Galatzi Joy

by Robin Roseau

  “Of course.”

  She led me to her office and closed the door. I waited until she was seated, and then I said, “I believe my mother is coming to visit.”

  “That’s excellent, Maddalyn!”

  “I want your help.”

  “I’m not sure I can arrange transportation.”

  “No. You can help me convince her to stay.”

  “I’m happy to do my best, but Maddalyn, you didn’t need to fly this distance to ask me for this.”

  “My mother is not a complicated woman,” I said. “You’re going to like her, but she’s not impressive, not the way Chaladine is.”

  “Maddalyn, she raised you. I imagine she is a fine woman.”

  “She’s a good woman,” I said. “Talmon is going to confuse her. She is of Frantzland. I don’t even know how to explain the differences. She’ll have a difficult time with names. She will want to be called Frau Herschel, and she will call everyone Frau but be troubled there are no last names. She won’t hug. She won’t even hug me in public. She isn’t at all a Talmon woman.”

  “Maddalyn, what are you telling me?”

  “You and I talked about something, several years ago.”

  “We’ve talked a lot over the years.”

  “Have you someone in your bed?”

  She froze for a moment then said, “No.”

  “You may not like her. I mean. Not that way.”

  “Maddalyn.”

  “I want to know whom she should call ‘Vendart’. Maybe you won’t be interested. But I can’t think of many people I’d let have her.”

  She leaned back. Finally she said, “Sartine.”

  “All right. I’m not offering a trade. You aren’t in a position to accept one, not until you meet her, and possibly not even then.”

  “Maddalyn.”

  “You know she’s been through rejuvenation. She’ll arrive looking young, probably younger than I look. She’ll be amazingly healthy and strong. If it matters to you, she’ll be fertile, but able to control that. She may be interested in additional children. I don’t know. She and I never talked about why I have no siblings.”

  “Does she even prefer women, Maddalyn?”

  “Well, you know, I can’t answer that, either. I don’t know.”

  “How can you not know? She’s your mother.”

  “Another difference between Talmon and Frantzland. This isn’t something we’ve ever discussed.”

  She shook her head. “Maddalyn,” she said.

  “I know. I can’t ask her myself, Luradinine. I’m her daughter. But her new, very good friend, Luradinine, could ask her. After all, when you’re on a vacation, different rules apply. I think she would at least try to fit in. She may hate it. I don’t know. I’ve loved this place since the day I arrived, but I came prepared to love it. My mother has seen the images. She knows it’s beautiful. She believes she can never come. She may prefer men. She may not want to stay. She may be entirely wrong for Talmon. I don’t know. But I need help to find out, and it is only natural that my mother and my mother-in-law become friends. I’m not asking for any promises, Luradinine.”

  She reached out. I knew I was babbling. She reached out and set her hand on my arm. “I will help you, Maddalyn. I will help your mother discover the beauty that is our home. I will help her decide if she would like to become a Talmon woman. Beyond that, if she opens herself to me, I will help to learn these other things. I may even tell you what we have learned. But if you teach her to call Sartine ‘Vendart’, you are not the woman I will negotiate with, if I decide to take her, either for me or for someone else. That is my offer.”

  “Thank you.”

  “When will you know?”

  “In about five months, and then we may learn because she arrives, or we may learn she will come, but not for a while. Or she may decline.”

  “Well, I hope she comes,” Luradinine said. “I would love to meet her and make a new friend.”

  We hugged, and then she invited me to dinner.

  * * * *

  “Cecilia, could I speak with you?”

  “This sounds familiar,” she replied. “What can I do for you?”

  “I know two people who work for a rejuvenation center on Talmon and another who works for a university. The first two are sisters. One is a doctor and the other works in the recovery room. The woman who works for the university works in administration.”

  “And?”

  “Let us talk about her first,” I said. “I thought perhaps we might invite her to visit.”

  “Oh?”

  “And show her the schools here.”

  Cecilia began to grin.

  “And then ask her if she could lure people here, people who might stay.”

  “And oh, by the way, now that you’ve called Sartine ‘Vendart’ a dozen times, you’re not leaving, either?”

  I laughed. “That thought occurred to me.”

  “We don’t do it that way, Maddalyn. They must agree.”

  “I know.”

  “And the two sisters?”

  “Perhaps they would like jobs here. And perhaps I know a lure.”

  “What lure?”

  I told her. When I finished she asked, “Have you talked to them about any of this?”

  “I send letters. They write back. I have no idea if they would be interested.”

  “Invite them,” she said. “Tell them I can’t pay them very much in imperial credits, but if they agree to stay for five years, I can pay their transportation and guarantee a very good life while they’re here. Tell your aunt to apply her own brand of influence.”

  “I may promise my lure?”

  “You may.”

  I drafted my letters. They went out at the same time as my letter to Mother.

  Rejuvenation

  We gathered at the rejuvenation center. Cecilia had tears in her eyes, but she stepped forward, facing our guests.

  “Welcome,” she said. She looked away, and then she lapsed into English. “I had a speech. I-”

  Sartine gave her a moment then stepped forward and took her wife’s hands. “Say it in English,” she said gently.

  Cecilia nodded. But she stepped away from her wife and instead approached Laradain, Sartine’s grandmother. “You welcomed me to Indartha.” Sartine softly translated. She moved to the next person, an elderly man from the opposite coast. “You told me stories from when you were a young boy.” She went from one person to the next. They were all old. I thought Laradain was the youngest, or nearly so.

  Finally she stepped out in front of them. “Everyone knows why you are here. You are to be our first patients.” She let out a sob, then clutched a fist in front of her mouth, biting at the knuckle. I’d never seen her do that before. “You won’t die,” she said. “You’ll be young again, in body, but with the wisdom of your age.”

  Then she took a deep breath. “The vendarti of your villages have agreed. I have agreed. You have agreed. You will serve this place for two years, but only after you have recovered and been to visit your villages, to assure them you are doing well. You will stand here and welcome those who come after you. You will reassure them. You will help them to recover. In time, we will have more workers than we have need, and we will adjust. Maybe by then, we will have people come from off world, bringing money, and you will help serve as guides for them, and in doing so, you will help bring money to Talmon so that Talmon can expand this facility, or bring power and good water to more villages. For two years, you will serve these causes. Do you still agree?”

  “Oh, get on with it,” Laradain said. “Do you really think any of us changed our minds?”

  The others laughed and nodded, although I didn’t think all were as confident as Laradain.

  Cecilia nodded. “Each of you is assigned a guide, someone who speaks both English and Talmonese.”

  And then the guides stepped forward. I was assigned a kindly grandmother from Beacon Hill. I knelt down before her in her wheelchair and
smiled. “Mistalarn, I am Maddalyn.”

  “I’m old,” she said. “I’m not senile. You introduced yourself yesterday.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s my first time helping with this.”

  “That does not give me confidence, young lady.”

  “Well, it’s my first time, but it’s not the doctors’ first time. That’s what matters.”

  * * * *

  We were deeply understaffed for what we wished to do. We had two doctors and just enough trained nurses and technicians to help them. All other duties at the center were being handled by the Talmonese, with Valtine leading them herself. And so, one at a time, we brought our patients to their initial appointments.

  We began with the nurses, who did the initial tests, and more tests, and more tests. Mistalarn accepted everything quietly, but she clutched my hand the entire time, not letting go, not even once. It took hours, and I could read the body language of the technicians.

  Eventually the technicians left us alone, and then the doctor stepped into the room.

  “Mistalarn,” I said. “This is Doctor Livia Horton. It is her preference to be called Doctor Horton.” I switched to English. “Doctor, this is Mistalarn of Beacon Hill.”

  Doctor Horton offered a hand. Mistalarn wasn’t letting go of mine, and so the doctor smiled and offered a gentle squeeze of the woman’s arm. Then she sat down.

  “Does she know any English?”

  “A few words,” I said. “Almost nothing.”

  “You’re from Frantzland, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is my third today. My first two guides were locals. My god, how are we going to do this?”

  “One patient at a time,” I said. “Doctor, you have an elderly woman of 82 years before you. She needs your help.”

  “Of course, of course.” She paused. “Frau Herschel, they’re all so sick.”

  “I know.”

  She took a breath, and that was when Mistalarn said, “She can’t help me after all.”

  “Of course she can,” I said. “But while doctors frequently feel like they are god, they are no less human than you and me.”

  “And she’s never seen an old woman before.”

  “No,” I said. “Probably not.”

  “Tell her I can take it.”

  I translated that and said, “Tell me, and I’ll figure out what to tell her.”

  “It’s a long list,” the doctor replied. “She has arthritis. I’ve never seen arthritis before.” Doctor Horton took one free hand. “We’ll cure that, of course. She has… Ms. Herschel, she has every symptom of old age. Do you want me to go down them?”

  “You can help her. You can make her twenty-five. I can tell her that?”

  “Yes, but it’s going to be a shock. Recovery is going to take weeks, maybe months. I don’t have any experience with this.”

  “Well, you need to pull it together,” I said. “Because you’re about to get a lifetime of experience with this. You came here to help.”

  “I came here to get away from my stalker ex-husband,” she said. “But yes, I came here to help.”

  “All right. So. She can be young. And we should talk to her about changing something.”

  “Frau Herschel, she isn’t going to recognize herself.”

  “Fine, but we’ve told the entire planet we can make changes. We should make a change. Something. Should I talk to her about that?”

  “Yes. Nothing big, Ms. Herschel.”

  I nodded.

  “She looks as nervous as I am,” said Mistalarn. “Are you sure she’s done this before?”

  “I’m sure,” I said. “Mistalarn, how does looking 25 sound?”

  “Not as good as looking 18,” she shot back.

  I laughed, and somewhat loudly. “Are you sure?”

  “Can she do it?”

  “She wants to look 18,” I said in English.

  “Sure, but no younger, not for their first visits.”

  I nodded. “The doctor has agreed. Mistalarn, the changes are more numerous than to mention. We’ll fix your hands. We’ll fix your heart. We’ll fix everything. But it will take you weeks to recover.”

  “I’ll be 18 again? I have an entire life of time.”

  “You will,” I said. “Now, let us talk about changes. Have you thought about it?”

  “It’s all so hard to believe.”

  “You can believe we can make you 18 again, but you struggle to believe we can give you long hair?”

  “I’ve never been pretty,” she said. “Can she make me pretty?”

  “Yes.” I switched back to English. “Can you bring up a hologram?”

  “Of course.”

  “Let me warn her.” I switched again. “We’re about to show you some magic. It is like the tablets, but it will be here.” I gestured in the air. “Do not be startled.”

  “I don’t think my heart could handle much more. Show me.” She smiled.

  I nodded, and a moment later, an image of Mistalarn appeared in three dimensions, rotating slowly. “Um. She might be more comfortable with clothing.”

  “That cheeky thing!” said Mistalarn. “Who would want to see me like that?”

  The image took on a sports bra and panties. I didn’t think it was remarkably better, but Mistalarn didn’t complain. Then a second image, similarly clad, but looking quite young, appeared beside the first. Mistalarn frowned.

  “Yep. That was me.” She looked at the doctor. “Make me pretty. Can you make me pretty?”

  I translated that. The doctor looked at me, and I could see she was overwhelmed. “We normally have technicians helping with this.”

  “Are you qualified?”

  “I’m not exactly an artist.”

  “Please stay, but I’ll bring a tech in.” I used my implant, and thirty seconds, the door opened. I looked up. “Mistalarn would like to be pretty. Can you help?”

  “I can,” said the woman brightly. She sat down. “Hello, Mistalarn. I am Ginger. Doctor, may I?”

  “What’s her name?” Mistalarn asked.

  “Ginger,” I said. “She’s an expert at pretty.”

  “She sure is,” Mistalarn said.

  “Oh, you,” I said.

  “All right,” Ginger said. “Let’s start with her figure. Now, I like my women on the athletic side. This is what I would do, if it were my decision.” She did something, and a third full body image appeared, this one clearly quite athletic, with a stronger face and piercing eyes. “But some people prefer far more feminine.” That resulted in a fourth image. “We can also go taller or shorter.” Four more images appeared.

  Mistalarn stared at all of this then looked at me. “They can do all of that?”

  “Yes,” I said. “But if you make a dramatic change to your height, it will take longer to grow accustomed.”

  “Can I be just a little taller?” She held up her fingers, indicating three centimeters.

  “Absolutely,” I said. I translated that, and the extra images appeared. Two grew just slightly, with the related shifts to carry the weight properly.

  “I have to pick one of those?”

  “No,” I said. “But which is closer to what you might want?”

  “Can we, oh, soften this one, just a little?” She gestured to the athletic figure. I translated. The other choice disappeared and was replaced by several versions, each of them slightly different from the most athletic copy.

  “I like this one,” Mistalarn said. “But what about my face?”

  Most of the images shifted. A full-size head and shoulders image appeared. Then the technician began making changes, and the image morphed for a while.

  “Stop!” Mistalarn said. I didn’t have to translate. The technician knew her job, and she actually backed up slightly. Mistalarn pointed. “I can look like that?”

  “It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?” I said. “Doctor, how do you feel about this?”

  “This isn’t at all drastic,” she
replied. “But no one is going to recognize her.”

  “No one is going to recognize her, anyway,” I said.

  “Please point that out.”

  I nodded. And switched languages. Again. “Mistalarn, Doctor Horton says she can do this, but she asks me to remind you that no one will recognize you.”

  “Is she making a joke? Does she think there’s anyone living who remembers when I looked like that?” She gestured to the first image of her as she probably looked at 18.

  “She wanted to be sure you realized, that’s all.”

  Mistalarn didn’t respond to the that, but she studied her possible future appearance. “Growing up, one of my friends had something the boys said were called kissable lips. You like girls, don’t you, Maddalyn?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  She gestured to the image. “Do those look like kissable lips to you?”

  “Maybe we should make them just a little more kissable,” I said. “How does that sound?”

  “That sounds lovely.”

  I looked at Ginger and related the conversation. She smiled. “But tasteful, right?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I know.” She made a change. It was subtle, but Mistalarn smiled and pointed. “Now those are kissable lips.”

  “They are,” I agreed.

  “Just like this,” Mistalarn said.

  I relayed that, but Doctor Horton said, “We should discuss the rest.”

  “She’ll be healthier,” I said. “This is all so overwhelming. What else did you want to discuss?”

  The doctor didn’t look pleased, but the technician said, almost a whisper, “Body hair.”

  “Body hair?”

  “I like just the tiniest bit of hair on my arms,” she said. She held her arm out. “I like how it feels when my lovers just barely touch it. But I go smooth everywhere else. Everywhere else, Maddalyn.”

  “Oh. Right,” I said. “Mistalarn, there are other choices, some of which are subtler. Did you want to talk about them, or should we let Ginger pick for you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ginger mentions body hair.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “On some planets, it is considered unattractive if a woman has hair beyond the eyebrows and the hair on her head.”

  “Who would care about something like that?”