The Pearl (Galactic Jewels Book 1)

by Jen Greyson

  On the far side of the room, a long window overlooked the space beyond our ship, but this morning the swirling colors of the gate held little appeal, only serving to remind me of the grains shifting through my hourglass. I stroked the window, turning it opaque. An image of a Bevi mountain waterfall filled the space, the splash of water reverberating softly through the room.

  Curling up on the chaise below the window, I sipped and waited, hoping Fransín might get up early today since this was one of our last mornings together. My favorite book rested in a wall cubby and I touched the jeweled bookmark resting between the aging pages. Fransín had given it to me as a festival gift years before and I treasured it. She’d saved a thousand pectagas to trade for it, a tidbit I’d learned well after she’d given me the gift. The rubies and sapphires and emeralds on the jewel-encrusted hilt glittered in the subdued light of the waterfall, winking and twinkling like a live creature beside me.

  I couldn’t shake the impending loss of her constant companionship.

  We didn’t talk about that. Ever. Our separation was coming whether we discussed it or not, all part of the deal when she’d signed on as my companion, divested of choice and any real sort of future. We’d discussed all of our options, some that had included her being a pearl or ruby with her own consort, which would have afforded us the ability to see each other after our individual unions. She hadn’t wanted that, knowing that the decision left her forever a consort. We’d both walked into our decisions eyes wide open and it had taken me a few weeks to resign myself to what she’d given up for me.

  As for my union, political shuffling probably happened behind the scenes, but that was fine. You wanted to send up a General’s son because you owed him a favor? You risked your galaxy's representative not being chosen. I had full access to every detail about their representative, not only what he presented during the date.

  We called these presentations because it was a mere formality. By the time I met these representatives face to face I’d spent hours with their historical documentation from not only their existence, but my team went through generations of documentation, pulling out details I needed to be as informed as possible.

  I knew his likes, dislikes, preferences, pet peeves, decisions he’d made and how he’d weighted the details. Every predilection, bias, and fondness meant something; the reason he picked blue over green, took the subway instead of the motorcade, ate noodles instead of seafare, ran pattril instead of benwin. All those results went into my algorithm of which galaxies were allowed to send representatives.

  His history wasn’t the only factoring portion, I also had insight into his mother’s, father’s, grandfather’s, great auntie’s. I knew who his brother had chosen for his mate—and why. I knew his sister’s tastes and what she despised.

  Unions were a big deal. They had to be. Together we held the seams of the universe together, we ruled our utopian societies with firm but gentle hands, guiding them with ideas and cross-pollination between the species that kept everything running smoothly. As the pearl, I was the final decision on all things, and my mate was my best counsel. The algorithm accounted for my own weaknesses and rated candidates based on how their strengths matched up.

  Out of all the candidates I’d researched, the Hemperklu had quickly risen to the top three, then, the more discussions I’d had with him, earned the top spot where he’d remained for the last two and a half years. Based on the research and accompanying packet, the Spiznwix had been near the top as well, but he’d performed so poorly when we’d met in real life, I couldn’t imagine having to rule with him on a daily basis.

  Some times real life trumped what existed in databanks and algorithms.

  CHAPTER 7

  FRANSÍN CAME IN, gold skirt askew, green hair mussed and plastered to her cheek, weaving and fighting the grips of sleep. “Morning.” She rubbed her eyes. “How was it?”

  I tipped my cup, draining the last swallow of the warm nectar, buying me time to let the heaviness of the morning drain away while she came over. I grinned. “Best birthday yet.”

  After a lopsided sleepy hug, she wandered into the closet. I stood and shook my arms and legs, forcing the trapped energy of my deep morning musing to dissipate.

  “What time do we dock?” she yelled from behind the wall.

  “Three hours.” I grabbed my new cup of coffee.

  “Really?” Her voice cracked. She hopped forward, yanking off her skirt. “Rift! Sorry. I thought we’d have more time.”

  “It’s fine,” I said, ordering a mug for her. “We’ll work together.”

  She hurriedly pulled on a kimono and took a huge gulp of the searing hot coffee that would have decimated my mouth. “Hair first, or makeup?”

  “You decide.”

  Beside the closet, the room opened into a vast prep area dotted with mirrors, plush couches, and a single chair in the center and ringed with mirrors. Soft light echoed off the surfaces, bathing the room in sparkling moonlight. One light followed me, alerted to our readying by our movements and tracked me with the perfect hues Fransín needed to prep me. I disrobed and settled into her chair, the plush cushions enveloping my nakedness.

  She drank three cups of coffee and worked in silence, focused on her real job as my consort. Communicator was a skill M had taught her between dates. Fransín’s true tasks included this preparation and helping me research the candidates and review thousands of data hours.

  She brushed my hair, her fingers nimbly dividing sections, trembling a bit at the acknowledgement at this final preparation for the last time.

  “I think we need to talk about it,” I said like I had the last half-dozen mornings.

  She chewed her lower lip, her skin turning the pale green-yellow of a Tipper willow leaf before it fell to the ground. “I don’t.”

  Sectioning off another big hunk, she wound it around the heated drum, setting the curl. I stayed quiet, watching her plait my hair and weave it into an intricate crown. “What am I going to do without you?”

  She sniffed and smiled. Her voice warbled and lost its song. “You’ll be too busy with the Hemperklu, taking on universal challenges, tackling epic problems and solutions. Plus all your upcoming days in the tantric hut. I’ll be the last thing on your mind.”

  Her hand settled a curl at my temple; and I reached up and captured her fingers. “Fransín, you’ve been my everything since we were babies. How can you say that? You know its not true.”

  She blinked rapidly, fighting tears. “It’s what I tell myself so I know you’ll be happy and that this is for the ultimate reason. What you’re doing is bigger than our silly friendship.”

  I ached for her. She would endure this time and time again as they gave her new assignments to a ruby or a retired pearl. I would never have another. She’d chosen this, eyes wide open that her others might be a boring Pia or an overly dramatic Foley. If luck was with her, she’d be assigned a Lyrica. A pang of jealousy gripped my insides at how much she’d enjoy that. I hoped such a blessing came true. She deserved to be rewarded after we’d underestimated how painful our parting would be. “Will you please talk to me?”

  She pressed her lips together, turning even paler. “I told you everything I had to say last night.”

  I opened my mouth to rebut—she hadn’t said—Oh… The dancing… that was her language and she had said everything. I’d missed it… the weight of what she’d done for me, the reason she’d devoted so much time to my birthday celebration—the music, the humans, the playlist. She hadn’t spent a day or two on that sim. She had spent months and as a being who craved the Lyrica way, she’d given me all her love and devotion in the gift of song. I tugged her hand away from my temple and drew her around to stand in front of my chair, settling my hands at her waist. “How long did you work on that?”

  She shook her head, flushing jade. “The time doesn’t matter. I enjoyed it.”

  “Months, then.”

  She sniffed. “A couple.”

  “When did you
start?” My fingers tightened on her waist, her skin flushing evergreen above the collar of the kimono.

  “I started it during your first date.”

  “With the LinnOw?” Three years ago…

  “Yeah. Remember we’d joked how ill-suited you were, him consumed with material wealth. His entire galaxy spoke two-word sentences at a maximum.”

  I laughed. “That was the worst date.” It had been a strange and sudden baptism into this new world.

  “Tonight, though…” She brushed back the unfinished side of my hair, lovingly caressed my cheek, traced the line of my jaw. She hadn’t put any of my makeup on yet, so my face was still fresh, unmarked. “Tonight will be memorable magic. I’ve been looking forward to this almost as much as you. She’ll be no Hemperklu, but it will be amazing; a wonderful way to end this journey.” Her throat clogged.

  “You will always be my first love.” I drew out the words, wishing I had a singing voice. I gathered my courage and busted out a few lyrics of one of our favorite songs from our childhood. One about sunshine and rainbows. We’d had to look them both up in the archives, falling instantly in love with how silly and bright and so much like we were back then. My heart burned. Awareness of this day hadn’t made it any easier. We’d known this was part of the deal. We’d always known this was coming. Our duties bound us, but not to each other.

  “Thank you,” I said. “For doing this. For the sacrifice of what you gave to me so I could have you with me through this. I wouldn’t have missed it.”

  She cupped my face and kissed me gently on the lips. “It wasn’t a sacrifice. I love you. You’re my best friend. Besides, I couldn’t leave you to someone else.”

  I pulled her into my arms and she came awkwardly, curling onto my lap. I stroked her green hair and rubbed the tip of her shoulder, unsure who was comforting who. “We don’t have time for this,” she said.

  “No.” I couldn’t pick the Samarian who came to me tonight, but that didn’t mean that I could shirk my appearance. Not only would every minute be broadcast, but I wanted to take the time and care for tonight. I squeezed her tight, holding her to my chest. “I love you,” I whispered. “I see you.”

  She answered back, then crawled unceremoniously out of my lap, shook her body, her arms, her legs, and hummed as she began again, entwining the locks around the heated irons, adding curls and squares and ovals and loops, braiding and banding and adding flowers until my hair stood like a crown, wild and brave and beautiful. Like Fransín.

  I hummed along with her as she did my makeup—out of tune and annoying. She didn’t criticize or make me stop, lost in her art, painting my lips a deep plum, my cheeks a pale peach, my eyes a shimmery gold. Jewels at my hairline and down my neck mimicked the pattern of her gifted bookmark, a secret symbolic tribute to our relationship. Using a fat brush, she dusted my breasts and nipples with copper glitter. She switched to a long-handled detail brush and painted an intricate pattern of fuchsia hearts dripping from my nipples, across my belly, and into a bejeweled arrow of faux pubic hair.

  The Samarian would get to see me naked—like all the other candidates had—confirmation that the hours of video they’d seen hadn’t been manipulated or digitally mastered. I was the girl from the tapes, the presentations, the same databank that I’d reviewed. My nudity was part of the process, as was his. Our exposure to each other was no different than the upcoming hours of conversations, covering similar topics that we’d discussed on intercommunicators. The steps and stages were steeped in tradition, including this final meeting to honor each other, our galaxies, the offering.

  She painted my toenails and languid waves across my calves in blues and greens and purples, patterns in the crux of my knees and elbows, then stepped back to admire her handiwork, holding up an index finger and asking me to twirl. I did and she nodded, singing a few more notes.

  She glanced at the readout on the clock. “Ninety minutes, enough time to get dressed.” She disappeared into the closet and I finished my coffee. I looked up when she came back, giving a startled gasp at lush silks and embroidered satins flowing off her arms in rivers of ruby and gold and sapphire. “Where did you get that?” She’d stowed the unfamiliar gown in the most secret of spaces; I hadn’t seen it in the three years aboard the ship.

  “I had it delivered during the party,” she answered.

  “You can’t expect me to wear that.”

  She shrugged, laying out ten pieces across the dressing table beside the chair. They rippled and melted into each other, ivory and navy becoming ice blue, red and yellow mingling into a sun-bright orange. A rainbow of pleasure dripped to the floor in piles of starlit hues. “Why not?” Her hands stroked through the fabrics while she placed them, oars in an ocean of color. “Look, tonight’s your last date. There’s no way to pick a Samarian, so I say be stunningly sensual.” She lifted the orange silk to her cheek and sighed. “Why couldn’t you be pearl on a female-fem year?”

  I didn’t answer. We’d lamented the unfortunate point for an entire week when I’d been picked for this union and locked into a female-male arrangement.

  She gently replaced the piece. “You know whoever’s coming will appreciate the effort.”

  We’d spent so much time with the females of Samaria that we knew their wants and desires intimately. The jūnihitoe was a revered layered kimono that mimicked the Samarian Mother Divine’s daily outfit. She was the high priestess who’d trained the trainers who’d instructed us how to become pearls and consorts. She was all-knowing in the ways of womanhood and sex and tantric methods to turn a lover inside out and join two bodies and souls beyond the limits of physicality. Goddess Mother was revered above all else, a queen of the beehive and treated with the utmost respect and gratitude. Yes, wearing a jūnihitoe tonight was a sign of respect.

  And in complete contradiction to my uniform.

  “What do you have to lose?” She walked toward me with the first piece, a purple kosode, a silk robe so sheer I could see her through it. A lavender embroidered sash hung over her arm.

  I touched the work of art, beautifully and masterfully embellished with satin threads along the collar and sleeves. We’d worn similar gowns as young girls during the annual feasting festival. As the pearl, I had nothing to lose. We wore what they designated because there’d never been a reason not to.

  “To them you are the Mother Divine; that’s why they’re sending a date. You’re not just the pearl, you’re one of their beloveds. They take this seriously, eager to see what you’ve become. If you ask me, this should always be the outfit for the Samarian presentation.”

  “It hasn’t been approved. We’ll cause a ruckus.” It wouldn’t be the first time. We’d done our share of rule breaking, but nothing this brazen. My rebuttals sounded as half-hearted as they felt. To wear the jūnihitoe tonight… The emotions of the day melded together. Wearing this was a tribute to Fransín too. I would have done it for that reason alone, despite any repercussions.

  “So? The Samaria are going into this without any chance of being picked, yet they’re honoring the tradition. Who are they going to present you with? No matter who they send—even the Mother Divine—you couldn’t pick her, so why not be her? This is the most honorable way to repay them, this is a nod to who they are as a species, a blessing of all the hours and training they gave us. This is your only time to give back. Not only for the candidate; they’ll all be watching. Do it.”

  If I agreed, we needed to get on with it and stop stalling. “Did you wait until now to bring this up so I couldn't think through the repercussions?”

  “No. Your official uniform’s hanging in the closet. It will take longer to get you in this.” She stepped closer, pressing the fabric against my naked skin. A rush of heat answered the silken feel of the violet hues and I trembled. “I’m just—I’m asking. I’m asking you to do this. For me. For you. For the girls we were. For the girls they are.” I fingered the satin ribbon. Pearls were as known for their rule making as for their rule breakin
g. Usually one followed the other. Maybe if I wore this tonight, it would become the standard uniform for this date. “Ask for forgiveness. They’ll give it to you. This is the most beautiful tribute you could offer and will lessen the blow when you can’t choose a Samarian. You’re already going through the motions. Why not give them something… else.”

  I chewed the inside of my cheek, unable to come up with a single argument. Rubbing the fabric between my fingers, I grinned. “Let’s do it.”

  She layered me with silks and satins, robes in a multitude of riotous colors that slid against my body and bound me in a richness that no gown had accomplished in all the times before when we’d gone through this process. We stayed silent for the duration of the readying, each lost in the honor of who she was turning me into. Neither words nor music would have lent enough weight to the moments as they fell away. We worshipping privately, paying our respects the best way we could. Fransín’s tender touch was another robe, hers woven of love and care.

  She’d been right to attempt this, but we would pay. She worse than I and for many moons to come.

  The ship’s comm buzzed and M said, “Fifteen sectors until transport.”

  Fransín stepped back, tears in her eyes. She pressed her hands together at her breastbone and bowed.

  One last time. I held my breath, fearful of bursting the cocoon she’d immersed us in. I bowed in thanks and fought the tears that threatened not only my makeup but the remaining threads holding me together.

  Her fingers encircled my elbow beneath the thick silks of the jūnihitoe and I awaited the meditation she’d do on the way to M. “Let’s walk through the gardens,” Fransín said softly, tucking my arm inside hers. I inhaled deep into my belly and shut my eyes while her musical voice guided me. We’d spent so many hours inside ourselves on Samaria that it didn’t take me more than a few breaths to send my mind to a softer place, one decorated with lights and cherry blossoms. Meditation was a sim I needed to peel away the layers I’d put on since last night. One by one the sadness, and grief, and the prayerful tribute fell away, leaving nothing but the essence of who I was as the Pearl, able to give and receive freely tonight as was expected of me.