“Persuasive, too.”
“And that. Tell me. You… I mean the Commission… obviously know a lot about me. You couldn’t have set up the breeding programme if you didn’t. If you know so much, why didn’t the researchers?”
“Ah,” he looked positively embarrassed as he handed me my drink. “It’s a long story.”
“Give me the abridged version.”
“You know the history of the Lottery? You know that the scientists managed to, er, eradicate the first few beings who were identified? And you know that the authorities found out and put a stop to it? Good, that saves a lot of explanation. Today’s situation stems from that.”
“But that was hundreds of years ago.”
“Nearly five hundred, yes.”
“But… Go on with your story.”
“Well, the authorities in question were the Heirarchs. The deliberate taking of the life of a sentient being is against our religious principles. It doesn’t stop us having wars… or murder, but that’s the theory. The Heirarchs were very angry at the scientists and threatened them with all sorts of dire retribution if they didn’t stop. The scientists were equally angry at the Heirarchs’ ‘meddling’. What followed was the largest religious controversy for almost a thousand years. The scientists argued that, as the beings they were studying came from outside the Theocracy, they were heathens and sinners and religious law didn’t apply to them. The Heirarchs argued that the life of all sentient beings was sacrosanct and, just because a being didn’t follow their teachings at the time, didn’t mean they wouldn’t in the future, or that they followed them anyway but under a different guise. You with me?”
“Just about.”
“The argument went on for about a hundred and fifty years. In truth it has never been resolved, even to this day. It’s just that everybody got tired of it after so long that they couldn’t be bothered any more. The scientists retired to their corner in a huff and the Heirarchs to theirs. The two communities tolerate each other but don’t have much communication. The Commission was set up under the auspices of the Heirarchs so the scientists refused to have anything to do with it. As a result we’ve had to develop our own research expertise. In some areas, we’re better than the official researchers but, of course, we don’t give them any information. It’s not a pretty story considering the Theocracy is supposed to be the most advanced civilisation in the Galaxy but…”
I laughed. “Taragis, you’ve just made my day. That has to be the most refreshing thing I’ve heard since I came here. Geretimalian society is controlled by a meaningless religious controversy over half a millennium old.”
“It doesn’t sound very flattering when you put it like that. And the controversy isn’t meaningless.”
“Perhaps it’s because I come from Earth I think that. Listen, we have three major religions who all claim to worship the same God and all agree about a set of holy books where the action takes place before humans had even invented writing. They preach tolerance and peace but hate each other’s guts, and each has spent the last two thousand years trying to wipe the others off the face of the Earth… when the most powerful groups inside each religion aren’t trying to eradicate other internal groups who don’t agree with them that is. Your Theocracy’s peccadilloes are nothing compared to that.”
“You are exaggerating, surely.”
“Maybe a little but there probably hasn’t been a day since men first banded together into societies that there hasn’t been a war somewhere in the world. And more often than not the reason is that one group doesn’t like the colour of the other group’s skin, or the prayers they say, or the food they eat, or the hats they wear or the way they pick their noses. There’s a school of thought that says that religion is only an excuse; that wars are fought for dominance and power. I don’t know. I’m not a student of politics or religion. All I know is that fighting seems to be built into our genes. If I were the Galaxy, I’d put a big fence round the Earth with a sign that read ‘Keep Out. Danger. Wild Animals.’”
“That sounds very drastic. But you’re not like that.”
“No. But I have no reason to fight. I’m sure if my country were to be threatened with invasion and my leaders stuck a gun in my hand and said ‘fight’, I’d go and fight and die with the rest of them. I’m sorry. I’m very tired and feeling jaded and fractious. Just ignore me. On the other hand… don’t. What have I been doing since I arrived.”
A slow realisation spread across his face. “Fighting.”
“Exactly. I rest my case.”
“But… never mind. Now is not the time.”
“Speak to Hermes. He probably understands humans better than anyone.”
He nodded. “I need to brief you about tomorrow.”
“Fire away.”
“You’ll be attending a gala performance of a new symphony by Sir Misno Clelwo. He’s regarded as the greatest living composer in the Theocracy. He’ll be conducting the Nonold Symphony Orchestra. They’re very good, I’ve heard them. It’s a matinee performance in aid of charity. The good news is that there’ll be lots of big names there so you won’t be singled out. The bad news is that Sir Sacred-Trust-in-God will be there along with some other members of the Commission Board. So be a good boy.” He grinned. “We’ve issued a media statement today saying that you’ve fully recovered from your food poisoning and I think we should schedule a short, informal press conference. You know, just stop on the way in and answer a few questions.”
“What’s my line if they ask me who’s to blame for my incapacity?”
“I suggest you be noncommittal.”
“Okay. It’s a yellow carpet affair, I take it?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Then I’ll wear my suit again.”
“Your suit? You mean your native costume? It’s black, isn’t it?”
I grinned. ‘Native costume’, indeed. “Yes.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that will do very nicely indeed. I must tell Barbita. Oh, your companion will be Lorca Lhewlyn Dibhach.” He grinned again. I had the feeling he was up to something. “You’ll like her.”
“I hope so. I’ve liked them all, so far.”
“Quite. Where would you like to go for dinner?”
“I have a choice?”
He grimaced. “Since your ‘food poisoning’ restaurants have been a bit chary about offering their services. I’ve a list of suitable ones. They’ve all said they’d be willing to fit you in at short notice as an ordinary customer.”
“You choose. I suspect, after the brouhaha of the concert a quiet place would be best.”
He nodded. “I think I know just the place.”
“Do I really have to go to a symphony concert?”
“You do,” he said firmly. “Stop whining.”
“Yes, boss.”
“Right. You look knackered. I’ll see you tomorrow. Oh, and I’ll see to your pets on the way out. Goodnight.”
He was gone before I could close my astonished mouth.
I was knackered. It hit me as soon as he’d left. I couldn’t be bothered going down to the restaurant so I made a snack and went to bed. I was asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.
I went to see the cats in the morning. I couldn’t see any obvious signs of sickness but I was sure they weren’t well. That’s the problem with cats, they can’t tell you if they’ve sore tummies or are just feeling under the weather so you have to sort of guess from their appearance and behaviour. The trouble was that I couldn’t be sure whether they weren't just pissed off at being cooped up all the time or really sickening for something. Ziggy trotted over, his tail held high and meowed plaintively. Of course he always meowed plaintively, except when he was genuinely hungry, when he meowed angrily. Sometimes even then you couldn’t tell. You’d pet him and apologise and put food in his dish and he’d disappear out the cat flap. Still, there was something about them that made me feel all was not right. But what could I do about it. I couldn’t take them to a vet. F
or a start, a Geretimalian vet wouldn’t know anything about cats and, more importantly, they were here illegally. I was probably breaking about a dozen quarantine laws and would be liable to ten years in prison just for having them. All I could do was wait and see. Perhaps it was only temporary and they’d get over whatever it was. I left them reluctantly to get ready for my symphonic debut.
Taragis and Barbita arrived at the same time so both were able to witness my reaction to Lorca Lhewlyn Dibhach. Lorca was… different. She was made of living, breathing wood; the finest walnut. If Gepetto had wished for a soul-mate rather than a son and if he had had the skills and vision of Rodin, he might have carved Lorca Lhewlyn Dibhach Her hair was the finest spun silver and fell in heavy waves over her shoulders. It sparkled with green, blue and red jewels. Her features were ‘finely chiselled’, to continue the wood-carving metaphor. Her eyes were perfect ovals, the pupils white and the irises black, or was that dark brown or maybe very deep green. Over them, her silvery eyebrows formed perfect arches, making her eyes even more impressive. Her lips were thin and sensual: you could imagine them whispering sweet nothings in your ear rather than giving you a blow-job.
It took me a few moments to notice her face, though, for, as I’m sure 90% of the heterosexual male population of the Galaxy did, it was her body I noticed first. She was almost a caricature of the female form. Her waist was impossibly slender, her breasts improbably large and well-formed, her hips exceptionally svelte, her arms and legs elegantly slim, her hands and feet surprisingly small and her fingers and toes astonishingly long. Her nails were painted the same colour as her lips. Her dress, although decorously covering the tops of her breasts had no shoulder straps. The fitted bodice had to be supported by either titanium steel or black magic. The skirts fell from the waist in a shimmer of rainbow-tinted silver. Around her neck was an elaborate silver necklace adorned with the same jewels as were in her hair. She had matching earrings and armbands around her upper arm.
When I eventually managed to look into her eyes, I found she was regarding me with a cool, quizzical smile.
“Forgive me for staring,” I said. “But you are the most striking woman I’ve ever seen.”
“A diplomatic description, Sir MacAdam.” Her voice was melodious but emotionless.
“I hope you misunderstand me deliberately. Striking as in strikingly beautiful, strikingly elegant, strikingly poised, strikingly attractive.”
The eyebrows arched slightly. “Anything else?”
“I am very pleased you are to be my companion today.”
I was floundering. There was nothing… no spark, no connection, just a cool wall of indifference. The corner of her mouth lifted fractionally.
“I think you should stand behind me at the press conference.” The eyebrows arched a little more. “Then, when I’m asked a particularly awkward or embarrassing question, I shall simply step aside. The media will be so overawed they’ll be struck dumb.”
She gave a small, cool laugh. “You’re getting better, Sir MacAdam.”
Oh, dear. This was not going well. Still, I suppose she must have heard every chat-up line in the book.
“I didn’t realise this was a test. What’s the pass mark?”
“Quite high, as it happens.”
“And rising all the time? That’s the problem with games where only one player knows the rules… they always win.”
“Are we in a contest?”
“Not any more. Shall we go?”
This seemed to take them all by surprise.
“Not yet,” Barbita said, and dashed into my bedroom.
“Here,” she said, handing me a tie. “Put this on?”
“Yes, Mummy.”
“Much better. Right, we can go now.”
“At the risk of appearing foolish, what was wrong with the other tie?”
“Entirely the wrong colour.”
I glanced at Taragis, who simply shrugged.
In the car I ignored Lorca for the most part and she ignored me. I wasn't in the mood to play games of ‘chase the lady’. Either we were in this together or we weren’t. The choice was hers.
“I’ve a favour to ask,” I said to Taragis. “The ship people said it would take four days to complete the decorating. Would it be possible to take a couple of days off? I’d like to take a maiden voyage, if that’s okay. I know Hermes could do it on his own but…”
I was aware of Lorca’s spark of interest but ignored it.
“But it’s your ship and you’re excited and you want to be there,” he said with a broad grin. “I suppose I could shuffle things around again. Maybe, one day, I’ll manage to work regular hours and not eat lunch on the run.”
“I’m sorry, Taragis. I know you work very hard and I appreciate it.”
“Actually, I’d already pencilled two days in. The shipyard contacted me yesterday.”
“You what? What’s this? Make Crawford grovel day?”
“I was only teasing.”
I sighed. “Sorry. I’m a bit out of sorts.”
I turned to Lorca. “Have you been briefed about today?”
“We’re going to a concert.”
“I meant what will happen between now and then?”
“No.”
“You know this is a yellow carpet affair and there will be a large crowd?”
“Yes, I was aware of that.”
“Have you ever faced a crowd before?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know it will be noisy. Taragis, where are we going?”
“The Holiness-in-Music Concert Hall.”
“Not the stadium?”
“No.”
“Stadium? You don’t listen to great music in a stadium,” Lorca said.
“Right,” I said dryly. “Where’s the press conference?”
“In the foyer.”
“Are they likely to ask Madam Dibhach questions?”
He looked amused. “Indubitably.”
I turned to Lorca. “I would greatly appreciate it if you would refrain from making snide remarks about me. We’re supposed to be…” I barked a short laugh. “I was going to say ‘a marriage made in heaven’ but that’s a bit over the top. Whatever you might think of me privately, a semblance of cordiality in public would be appreciated. Is that so, Taragis?”
Taragis looked uncomfortable. “Well, the choice of words was, perhaps, a trifle… forceful but, in essence, Crawford’s correct. A casual remark, intended to be humorous, can be easily misrepresented by the media, especially if they are at all hostile.”
“Just so there’s no misunderstanding,” I said. “When we arrive, I’m going to assist you out of the car. Please accept my assistance. I will put an arm round your shoulder as we walk to the foyer. Please pretend you welcome the contact. I don’t know if you need to smile and wave. Perhaps you could just be coolly elegant and beautiful. I may touch you; put my arm around you, take your hand, at other points. Again, I would be grateful if you accepted these graciously.”
She was looking decidedly angry. “You take a lot upon yourself.”
I sighed. “Madam Dibhach, by this time I’ve usually built a rapport with my companion and this explanation isn’t necessary. We have no rapport. I have the distinct impression you don’t think much of me. That’s fine. It’s your prerogative. However, the instant we step out of this car I am not Crawford MacAdam and you are not Lorca Lhewlyn Dibhach. I am the Lottery Winner and you are my Companion. We are public property and the public expect to see the Lottery Winner and his Companion behave in a certain way. Now Taragis and his staff and Barbita and her staff and I have all worked very hard to make this Lottery a success despite a number of, er, setbacks. All I’m asking is for you to accept that and play your part the same way I play mine.”
“You mean…” she waved a vague hand, “…all this is an act?”
“Hey,” I said to Taragis. “I must be good. Yes,” I continued to Lorca. “It’s an act. I’m the Lottery Winner, that’s my role.
Will you play your part? Please?”
I was rewarded with the first hint of a genuine smile. “If you can do it, it can’t be that hard. Okay, I’ll play along.”
“I think I’m mortally offended,” I said. She shrugged indifferently.
The car swung through some gates and I stared in astonishment. We were heading up a long drive towards the concert hall. Barriers lined the drive. In front of the barriers were the police and behind them a crowd almost twenty deep.
“Sweet Jesus,” I muttered.
Lorca seemed equally astounded. “Have all these people come to see you?”
“Hardly,” Taragis said wryly. “This is a gala concert. Everybody who is anybody will be here. I believe even Crimson Sebstiennesen will be here.”
“Someone important, I take it?” I said.
“Crimson Sebstiennesen is the hottest trivee star around,” Lorca said in a ‘which planet do you come from’ tone.
“Ugh. Ugh. Tarzan not know trivee,” I said. “Should I wave?”
Taragis shrugged. “They can’t see you.” He tapped the windows. “Need to keep the x-rays out.”
The car swung round and halted at the end of a long yellow carpet. Here the crowd was huge, jammed together behind stout barriers and a strong cordon of burly police. A tall thin being in a yellow suit and wearing a hat at least two feet tall stepped forward and opened the door with a flourish. I stepped out to a deafening barrage of cheering and turned to assist Lorca.
“We’re on. Oh, if your translator cuts out, don’t panic. Just keep walking.”
I handed her out, draped an arm casually around her shoulder and turned us to face the crowd. I must admit that Lorca looked spectacular. Against the yellow of the carpet and the colourful dress of the crowds, her black and silver made a dramatic contrast and seemed to enhance her beauty by several magnitudes.
I bent slightly and said in her ear, “You look a million dollars.”
She glanced up with an unreadable expression.
I faced the yellow carpet. It looked a mile long. The sun beat down and I could almost feel myself frying. I raised my arm and waved grandly, beaming smiles all around. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a group of beings, all dressed in green and carrying placards and banners, trying to force their way through the densely-packed crowd. My fan club had arrived. I turned to warn Taragis but he was already on his communicator. We walked sedately up the carpet. My smile was working overtime. Amidst the general cheering I could make out a few individual calls. “I love you, Crawford,” was one. “Way to go, big boy,” was another. “Let’s see yer tits,” was, unfortunately, another… not addressed at me.
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