Clever Cargo

by Beva John

  My heart shudders. “Is she ill? Is the baby ill?”

  He shakes his head. “No, sir. Both are doing excellently.”

  I am relieved. “Then what is it?”

  “Your surrogate is hoarding food. One of the cleaners found a traveling bag under her bed filled with bread and fruit. The bread was stale and the fruit overripe.”

  “Did anyone speak with her about it?”

  “No, sir. The palace manager and I thought it best to talk to you first.”

  “Excellent. Do you think she is planning to run away?”

  “I don’t know, sir. But it is troubling.”

  I agree. “I will speak to her myself.”

  I finish dressing and walk briskly over to Lottie’s rooms. One of the servants announces me. When I enter her sitting room, she is brushing her long hair. She is wearing soft trousers that swirl around her legs and a long tunic in a pale green. She startles, dropping her brush, and it falls to the carpeted floor with a quiet thud.

  “Forgive me,” I say, just as she stands and says, “sir” and bows her head.

  Her face is flushed as she faces me with her beautiful hair flowing about her shoulders. I have never seen her hair down loose before – it reaches nearly to her waist – and my fingers itch to touch it.

  But that is wrong. I tighten my hands, just as I tighten my self-control. She is my surrogate not my mistress. “You may finish dressing your hair,” I tell her, and my tone is harsher than I intend.

  She deftly wraps her long brown hair into a knot on the back of her head, securing it with some long pins. Several shorter, errant strands curl above her forehead and her ears. She tries to smooth them back with her hands.

  I admire the grace of her motions and the curve of her neck and throat. She is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen and my blood races. Why can’t I do as Tomor suggests and brix her until I no longer have a passion for her.

  But I have a feeling that it would take more than a few weeks to become bored with her. There are so many things I would like to do with her.

  It would be the work of an instant to carry her to her bed and remove her clothes.

  The work of another instant to slide my aching cock into her warm depths.

  “Sir?” she prompts, and I remember why I came to see her.

  I straighten my shoulders and clear my throat, schooling my thoughts. “I have learned that you are hiding food under your bed. Do we not feed you enough?”

  She looks away, embarrassed. “That is not why.”

  “Then why? Are you planning to run away?”

  “Oh, no!” she says quickly and places a protective hand on her stomach, which I am happy to see is growing slightly round now. “I would never do that.”

  “Then why do you keep food in your room?”

  Lottie sighs. “It is an odd habit of mine, based on my past. I feel better, safer, if I have extra food. I know it is foolish of me, but I sleep better knowing that I have reserves.”

  I begin to understand her better now. “In the past, did you not have enough to eat?”

  “Sometimes,” she admits.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “In my day, there were not many opportunities for a woman to find employment and sometimes I was hungry.”

  This infuriates me. “What of your family? Why were your father or uncles not taking care of you?”

  “My father did not have brothers and my mother died when I young. That side of the family never cared for me.”

  “And your father?”

  Lottie said, “He liked the drink – alcohol – and was incapable of working regularly.”

  I bite back an exclamation of disgust. “So, you had to support yourself?”

  “Yes, with inconsistent results. In fact, the last night I remember in Boston, I opened my bedroom windows, hoping to freeze to death during the night.”

  My heart sinks imagining how she must have felt. “No.”

  She shrugs. “I thought it would be better than starving.”

  No wonder she is saving food.

  She continues in a calm tone, “But as it turns out, that was probably the night I was abducted, so perhaps it was all for the best.”

  As much as I despise her original abductors, I am glad that she is here now with me. “I find your attitude remarkable.” I know that Jing would never be as resilient.

  She smiles at me. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  I have nothing more to say, but I don’t want to leave. I remember the first time I saw her in the pod and say, “The day you were abducted, you had ink on your fingers. Why was that?”

  She looks uncomfortable but says, “I used to write stories for some of the local newspapers.”

  “Stories? Like in the viewings?”

  “Yes but written on paper.” She holds up her left wrist. “We didn’t have these wonderful data screens back then. We wrote on paper with ink pens that often leaked.”

  “What kind of stories? Romances?” Both my mother and Jing like to watch romantic viewings.

  “No. Gothics and sensational stories.” She looks embarrassed and I am captivated by the fleeting expressions on her face.

  “I shall have to find one in the Earth data archives. When would this have been published?”

  “1870 and 1871. And I didn’t publish under my own name. I wrote under the name of William Jamison.”

  I frown, trying to understand the need for her deceit. “Because women weren’t allowed to write stories?”

  “It wasn’t proper.”

  I don’t understand humans and the world she came from. As a society, the Brune may have problems, but our women have had equality for centuries. Humans truly are an immature species.

  She says, “But I don’t think you would enjoy the stories. They were silly, absurd stories of women being pursued by ghosts or werewolves or wicked priests.”

  I am amused. “No blue travelers with pointy ears?”

  “No,” she says and smiles at me. “It is too bad I can’t go back, because now I would have much better stories to tell.”

  “I think I will like them. I would like to understand your people and you better.”

  “I am afraid you will think I am ridiculous.”

  “No,” I say seriously. “I think you are very clever.”

  “For a human, you mean?”

  She is clever because she has discerned my underlying prejudice against her species. As much as I wish humans well, I don’t think they are as advanced as the Brune or the Namvire. Their own history betrays them. I say, “You would be clever no matter what species you were.”

  “Then I will accept the compliment, Your Highness, in the manner in which it was intended.”

  She smiles at me again and I stare at her in admiration, until I suddenly realize that we have been talking for a long time, and I must return to my duties. I say, “You should meet my Nanny.”

  She is surprised. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I will take you to see her. Once you meet her, you will see that we take good care of our royal surrogates. Then you won’t feel the need to hide food under your bed.”

  Later that evening, before I go to a palace dinner, I search earth data archives and find one of the stories Lottie wrote for the newspapers. A push of a button translates it on the data screen, and I quickly read a story of an explorer who steals a necklace from an Egyptian tomb called a pyramid. A little further research reveals that ancient humans buried themselves in brick buildings with square bases and sloping sides that met in a point at the top – somewhat like the Katoll, I think, although their burial monuments are not as large.

  In the story, the man brings the necklace home to New York, a city in the United States, and gives it to his fiancé as a present.

  I smile to think that all fiancés must enjoy jewelry.

  The woman adores the necklace and wears it night and day, refusing to remove it.

  In time, the fiancé begins to change –
speaking forcefully and drinking alcohol – embarrassing the man before his flattering friends.

  One evening after a disastrous dinner party, when the explorer reprimands her in her apartment, she laughs at him, telling him that she does not have to obey him. “For I am the Pharaoh’s wife!”

  The explorer is frightened and tries to remove the necklace by force.

  But the fiancé grabs a metal poker from a fireplace and stabs him through the heart.

  “Your Highness?”

  I look up from my data screen, momentarily disoriented. Lottie’s words and descriptions are so vivid that I could imagine myself in the story. I see that my intruder is Naj. “What is it?”

  “They are waiting for you at the dinner.”

  I nod and straighten my clothes. “Yes, I am on my way.”

  At the dinner table, I cannot help but compare my company to those described by Lottie in her story. I am surrounded by well-dressed sycophants just like the explorer. Normally, I would not notice or care, but tonight it bothers me. I ask Jing what she did that day. Her white hair is styled on top of her head in what I realize is a pyramid shape, and her forehead is covered with ornate cosmetic swirls – the latest fashion. She would be much prettier if she adopted a more natural style like Lottie.

  She looks at me, confused. “What do you mean?”

  “What did you do today?”

  She sets down her tagium eating utensils and sighs. “I went shopping, ate a midday meal with friends and then prepared for dinner.” She smiles and preens before me, plucking at her sleeves. “This is a new gown. I hope you like it.”

  It is a green silky material and looks like many of her other dresses.

  I persist. “Did you read anything today?”

  She frowns with growing unease. “No.”

  “Did you write anything?”

  “What an odd question. Whatever do you mean?”

  I know it is foolishness, but I continue my interrogation. “Did you study or learn anything today?”

  She laughs nervously. “You know that I finished my schooling years ago. Whatever should I be learning?”

  Whatever, indeed.

  “It does not matter,” I say politely. I should not verbally attack Jing. It is unfair to expect more of her. I take a bite of the noodles before me and send a silent prayer to Goddess that our baby will be more intelligent than its mother.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LOTTIE

  When Prince Magnar and I travel to meet his Nanny, we have half a dozen Katoll bodyguards accompany us, including my bodyguard Urit. I ask, “Are so many guards necessary or is it for ceremony?”

  Magnar says, “It is a precaution, only. Not everyone on Allathone is in favor of the royal family.”

  “Are we in danger?”

  “Not at all.”

  Magnar’s Nanny lives in a tall building in the center of Capital City, near another ornamental garden with a pond. I think Allathone must be the most beautiful planet in the five galaxies. Everything I have seen is beautifully designed and cared for – like drawings I have seen of Versailles. Not everyone lives in a palace, but as far as I can see, there is no poverty, no ugliness anywhere. Everything is organized and implemented with care.

  There are also workers everywhere, keeping the grounds and roads clean.

  The Brunes were the first travelers in the five galaxies and the first colonizers, which made their species very rich. In the past few hundred years, some of their colonies have become independent, but as a civilization, the Brunes’ extensive wealth and influence is beyond my comprehension.

  Magnar’s Nanny is an older woman named Rosalind. She is taller than I, but delicate and graceful. She wears her white hair up in an elaborate bun. Her clothing is simple and elegant – a pale peach colored long sleeved dress that shows her ankles. On her feet are delicate sandals decorated with ribbon flowers. Her face brightens when she sees the Crown Prince.

  He introduces me and she seems very happy to meet me. She asks about my pregnancy and my health and tells me that she enjoyed excellent health when she was carrying Prince Magnar.

  She assures me that having the King’s baby, being the surrogate, was the best decision of her life. She looks at Magnar and smiles. “Of course, it was because I was able to be your Nanny as well.”

  He nods his head, pleased by her comment.

  She asks, “Are you planning to have Lottie be your Nanny?”

  He looks surprised. “I haven’t made that decision yet.”

  “Forgive me,” Rosalind says quickly. “I shouldn’t make assumptions.”

  He looks flustered and will not look me in the eye. I smile awkwardly at Rosalind, but inside I am offended. Why wouldn’t he want me to be the nanny for his baby? I thought we were becoming friends and since his surrogate had stayed at the Palace, I thought I could as well.

  But showing my annoyance will not further my cause or future employment. So I ask Rosalind if she came from Old Earth.

  “No, dear. I came from Little Earth.”

  “What made you decide to leave there and come to Allathone?”

  “When I was young, I was brave. I wanted adventure. I was so relieved that I wasn’t one of the lottery brides for the Katoll, but I still wanted to travel.”

  I nod. I’ve heard something about the Katoll brides – Little Earth’s payment for Katoll protection. It seems barbaric to me.

  She gives a little shudder. “The Katoll always seemed very hairy and big. The Brunes seemed so much more civilized.”

  Magnar murmurs, “We are more civilized,” and I smile to myself. Magnar is arrogant, but I suppose that is his right as the Crown Prince.

  He sees my fleeting expression and says, “You think differently?”

  I choose my words carefully. “All the Katoll I have met seem very nice. My bodyguard is a true gentleman.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” Magnar says. “But the Katoll on Allathone are different from Katoll elsewhere. In their own environment they can be brutal.”

  “I think every species can be brutal,” Rosalind says. “It depends on the situation.”

  “I agree,” I say, thinking of my own planet’s violent history.

  Magnar says to his Nanny, “You are right, as always,” which makes her smile.

  I can tell that Magnar cares for his nanny by the way he speaks to her. He asks about her health and makes certain she has all she needs. She expresses some concern over a trash collection issue, and he promises that it will be resolved quickly.

  But mostly, he sits back, allowing the two of us to talk.

  Rosalind asks me about Old Earth and my life so many years ago. I am pleased to learn that she knows something of Dickens and Emerson, two great men of my era.

  “And Lottie is a writer as well,” Magnar volunteers.

  “Truly?” Rosalind asks, intrigued. “Tell me about it.”

  “It is nothing,” I say, shooting Magnar a warning glance. I do not want his Nanny to read my vulgar stories. “I wrote a few stories for a local newspaper. I am no Shakespeare.”

  “I read one of her stories,” Magnar says. “It found it entertaining.”

  I blush, astonished, and Rosalind looks between the two of us with narrowed eyes. She then asks me what I like to read, and I tell her about my bird studies. “How interesting,” she says politely. “But why birds specifically?”

  “I first became interested in birds when I read Mr. Darwin’s On the Origin of the Species. When he wrote about the differences between various types of pigeons, I was fascinated. Since then, I have had an interest in all birds – how they are similar and how breeds can change over time.”

  Magnar says, “Evolution?”

  “Yes. Mr. Darwin referred to it as natural selection.”

  “Well, you will find thousands of species of birds on Allathone. How they compare to Earth birds, I don’t know.”

  “Neither do I,” I say. “But I am eager to learn. I find it interesting that so many ha
bitable planets have birds. Are they precursors to intelligent life? I don’t know.”

  Rosalind smiles at me. “You seem like the kind of person who could be happy anywhere, because you are always learning.”

  “I hope so.”

  When we leave, Rosalind asks for my data address and I willingly provide it. “Write to me,” she says. “And I will write to you.”

  I feel very fortunate to be making friends on Allathone.

  MAGNAR

  I say little to Lottie as we travel back to the Palace. I always enjoy spending time with my nanny, but I could tell from the way Rosalind looked at me that she suspects that I have feelings for Lottie.

  That’s why I haven’t decided whether I should keep Lottie as my nanny once the baby is born. Do I want to keep this woman in my house, tormenting me – making me want what I can’t have – or should I let her go?

  But I can’t let her go.

  I don’t speak or see Lottie for the next few weeks. I have royal obligations on two other planets, and it gives me time and space to think more clearly about our situation.

  When I return to Capital City, I ask Naj about Lottie. He looks disconcerted.

  “Is there a problem?”

  He hesitates.

  “Is she ill?”

  “No. She and the baby are fine.”

  I have read the weekly health reports. “Is she still hoarding food?”

  “No, sir. It is not that. But there is a matter that just recently came to my attention. It seems she is not using the assistors in the bathing room.”

  I have a quick mental image of Lottie using an assistor, holding the device against her human cunt and throwing her head back and crying out as she climaxes. Brixing hell, this is not what I need right now for my peace of mind. My cock immediately reacts, overriding all my good intentions and I take a deep breath, trying to ignore the pressure in my trousers. I run my shaking hands through my hair to steady them. “How do you know this?”

  Naj says, “There is her medical wrist band, obviously. And there are recording devices in all the rooms of the palace.”

  I knew that, but I hadn’t considered all the implications. I hate the thought of my security officers spying on Lottie, but I know that is needed for her safety.