little nod, acknowledging me.
“Hello,” he calls out.
I smile. It is so nice to hear English and not just the translation in my head. “Forgive me,” I say quickly. “I don’t mean to interrupt your work.”
He sets the motorized trimmer down, removes his heavy work gloves and approaches me. “I don’t mind,” he says cheerfully. “I always talk to the humans. There aren’t many of us working at the palace.”
“I had noticed that.”
He says, “So what do you do here? What is your position?”
“I’m the royal surrogate.”
His eyes widen. “Ah, well, good for you. Do you like it?”
He has an engaging smile and a warm, friendly personality. I do not mind his questions. “Well, so far it is nothing, really. I don’t feel any different than I did before. But as I get bigger and ultimately give birth, I may feel differently.” I have already watched dozens of birth viewings to prepare myself for the big event, and it is a little scary. However, I am promised that with modern Brune medicine, there will be no pain.
He asks if I am from Little Earth or from Old Earth.
“Old Earth.”
“When?”
“1872.”
He whistles. “What a trip that must have been. You didn’t even have airplanes back then.”
“No,” I agree. “Many things are new to me. It is all very exciting. Are you from Old Earth, too?”
“Oh no. Men were almost never taken from Old Earth. Just women.”
I feel my face flush with embarrassment and awkwardness as I remember that women were primarily taken as sex workers. “So, you’re from Little Earth?”
“Right o.”
He speaks English, but his accent is not one I recognize. “What brought you to Allathone?”
“Education. A job. A chance to do something.” He motions to his gardening equipment. “I’m very happy here. There aren’t many opportunities for men on Little Earth. Too many prejudices there.”
I have read about that. I think it strange that Little Earth and its culture seems to be the opposite of Old Earth. On Little Earth, women rule, and it is the men who cannot always find work. I wonder if it is inherent in human behavior for one sex to subjugate the other.
He talks about how he obtained work as a gardener and how it is an excellent opportunity – a dream come true. The conversation then turns to Allathone being the cradle of civilization. The Brune were the first travelers to colonize in the five galaxies. “There is so much to learn here,” I agree.
He says, “Do you get any time off?”
I frown. “I don’t know exactly what you mean. I have very little duties. Very few things are required of
me. All I do is let this baby grow.” I pat my stomach.
He says, “Are you allowed to leave the palace grounds?”
“I don’t know. I never asked.”
“Well, if you would like, we could go out to get something to eat, possibly find a coffee shop or see a music performance.”
I realize belatedly that he is asking me out on a date. It is so strange. I know that customs have changed a lot since I was in Boston 600 years ago. I understand that the courtship process is not as formal as it once was. No one will care or gossip if I “step out” with him. But I don’t even know if I am reading his request accurately. I don’t know if he’s merely being friendly – one human to another – or if he is romantically interested in me. I shake my head and say, “That’s very nice of you to ask, but right now, I am still getting to know my place here. I am not ready to leave the grounds. Maybe another time.”
“Of course, no problem,” he says and makes another bow. “I won’t be a stalker, I promise.”
I haven’t heard that phrase before, but I appreciate the sentiment. “Thank you.”
“I’m Christopher, by the way. Christopher Wilson.”
He shakes my hand.
“I’m Lottie Jamison.”
He smiles. “Very nice to meet you, Lottie. Maybe we’ll see each other again one of these days.”
“I would like that,” I say and realize it is true. I don’t have any real friends at the palace, and I could use another friendly face.
He waves and says, “We humans must stick together, eh?”
“I agree.”
He returns to his work and I walk back to the main building of the Palace, deep in thought. Christopher seems very nice, but oddly enough, now that I have spent so much time with the Brune, I think his skin looks pale and sickly, although logically I know that’s not true. Christopher is in prime physical condition. He’s what the young women in Baby Town would consider an excellent catch.
He just isn’t blue.
CHAPTER SIX
LOTTIE
I think someone is watching me.
It’s not just the occasional servants – and the palace is full of them – but all of them: Brune or Katoll seem to be pleasant people, doing their jobs. None of them frighten or alarm me.
No, I think it is someone else. I sense someone present, and I am not naturally suspicious.
I don’t believe in ghosts or fairies or vampires, but something is definitely unsettling me.
Sometimes I turn around abruptly, hoping to catch someone hiding behind a pillar or in a doorway, but so far, I haven’t caught anyone.
Then one day as I’m walking back to my quarters, I hear it – a swish of fabric and what sounds like a foot fall behind me.
Rather than turn around, I continue my way down a hallway but walking slowly.
Then suddenly, I bolt back down the hall and turn right. There is someone in long flowing robes. I grab at the clothes and it rips as the person tries to get away. “Who are you and why are you spying on me?” I demand.
Then the person turns around and I see it is a Brune woman with long brown hair instead of the usual white. She is only a few inches taller than I am, but judging from her face, possibly a few years older. Most Brune women wear earrings, but her ears are bare. Her eyes are wide, and her breath comes out in gasps. “I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you.”
“Well you did,” I say bluntly and release my hold on her clothes, but then I notice that she looks familiar. “Who are you?”
“Emjer.”
She says it like I should know who she is.
“Princess Emjer,” she says irritably. “And who are you?”
Dear God. A princess. Am I in trouble now? “Are you a sister to Prince Magnar?”
“Yes, I’m his older sister, but who are you? I see you all the time, walking around the palace aimlessly. What is your position?”
“I’m the royal surrogate. Lottie.”
Her face brightens. “Oh, this is marvelous. Are you pregnant?”
I am relieved that she isn’t going to send me to the Tower to have my head cut off. “I am.”
Without asking, she reaches out and touches my stomach over my tunic. “I will pray to Goddess that the babe is healthy and strong.”
“Thank you.”
She continues. “No one tells me anything. How long have you been here?”
“Only two weeks.”
“And Magnar must be engaged.”
“He is. To Lady Jing.”
The princess winces. “Surely he could have found someone better than she. Jing is an idiot.”
I smile. I cannot help it. Princess Emjer seems to be one of those people who will say anything, and I feel as if we might be kindred spirits. I murmur, “I don’t know about that.” I have yet to meet Lady Jing. I might never meet her.
Princess Emjer says, “Come with me. We can sit and eat, and you can tell me all about Earth. You are from Old Earth, I presume.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Your earrings,” she says simply. “I’ve never seen anyone from Little Earth with a pair of cameos.”
I am surprised that she knows about Earth jewelry and fashions, but I gladly follow her. We go to her rooms which are a large suite on another floor of the palace. She orders the servants to bring us tea and cakes for as she says, “I know how humans like their sweets.”
I am flattered.
We sit down on large comfortable chairs and she tucks her feet up under her robes as she sits. “So, tell me, what do you think of Allathone?”
I tell her about waking in the Immigration Center and agreeing to be a surrogate. She asks about Earth and I tell her about Boston and the War of the Rebellion.
“I know so little about Earth history,” she murmurs.
And why should she? My history, my culture is insignificant compared to hers. The Brune have been traveling around the galaxies for thousands of years.
A servant returns to our room with bowls of tea and a tray filled with sweet cakelike squares covered with a brittle frosting. She asks me what I think of Magnar.
She is his sister. I can’t tell her that I think he is most handsome Brune I’ve ever met. I take a dainty bite of one of the squares. “He seems very ... regal.”
She laughs at that. “He was born that way. He was a very serious little traveler.”
As we continue to talk, something confuses me. “Pardon me, but I thought men and women could both inherit the kingdom.”
“They can,” she says. “Men and women are equal on Allathone.”
“But you are older than Prince Magnar?”
She nods. “I am, but I’m addicted to Trig.”
I don’t understand her, so she opens the neckline of her blouse and shows me a thin rope – more like a shoelace – which is wrapped loosely around her neck several times. As I watch, she tears off a piece of the rope and pops it in her mouth. She sighs as she sucks on it and then after a moment, she chews on it with a euphoric smile.
I could research Trig on my data screen, but that seems impolite, so I wait for her explanation. After a long silence, she says, “Forgive me. That was rude of me. I should have offered you some. Would you like some Trig?”
“I don’t know what it is.”
“It is a painkiller.”
“Like opium?”
She smiles. “I don’t know your human drugs, but Trig is ours. And to answer your question, I like it more than I should. I use it more than I should, and I was never a good little traveler like Magnar. When I was sixteen years old, the Assembly changed the order of succession, declaring me unfit to rule.”
“Good heavens,” I murmur. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
She shrugs. “I don’t mind. I didn’t want to rule anyway. Magnar will make a much better King than I would make a Queen.
As we continue to talk, she continues to consume little pinches of Trig. She asks about my family and I learn more about hers. Apparently, s
he had two older brothers who died as children and a sister that died as a baby. “They were all very sickly. It is very sad.”
By this time, her words are becoming slurred and she yawns. “We must talk again,” she says.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say and rise to my feet.
She takes my hand in hers. “I mean it. I need a friend. No one ever talks to me. They ignore me. I’m never invited to the parties because I might embarrass them.”
My heart goes out to her. “I will be glad to be your friend. I need a friend, too.”
MAGNAR
For several weeks, I do not converse with Lottie at all. I know how she is doing because she wears a medical band on her right wrist that keeps constant check on her and the baby’s health. The data is sent to our doctors and myself. I also hear daily reports from my secretary Naj that she takes very long hot baths and keeps herself busy during the day, reading and studying, and that she spends half her salary on instruction and classes on her data screen. After a while, Lottie requests permission to leave the palace and see different parts of the city. She wants to go to museums and gardens and shopping at the markets. I arrange for her to have a Katoll bodyguard accompany her, even though I am briefly tempted to accompany her myself.
I would enjoy seeing Lottie’s reactions to Capital City and all it offers.
But that is not wise.
I speak with her bodyguard Urit privately to learn more about her. He tells me that Lottie is fascinated by science and has talked about becoming certified as a biologist, although that process might take years.
I am impressed by her ambition and determination.
One morning as I dress for the day, Naj interrupts me. “Your Royal Highness.” He bows his shiny bald head. Naj served as my father’s secretary before he became mine. And like many of the older Katoll on Allathone, he shaves his entire body, removing all hair except for the tuft on the end of his tail.
My valet withdraws from the room to give us privacy.
“Yes?” I prompt.
Naj hesitates.
“What is the problem?”
“It is your surrogate.”
