Dreamer

by Dave Gordon

  The road to Jo is well traveled. Many carts and horses carrying bundles of goods pass by. No one pays us any attention. We are a meager couple traveling to town to find work by way of explanation. My traveling clothes are plain and worn. Appearing to be wealthy is hazardous to one's health.

  We enter the gate. The heavy mud walls are topped with sentries, this is not a land free of strife. The heavy doors are hung on well designed hinges and reinforced with hammered iron and swing shut by themselves when the blocks are removed. The gate is shut at sunset, and soldiers are housed in barracks arrayed along the great wall. Scores of defenders can mount the wall just moments after an alarm is sounded.

  The street that leads from the east gate to the west gate is paved in slate, and lined with fine shops. The main road leading though town is the best business location, since the shops are the most likely to be rich in fine wares. The merchants pay the city council dearly for the advantage of this location. The shops grow less fine as one leaves the main street, and turn to little more than huts at the furthest reaches.

  The tobacco shop on Main Street is exquisite, the finest in the land. The clothing shops are many and wonderful. I would dearly love to buy a fine gown for my beautiful Ty. To such she says she has no use for one ... but I would still like to see her wear one.

  We duck into the archery shop to buy a brace of arrows. The shopkeeper regards us openly but smiles when I produce the coin. Ty still has every arrow she had when I met her. Mine are spread all over the land. I don't know why I even bother loosing them, Ty usually brings down the target before I get my arrow nocked. She sometimes allows herself a small laugh at my clumsy efforts. That, in truth, is why I persist.

  We are making our way to an inn off the main thoroughfare. Staying in the fine houses I would prefer would reveal us as well heeled. That is a comfort we will have to do without until we reach Fahlston at the far end of the Sawd plain. The look of the citizenry has fallen since my last visit. I am beginning to doubt my choice of seeking lodging here. The streets have become dark and threatening. The deserted street feels as though it is closing in.

  A voice from the darkness calls out. “Would you spare a coin for a troubled soul?” A twisted figure steps out from the shadows. Before I can answer another steps out behind.

  “Maybe you'll be giving a might more than a coin, yes?” the largish man behind growls as he begins to approach.

  Ty suddenly whirls in a circle. When she stops, the two men are lying in the street, each with an arrow in their eye.

  “What are you doing?” I shout after I realize what had just happened.

  “They were going to harm you,” she says plainly as she stoops to pluck the arrow from the larger man's head.

  I'm at a loss. If we are caught, Ty will be exposed and I will be imprisoned. We can't get out of the gate. Two murders and two travelers in the same part of town will be noticed. We have to back track and change our identities. I will be able to do that since I am carrying fine clothes. Ty has only the coarse clothing I gave her, except for her elf uniform.

  “Ty,” I say as I begin dragging her away from the scene, “I have to ask you to do something shameful. I need you to play the part of my servant. We need to get back to the main street and take lodging at an inn there. They probably won't be able to connect the two dead men with travelers of means. Will you do that?”

  It is absolutely impossible to guess what she is thinking. Inscrutable only approximates her bearing. “You may change your clothes here,” she says. “There are no people within two streets. As I routinely kill your game, clean it, cook it, and clean up afterwards, I see no substantial difference in pretending to be your servant.”

  I think she may be joking but as I say, inscrutable. I change into my best clothing and we make our way by circuitous route to the main street. We head for the well-lit Fine Life Inn. I listen at the door for signs of bustle. There is much less chance we'll be noticed in a crowded room. There isn't a lot of noise, but there is a small crowd.

  “Open the door and stay behind me. Take my pack. Don't look at me, keep you head down,” I tell her.

  “Yes master,” she says as she pulls the door open. She is clearly enjoying herself.

  I stride in, head held high as if I were entering the high court of Berund. The room is richly appointed. Tapestries depicting hunting scenes adorn the walls. A thick red wool carpet covers the wood floor. The polished timbers supporting the structure are carved to appear as fluted stone columns. Rosettes covered in gold leaf are scattered about the ceiling. The fireplace is unusual. It is made of large blocks of polished black stone. The room must be scrubbed nightly as the smell of wood smoke is faint.

  The house master hurries forward. He is wearing a suit more appropriate for a royal wedding party. “Good evening, good sir. How may we serve?” the porcine man chortles.

  “A room with servant quarters. Bring a meal with ale to the room,” I say displaying a slight bit of disdain. Rich people seem to disdain everything. I have spent a lot of time in their company and know their ways well.

  “Will that be on the top floor?” It costs the man no more to house a guest on the top floor than it does the ground floor, but the rooms cost four times as much.

  “Yes,” I say without looking at the man. I hate spending that much money on a luxury, but this is a part we must get right.

  “Very well! Very well indeed!” the excited man bubbles. He will be realizing a nice profit from this customer.

  I continue to stare off into nothing while Ty stares at the floor. The house master regains control of his greed and calls the footboy.

  The young man approaches with his chin on his chest and his hands clasped together. He nods in the direction of the staircase and I ascend. Ty and the boy follow. He is stealing glances at Ty but she is almost invisible underneath her cowl. We reach the third floor and I stop. The boy rushes down the short hall and opens a door. He steps aside and I stroll in.

  The room is quite nice. It has its own privy, which my servant is supposed to clean. I don't believe we will be using it. The main bed is plush, the servant's bed is a straw-covered pallet. The young man bows his way out of the room and shuts the door.

  “What is my master's bidding?” Ty says as she throws off the shift.

  I reach for her and say, “Perhaps we will discuss your duties a little later.” I wrap my arms around her narrow waist. The intoxicating smell of her makes my head swim. She is desire incarnate. As I am falling deeper into the well of her eyes, there is a knock at the door.

  “Quick!” I say, “Put ... “, but she is already dressed. She opens the door. The waiter is holding the large tray with difficulty but Ty lifts it effortlessly. I toss him a rich coin before he can wonder at it too much.

  The man gapes at the coin and stammers, “Thank you, good and generous sir.” Ty shuts the door before the man gathers his wits. She begins setting out the meal and preparing the plates.

  “Will you please stop acting like a servant?” I say in frustration.

  “You requested I act as your servant. Now you request I stop. I am unable to follow the vagrancies of your whims and notions.”

  “I'll show you a whim and notion,” I say as I grab her under the arms and whirl her onto the bed. She allows herself to fall flat on her back feigning shock.

  “You shall suffer the fate that befalls insolent servants.” I fall upon her and we tussle about.

  At last she pins my arms to the bed. “I shall be required to limit your thralls if this is how you treat them.”

  “None are as impertinent as you.”

  “Since I have already transcended the bounds, then I see no reason to forestall.”

  We employ the soft bed to its limits.

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  * * *

  Chapter 9

  Homeward Bound

  Van pulled his head out from under the power control panel in the engine room. “Hey, Siln, try it now,” he shouted.
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  Siln sat in the main cabin patiently putting up with Van's obsession over food unit modifications. She just hoped he didn't blow the thing up. It would be a long trip if they had nothing to eat but emergency rations. They sure named those things right, she thought, you would have to be near death to eat one of the stinking things. The putrid bags of slime would keep us alive for weeks but I'd lose the will to live after eating them for a couple of days.

  “Ok, hold on. Supplement seven,” she said into the air. Supplements one through six were awful. None of them were alcoholic. Van said the flavoroids were the hard part, making alcohol was easy. She wondered why every ship in the galaxy didn't have alcohol it if was so easy. She wondered how long he would keep it up.

  Supplement seven appeared. It was greenish. That put Siln off a bit. She sniffed it. It didn't smell terrible. She took a small sip. “Hey! That's pretty good! What is it?” she yelled as she finished the cup.

  “Crème d'Menthe,” Van said as he got up. He pulled off another panel. He scooted into the compartment while Siln finished off a large cup of the green liquid in the crew cabin.

  Some time passed. Siln was getting bored. “Okay,” yelled Van. “Try number seven again.”

  This time Siln wasn't hesitant. She said, “Supplement number seven in a pint glass.” The drink appeared. She took a drink without expecting much difference. The minty drink ran down her throat like liquid fire, the unmistakable aftertaste of alcohol shining through. “Holy crap!” she screamed. “You did it. I can't believe it.” She drank down the big glass, her eyes watering from the burn. “Oh man. We are going to be rich,” she said, already feeling the effects of the drink in her teeth.

  Van walked into the crew cabin straitening his jumpsuit. “I'm already rich from exactly this same thing,” he said. He ordered a glass of the beautiful number seven.

  “Ok, then. I'm going to be rich.” Siln ordered another big glass.

  “You have control of all my money,” Van said as he took stock of his creation. “Ok, I think I'll try beer next.”

  They had toasted every one they had ever known by the end of the night. Van woke up still seated at the table. He tried to move but the effort caused great pain. He let out a low moan.

  “What's the matt...” Siln began to ask. She fell onto her side from her seat on the deck and let out a prolonged groan. “Oh, man. Why didn't you fix this part?”

  “That's the one thing I could never do. If I can get some opiates out of this thing we'll be in good shape.”

  “You are just a regular addict, aren't you?”

  “Oh, you ain't seen nothing yet. I haven't even started on the alkaloids.”

  “I'll settle for number seven, thanks. What else can you make?” she said as she struggled to right herself.

  “Mint is easy, it's already defined in the processor. Making whiskey is a lot harder. There are a lot of components to whiskey. Vodka is the easiest. I can make fruit drinks. Fruit punch, gimlets, that kind of thing.”

  “I think I'm falling in love with you.”

  “Wait until the hundredth hangover and then say it.”

  “Hell, I'm getting started now.” Siln pulled herself up with great effort. “Number seven,” she said. She took a tentative sip, then gulped the drink down. She stood there gripping the glass tightly. “Oh yeah, much better. This is going to be a great flight.”

  Van and Siln spent a lot of time in conversation over the next several weeks. Drinking seemed to keep the persistent fugues Van experienced at bay. The weeks turned to months. Van spent his time trying to get something like beer out of the unit but the best he could manage was only somewhat like beer. But, since it was alcoholic, it was consumable. Van tinkered continually with the various information systems on the ship. The medical station was a wealth of materials. The complex molecular structures of the opiates and alkaloids that were the Holy Grail of his quest required a lot of research. He was closing in on final victory. He had been able to construct an acceptable carbon ring but now needed to jam a nitrogen atom into it somehow. Any number of alkaloids could be derived by messing with the nitrogen atom placement. The problem with the whole scheme was that none of the systems on the ship were designed to do that. On his old ship, morphine was considered to be an effective pain medication. The chemical library was full of things to play with. There was no such need in the world he now inhabited. Pain was treated or administered by brain stimulation. There were no molecular models he could use as a template. He was forced to assemble molecules atom by atom. It was a very laborious task. He could replicate billions of trillions if he ever succeeded in building one.

  The days drug on as Van pried his way into various systems and Siln sampled the various drinks he made. Van was hunched over the medical unit while Siln lay draped across two chairs. They had been traveling for what seemed like an eternity. There were no landmarks in time, nothing happened. Boredom is the unrelenting foe of space travelers. People die of it, go mad from it. They lose their heart and soul to it. They become flat-eyed, devoid of passion, unable to feel anything. Siln had completed every possible maintenance procedure on the ship, none of which were necessary as the ship was brand new. She had diverted the ship through an asteroid belt just to shoot at something. She and Van had run numerous drills to sharpen their defensive capabilities. She took the runabout out and played with it. After every diversion the blanket of boredom began to smother them again. There was no avoiding it. They were going to have to take a break. Siln was familiar with the region of space they were traversing. She decided to get to a port.

  “Hey, molecule man,” she called to the prone figure under the weapons console.

  “What?” came the reply.

  “What are you doing under there? You better not mess up the weapons.”

  “I'm trying to do something like the rocket fuel blaster trick to alter a molecular bond.”

  “If you try to fire the main array inside the ship I will throw you out.”

  “No, no. Nothing like that. You won't even know it happened.”

  “I'm sick of being in this thing, I have to get to a port.” Siln was seriously considering putting on a zero suit and going outside just for something to do. Space travel is a lot more exciting when someone was chasing you, she thought to herself.

  “Ok, where?” Van said from under the console.

  She thought about it for a time. She went to the navigation unit.

  “Gamma Epsilon,” she said. We can get there in a couple of weeks.

  “Sounds good,” Van said without knowing where Gamma Epsilon was, or even what it was.

  Twelve days later they were descending into the atmosphere of Gamma Epsilon. Van thought the planet looked somewhat earth-like. There was a lot more water than on earth. There were large bodies of water with many small islands dotting the surface. White, puffy clouds covered much of the sky. Van remarked that it looked like a nice place.

  “It may have been a nice place before it got screwed up,” Siln said plainly as she navigated the atmosphere. “It went seriously to hell from pollution a hundred years ago. There used to be a lot more land. I think it's about done flooding. The ice caps are gone. All the stuff that messed it up is under water. All they do now is service ships on their way to the rest of Gamma. Things get pretty crowded.”

  Van watched the seascape go by thinking about all the people who had suffered through lost homes and businesses. Earth had been lucky, evidently. Pollution had been reduced before the flooding got out of hand. A few cities flooded but life went on. There were periodic famines. The animal and plant life had been seriously damaged. No one yet knew if things would recover when Van had left. That was three hundred years ago, Van remembered. Who knew what it was like now?

  They descended quickly. Siln leveled out at ten thousand feet, and poked at the Comm. panel saying, “Non-fleet Caveat, identify.”

  “Register Caveat, identify,” came the response.

  Siln extended her arm over the console.r />
  The Comm. panel responded, “Verified, identify.”

  Siln reached over and grabbed Van's arm. She pulled it over the panel.

  The voice said, “Verified, identify.”

  “Complete,” Siln said somewhat tentatively.

  There was a slight pause. The voice said, “Heading, approach.”

  Siln was racing through the navigation panel screens trying to remember where Gamma Epsilon One was. She paused over a screen for a moment. “Two fifty by two fifty. Approach Gamma Epsilon One.”

  “Authorize.” the voice said.

  Siln slumped in the control seat visibly relieved.

  “Why didn't you look that up before we got here?” Van asked accusingly.

  Siln leveled a hard stare at him. “Because I thought I knew where it was. You bring it in if you think you can do better.” She stood up and went to the food unit. She ordered a glass of Seven and took a big drink.

  Siln leaned against the panel trying to calm herself. “Man, I can't get used to having credentials. The last time I came here I was ducking blaster fire. I put down in the bay and swam to shore. This is better.”

  Van felt bad about his remark. “I'm sorry, Siln. I don't know anything about what's going on. Uh, you do know I can't dock this thing, right?” They were descending rather quickly.

  “Oh, don't worry. We got ten minutes at least.” She went back to the control station and handed Van the half-finished glass of Seven. “Think about what you would do if you landed here with no credentials. No place to stay, no money, no friends, Forces after you every minute of every day. What would you do?”

  Van felt the fear emanating from her. The memories were beating her back. She was shrinking into the control seat. “I honestly don't know, Siln. What did you do?”

  “The same thing I did every day for ten years. I hid. I ate garbage. I looked for a place where people like me went. I scraped my way through with scams and dodges until I could get off the planet. Then I went to another one and did the same damn thing. How would you like that? That's why I was a little disorganized. I half expected to get blasted out of the sky.”