by Marc Secchia
I remember my mother running into that building. Flames leaping sky-high.
I … see her backed by white flame … mother, firewalker, heroine unwrapping my friend Tomaxx from his fire blanket … she is lost to me now. What did it all mean? How could she pass through flame time and time again, unharmed?
* * * *
Alodeé and Tomaxx walked in silence up to the family house where another, longer ceremony took place before Ash’s mother moved within, stooping to touch the threshold. The massed Oraman waited in utter silence until a shriek from within almost frightened Alodeé out of her boots.
Her friend touched her shoulder. “All is well. That’s good.”
“Good?”
“She will sacrifice to the spirits. This is the way of Torc’s fury.”
Bloodcurdling yelling, stomping and wailing? Alright.
When Salianixx emerged, she had two bloody streaks carved into either cheek! The families raised a great groan of sympathy, the white ranks suddenly swaying in time, humming a slow, solemn song unfamiliar to her. As the only titian-haired, green-skinned person in sight, Alodeé stuck out worse than a sore thumb. She also felt horribly guilty. What must she have thought while reviewing the data, the bumbling decisions and delays that had cost her daughter her life?
Salianixx came to thank her and Tomaxx and to bid them share their stories, honouring Ash with their words. Alodeé began to apologise to the distraught woman and to say how she wished she had done more, but her shoulders stiffened and her hands clenched into fists. Tomaxx trod on her foot to shut her up.
Eh? What idiotic thing did I do this time?
Biting her lip, Alodeé followed him inside. The two families gathered once more, this time in a very sober gathering of a different nature, along with all the Oraman elders. They invited them to tell her story.
Tomaxx whispered into her ear, “Facts and deeds. Show no emotions save sorrow and gratitude and for Torc’s sake, no apologies, alright? I’ll explain later.”
Thanks for not telling me off like a three year-old.
Together, they told a blow-by-blow account of the raid on the mining facility and how Ash had stepped up with true courage to save them all, literally at the last sec. The men and women alike wept, rent their skin with their fingernails, tore their clothing and vowed vengeance on the cult. Alodeé related how Ash had shoved her father away from the line and the explosives package to preserve his life, even while she was dying, adding her family’s grateful thanks for his life.
Her weeping was good. Half an apology, bitten off, earned her a round of hard stares.
Dishonourable?
Maybe I should just apologise for apologising, then apologise for being alive and apologise for being Class U and go on from there?
Alodeé simmered, mostly because she was weary and grieving for her friend. The families started talking about Ash – her likes and foibles, her childhood and friends and how she had brought the family joy, warmth and lasting honour. They shared a traditional meal of meaty nibbles that were generally spicy enough to make her weep tears of a different sort, washed down by a dark, earthy Oraman root beer. When Tomaxx leaned over at one point to thank her for her support and to say he could not have done the day without her, she almost cracked there and then.
Ungrateful much? Ash, oh my Ash! ASH!
Worst day. Just the worst.
* * * *
In the evening, Giantixx accompanied her to the Infirmary where Dad suffered the tender ministrations of Medic Tamanzi, aka the sparkly pink torturer – his words. After a mere 5 mins together, Alodeé pinged her on the Comms button. Dymand was in so much pain, he had to be fully sedated. Tamanzi set her medbots to work on him as his eyes shuttered.
“How’s he doing?” she inquired anxiously.
“Been better,” Tamanzi said brusquely. “The pain is due to nerve damage from the explosion. It’ll be several more days, Alodeé, but then we should start to see improvement. These types of injuries take time, as you well know. Keep up the hope.” Her Comms bracelet pinged. “Sorry – red alarm. I need to scoot to another patient. See yourselves out?”
“We’re alright,” Giantixx said gruffly.
They sat and watched her father’s chest rising and falling. So haggard.
They watched as the orange fires of twilight ignited the sky in another display of colour so glorious, one could rush out there and gobble it up.
Alodeé sighed.
“Guilt is hard, isn’t it, girlie?”
She stared at the elderly Oraman. What do you know about grief? Sigh. “Alright. Is it written on my forehead or something?”
“You need some food, pet?”
Pet? I’ll pet you, woman! “Maybe that’s a good idea. I’m … I’m struggling, Giantixx.”
“Sure. I get that.”
“Do you now?” Wince. “Sorry! Raving lumoslugs! Please pretend I didn’t say that. I’m usually a bit less surly and a lot more respectful.”
Giantixx gave her a look only a 225 cent plus Oraman muscle-woman could give a person. Profoundly uncomfortable experience. “I’ve been bitten by worse things in my time, pet. Out of interest, Oraman of my geriatric age and station get to say ‘pet’ and mean a youngster of smaller stature, with connotations of cuteness. You’d do better with 100 kilos more muscle on that frame, but you’ve sure got some gumption, that I can say.”
Alodeé eyed the fiery evening sky, watching several giant reapers gliding across the rings maybe 5 kloms away. Ash is gone. Ash died and I don’t know how to go on living anymore. What is death, that in the end it must take us all?
The woman said, “Enough. Spit it out.”
Easy. Lance a vein and let it splatter out. She might have been a bit more honest than she intended. Just a touch. What kind of person wishes her friend dead so she can pursue forbidden fruit, no matter how tempting?
The older woman said, “So, you’re basically saying you’re normal?”
“Normal?” she exploded. “I’m an ugly, vile failure, that’s what I am. Ash is dead because I didn’t, I couldn’t –”
“What would you have done, exactly?” Giantixx cut in, so scathing that Alodeé felt cut off at the knees. “Gone in her place? You could not; her armour was far too large for you and there was no other equipment. No, you sat there on that ruddy Comms link and you worked your skinny butt off to keep your friends and family alive, that’s what you did. Right to the last. We saw the vids, then reviewed the data and feeds you had to work with – if anything, you anticipated the danger multiple times. You remote controlled that ridiculous weapon of your father’s with extraordinary precision, you saw the detonator’s nature immediately and you warned Chimzi of the monster’s return a full sec before the sensors registered anything. That is what you did. Not this lie – where does it come from?”
I’ll just chew mutinously on my lip here like a properly stroppy teenager, shall I?
“While you’re stewing on that,” she added, “heads up, pet. Everyone in our two families knows you love Tomaxx.”
“Love – Giantixx! What the freak? No. That’s a – please, please don’t say that!”
“Please yourself, pet,” she said smugly, probably taking temperature readings off her companion’s ears and drawing the right conclusions. “Why else do you think we swore you in as Oraman?”
She hissed, “Because I’m a Class-crossing aberration?”
Giantixx just grinned down at her. Alodeé turned to examining her boots. At length. Read like an all-caps holo screen! As if her humiliation could grow any deeper.
Gently, she said, “Alodeé, you’ve adored our Tomaxx since you wore diapers and toddled after him 37 hours a day. Drove him crazy. It’s blindingly obvious to everyone and every creature, right down to brainless single-celled organisms, except him.”
Alodeé chuckled miserably.
“Men. Utterly hopeless, sometimes,” the Oraman added. “Deny it all you want. You’ve always been so honourable and sweet ab
out trying to hide your real feelings, trying to hide the attraction. Why do you think you freed him to be promised to Ashamixx? You saw you hurt them. You saw yourself coming between and you graciously and with such searing honesty, removed your Class 1 self from their way. I swear, you gave our elders palpitations when you turned up mid-negotiations!”
“I did?”
“To think you swallowed that nonsense about twisting the table! Ha ha! Here’s the truth.” Tapping Alodeé’s chest to emphasize each word, she said, “You – are – a beautiful – soul.”
“Hardly.”
“News byte, we all have ugly bits inside. It’s called being Humanoid. Don’t go being this open to everyone, alright? It wouldn’t be wise – because, the other reason we adopted you and by extension, your father, into our families, has to do with prejudice. Vids of your exploits at the obstacle course have been doing the rounds, particularly in certain circles.”
“Hazmuri Falls?”
“Yep. You need to be careful how many arm wrestling tables you wreck, o daughter of the firewalker.”
Not every culture was Classist. Shake the head. This was what it felt like to be accepted for who she was, green skin and all.
Entering the canteen, they each picked up and paid for a tray of food before finding a quiet corner, where Giantixx added, “You bought time by publicly bringing Ash and Tomaxx together, but mark my words, pet, you need to be very careful how many fires you walk through, alright?”
Alodeé nodded soberly. Too right. Holy Resurrection Dawn! My daily ‘vitamin supplement?’ Dad …
Another mystery.
After a good few bites, the matron said, “So, tell me about this inner voice that insists you’re such a failure, Alodeé. Where does that come from? Do you know?”
“I can guess.”
“And?”
“Today, when the AVACS ships flamed Ash’s bier, I saw my mother in the flames. I was there, that day. I remembered … some of it. I don’t think I’ve ever remembered that before, not for the longest time. I guess I saw my mother in Ash.”
Giantixx said, “Traumatic memory suppression. How did that make you feel?”
“Helpless. Helpless as I watched another person I love, die.”
Chapter 10
Standard 1301.05.18.29 Cal Week 19. Bedtime story.
WITH GIANTIXX’S WARNING PLAYING on her mind, Alodeé prepped properly to visit Dad in the Infirmary. One might begin to suspect he was enjoying himself over there. Pampered by the pretty Tamanzi. Life could definitely be worse, seen from his boots.
Scamp. Still, waiting over a decade before finding someone else – that’s got to mean something, hasn’t it? Nice, Dad. You’re kinda tolerable, after all.
Standing behind the dressing screen, she rapped, “Initiate Alodeé full hidden apparel.”
The machine coughed as if undecided about what it was being asked to do. Combat skin. Ultra-lightweight armour used for non-combat, exploring situations. Over that went her favourite loose trousers, tough boots, a loose long-sleeved top to hide the upper body armour and a belt far more useful than any casual inspection could detect. Quickly, she secreted a small arsenal of survival equipment and weaponry around her person, starting with her favourite nanodagger.
No. This girl was not going quietly into the night.
Just you try something, you Classist freaks!
Jogging over to the Infirmary, she found a pink head buried deep in holo readouts. Tamanzi wore a full Med visor interface, working with her eyes, fingers and quite likely her brain at the same time. Nice trick for those capable of doing it. Most Class 1 Humanoids lacked this capability. She sure made it look natural, breezing through dozens of screens and links simultaneously.
“Checked our patient recently?” she asked.
“He’s fine, almost there,” came the absent reply.
“Checked his lips recently?”
“Alodeé!” The smaller woman puffed out her cheeks, then flick-closed all the displays and retracted the visor. Pink eyes regarded her seriously. “I see why your father calls you the Alomonster.”
“That’s me.”
Cheerful? Maybe I am. Feels good and guilty, after everything.
Tamanzi said, “Are you saying … you aren’t Ok with this, Alodeé?”
“Oh, no. No! I mean, Medic Tamanzi, I am perfectly Ok with you examining my Dad’s lips, regularly and often.”
Colouring, she murmured, “Why, I appreciate the permission, young lady.”
“Purely from a medical standpoint, of course,” she said, wagging her finger at the Medic. “Form, function and, ah …”
“Fitness?”
“Exactly.” Nice. Not awkward at all, Alo! Gulp. Situational repair, quick. “Tamanzi, we’re been just the two of us for a very long time. It’s actually quite special to have someone else around. Have you – were you with someone, before?”
“I was married. Ran away to this planet.” Sadness touched her eyes. “He was violent.”
“I’m … sorry.”
She sighed. “I’ve not had the best luck in romance. Dymand – your father – is a good man. It’s been a real slow burn with him, even getting to where we are. I guess we both carry our scars.”
Reaching over the counter, she took Tamanzi’s small hands in hers. “Don’t let my silliness get in the way, alright? You’re both responsible adults – mostly – and I … I like you and I like that you make my Dad happy. Sorry about how that came out. I … let me go check the reprobate.”
“Before you go – thank you, Alodeé.”
Yep and if I can just pull my foot and half my freaking leg out of my mouth, that would be perfect. Darn it. Why’s life so stupidly difficult sometimes? Can’t people just be happy and why can’t that enough?
Dad was awake, lying half propped-up in his bay, reading a holo report. He took half a glance at her and said, “Starting a private war, Alomonster?”
Then again, maybe not so subtle after all.
“Check this,” she said, and flicked her 60-cent nanoswords out of a double sheath at her back.
“Impressive! Designed that yourself?”
“Too much time on my hands, but no, it’s a borrowed design. The house is quiet without some Head of Settlement Security thumping about, annoying everyone.”
Dad patted the bed beside his legs. “Tell me a story, titian glory.”
Alodeé opted to wander up and give him a kiss upon his forehead. “Once upon a time, a little girl sang for joy because her father was alive. The end.”
Dymand sucked in a breath and pretended to clutch his heart “Alright. Meant to be recovering over here.”
“More gentle?”
“A lot gentler, please.”
Settling beside him, she began to speak, but he interrupted to clasp her right hand and raise it to his lips. “You look beautiful. Savage – those being all the weapons you’re carrying – but so, so beautiful, Alodeé.”
Whomp. Breath duly snatched away.
So not over Mom.
Recovering, she said, “I had a long chat with Giantixx the other night. She’s lovely. Did you know where the Oraman expression, ‘Torc’s fury’ comes from?”
Dymand shook his head. “Don’t believe I do, exactly. I remember that the naming of Resurrection Dawn had something to do with the Oraman, actually. Maybe that the planetary rings were related to this torc thing?”
She tried her mysterious smile on him.
“Oh please, put your old man out of his misery,” he teased.
“Once upon a time, Dragons roamed the planets. No-one knew where they came from, nor where they went when they died,” she said, trying for a portentous tone of voice and ending up laughing at herself. “Many believe that legends of Dragons originated amongst the cultures of the original Earth, long before the Cataclysm and the First Expansion. However, in the 1,301 years since First Expansion, these myths and legends have done anything but die away. Indeed, they permeated almost every culture and
Class in the ambit of Galactic Central – even where we discovered new Humanoids, legends of fire-breathing creatures were already present.”
“The Oraman believe that these Dragon spirits, as they call them, all originate from one place and one world, the source of all Dragon life – a world they call Torc. A world they have been searching for, for over 1,000 years.”
Dymand said, “Ooh, good story.”
“Rotten tease. As you know, the colonisation mission you and Mom joined went disastrously wrong. First, you were attacked by pirates, but you fought them off. Under heavy fire, the seven colony ships managed to escape into hyperspace, but the central Nav computer had been sabotaged by rogue elements on Ship 4. I’ve read and researched various accounts of how three heavily-damaged vessels of the original seven managed to make it here, to this system – warp storms, hyperspace folding fluctuations, dimensional and all – the upshot is, we’re unclear where in time or space we might be, or even how this entire system manages to exist given its disobedience to the general laws of physics.”
She leaned forward. “You never told me that Mom was the pilot who led the colony ships here.”
“I didn’t?”
“No.”
“I …” Smoothing his sleek black hair, he said, “We may have fudged a few records.” Alodeé tilted an eyebrow at him. “Alright, a lot of records. We had to hide thoroughly, Samodeé and I and given that the Ship 4 sabotage originated with another Classist Cult – a depressing profusion of those about the galaxy – we felt it best her name did not appear in those histories.”
Another secret, Dad? Impossible as it seems, he’s still hiding the truth from me!
“Alright. Can we have a private conversation, Dad?”
His eyebrows twitched.
“I know you’ll have a Privacy device on you.”
Now, her father’s grin was a fierce, quick flash of teeth. “Activate local lockdown security protocol 305-#-21, Dymand voiceprint. There we go, darling daughter. Got something to ask?”
Pinning him with a furious glare, she hissed, “Dad, where did you meet Mom?”
Danger flashed back from his dark gaze. “On my 78-KAR Whisper Privateer. That’s –”