by Greg Dragon
Meren was the city she’d grown up in, before the Felitians moved her parents into the capital. It was the actual city she was named Baroness over, even though her time there had been minimal, to say the least. Its architecture, people, and local culture were similar to Veece. This was no surprise considering the close proximity of the two cities, but it still reminded her so much of Veece that when she woke up and heard that song, she’d had to remind herself that she was not there.
She pulled on a pair of comfortable blue slippers and slid into the hallway of her floor, and then into the elevator to go down to the lobby. A furry Lolek in a fancy robe stepped in beside her, and when she indicated on the panel that it was going to the lobby, he smiled and nodded and she relaxed and closed her eyes.
The lobby was a madhouse of guests leaving and coming in. This was Star Stride, the most popular hotel in all of Meren, after all. She walked through the massive arched entrance—one of eight—and pulled up her crocheted scarf in order to conceal her hair and the upper part of her face. It had been a long time since she was Baroness, but she didn’t want to take any chances.
She walked over to the only store that didn’t have a crowd of people swarming the entrance. It wasn’t a golden brown color like the rest of the architecture in Meren. There were no arches, no domed, jeweled rooftop to it, nor was the sidewalk swept like everywhere else. It was a shack compared to the other buildings, an eyesore in the flawless layout of Meren, but there it was, calling her like some old sage ready to read her fortune.
As she walked to the store, a wave of nostalgia came over her. She clutched her chest and touched the rounded post that stood by its door and leaned over.
It was more than nostalgia. It was something strong, within her. The memory racked her mind and she gripped the post, fumbled over to a nearby bench, and sat down. She had repressed so much of her years as a Felitian to hide it from the resistance. Tyherans weren’t like Vestalians who could just remember and not be physically affected. She was a Tyheran woman, and the memory hurt; it hurt like a bullet that had been lodged inside her head, working its way free of her skull.
Rafian had told her that it would be okay, that her past and the fact that she used to kill rebels – the same rebels she was now vowing to fight alongside – was a non-factor. “The brothers and sisters know that you're one of us now,” he had said, but she didn’t want to take any chances so she repressed the memory. Now she remembered the raids, the battles, and the harsh sentences that she herself would hand out as judge, jury, and executioner when it came to the rebels.
She stood up and walked away from the store, glancing back periodically, afraid to let the full memory destroy her. She thought on her childhood and the shame that it brought her. She was born into her family's mess, their loyalty to a cruel regime that thought little of the people in her galaxy and operated solely on power and control.
She had expected to come back to Luca, to her home in Veece, and to feel the small, ticklish butterflies of nostalgia that came with the smells, sounds, and sights of home. What she felt now was foolish. She had let Rafian take her away from the death and the cruelty to a galaxy where she could literally start over, yet here she was, back in the pain and the hurt.
Her thoughts distracted her and the shawl fell, but she pushed through the crowded street, too focused to notice.
“R-Rienne,” a female voice intoned, and when the old name registered and she recognized the voice, her heart dropped to her feet.
Memory 7
“I can’t believe it is really you,” the woman said to Marian, touching her face and examining her arms as if she was an exotic animal. “You’ve grown so tall and muscular. Where have you been? Everyone said you were taken hostage by the resistance. Killed, even. Oh Rienne, come, come; your parents will be elated.”
The gray-haired woman tugged on Marian’s arm but she froze. The words “your parents will be elated” was all that she could focus on, and she didn’t know what to think of it. She hadn’t seen her mother and father in over ten years; they had been estranged even when she was an active baroness. What could she say to a father who chose Palus Felitious over his daughters, or to a mother who allowed him to do it? She took a look at the woman and tried to remember who she was, but nothing was coming to her in terms of recognition.
Wait, she thought, I'm supposed to be looking for a way to get out of the Felitian network. Transportation, not old people from the past, that's what I came out here for. I need to go where the Fels can't intercept my communication. I need a transport to take me into the wilderness.
She noticed that the woman was older—possibly in her fifties—and her hair was so gray, it was more of a silvery blue. Her face was younger and her bushy eyebrows were black, which made for an odd but attractive complement to her hair. She was the same skin color as Marian, which made her stick out in the crowd of pale Tyherans. She had rings on every finger, and wore a silky, light blue robe. It too was adorned with jewels, as were her sandaled, well-pedicured feet.
“Do I know you?” Marian asked, looking at the woman with a stern expression.
The woman knitted her brow in a way that made her seem annoyed. She tilted her head and looked Marian in the eyes, then shook her head when she got no reaction out of her.
“Rienne, I’m your Aunt Rosa. You used to visit me back when you were a spirited teenager. Don’t you remember the ‘long painful trips in the ugly yellow mobile,’ as you used to call it? The times I used to catch you stealing mesa fruit off the neighbor’s tree? Nothing? You don’t remember any of that?” she asked, almost begging in the way she sounded.
Marian shook her head and looked off into the distance, trying to conjure up some sort of recollection. Nothing came, and she began to feel concerned for her sanity. Why would I forget a family member? she thought. I can remember everyone that meant something to me in this galaxy, but why am I drawing a blank with this woman?
Rosa spoke again. “Why am I drilling you like this? Please forgive me, Rienne. You’ve probably been through a lot, poor child. I bet you repressed the memory of us, didn’t you? Maybe I can help you remember the good old days, eh? Come, there’s iced mesa juice and fire pits at my house,” she said.
Marian thought it odd that this so-called family member had no questions as to her whereabouts for all the years that she was off Luca, and now she was offering to bring her to a house and feed her sweets. She thought of children’s stories, where a witch or warlock would lie to a child and entice them with sweets in order to try and eat them. Aunt Rosa looked as if she could be a family member, but there was something off about her.
She decided to play along. If Rosa intended to spring a trap, she would be ready for it. If, on the other hand, this was truly a family member, she could utilize her facilities as a home base to contact the resistance and find out more information on Palus Felitious.
“So, you’re taking me to your house, then?” Marian asked.
“Of course, but you probably don’t remember it. Our home used to be your refuge from your father’s wrath. Oh, how he loved you, Rienne, but his temper did get the best of him at times,” she said.
Marian wondered how well her parents were actually doing now that the Felitian Empire was flying high and unchecked. She followed the woman to the outskirts of the city. Rosa got into a rusty, old, yellow car and motioned to the passenger seat for Marian to join her. When she did, the car lifted up a few feet off the ground and Rosa pushed it down a path towards a dense forest.
They rode past trees, drop-offs, and a giant snake biting into an animal, then through a series of caves before stopping in a clearing bordered by several houses. When they parked, Marian stepped out and looked around at the tall trees, whose fanlike branches acted as a roof to keep the sunlight out. It was very cold but in the center of the village, a tall bonfire raged, radiated a welcoming warmth.
Marian felt worried, but she could not explain it. The place was secluded and surrounded on all sides by
trees, but the people seemed strange. Here they were on Tyhera, the Lucan planet of industry and invention, yet these people were living as primitives, and Aunt Rosa was one of them? The woman looked as if she was a Sha’an from Veece. Something was off.
A number of children ran up to the car, and Rosa hugged them all and handed out sweets before they returned to playing around the fire. Marian decided that she liked the atmosphere. The people were quietly going about their lives there, and the shadows from the trees made it feel very peaceful and therapeutic. The smells took her mind to darkened areas of her history. There were memories missing, she surmised, and she wondered if she would be able to remember them.
“Ahh, see, I see it in your face. You may not remember, but you feel at home, don’t you, girl?” Rosa asked.
Marian nodded her head and tried to remember. There was a familiar feeling to the place, but it was not very strong, so she couldn’t truthfully tell Rosa how she was feeling. The woman led her across the square to one of the larger homes in the village.
As she walked, the villagers stared at her with welcoming smiles on their faces and three girls ran up to examine her dress. Marian thought they were adorable since they wore flowers in their hair and giggled to one another with innocence. Once they had satiated their curiosity, they received more candy from Rosa and ran back to play around the fire.
When they got inside the house, Rosa began to recall tales of her childhood, but Marian could only focus on a large painting of Palus Felitious on the wall. He was in uniform, his face all cheekbones, bushy black eyebrows and flawless goatee. She recalled her mother having a crush on him—this savior of Tyhera that they accepted—and in a way she could understand. He looked confident, indomitable, and as he posed proudly, his eyes stared out at her as if he was telling her that her days were numbered.
She wanted to ask Rosa why she had a picture of a tyrant on her wall but she bit her tongue and played along, switching her focus to the immaculate decor of the place. How could I blame Rosa for following one of the basic laws of Felitian rule? she thought. It had been one of her duties as Rienne the baroness: to make sure that the common people had a picture of their emperor.
She herself used to hand out the paintings, vids, and life-sized holographic statues of Felitious to the Tyheran people. The memory of this annoyed her, but like everything else during her life as a baroness, she wrote it off as a time of great confusion for her.
Marian observed the cozy, carpeted home with its hand-carved furniture, freshly dusted cabinets, and fine blankets thrown over the backs of couches. This last observation made her stop and wonder about her aunt. She walked over to the settee, ran her hand through the fur, and tried to think of what it reminded her of.
“That is a bako bird, feather blanket I picked up at the market last year, Rienne. Isn’t it exquisite?” Rosa asked, and Marian nodded without saying a word. She appraised the mat thoughtfully as she danced her fingers through it. Bako birds were slightly furry—a consequence of their tiny, tender feathers—but she could not imagine there being enough on one bird to create a throw blanket. The time and dedication it would take to hunt, pluck, and create a blanket of that size would mean that it was practically priceless.
Rosa kept the curtains drawn and it made the place very shadowy. There were lamps that seemed to stay lit the entire day, and the house had a sweet, spicy smell of incense that reminded her of cinnamon.
If her aunt was right, that she used to escape to this house as a child, Marian wondered why she couldn’t remember any of it. What about the smell? If there was anything that could pull forth a memory from a Tyheran’s mind, it was the smell of something, or the sound. There was absolutely nothing familiar about the place at all. Her heart began to beat faster and her breath shortened, but she composed herself with steady breathing.
She saw a moving photo of a younger Rosa in Veece, and several other photos of children ranging from age eleven and up. Marian noticed that there were none of her, her parents, or anyone she knew. This disappointed her a bit, because she was genuinely curious about what they looked like now that she hadn’t seen them in over a decade. Her heart began to race again and her blood began to cool. She anticipated a trap and her training was preparing her to meet it, whatever it was.
Marian didn’t know what to think of Rosa. Her story, her house, and her attitude were a mystery, and the Phaser in her wanted to drop a crystal and make a jump for her life.
But what if everything Rosa had told her was true? What if they really were related, and she was her sweet, old auntie looking to get the family back together? She looked around for the woman, and realized that she had been gone for a while. She walked around some more, inspecting the wooden walls, vaulted ceiling and the little nuances that hinted at a fancy cottage playing the part of a humble home. After a few minutes of this, Rosa returned, carrying an old vid-phone.
“I can’t wait to see their faces when I tell them I found you,” she was saying, but Marian barely acknowledged her.
When she turned around, Rosa noticed that the young woman looked irritated beyond measure.
“Aunt Rosa, I am going to have to ask you not to power on that thing. I don’t want to talk to my parents,” she said, watching the woman’s face for a reaction when she said it.
“Oh, why not, Rienne? It’s been so long,” Rosa said, looking dejected.
“I just need time, to—to be okay with it, that’s all. I appreciate the gesture, really I do, but if you call my parents now, it will only cause us to argue … trust me,” Marian lied, watching Rosa’s body language for any aggressive signals.
“Okay then, no calls,” Rosa said quickly and then took a seat on the settee. She patted the area next to her for Marian to join her, and the sultry beauty agreed and plopped down next to her. “So tell me, pretty Rienne, where have you been all these years? Did the rebels really kidnap you, or is it something more sinister?” she asked.
Marian shrugged, then looked into the sparkling pupils of Rosa’s eyes. “So tell me, Rosa,” she said, not answering her questions, “and I want you to choose your words very carefully. How much is the ransom on my head that you aim to collect from the Fels?”
“I don’t understand,” the woman gasped, as if offended, but Marian refused to budge.
She raised her voice, placed her hand on Rosa’s wrist, and said, “One more time, sister, drop the act. You were back there way too long to be collecting an outdated vid-phone. I know you brought me here to distract me, so admit it, or I will be forced to do something we both will dislike,” she said.
Rosa screwed up her face and stared daggers at Marian. “How could you betray the very man that avenged your sister and gave you the world, Rienne? How could you take sides against your own family? You always were a spoiled little shite—”
“Drop the act, cruta, you don’t know me. I thought I was going crazy but this was all a setup to get me here. How long have you all watched me, to know where to catch me to spring this trap? Have you all been waiting since the time I disappeared, or did you torture my friends to get the information?”
Rosa gave a sinister smile and crossed her arms as if to say that her lips were sealed. Marian slapped her and she held her cheek and then made a noise that was not unlike the growl of a rock cat. “You don’t remember me, but I remember you. Oh, you were too young to recall me checking up on your parents for Lord Felitious, but I know you, girl. You are Rienne Laren, and there are five million credits on your head, that—”
Before she could finish, Marian grabbed her other hand and pulled her towards her. She head-butted her with a glancing blow to the temple and Rosa lost consciousness. She bound and gagged her with cloth napkins that she found in the kitchen, then dragged her over to a closet and opened the door. Inside the closet, she saw many articles of clothing that defied the humble living façade Rosa had created.
“You little cruta,” Marian mumbled, “Talk about me being spoiled, and here you have enough clothes
to trade and feed those hungry children that you’re slowly poisoning with candy.” She kicked the woman in the ribs and grabbed a pair of flexible black pants and a jacket from the shelves.
“Of course this was a trap,” Marian said to herself. She ran to the kitchen window and peered outside at the now empty center of the village. She stood looking out for a time, until she could hear a cruiser flying low above the trees. She slid off her white dress and pulled on the pants. The material was very elastic in its nature, so it clung to her curves extremely well. Next, she pulled on the jacket over her blouse, threw on her knapsack, and then strapped a knife to her leg.
She slipped out the back door and dashed to another building where she scaled the wooden paneling on the side, climbing up to the roof. There she perched near a large chimney and waited for the cruiser to silently land on the path leading out of the village square.
Black-uniformed Felitian soldiers poured into the square and they began to rush the houses. A few of them circled to the back to watch for anyone trying to escape but none of them bothered to check the roof.
She waited for the men to kick a few more doors in and then decided to take action. One of them had foolishly gone into the house below her without any of his comrades to back him up. She waited for him to exit the rear, and then dropped on top of his shoulders. Before he could throw her off, Marian hooked her feet beneath his arms and rolled forward—bringing him down with her—stabbing him in the abdomen as they fell. She dragged his lifeless body into the forest and kicked dirt and rocks over the blood trail to cover it up.
Marian stripped the man of his helmet and chest piece, and then slipped them on and retrieved his rifle. She glanced down at it briefly, and recognized it as an upgrade to a model that she had trained with as a teen. She flipped open its barrel, touched a few buttons, tried out the scope, and then threw it over her shoulder.
