Tehom: The Tehom Legacy Book One

by S. Abel de Valcourt

  “Well, some friends and I are thinking about having a party. Not the sort of party where you send out invitations, maybe the party comes to you, or maybe the party goes to visit a few others?”

  “We are just rats in a barrel, you really want to start a war in the middle of this tin can?”

  “Less of that, more targeted, simple, surgical, like a doctor removing a sickness?”

  “You make it sound easy, Peacekeepers carry shock guns. They will round you up like cattle and shove you into space.”

  “Trust me Ronar, things are about to change on this ship, you can be a part of it, or you can be in the dark with the other sheep. You aren’t a sheep are you?”

  “Not hardly.”

  “I always had you for more of a bull.”

  “So what do I get out of this? Bash Hardt’s skull in, it won’t look like an accident.”

  “You need to relax Ronar, blow off some steam.”

  “I tried that, the vodka just makes me more angry.”

  “That’s not quite what I had in mind. How about this?” Zelde ran her thumbs up the outside of her thighs, lifting her skirt and took off her panties. “I seem to find myself in want of a sound fucking, and you seem like you need somewhere wet and warm to take out a bit of your frustration.” Zelde shoved her panties down the front of his pants. “This doesn’t have to be complicated, you listen, you do as you are told, you end up getting what you want, and together we get to have a bit of fun on both ends of the arrangement.”

  “I think you have a deal little Zelde, but I don’t really want to hurt you.”

  “Oh Ronar, please, please, please…” Zelde stood on her toes and whispered into his ear, “hurt me.” Then flicked her tongue over his earlobe.

  The two made their way toward the residential bays briskly, Zelde grasping Ronar by the front of the pants and leading him to her room.

  Elsewhere, Samis stood in front of Signo’s door nervously petrified. Within herself Samis felt giddy, her stomach in knots and she could feel her voice cracking in her throat before she could even attempt to speak. She knocked gently on the door, ready to run down the hallway.

  “Yeah? Come in.” Signo spoke through the door.

  “Just me, checking up on you.” Samis entered, feeling about three inches tall as she closed the door behind her.

  “Oh, hi Samis…” he stumbled to find a shirt.

  “Please, please don’t. I heard that you and Zelde might not be seeing much of each other anymore?” she shifted her feet.

  “Yeah, I guess she had enough of me, a bit of freedom from her grasp will be nice. I still feel like she has me by the balls though. She is serious about this plan of hers, and we are both in it.”

  “Hopefully it will do some good, something has to change around here. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

  “Oh, what did you need?” Signo looked at her both hopeful and afraid of what she might say.

  “Look, I know you two just… you know. But, I like you a lot, and I think you like me too?” Samis blurted out her feelings in an uncharacteristic flood of emotion. “I like Zelde, she is a friend, and so are you, but…”

  Signo stood up and kissed her softly at first, then deeply and passionately, putting both hands gently on her face. Her hands however clawed and pawed down his bare sides and back. She wanted to engulf him, to embrace him fully and completely.

  “You still smell like her.” Samis lowered her face, pressing her nose into the hollow of his neck.

  “It will be the last time I have to do that for her. You know I almost always imagined it was with you?”

  “I know, she knew too. I think that’s why she tortured us for so long.” Samis started to cry, happy tears of relief.

  “Are we really going to help her do this coup thing? It could be dangerous for all of us.” Signo looked down at Samis.

  “Zelde might be a dark horse, but on this one she is right. Those people run everything, they refuse to listen to any words that don’t come out of their own mouths. I am tired of being a figurehead, a false representation of the majority of people on this shit can. I don’t think we have much of a choice, at least on Tehom Prime we will be free to lead our own lives.” Samis had started to rant, “Just hold me, we can talk about this other stuff later. Right now I just want you to hold me Signo, and don’t let go.”

  The two laid down on the small mattress that had been dented in the middle from three previous generations of passengers sleeping on it, effectively pushing the two of them together even closer.

  The night went quietly and the pair held each other as though it was the first, and last time they would get the chance. A momentary piece of freedom and calm; both fully aware a storm was coming.

  Chapter Twenty Two: Scraps of Home

  Relics from the Earth were at a premium. The Alpha generation had each been given a small titanium box upon being accepted as passengers. The unassuming box, eight inches tall, seven inches deep and 12 inches wide, had been the only source of personal items allowed on board with very few exceptions. If an item didn’t fit in their box, it wasn’t allowed on board. These original boxes held memories of lives lived and passed on, of an entire planet left behind. Typical treasures were family photos, snapshots of strangers in strange places with even stranger names. Books, jewelry and artwork were also quite common. These items were traded, shared and treated as de facto currency, although wholly by accident they amounted to a full fledged barter system.

  Handwritten journals and diaries were a favorite; although everyone on board was required to make a personal journal entry at least once a week as part of their routine, there were some things that you didn’t enter into the digital archives. The juicy bits, the sexual encounters, the drama, the arguments, the pains and pleasures of the first generation spilled hand written out onto precious paper. Although these journals were normally kept in families, they occasionally found themselves in the hands of others and were treated as treasures.

  However, it was the rarities and the unusual items that held the most value. Graham Tran, a midshipman crew member had filled his box with a large quantity of refrigerator magnets, decorative pieces of artwork that easily and harmlessly stuck to the walls and doors in the dormitory rooms. Their utility and durability, combined with their uniqueness made them high value items in trades and had spread across the entire ship. Equally widespread was an odd and eccentric collection of 19th century livery buttons brought on board by Sebastian Bohun, several hundred bronze, copper, gold gilt and silver plated uniform buttons that once decorated the uniforms of servants of the aristocracy with very personal heraldry and family crests became personal emblems and bits of makeshift jewelry among the spacefaring generation.

  Such odd collections rarely stayed together, traditional jewelry had quickly been scrapped for the precious metal content and very few pieces survived. Pictures became cracked and faded from handling as albums were an impossible luxury and very few had accompanied their contents.

  Augustinian Beta-Rutledge had a mind for trade in a society which had little use for it beyond these ornamental and seemingly petty luxuries. Even so, he had become the primary outlet and originator of most major trades between passengers. Keeping track of who had what items and where, was an obsession and while it was generally thought that he had no specific collecting interests of his own, he was known as The Collector and could always be counted on to have something or at the very least know where it could be found. As one of the rare survivors of the Beta generation he had been uniquely situated to amass a stockpile of Relics from Earth, so called Earth/Rel in the prevalent shorthand slang which had evolved.

  “You should go see The Collector Hardt.” Dorian Gamma-Travers instructed. “You know he would have a token for you, something you could give to Mariposa as a gift?”

  “I don’t have much to trade, a few photographs and a chipped Santa Claus magnet aren’t going to go far with Augustinian.”

  “You are a Te
hom, and there is ALWAYS something to trade, maybe you could do a favor for him or something.” Dorian laughed, only half joking.

  “I’m not really a Tehom, only half and you know my dad died when I was barely walking. Besides, I don’t want to get involved in the favor trade, that is a slippery slope of trouble I don’t need. I just want to get Mari something nice.” The uneasiness of Hardt was augmented by his general shyness, even toward friends.

  “Something nice? Something nice like a wedding present? You are going to get Ronar spaced out an airlock, the man is going to freak out.” Dorian looked concerned.

  “I should probably wait to ask, but I won’t let that psychotic brute bully his way into Mari’s life over and over. The time is right, and I don’t aim to wait.” Hardt winked at his friend, “To The Collector then?”

  Through trading, bartering and timing Augustinian Beta-Rutledge had found himself in one of the luxurious officer’s quarters populated almost exclusively by the descendants and remaining members of the Tehom family, on the opposite end of the hall from Eleanor Alpha-Tehom herself. Security there was best, as the hallway was constantly monitored and any activity at all was suspect.

  “Rumor is, Augustinian traded Liberty Tehom’s first year journal for this room. Brought his collection down to nothing and he had to start all over.” Dorian whispered as they approached the door.

  “Yea, but that was before either of us were born. He probably has it back by now, nothing is free.” Hardt whispered back.

  “You are right good sirs, nothing is free, even sentiment costs something.” An electronic voice filled the hallway and a camera looked down on the pair. “Names please?”

  “Hardt Delta-Rush and Dorian Gamma-Travers, here to trade.”

  A small artificial buzzing and the door popped open slightly.

  “You may enter.” The voice faded from the speaker.

  The two entered into a luxurious dormitory unlike anything they were used to. Wood veneers covered an entire wall, only two bed pods in the entire room compared to the cramped midshipman quarters the pair shared with six others. Various pieces of artwork held to the walls by magnets, even a wood framed landscape that must have once been a part of a museum collection decorated the walls. By far the most impressive item in the room was a red leather high-backed armchair with tufted panels, the chair looked lush and comfortable but also strange and alien.

  Augustinian stood before them, a reasonably tall man with a short white beard and long white hair pulled back. His clothes matched their own, with the exception of a few richly appointed ornamentations. All the clothes on board the TOGS were continuously fabricated from mostly plant material, mostly corn husk which was then recycled. The exception was wool for elasticity bands in the clothes, and cotton for undergarments. However Augustinian had around his neck a purple scarf, he was famous for wearing his knitted scarves as he always had one around his neck and tucked into his shirt.

  “That is an amazing scarf Augustinian.” Dorian stammered. “Seriously, that is amazing.”

  “Spun sheep’s wool of course, dyed in beet juice of all things. Knitted by Anne Gamma-Harland, do you know her? She does some amazing work with… my apologies gentlemen, I have a tendency to ramble. Have something to trade?”

  Dorian nudged Hardt who was letting his eyes wander around the room a bit too much.

  “I need a gift, something for Mari… I mean Mariposa?” Hardt seemed unsure of himself in such an unfamiliar place.

  “Have a seat Hardt, let’s talk about what you want to find.” Augustinian motioned toward the tufted red chair.

  The leather of the chair was worn and polished, cared for and well maintained, it was well used and obviously treasured. To Hardt he imagined it felt like the consistency of clouds might have been on Earth, by far the most comfortable chair on board the ship.

  “Do you want a scarf? Something to wear? Mariposa means butterfly, did you know that? Butterfly, butterfly… I think I have a photograph of a butterfly here somewhere.” The Collector glanced around the room paging through his catalog and inventory in his head.

  “Something pretty, to wear, something with a flower maybe? Flowers are romantic, right?” Hardt was very obviously out of his element.

  “Ah, something romantic. Then a photograph simply will not do, will it? You need something a bit more durable, something that she will keep with her. A flower you said? I think I have that…” Augustinian smiled in an awkward but friendly manner.

  The Collector climbed the short stepladder built into the wall to reach the second sleeping pod and slid open the pod. Dorian counted no fewer than twenty titanium boxes inside, relics themselves from the Alpha generation. When he descended with one of them, it seemed just as all the others, no markings, no label, just a metal box with a metal clasp to keep it closed, a utilitarian object that matched the bulkheads and elements of most of the ship.

  “How about a button? I have two buttons you might consider, the old livery button Earth/Rels that Alpha-Bohun brought on board? This one is simple, and she would be happy to have it, a simple rose on a torse. A heraldic symbol of love, admiration and respect. Roses are a very popular theme, and as you know no two of these buttons on board is alike, each one is different, there are no pairs. Although that too would be something!” Augustinian handed Hardt the ancient button, an inch in diameter and smooth, it felt like holding a bead of warm water in his hand.

  “It is very beautiful, Mari doesn’t have anything like this at all.” He marveled at the small treasure in his hand.

  “Traditionally, people will poke the shank on the back through their shirt and secure the back with a metal clip or tie it with a scrap of something or another to secure it. Wear it much like a badge, or a brooch. A luxury to be sure, but not over the top. However, if you wanted to push a bit further, there is this…” Augustinian handed Hardt a second button and his eyes grew wide, “This… this is something a bit more special.”

  The button was similar to the first, a slightly smaller rose stood proudly in the background. However, in front of the rose was a bird. Non-digital images of birds were quite rare on board, on Earth the presence of birds had been largely ignored or taken for granted. However as the spacefaring generation matured, the fascination and obsession with birds grew to legendary proportions and were a popular theme in art and song.

  “Holy shit! Is that a bird?!” Dorian stuck his nose in for a closer view.

  “That, that is beautiful. One of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.” Hardt couldn’t take his eyes off the small silver button.

  “It’s also very expensive Hardt, these buttons aren’t just rare, each one is unique and there are only three hundred and twenty seven of them on board. They are one of the most valued, recognizable and ornamental pieces of Earth/Rel, this is the only one I have left with a bird.” Augustinian didn’t need to push very hard, most items simply sold themselves. “What do you have to trade?”

  Hardt’s heart sank as he pulled what felt like meager junk from his bag, “Twelve photographs of a vacation trip to a big waterfall called Niagara Falls and a clay bust of Santa Claus with a magnet set into the back, it has a small chip on the beard though. I know it’s not enough.”

  “I may have overestimated your means Hardt, no insult meant. I probably shouldn’t have shown either of those to you. Normally when someone comes in that I haven’t traded with before they bring something I haven’t seen, I was hoping…” Augustinian paused, “You don’t have anything else, anything you are holding back?”

  Hardt handed back the simpler rose button to The Collector, but couldn’t yet part with the bird. “It is very, very beautiful.” He said as he rolled it around in his hand and marveled at it. “It is very much like Mari, sweet, simple and wonderful.”

  “What about this?” Dorian reached into his pocket and retrieved a silver pocket watch, from roughly the same era as the button however it was not so amply decorated.

  The Collector reached ou
t and took the watch wound it, shook it lightly, and popped open the case. “Purely a superfluous invention, the obsessive keeping of time. Still there are those that appreciate the clockwork mechanism, nearly impossible to repair though. Don’t ever drop it.”

  “The watch, the photos and the Santa for the bird button?” Dorian offered.

  “Dorian I can’t let you do that, it’s too much, even for a friend.” Hardt stood up and offered the button back to Augustinian.

  “Fuck off Hardt, you and Mari are my best friends, hell Mari even got me laid by Trinnie last week just by whispering some bullshit in her ear. Let me help, besides, watches are ridiculous anyway, no idea why I’ve kept that thing for so long.” Dorian crossed his arms.

  “The rumor is I don’t collect anything. That everything here is for sale or trade, or whatever. That’s not technically correct. Your mother was a Gamma-Rush, but your father, he was a Gamma-Tehom wasn’t he? One of the older ones, he sat in this chair a few times himself.” The Collector opened a wardrobe door and retrieved a small envelope from a neatly filed stack. “Some may call me morbid, but maybe you can appreciate it?”

  The envelope was white and slightly translucent, on it was a single name, ‘Richard Gamma-Tehom’ Hardt’s father. Hardt opened the envelope and retrieved a lock of hair tied tightly with a ribbon and a piece of wire.

  “This is, my father’s hair? Where did you get it? How?” Hardt seemed slightly angry and confused, but was in awe of the small piece of a man he barely remembered.

  “Interestingly before he… was killed. He sat here almost in the same situation, he was courting your mother, and wanted a gift. If I remember right he gave her a diary written by Colleen Alpha-Rush her own grandmother, I haven’t seen it since. I half hoped it was what you came to trade. It cost him a few pieces of Earth/Rel and a lock of his hair. It’s an odd hobby, I realize, but it is the only object on board that is that saffron color, and I quite like it. I have a sample from almost every redhead on board, it’s not valuable, not really. But it is something personal, something unique, and I enjoy things that are unique.”