Obligations

by Cheryce Clayton

  “And how was the beautiful mother?” At Isaac’s question, Morgan snorted and almost choked on a bite.

  “I would advise you not use that particular compliment again. Your accent is not clear enough. Another might feel obliged to declare a blood feud against your face.” Morgan laughed outright at the look of consternation that crossed his face.

  “I apologize. I just wanted to know how Neadesto.., How the lovely Neadesto is doing?” Isaac rushed to reassure her of his intentions.

  “I know. Sansheren is a language of inflection. Why don't we switch to English?” Morgan followed her own suggestion when speaking the last sentence.

  “Tansea has been coaching me, but I doubt I’ll ever fully understand the language. It’s culturally dependent, I think,” Isaac said, and leaned back in his seat.

  The children, having finished eating, curled up to sleep.

  “You’re probably right. My wife Neadesto is recuperating well, and should be up and about by tonight at the latest,” Morgan said.

  Isaac found himself thinking about how strange it felt to hear Morgan say “my wife” in English.

  “I am happy to hear it. Nealoie said Iedonea would travel with us?” Isaac asked, to keep her talking. From the moment he walked into the nursery viewing room, Isaac felt that Morgan wanted to be alone. He kept talking with her because he was concerned the depression that had enveloped her on Wergol was deepening. He tried to speak with Iedonea about it, only to be put off by the busy woman. And he wondered if Sansheren chemistry allowed for depression.

  “It is her wish. It would shame her were I to deny her this.” Morgan reached for a new piece of fruit and bit into it without looking to identify it.

  “Nealoie said that anyone who wanted could fight for you? What’s to keep a bunch of freeloaders from camping on your doorstep?” Isaac watched with interest as Morgan grimaced at the flavor of the fruit and then took a second bite.

  “Nealoie talks too much. Everyone works, it’s another cultural thing,” Morgan answered with more than a touch of impatience.

  “What of the humans you declared family on Bystocc, or Wergol. Will they be required to work?” Isaac asked, trying to bring the conversation closer to the subject Morgan was ignoring.

  “I declared them personal family, they don’t have to work. Hopefully, after they understand the honor of their situation, they’ll volunteer. Regardless, they will all receive a stipend for the rest of their lives. It is their children who will have to work.” Morgan’s voice was empty and emotionless.

  “And if they don’t? I’d never heard a Sansheren word for disowned.” Isaac continued to watch Morgan without her noticing.

  “Hungry or dead, take your pick,” Morgan said, placed the seed from the fruit she was eating down on the table, and sat back on her lounge.

  “Oh. I noticed you quit taking the hormones I synthesized.” Isaac winced as his statement came out far more blunt than he planned.

  “Yes,” was Morgan’s harsh reply as she adjusted her banners without looking in his direction.

  “I know things didn’t go the way you planned on Wergol. Sometimes these things take time,” Isaac said.

  “I had no idea how things were. I had no right to plan for another’s behavior or thoughts. It was childish of me,” Morgan snapped, and then closed her eyes.

  “Maybe if you gave the therapy another chance, you could grow accustomed to it,” Isaac said.

  #

  “I don’t want to grow accustomed to it. I want to be myself, and if someone won’t accept me, that’s their problem,” Morgan said, after a long pause. She was thinking about the intense ache, the tears, and the longing she didn’t want to give a name to.

  “Give it time, and he’ll get used to you just the way you are,” Isaac offered.

  Morgan sat forward with a glare so intense that Isaac broke eye contact first. “Just how would he know ‘the way’ I am?” Morgan continued to stare at the uncomfortable doctor.

  “I meant you, as in ‘Morganea,’ that’s all.” He shifted his position and tried to fake a smile.

  Morgan refused to release him from her glare.

  “You meant something else. What did you tell him?” She was pressing her hands against her legs, she realized, when Isaac tried to find any place to look besides her face. The sense of betrayal she felt creep over her was too painful for him to look at, it seemed, and for a perverse moment she hoped he felt guilty.

  “I don’t remember exactly. He called you screwed up. I just tried to explain to him all that you had been through. I thought it would help him to understand you better,” he finished, and Morgan felt all emotion evaporate.

  “Sansheren doctors respect their patients’ confidentiality. I see that is still another cultural thing we do not share. You may leave my person now.” Morgan slipped into Sansheren with a stilted court accent without being aware of the language shift.

  “I… I am sorry,” Isaac said moments later before he stood and walked to the door.

  Morgan waited until after the door clicked shut to allow the tears to overwhelm her.

  Neadesto found her there, still crying, hours later.

  “Child, I would listen,” Neadesto sat beside Morgan and allowed the young leader to lean into her chest.

  “I have been betrayed. Tim had no emotions for me save guilt and pity.” Morgan did not try to stifle the tears that flooded up once more.

  “Hush now, we will speak of it another time.” Neadesto continued to hold Morgan as she stroked her hair and shoulders.

  “Isaac told Tim everything. I was foolish to dream he would want me.” Morgan fought for composure and lost. It was several minutes before she could speak again.

  Neadesto waited. “He is a fool if he does not. Time robs us of familiarity, it makes us strangers to our sisters. You must allow the same time to bring you back together.” Neadesto held Morgan’s chin, and forced her crying child to meet her eye.

  “I love you,” Morgan whispered in response.

  “Ladies, I bring news of…” the retainer’s news was interrupted by a glimpse of the tableau before her.

  “If it is truly a crisis, we will be there soon.” Neadesto did not look from Morgan as she spoke.

  “A human from Bystocc brings news of disaster, my ladies. I will direct her to the House audience chamber,” the aide said in a subdued voice as she backed out through the doorway.

  “Very well,” Morgan said to the closing door.

  “I will have the lovely Nealoie bring you a basin and cloth. Enhance your beauty before leaving here; it does no good for a leader to be seen in distress. I will tend to this messenger until you arrive.” Neadesto patted Morgan’s shoulder and left, leaning over on her cane as she walked.

  Morgan fought the tears as she waited for Nealoie. Slowly, she won the battle.

  #

  “It shames me greatly to kneel before one as beautiful as your lovely person and report the fall of the planet Bystocc.” Enrico used his cane to kneel awkwardly and address Neadesto.

  “The shame is not yours to bear, handsome stranger.” Neadesto gestured for Enrico to stand, but with his head bowed, he did not see.

  “I would introduce Enrico, adopted by Morganea, apprenticed to Neavillii, and his brilliant foster child Amigo,” the Delta pilot announced from where she knelt beside Enrico.

  “In truth? Come, sit with me. We are equals, you and I.” Neadesto glanced at Amigo before gesturing once more to the stunned Enrico.

  “You jest at my humble expense. I bear dire news, Morganea’s planet is lost. He must be contacted at once.” Enrico looked up from his bow for a moment to make eye contact with Neadesto, and then returned to the subservient position. From the corner of his eye he could see Amigo as she twisted repeatedly where she sat, in a vain attempt to see everything in the room at once. Hundreds of retainers sat watching the raised dais, though none very close to the child.

  “I have been contacted,” Morgan said from the doo
rway behind the platform, and Enrico looked up to stare. She wore none of the orange makeup he remembered, and her face was softer, more feminine than he remembered. Her chest was crossed by seven different banners, each one more impressive than the last, her small breasts gave form and accent to his realization that she was a woman. “My wife bid you sit with her. Would you insult her so by refusing?” Morgan asked as she walked up behind Neadesto.

  Enrico took a deep breath as he watched Morgan place her hand on the old Sansheren leader’s shoulder, before moving to claim the more ornate seat that had once been Neadesto’s.

  “I meant no disrespect, my Lady,” Enrico answered Morgan, and struggled to find the right words. “I can only say I was humbled by your beauty,” he finished, with a deep bow to Neadesto, and felt a tightening in his throat as he used the compliment Yolunu had taught him for such a breach of protocol, to cover his confusion as his mind questioned everything before him.

  “It has been a long time since someone brought a blush to this old face. Your teacher is to be rewarded. What is her name?” Neadesto patted the seat once more and smiled when Enrico levered himself to his feet and climbed the platform steps to sit beside her.

  “My teacher is dead, killed when Tadesde forces fired unannounced on her vessel. I would ask that it be recorded that Yolunu died in defense of her House.” Enrico held his body straight, refusing to make eye contact with anyone, and focused on a glimmer of light reflecting off of a hinge across the room.

  Isaac slumped in his seat with an audible gasp, and Enrico saw Morgan frown at the man before bringing her thoughts back to the news being presented.

  “It will so be noted. What other news have you to share?” Iedonea stepped forward and interrupted the silence.

  “My master, the brave and courageous Neavillii, fought gallantly to allow me the opportunity to escape. I fear the worst for her, and for everyone left behind.” Enrico heard his voice crack as the emotions he’d been holding in threatened to escape.

  Neadesto pulled his body toward her, and he focused on the softness of her touch for a moment.

  “What is the status of our navy?” Morgan asked the room loudly.

  “Seventeen troop transport vessels stand ready to depart. They await your whim, my Lady.” Iedonea bowed to Morgan, a gesture Enrico was unable to interpret.

  “The Gulardee stand five thousand strong and anxious for battle, my Lady.” An old soldier stood and bowed low.

  “I speak for three hundred and seventy-eight fighter pilots; we await your desire, most beautiful of ladies.” The Delta pilot who accompanied Enrico stood and bowed with a flourish and a grin.

  “Then it is to be war. House against House, until only one remains. See to the arrangements, my friends. I would leave as soon as possible.” Morgan gave a shallow bow to the room and the standing commanders before turning and striding to the door.

  Enrico watched her departing back until she was out of sight.

  “Come, you’ll ride in the flagship with me.” Iedonea held her hand out to Enrico.

  He paused before reaching out with his free hand and using his cane to stand.

  Chapter Twenty-Six - Wergol - 2012

  “Hey!” Tim didn’t turn as he held a shot glass over his head.

  Sam exchanged a worried glance with Denise before she moved down the bar in the intoxicated man’s direction. Nothing was said between them as she refilled his glass and left the bottle on the counter. He refilled it again before she could walk the short distance back to Sam.

  “I spoke with the Choctaw elder who lives down by the depot. He agreed to perform the ceremony. That is, if you don’t mind?” Sam looked at Denise, Tim’s troubles momentarily forgotten.

  “It’s not like I can wear white. Sure, a shaman’s ceremony would be fun.” Denise placed her hand on Sam’s as she cast a distracted look back towards their ever-drunker friend.

  “He'll snap out of it. Did you see that medic on Seventh today?” It was Sam’s turn to reassure Denise.

  “What? Oh yeah. He said I was fine for a woman in my condition. When do you think we should tell everyone?” Denise brought her attention back to Sam with a soft smile.

  “I’d say today, but how about we just wait until the next time we catch Tim sober?” Sam waved his hand in Tim’s direction with a sad laugh.

  “Sure,” Denise mouthed as she watched Tim up-end the now empty bottle.

  “Hey!” He shouted, once more holding up his empty shot glass.

  “No more Tim. Go sleep it off upstairs.” Sam wheeled his chair over beside Tim and tried to place a hand on his friend’s arm to show his concern.

  “Fuck you. I don’t need this fucking bar. I got money. I got lots of fucking money. The Great fucking Sansheren fucking Houses fucking saw to that. I’m going to go fucking drink somewhere else. So fuck yourself.” Tim’s voice was a monotone throughout his entire outburst.

  “Sleep it off, Tim.” Denise moved to grab Tim’s arm, only to be shrugged off.

  “Let him go, his shadow will keep him out of trouble.” Sam shifted his chair and caught Denise’s hand before she could follow Tim to the door.

  A bannerless Sansheren stood and followed him out of the tavern. She was one of the women who had attacked them before. Morgan, having placed Tim, Denise, and Sam’s well-being on their heads, had guaranteed lifetime bodyguards for her childhood friends.

  Sam and Denise moved to the bar, and nothing was said as Denise began the routine of cleaning glasses.

  “I was hoping Tim would be here.” Greg entered the bar unnoticed and now stood next to Sam.

  “He decided to go drink somewhere else,” Sam said without looking away from Denise.

  “Damn. Heard you went to see Doc Hambert. Anything I should be worried about?” Greg shifted his gaze from Sam to Denise with a smile that did not quite replace his frown.

  “Yes.” Denise kept her eyes on the glass she was washing.

  “Yes, I should be worried?” Greg prodded, without changing his expression.

  “I asked her to marry me.” Sam’s eyes dropped to the glass in her hand.

  “Congratulations, when’s the due date?” Greg slapped Sam on the back with far more force than he intended, and Sam was forced to brace himself against the arms of his chair.

  “He asked me before I told him,” Denise said and slammed the glass down. The sound of shattering glass brought silence to the rest of the tavern’s occupants, and Denise stood glaring at Greg for several seconds as the background volume picked back up to where it had been.

  “Let me see your hand,” Greg said about the blood that was dripping onto the bar top, and he moved to stand beside Denise. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Denise mumbled before running from the room.

  #

  “Gregory, it is good to see you again, my friend.” The Sansheren that spoke was old; with banners that pronounced her the Twelfth rank Sansadee and the Lady of the House Decado.

  Greg did not look up from the meal he and Sam were sharing as he pushed a chair in her general direction. Seven years of war on Bystocc had evolved their relationship from contract owner to trusted friend.

  “I have little time. I have come seeking you and your noble leader, Timone. Rumors of war against the spawn Tadesde spread quickly, and my honor requires I be there in person this time.” The Sansheren did not accept the proffered chair but knelt at Greg’s side. The other patrons in the bar stopped talking to watch, and Greg realized something had changed in their dynamic. Somehow, this new war with Tadesde made him equal or greater than the ruler of a nearly bankrupt House.

  “Tim is out getting drunk. As for me, I’m through with war. I’ve lost too many friends to think it glamorous, my friend.” Greg did not make eye contact with Sam as he turned and faced the Sansheren.

  “I understand, my friend. Always there must be those who stay behind to guard our families against opportunity and vengeance. There is no dishonor in choosing this role. I will
savor the taste of open combat for you, then.” The Sansheren stood, bowed, and walked to the door.

  “Try the Twin Boars, just down the street. He goes there sometimes,” Greg called out to the closing door before pushing his plate away.

  #

  “Tadalde offer you a commission?” Greg asked Tim as he walked through the bar door less than an hour later.

  “Yeah, we ship tonight.” Tim crossed the room and accepted the coffee Denise offered him.

  “Are you sure they’re going to be fighting Tadesde?” Greg asked after he downed his own drink.

  “Yeah. Tadalde is hiring anyone who can walk. They want Tadesde bad. Bystocc was recaptured.” Tim let the information hang in the air.

  “Any word?” Denise asked.

  “No. Just a lotta rumors. You coming, man?” Tim did not look at Greg as he threw the question out.

  “Sure. Let’s go say goodbye to Sam and grab our gear.” Greg moved from the bar toward the tavern’s back door.

  “You go ahead, I’ll meet you at the dock.” Tim stared into the bottom of his cup for some time before looking up to see both of his friends watching him.

  “It’s better that way,” he said defensively.

  “If you don’t say goodbye to him, don’t you ever think you can come back,” Denise said with a glare full of tears.

  “He deserves better,” Greg said as he walked away from the now silent Tim.

  “Yeah, I know,” Tim mumbled to Greg’s back and followed.

  Sam sat at a table in the small back room, working on the components of an unidentified machine. Sweat beaded his forehead and grease streaked his hands and arms.

  “Hey, man, we’re leaving.” Tim shouldered past Greg and walked into the room.

  “I know,” Sam said without looking up from the pieces he was assembling.

  “I just wanted to say, you know, see you later.” Tim looked at Sam one last time before spinning and rushing out of the room.

  “I thought you were staying,” Sam looked up and held Greg with a look that bore none of the accusation his words had.