by P. S. Power
The woman bowed, getting one back.
Right, he was supposed to go now, with the titles and all that? Wonderful.
"Prince Gerent Lairdgren, of Harmony. Countier Six Baker, Countier Twelve Lairdgren. Lunar Envoy to Earth, in the current aid project. Gerent or Ger to you, since I'm still trying to enlist people to help out. Get in early, if you can. All the good jobs will go at the start. It doesn't pay anything, but all your needs will be met, and there's loads of travel. If you want we can make up a title for you too, to impress your friends and family?" It was a bit glib, but the woman looked at Glaren, who nodded, and then bowed very, very low.
When she spoke it was in a hushed voice.
"I... Don't really have anything else to do. I never married, so... But, do you really want me? I..." She stood, then went wide eyed again, as if that were a mistake. Her face was flush from it however, and her mother looked away, as if ashamed of the whole scene. Gerent thought he understood that. He was, at least in name, a Prince. In more than that, too, since people were willing to back it. A noble and titled person with a better stature in society than either of these ladies. She should have groveled a bit, after getting a bit aggressive with him, as she'd said, but he didn't care about that.
The woman waved at her front, which seemed a bit flat across the chest, but thick. Breast binding then, like women did for plays if they were doing the part a man or boy?
"I dress like a man, and that tends to make people uneasy. It's fine to have a girlfriend, as long as you're in a dress, but if you dress in a practical fashion, everyone thinks there's something wrong with you. I just find it comfortable. Plus, I'm a man, stuck inside this shell that makes me a woman." She went silent suddenly, waiting to be judged.
Like he cared? He was a midget that had become a giant. Gerent was hardly one to judge the idea of being something inside that the outside didn't reflect.
"That's fine. Do you go by Misha? If you really want the job, it's yours. Anyone that wants to help right now pretty much can. In the morning I'm heading back to Harmony, but you can come along and help with whatever comes up. Crew on the ship for now? We have to give back all the volunteers, I think. It's sad, since I hardly even know any of them yet. That will leave just a few of us. Four or five, I think." They could run the vessel with that many, if they all did their part. Less than that, if he left it small for the trip. There were logistical problems with that, since leaving it large would mean being able to take in air and water. Small meant being maneuverable and not losing as much of those resources if he had to turn it off.
The hand came out again, stabbing at the air, for him to shake. Glaren tittered into her sleeve, which didn't seem to be meant kindly, for all that she was normally a wonderful lady. It was pretty clear that this one, Misha, was the one they kept hidden away from the world when they could. In shame, as if she had mental problems.
She seemed pleased enough suddenly, as he shook back.
"What do I need to do first?"
He thought for a bit and then used his whole hand to gesture at Glaren.
"Let's set up a food unit in the kitchen, and then see about getting a full load of working material for it? It can turn almost anything into food, so rocks and dirt from outside? Don't make a face, it's better food than the palace is serving tonight, and they're eating rocks too. Not so much dirt, I hear? That's just silliness on their part though, since that's easier to get."
At first it was clear that she thought he was joking, but when they set up the new food device in the kitchen, she took it a bit more seriously. It was huge, for the room. Glaren actually touched the wall and walked it back, so that they could reset the thing in place, and then she formed a hallway leading to the side, so that people could easily get things from outside for it. It was eerily long and had nothing else inside of it but golden colored walls. At the far end there would be a door, he hoped. It was hard to make out, being so distant. It was running past dozens of large rooms, he bet. The place wasn't tiny.
Misha might have had some strange views about what she was, inside, but that didn't keep her from working like a trooper when the time came. Not that it was hard to jog down and fill a floating case using an earth mover. Gerent made it a little more difficult, by letting Misha do it, instead of him. That meant they made a mess at first, but the stream of dirt flying through the air finally managed to get the case filled, and they were headed back to the kitchen not too long after. They loaded the machine with the whole case at once.
Gerent floated it into place, using the large port on the side of the food unit, which was a brilliant gem blue, all over. The food came out about seven feet away, with a board that had a lot of different words on it between the two points. He got enough of the simple ones to realize that they were all the names of various foods. Simple things. There were a lot of words over the main sigil, which Glaren read through out loud for them. She didn't seem to be looking at him when she did it, so it might have just been being polite.
"It seems to be pretty similar to the old style unit. Let me see here..." She placed a delicate tan hand on the blue glowing word, and closed her eyes. After a minute there was a soft humming sound in the air, so she opened the cabinet door to show the entire roasted turkey that was there. It looked perfect. It even smelled right, and had a dozen roast potatoes along the outer edge of the fine china platter it was on.
He blinked, because that was a new portion of things. Not only was this a lot bigger than anything that could have been made in a first generation unit, but it was on its own plate, made by the machine.
Glaren waved at the thing, and smiled, "Monty, please set this up on the counter and carve it for us? It will look more real that way. I'll start on the first courses. Ready the serving area. Everyone? Please stand by, this will move a bit more quickly than normal. Come, come. Everyone stand ready! We have guests, so need at least fifteen courses. Michelle, Gerent... Would it be possible to get more... Working material? I think that we might need it."
They would, if the device made plates, pots, and platters too. That would eat the dirt faster than the food would, being very dense. It wasn't a huge problem, so he just headed out, with Misha jogging slowly behind him. She gasped a little on the far end, but didn't comment, even if he did all the work this time. That really meant there was no reason for the woman to come along, but she didn't complain. Not about that.
"Mother knows that I don't want to be called Michelle. I think she takes it as a personal insult that I don't like the name. Misha is a compromise as it is. I wanted to be called Michael, but father insisted that I not confuse people that much. I know that she loves me, but... Not really, you know? If it wasn't for Bonita standing up for me, they probably would have tucked me away somewhere a long time ago, and forgotten where they'd kept me. They didn't let me know about Ginger for months after she died, so that I wouldn't embarrass them at the funeral. Luckily for me my sister wanted me around after her husband the Count died. You knew him? Same last name..."
That he hadn't come up in conversation wasn't that big of deal, Gerent knew. Bonita had always been kind to him when they'd met, but it had only been a few times. The fiction that had saved him from the gallows seemed to mean something to the Count, who'd treated him as a real son. His new wife had been sweet about it, but probably didn't need a boy that was both older than she was, and strange. She was supposed to have been focused on her own world and life at the time, and that made sense. She was young and newly married, so it was what should have happened.
Still, younger than him or not, or at least nearly the same age, the woman was still his mother. As much as that made him feel a bit strange inside. He'd never really thought of that before, had he?
"He was my adopted father. Bonita's my mother, and that isn't a joke either, as much as it seems funny. I should visit with her. Do you know where she is?"
That, it turned out, was up in her room inside, since she wasn't feeling well. That... he took understanding of from cont
ext. She wasn't ill, since a healing amulet would have been gotten for her if that were the case, and if she were pregnant, there would have been an announcement, so it wasn't that. The entire Baker family would have probably stepped out of the line of advancement, if it were the case. So she was, he feared, suffering from a broken heart. People could die of that. In stories at least.
He nearly ran directly to her. There was a war inside of him over the issue. On the one hand he didn't know what to do, so just kept working, filling the box and walking back toward the kitchen. On the other, he didn't know what to do, so moved slower than he would have, trying to think. That was rational, wasn't it? Misha moved along behind him, and finally touched his shoulder. It was a firm and somewhat manly grip, not that of a woman trying to get his amorous attention. It fit the situation however.
"So, nephew, I guess I owe you some birthday presents?" There was humor in it, and it came with a friendlier smile than he'd seen from her yet.
"Not really. I don't need anything, except to help other people. Since you're working on that already, or will be in the morning, I can't ask for more than that. We... Should we ask Bonita to come with us? I know that everyone in Harmony, her family... They'd love to have her." Actually, he wasn't really certain of that at all. They seemed like the kind of people that would want to have a relative come and visit, but what did he know? They might have just been being kind to him the whole time.
Rather than wonder if he was right or not, which was his first impulse, he stopped and dug out his communications device and thought for a moment, as Misha looked on. After a few seconds, he shrugged and hit the right combination of sigils to bring up a name. It wasn't the person there that he was closest to, since that was Patty, and he needed to leave her alone for a while longer. Be her friend and not burden her with unwelcome feelings. Timon... He might be working, and the same was always true of Tor.
The kids were, as advanced as they might be, still children. That left the parents. Laurie and Douglas. For some reason, Gerent didn't really want to talk to his sister, adopted or not. She wasn't mean to him, and had never put him down in any way, but he always felt like she wanted to. That her disapproval of all men made her judge him so harshly that he could never measure up to expectations. It was probably all in his head, but it still meant that he was more comfortable hitting the code that would get him Douglas Baker.
After about half a minute, a tired voice came over the device. It showed a picture, but it was no more than mere shadows in a very dark room, the only light probably being from the device in the man's hand.
"Emergency?" He sounded half asleep and Gerent nearly said no, but shrugged.
"This is Gerent. Um, would you and your family be open to having Bonita-"
The man made a grunting sound, and sat up, a smaller form moving in next to him, but not speaking. Laurie probably.
"Is she well? We can send help, if she needs it. I hadn't thought..." There was patting at a wall, which made a light glow and showed a dressed man, who was in brown and seemed to need a shave. Not badly, but it was a manly looking thing. A hint of facial hair, on an otherwise youthful and clean face. Laurie, when she came into the scene, looked like a girl of about nineteen, matching her husband in apparent age, and about as lovely as anyone ever could be, even just having woken up like she had.
Gerent didn't really know what the situation was, but Misha leaned in and explained for him, which was good, since it saved a lot of time.
"Bonita hasn't been doing well. The sadness of losing her new husband has weighed on her heavily. It would, I don't know if it will help, but if she could visit with you?"
There was no hesitation at all. Not even enough to take a full breath, before the man answered.
"Yes. Definitely. We can set up a room for her here, with us. We might have to argue with Tor and Alyssa over the privilege, but we thought of it first. Good call, Gerent. When can she be here?"
He thought about it, and then shrugged a bit.
"That depends on what she wants to do. I'm going to try and enlist her in the aid project, if I can. She's... family, after all."
For some reason that was enough for the people he talked to, so far away in the sky above him. Just the fact that she was one of them, was a reason to make room. Without question, and without hesitation.
Blinking he ended the call, and then finished his task. After that they needed a third load of earth, but it wasn't hard to do.
Not at all.
Chapter nine
Getting Bonita Lairdgren, his adopted mother, to see anyone was a chore. Gerent had expected her to simply come down to the meal, since that's what people did, even ones in mourning. Everyone else managed, so it shocked him a little when he understood that Bonita hadn't and worse, the woman hadn't even asked a servant to bring her a tray. It was, Misha assured him, what she'd taken to doing over the last few months.
She would eat, but only when someone actually sat with her and made it happen. Otherwise the woman just sulked and sat in the dark. Alone.
He nodded, fearing that it was much worse than he'd been informed then. After all, people that did that kind of thing were as close to dying as anyone, weren't they? Short of taking a blade to her own neck, what more could she do in an effort to not be in the world any longer? It was halfway through the meal, which was a long and very advanced feast, even if the whole thing had been made up on the fly, that he thought about it really. He was still hungry, but managed to wave to one of the green clad servers, a dark haired, short man of about five-eleven, and whispered in his ear.
"Would it be possible for something to be sent up to Bonita Lairdgren's room? Let me know when that's ready and I'll take it up myself." Sure, that sounded like he intended to have sex with her, not just make sure she ate, but if that's what it took, then he'd do it. Or whore out his family to her. He only had the one adopted parent left, having killed the other already.
That part of things gave him pause, the moment he thought about it. Not many had blamed him for the death of the Ancients yet, but if anyone had a right to do it, other than Dorgal Sorvee, it was Bonita. He'd executed her husband, knowing that he was doing it at the time. Under that same man's orders, but would that make any difference to the mind of a person that deep into grief? He feared that he knew the answer to that and wondered if anything could be done to make her world better. It was clear that she'd loved the man, which wasn't that hard to understand.
The old Count Lairdgren had been short, being about five-nine, but was so good looking that most of the people, men and women, that Gerent had seen in his presence were more than a little mesmerized by him without understanding why it was happening. It made him easy to think highly of. Tor was the same way, if larger now. Literally, since the two men had been physically identical, before Tor started to grow. Both pale and exotic, but also lovely. Like gems. Things that shone brightly and almost seemed unreal. Inhuman, nearly.
Laurie and Tiera were the same. Timon was a bit less so, thankfully and the other kids all had their own faces, but those two girls, women now, were so perfect that they seemed to have makeup on all the time. Even when they didn't. So did Tor really. Tim was close enough to that state too, but in a more masculine fashion. His face held a bit more hardness to it than the others. A square jaw line and heavier cheek bones.
The point was, Bonita couldn't be blamed for having liked the kind and gentle man that was her husband, and his killer bringing her dinner in her room might not be as welcome as he'd thought at first. Then again, if he didn't try, he wouldn't know and the odds of the woman trying to kill him were minimal enough. One in five, or so, at a guess.
He fretted over the idea the whole time, and waited until the server came back to inform him that a tray was ready in the other room.
"Excuse me everyone. I have some business to attend to. We'll be leaving at nine in the morning tomorrow, so please be here, if you intend to go back to Harmony with us. If you're staying..." He didn't know if that
was even allowed, but it wasn't as if they couldn't get home a few days later, was it? "If you wish to stay for a time, or longer, please get with me first, so we can set that up. Get you to the right place for a visit, or what have you. If you want to sign on to my ship's crew for the duration, please... Get with First Mate Sorvee."
Ger grinned at the man, since there had been no talk of anything like that, and it was a far cry from being a King, but he'd be darned if he wasn't going to be the Captain of his own ship. Almost as if it had been planned the whole time, the man stroked his black mustache to hide a smile, and raised his right hand, one finger extended. This got a few people to nod at him, clearly getting the idea that he was the First Mate then.
The tray wasn't heavy, for all that it was made of what seemed to be fine china, and took both hands to balance. It was covered too, which meant that there couldn't be that much food on it really. The Dowager Lairdgren was on the second floor, near the front, being only six rooms back, on the right hand side. The server had mentioned that to him. There was a name on the door, but the nice handwritten looking impression, made by magic he didn't doubt, might have as well been a different language. He couldn't make out anything of it.
Balancing the tray on his left hand, he knocked hard with his right. You didn't tap on the shield doors if you wanted attention. As it was there was no sound at all, until he did it again and the thing cracked open. Two blue eyes looked up at him. Confused looking things, on a tan face that seemed to be dry and not streaked with tears, but miserable looking anyway. She wasn't lovely, at the moment. She seldom was, really, but her face was good enough, and took to makeup well. Or it had the few times he'd seen her before.
