C f bentley, p.10
C. F. Bentley, page 10
Then terror clamped down on her again. She needed direction from Harmony.
A male hand reached into the car level with her elbow. “Let me help you, Miss,” Guilliam whispered.
Trustingly she placed her own small hand in his larger one. It engulfed hers as he gave a slight tug up and out. She had to follow or have her shoulder dislocated.
As she emerged from the dim car into bright sunlight, a friendly smile peeked out from behind his veil of beads. He had a lot fewer faceted crystals and more plain green glass in his veil than did Gregor.
Carefully Sissy settled her balance on her own two feet, cautious of the new shoes that matched her dress. Green, slender, sophisticated, awkward, with high heels that threatened to throw her forward onto her nose.
“We welcome you, Miss Sissy,” Gregor intoned. “Please grace our Temple with your presence.” He offered her his right arm in escort.
Sissy nodded, not knowing what else to do. She didn’t trust her voice. Her rebellious lungs kept cutting her off in mid word. She took one step forward and teetered on the unfamiliar heels.
High Priest Gregor grabbed her arm to steady her balance. “Are you unwell, Sissy?” He sounded anxious. “The physicians assured me that you could safely leave hospital.”
“I’m okay,” Sissy insisted. She kicked off the shoes and bent to pick them up.
Laudae Shanet, her hastily donned headdress tilted a bit to one side, beat her to it. “Allow me, Miss Sissy,” she said quietly. A feminine gasp went around the circle. “You’ll hurt your feet, Sissy,” Laud Gregor said.
“Nah. Don’t never wear shoes at home. I can feel Harmony better with bare feet.” Sissy flashed a smile to all the green-robed people in the courtyard. She caught a glimpse of a grin in return from Laudae Shanet.
Twitters and sneers went around the circle of priests and priestesses.
“So be it!” Gregor proclaimed. “Our High Priestess removes barriers between us and our Mother Goddess.” Gregor bent and removed his own green half boots.
Sissy cringed away. She hadn’t ordered anything. She just didn’t like wearing shoes. Truthfully, she’d never been able to afford a pair that fit well enough to be comfortable.
When Gregor righted, he stared at the circle of green-and-gold clad officials. In a neighborhood Temple any one of them would have ruled with absolute power over their congregation. Here they were all subordinate to the High Priest.
And she was supposed to become High Priestess, placed above all of them, including Gregor.
“Do it,” he sneered, glaring at each of them in turn.
A stick-straight woman in the center of the pack lifted her chin haughtily. “Never.” She turned gracefully on her own high heels and stalked back inside the temple.
The remaining four women followed her. All still wore their shoes.
But the six men hopped around, pulling their feet free of their own boots.
Chapter 14
Gregor winced as his bare feet touched the frigid paving stones of the courtyard. The first spring flowers might be poking their heads through the soil, but winter had not yet fled Harmony City. He watched Sissy skip over to a patch of grass surrounding a sacred rowan tree at the center of the open area. She buried her toes in the soft greenery and sighed deeply. The joy on her face made his own discomfort flee.
“We have become jaded while we sought comfort over our need to renew contact with Mother Harmony,” a young acolyte of about twelve years, barely out of training, whispered to Gregor.
The High Priest glared at the boy sharply. Then relented. He was right. The young offered fresh perspectives on life. Sometimes. Sometimes they were just annoying.
“What is your name, boy?” Gregor whispered back. He couldn’t be expected to remember all of them. Each of the seven priests and seven priestesses had seven acolytes. As those acolytes completed their education, they rotated out to surrounding parishes, making way for the constant stream of children ready to move into their places. Nearly half of them would marry into the Noble caste before they reached ordination. Many more fell into support roles, not qualifying for ordination. No one expected him to remember more than the seven who assisted him at any given time.
“Caleb da Gregor pa Crystal Temple, sir,” the boy returned.
Wasn’t Marilee’s last child named Caleb?
Caleb da Gregor. So. The boy was his. Or Marilee claimed it.
Someone in records kept track of the DNA mixes, to avoid incestuous relationships. The gene pool among the Temple caste and Nobles was too small to take chances on mutations.
Like Sissy, with that full array of caste marks. She had sprung from the Worker caste, the largest and most diverse. Little chance for inbreeding there. He needed to make sure she bred soon and often to bring new genes into the mix.
“Mind if I borrow your words to remind all of us of the truth Miss Sissy has brought us?” Gregor asked.
The boy shook his head.
Gregor raised his voice and repeated the statement.
Sissy giggled. “Ain’t that the truth,” she said. And then she smiled. Her entire face lit up with a glow of wonder.
Why hadn’t Gregor thought her beautiful before? From the rapt gazes of the men still gathered in the courtyard, they all agreed. That smile could melt the hardest of hearts. Her value to him as a political tool jumped sevenfold. He might even suggest that he father her first child.
Now he just had to convince Penelope and her Laudaes.
“Laud Gregor?” Sissy asked quietly.
“Yes?” He inclined his head to bring it closer to her, indicating a need for privacy. A little difficult considering the top of her head only came to his shoulder.
“Laud Gregor, why are you all wearing green? I thought you’d all be in black until the funeral.”
“The empire is in mourning for Laudae Marilee. But today we celebrate you joining our ranks, Miss Sissy. We wear green to honor you.”
“Oh.” She shrank within herself, seeming even shorter and slighter. “You didn’t have to do that. I ain’t… I’m not all that special.”
“But you are, my dear. You are the miracle I’ve been waiting a generation for.” He patted her hand in reassurance.
She withdrew it, as if afraid of his touch.
“Miss Sissy,” Laudae Shanet bowed slightly as she stepped between them. “May I show you your quarters?” Her teeth started to chatter and her feet curled away from the cold in the paving stones.
“Sure,” Sissy agreed. “You going to share with me?”
“Oh, no, Miss. I wouldn’t dream of presuming on your privacy.” Shanet gasped and placed her hand over her mouth.
Sissy’s face fell. “You mean I gots… I have to be alone?”
“I think you’ll find that we have plenty of space in the Temple grounds and quarters for each of us to have a private place, Miss Sissy,” Gregor stepped up beside her, offering his arm again. “This is not Worker quarters where there are too many people crowded in too small a space.”
“You got so much space to waste on privacy, why not share some of it with Workers who need it?” Sissy stood her ground, ignoring his proffered arm. Her breathing became shallow and ragged. She used the inhaler. Twice.
The physicians had warned him that her lungs needed time and care to clear themselves. She might need that charcoal filter changed a couple more times before she could rid herself of all the dust she’d breathed in saving the entire city from disaster.
“I’m certain we can find larger apartments for your family, Miss,” Gregor conceded. Her position as the new HPS had to have some privileges.
“Not just my family. All of the Workers,” she insisted.
“That is an issue that can be addressed later, Miss. Now come inside before you catch a chill. You have not been well.” Gently he took her hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow. Then he guided her inside, with only a little extra force.
“Guilliam,” he addressed his assistant the moment he turned Sissy over to Shanet at the door to their quarters. An idea shimmered in the back of his mind.
“Yes, My Laud?”
“See to it that Miss Sissy’s family is moved to more spacious quarters. No. Make it a block of joined flats. At no increase in rent. That way her brother and his new bride can have a room to themselves.”
If the Worker caste became enthralled with Sissy the way Gregor’s acolytes seemed to be, he could use that force.
“Lord Chauncey isn’t going to like that, sir.” Guilliam looked around anxiously as if he expected the noble to be lurking within earshot.
“Tell Lord Chauncey he will have the eternal gratitude of the new HPS and the entire Temple. Especially my gratitude as HP on the next divided vote in the High Council.”
“What do we do with the four families we displace?” Guilliam did not look happy.
“Two of them go into the flats vacated by Miss Sissy’s family. The other two…
hm…
Lady Marissa is always complaining that she can’t get enough Workers in her factory out in the desert. Transfer them there.”
“The reason Lady Marissa can’t get enough Workers is because of unsafe working conditions. She has more industrial accident deaths than any three Nobles combined. The entire caste will wonder what these two families did to deserve a death sentence. Lord Chauncey won’t like losing valuable, trained employees.”
Gregor glared at his assistant. Guilliam glared back.
“Make it work, Guilliam.” They glared at each other for a long moment. “I will have a discussion with Lady Marissa about improving working conditions in her factories. Perhaps some concessions in more lucrative Spacer contracts.” He tapped his caste mark, thinking hard. An alliance with Lady Marissa at the factory level could help his plans within the High Council. Hmmmm…
“And while you are at it, find out how Big Johnny came to own the broadcasting facility. All land and business are owned by Nobles and then leased to Professionals. We need leverage among the media. The threat to remove Big Johnny and Little Johnny from the HCB ought to be worth some cooperation.”
“It is my understanding, My Laud, that the Johnnys have always owned HCB, back seven generations or more.”
“I don’t like that. I believe I need to research some precedents here and take it up with the High Council.”
“And when will Miss Sissy’s family be allowed to visit, sir?”
Gregor smiled. Guilliam knew when to change the subject. That made him valuable as an assistant.
“Sometime. Make vague promises to them and keep them busy with moving and settling in. I’ll deal with the visits later. Miss Sissy can’t be allowed to remain dependent upon them. Oh, and make certain that all seven of her acolytes are young and haven’t been exposed to Laudae Penelope’s influence.”
“That will take some shuffling, sir. We had expected Miss Sissy to inherit Laudae Marilee’s team.”
“Just do it. And rotate Marilee’s team out. As far out as possible.”
“Even the young ones, sir?” Guilliam looked aghast.
“All seven of them. Let it be a warning to Laudae Penelope that even she is subject to rotation if she continues to defy me.”
Guilliam started shaking. “My Laud, if you don’t mind, sir, I’d like to take rotation now. I don’t want to be anywhere near Laudae Penelope and her aunt Lady Marissa when she finds out what you’ve done.”
Chapter 15
You look worse than the night you died, Jake,” Director Marella said from the doorway of her office.
Jake looked up from the contemplation of his clasped hands. Pink palms contrasting with the Numidian dark backs. Would he ever get used to the new coloration, or looking at himself in the mirror, now that the nanos had done their work and he’d stopped itching?
He should sit straighter. His slumped back strained. His elbows dug into his thighs.
“I feel worse than I did the night you dragged me into your convoluted web.” He went back to staring at how his thumbs fit together when he slid them back and forth, knuckle to knuckle, then knuckle to flesh.
“What happened?” Pam touched his shoulder with something akin compassion. Not an emotion he would have expected from her.
“It’s in my report.”
“I want to hear it from you, Jake. Every word, everything you saw. Everything you smelled and heard. Everything you thought.” Dragging the high-backed, rocking, swivel chair that molded to her body like a padded glove beside him, she sat down. Then she did the unthinkable. She placed her hand over his, stilling his rubbing thumbs.
“I can’t.”
“You have to.”
“Why? Because you order it?”
“If that’s the only way I can get you to talk, then yes. I order you to give me an oral report. A full and thorough report.” She scooted the chair away from him with a single thrust of her foot.
“Screw you, Pammy. I quit.”
“Can’t.”
“Why can’t I resign?”
“If you do, you go back to being Jake Hannigan and face court-martial for willful disobedience of a direct order during combat. I believe that carries the death penalty.”
Blood drained from Jake’s face.
“Damn you, Director Marella.” He half stood.
A glare from her forced him to plop back down. This time straight and defiant.
“Good, the Jake I hired is back. I get tired of you boys slinking in here all full of grief and self-pity. Get over it, Jake. This is a hard business. You can’t ever take any of it personally.”
“Billy and Mickey are dead!”
“You never lost comrades in combat before?”
“Yeah, but…
”
“Yeah, but that was all nice and sanitary. They were in their ships, you in yours. You watched data scatter across a screen. You knew they were gone, but it didn’t happen right in front of you. You didn’t see the blood or smell the death. Just data on a screen.”
“Yeah.” The callousness of it all stabbed Jake’s mind like a stylus through his temple. He hadn’t been with his family when they died. Their deaths were no less real, though.
He winced at the brightness of the lights in Pammy’s office, and his own churning thoughts. He didn’t like himself very much in that moment. “Losing Billy and Mickey was worse than losing my family. I was there. I watched them die.”
And that made it all worse. Billy and Mickey shouldn’t be more important than Mom and Dad and brother Lance.
“Stop wallowing, Jake. That’s how soldiers live with the filth of war. We’re fighting a different kind of war. Up close and personal. Now report!”
Jake spilled the entire episode on Prometheus XII. Everything, from the unbearable heat to the smell of Mickey’s bowels releasing at the moment of death. Failure. Total failure.
“Anyone see you come in here?” Pammy asked when he’d spewed the last of it.
“Are you kidding? This office is tucked beneath the main dish of the station in a forgotten corner near the power plant. You’ve got your own space dock. No one comes down here without a specific invitation. Not even your admin. Most of the people on SB3 don’t even know this office, your department, or even you, truly exist.”
“Never discount the power of conspiracy theory, Jake. Quite a few people know I and my department exist, or believe it so, and are actively looking for this office. So, I repeat, has anyone seen you. Think carefully from the time you entered SB3 sensor range.”
Jake forced his mind back to that awful escape from Prometheus XII and the pirates that masqueraded as the law chasing him into orbit.
Those pirates pursued him with the same persistence and finesse as a pack of Marils.
“Someone ought to go back there and see if they have Maril tech in their ships,” he added as an aside.
Then timeless sensory warp in hyperspace. He didn’t dare take the sleepy drugs flying solo. The shift of the spectrum and the horizon and then the visit from the ghosts of his comrades felt more normal than his time on that cursed planet.
He didn’t tell her about that, though.
“I jumped out of hyperspace in the wake of that big luxury liner docked at the VIP bay. So much turbulence from their engines I don’t think anyone in control could have spotted the extra blip.” He’d needed to coast in their wake to save the last few drops of fuel for docking. “I broke free of them in the shadow of the station. Slipped into your dock without anyone hailing me.” Literally gliding in on empty. “Two guys in the bay to lock down the ship. Both yours and both trained to turn a blind eye to whoever gets out of one of your ships.”
“And between the bay and here?” Pammy steepled her hands, palms together, and tapped her fingertips together in an odd cascading rhythm. A sure sign her mind worked furiously.
“Nada.”
“Any sense of movement in the shadows, a light that didn’t track right?”
Jake closed his eyes and walked himself through the short trip. His mind had been centered on his own misery at the time. He had to concentrate. No doors opened from the corridor. No side aisles or alcoves. Just smooth white walls and bright lighting. No shadows.
He shook his head.
“Fine. Let me give you the antidote to those Numidian nanos and get you bleaching to Harmonic traits.” She patted his hand affectionately.
“Did you know that when Harmony’s original three colony ships took applications they carefully screened for only Caucasian features and mostly light skins?” She prattled on, keeping his mind occupied with something other than his own grief. “They screened out all traces of homosexuality, independence, liberalism, and perversions. Then they created and froze embryos only from their faithful Caucasian followers. They wanted to avoid any trace of prejudice among their people. Promote harmony, they claimed. Prejudiced bastards is what I call them.”
She scooted her chair with an expert flick of her toe. A blank wall behind her desk opened with a touch of her thumb to reveal refrigerated shelves filled with huge syringes.
