Life Sentence (Forlani Saga Book 1)

by John M. R. Gaines

  “So they were never gonna help us in the election?” Guzman asked.

  Klein sighed. “No, they weren’t. They were studying us to see what we’ll be able to do for them or with them later on, but I don’t think they were ever interested in this election.”

  “That sure as hell ain’t gonna help us out now!” said Guzman.

  “Damn straight,” said Klein.

  Later, when he spoke again with Peebo, he asked his old landlord if there was anything else that perhaps couldn’t be spoken of. Peebo simply frowned and shook his head. Whatever it was, it was not time for Klein to know.

  Ha’maya had begun to exploit her newfound power quickly in Tays’she’s household. She had immediately moved into the mating bedroom Entara had once shared with Tays’she, forcing Entara into a dingy little storeroom originally intended to hold wood and other materials for Tays’she’s artistic pursuits. Entara had begun to realize that there was an upside to Tays’she’s decision to end his career as an artist; although the room was cramped and tight, there was still enough room for her to stretch out and lie down in a sleeping bag. She knew that the meager amount of space she had would have been non-existent if the room was still be using to hold wood for Tays’she’s carvings. Despite her urge to leave completely and stay at the matriline compound in the warmth of her own sisters, she spitefully spent at least a couple of evenings every so often in the detested little room, mainly as a sign she was not renouncing all claims. This was all the more difficult and lonely because her daughters had taken already to spending their nights at the compound, scorning the place their father and his new female considered home.

  Unfortunately for Entara, there was no upside for her to living with Ha’maya. Tays’she’s new First Wife took delight in asserting her superior rank at every turn, belittling Entara in private conversations with Tays’she, and always regarding her with a smug, haughty attitude. Tays’she casting me out would’ve been the more merciful path, she thought, but I must try to maintain my status as a member of this household for the sake of my three daughters. Entara knew that if her husband cast her out, her children could easily be disowned in the eyes of the Brotherhood, and she would have no legal means other than the matriline to protect their inheritance and financial status. Did this also happen to the children of Tays’she’s First Wife before me, she wondered.

  “Entara,” Ha’maya called from the dining room, “Could you please come and make some drinks for us? We’re discussing Ayan’we’s academic performance – or lack thereof – at the Academy, and I think I need a good, stiff drink to help absorb the shock of these reports! Come get me something to drink, Second Wife of Tays’she.”

  Oh, I’ll give you something to drink, you olata, Entara thought as she hurried to the kitchen from the living room, where she had been resting briefly. As she mixed the materials Ha’maya had requested for the drink – some expensive vodka and orange juice from Earth, both of which, since imported, cost a nasty chunk of her monthly salary from the Passport Center –.she put a few small drops of extract from the ishtapa plant into the drink. The ishtapa plant was a rare shrub which grew in the wetter parts of the caverns of Forlan. It was traditionally used as a cure for incontinence among the Forlani, but it wreaked such havoc on the digestive system – typically over the course of a day or two after taken – that some viewed the cure as worse than the ailment itself. Entara silently wondered what Ha’maya’s opinion on the matter would be as three droplets fell into the drink mixture.

  When she entered the dining room, she was not surprised to find that Ayan’we and Ha’maya were loudly arguing about Ayan’we’s grades at the Academy and what they meant for her future. Entara had urged Ayan’we to return home for a few days so the youngster could participate in Daughters Day and observe her work at the Passport Center, and she had thought that the first meeting between her daughter and Tays’she’s new mate would go more smoothly if she was there to supervise it. Unfortunately, her demotion had left her with no leverage over Ha’maya, who continued to viciously berate Ayan’we.

  “Look at these grades, Ayan’we. Look at them. ‘Insufficient’ in Cultural Studies of Ancient Forlan? I could easily get a ‘Superior’ rank in a class like that when I was coming up through the Academy! Pathetic! No girl in my walls walks away with an ‘Insufficient’! What is your explanation for this poor performance?” It was a major insult: a girl in the walls could be a placeless servant, only admitted to the home for labor. Ha’maya was preparing for a total rift with Entara’s children.

  Entara could see that it was taking all of Ayan’we’s emotional self-control to keep from yelling at Ha’maya. “My explanation,” Ayan’we calmly responded, “is that I did not get an Insufficient rank in that class. I only got a Substandard. Tays’she didn’t read the report very clearly. He should check it again.”

  Tays’she, clearly bored with the argument between them and already inclined to regard Ayan’we as a lost cause, flipped through the pages of the report again. “I was wrong because the report uses imprecise organization,” he admitted. “Only a Substandard. The Instructor worded the criticism as if she had assigned an Insufficient, though. I really wish they would report the rank before the argument.”

  The correction did nothing to change Ha’maya’s attitude towards Ayan’we. “Insufficient…Substandard…what kind of a difference is that? Still too pathetic a performance by a member of this family! Tays’she tells me that your sister Tolowe got an Exemplary in Ancient Forlan! Pity I didn’t get to meet her instead of a…a slacker like you!”

  Ha’maya’s use of the word slacker struck Entara as curious. Most Forlani wouldn’t have used Earth slang to describe a child with substandard academic credentials. Her awkwardness using the alien phrase was palpable; Entara noticed that even Tays’she, uninterested in the conversation as he was, had raised an eyebrow. Does Ha’maya have some knowledge of Earth culture that she’s kept secret from us? Entara wondered as walked over to table to offer Ha’maya the drink.

  The effect, typical of ishtapa extract, was very rapid. A minute after she had taken a drink from the glass, Ha’maya clutched her gut in pain. “What…what did you do to me? Did you…poison me? Trying to keep your worthless daughter from me, you….you olata! Tays’she, she poisoned me!” Ha’maya screamed.

  Dense as he sometimes was, even Tays’she knew what the “poison” was from Ha’maya’s physical reaction. “I think you should go to seek relief right now, my First Wife,” he said. “I will get you some medicine for your upset stomach. I hope this did not happen intentionally.” Entara noticed the angry emphasis on the word intentionally, and realized she had made a terrible mistake.

  “Throw this olata out of this house! I demand it!” Ha’maya screamed in rage. “I will have justice!”

  “You will go to calm yourself, now. The situation will be resolved,” Tays’she said, shooting Entara an angry glare. Ha’maya followed his instructions and hurried away. “She will make you pay for this,” Tays’she hissed at Entara before he followed his First Wife.

  Once Tays’she was gone, Ayan’we turned to her mother. “That, even for a beloved mother,” Ayan’we said with a sigh in a low voice, “was a very stupid thing to do.”

  “I know,” Entara said, “but this situation is horrible for me—and for all of us! I could be cast out, you could be disowned…that horrible woman has ruined this household!”

  Ayan’we shrugged. “Keep your voice low…I’ve got something important to tell you. Tays’she ruined this household long before she came in, and you won’t be cast out. I have an…arrangement with Tays’she that prevents that.”

  Entara’s eyes opened wide in shock. “What kind of an arrangement do you mean? Is it an arrangement that will save you from being disowned through her plotting?”

  “Yes, Mother,” Ayan’we said. “Do you recall when I gave the box back to Tays’she? As it turns out, I found a blue folder in it that said something about a program called FastTrack. One o
f the days I was working on the tax forms for him, I mentioned that I had found it, and told him the name FastTrack.”

  “And how did he react?” Entara questioned her daughter. She was starting to wonder about the nature of Ayan’we’s supposed leverage over Tays’she. Could my husband…lazy, oblivious Tays’she, actually be involved in something strictly illegal? She wondered.

  “He became very apprehensive and nervous. Once that happened, I realized that just the fact that I knew the name ‘FastTrack’ was somehow a threat to him. On the day I had finished, he was ranting at me that I had taken too long doing the taxes, so I threatened to tell everyone at the Academy that he was involved in it!”

  “Ayan’we, you can’t do that! Tays’she is still your Father, and being involved in scandal would destroy this family’s standing if it was exposed! I could never work at the Passport Center again, and you would never be permitted to return to the Academy!”

  “I know,” Ayan’we said. “But the Fifth Axiom of Negotiations teaches that the threat of destruction is superior to the act of destruction, for threat ensures that you will stay intact. Dad’s always been selfish, and he knows being exposed will destroy him. So as long as I…we know this, then he won’t disown or cast out anyone for fear we’ll tell everyone that he’s involved in this FastTrack somehow. And this is the real reason I agreed to come home this week, not to observe you.”

  “So, I see you have been studying Culture of Ancient Forlan much harder these days,” Entara said, impressed with her daughter’s grasp of Forlani logic.

  “After you told me to,” Ayan’we said. “My Instructor told me I was very close to bringing my grade up to Sufficient. Of course, I still prefer Science.”

  Entara was relieved but still depressed at having to share a house with the loathsome Ha’maya. Her daughter had proven more than “Sufficient” at Forlani logic, and her curious nature had likely saved her—and all her daughters. But she would still be subject to abuse and belittlement by Ha’maya that would likely become even worse after her ishtapa “poisoning” incident. “I’d like to go do some writing now,” she told her daughter.

  “What kind of writing?” Ayan’we asked, ever curious.

  “Oh, just a letter to an Earthman I met back on Domremy explaining my problems. There’s no way a paper letter will reach him from here—I’ll burn it after I write it—but it will feel good just to write down how I feel, as if I could still speak to him.”

  “Klein! You’re writing to Klein. Oh, Mother, good, I know he will not refuse to help us,” Ayan’we said rather dreamily. Then she suddenly switched to an urgent, practical whisper. “No need to burn it. I know some people at the Academy who will be able to get it smuggled aboard a freighter to Domremy. Just make sure it’s only paper…I’m certain our government here on Forlan would intercept any electronic communication.”

  Entara was elated. “Thank you, daughter, for all you have done for me!” she said as she embraced Ayan’we. For the first time in what had seemed to her like an epoch, she smiled in true gladness.

  However, as Entara was leaving the house in happy anticipation of hugging her sisters at the matriline, for only there could she be safe writing what she had decided to write, she saw something out of the corner of her eye that froze her in her tracks. A group of females was chatting near a fruit-and-insect stand a short distance from the doorway. Entara recognized them from her work with the Passport Office – they were top level security police! She realized she had better gather her wits and walk away with apparent carelessness, though all three lobes of her main heart were beating frantically. She turned into a leafy bower on the way to the matriline chapter house and quickly ducked behind a large orange shrub. She stayed there long enough to ensure that she hadn’t been followed. That seemed at first like good news, but as she reflected on it, it turned much worse. Since there were at least four officers, and they had not thought she was important enough to tail, they must be watching the home and Tays’she. Ayan’we’s partial revelations about FastTrack echoed in her head. She realized she would have to talk again with her daughter and find out what kind of threat it posed to the family. Whatever it was, the presence of a whole patrol of secret security police – the kind who normally dealt not with individual matters, but with important threats to the planetary order – meant that she and her offspring were now in danger of something far more grave than merely the disruption of a marriage. The letter to Klein had just become an entirely different affair -- a plea for help that might involve his special talents.

  The election was finally, mercifully, over and done with. It had been an even worse rout than Klein expected. In the end results, Alek had won the vote by a margin of 25 percent. Not just the north side of the town, but a substantial majority of the south side, had turned out for Alek. Some high-profile citizens ended up supporting Klein’s campaign, but in most cases it was long after the support could have helped, and he and Guzman were left tearing down posters and banners in the relocated campaign office with nothing to show for their effort.

  “Damn, that was depressing,” said Guzman. “One of those polls claimed we were closing on Alek…”

  “Even the closest poll had a gap of seven percentage points in Alek’s favor,” Klein said, sighing. “I don’t think we had much of a chance even in the best case scenario. Our last hope was getting the Dissenters’ support, that would’ve been the miracle we needed. But nothing short of a miracle would’ve saved this campaign.”

  “With all the support he had in the election, Alek’s gonna own this place. What the hell can we do here if nobody will even give us the time of day?” Guzman said.

  “I’m thinking I should go back to Stafford Station and try to work as a handy man or maybe a farmer. Being a mankiller on Domremy is the most miserable work imaginable. I’ve ended up being driven out of two towns now because of who got chosen to be marshall! I’m sick of the politics of this position, and I’m fed up with being blamed whenever I have to kill a decent man because the Locals are carrying him off. I think the Dissenters were right, Guzman. I think we should just try to get along on this world and live an honest, hardworking life.”

  “You as a Dissenter?” laughed Guzman. “You’re one of the few friends I have on this planet, but your mind is geared to violence as much as any man I know. You may not enjoy the fact that people treat you like dirt because you’re a Mankiller, but you need an enemy, an adversary to define yourself against. If all you had in life was trying to help people and listening to sermons about the Sinful Earth, you’d die of boredom. Maybe you should wander across Domremy fighting Locals all by yourself like Rambo in the old digitals, I don’t know. But I do know that you’ll never be a Dissenter.”

  Hyams sauntered in the open door. He had served the Klein campaign with loyalty and dedication for all of the last week and a half. “Hey guys, can I come in and help clean up?”

  “Sure,” said Klein.

  Guzman grunted and shot a resentful look at Hyams as he walked in and started putting some posters into the trash bin.

  “Hey! Sorry I couldn’t help you guys out earlier, but I was just too busy filming my show, A Hero of Domremy. I wanted to get that bastard just as much as you guys. So, what’re you planning to do now that the election’s over? ”Hyams said.

  “I think I’m gonna go try something new, maybe go be a farmer or a tinkerer in Stafford Station. You want to come along? Staying here might be dangerous—Alek’s not likely to get any more forgiving now that he has actual political power,” said Klein.

  “Oh, I’m not really worried about Alek. I don’t think he wants to piss the people in charge of my show off by doing anything to me. They say I’m making loads of money for the Corporation from it, so protecting me is a top priority!”

  “Good to see we’ve got our priorities straight,” grumbled Guzman.

  “If that’s the kind of treatment I get from supporting you guys, I’m not doing jack for you!” whined Hyams as he walked out.<
br />
  “Great job, Guzman. You cost us our last political supporter,” Klein growled.

  Guzman shrugged. “If you really want to go be a clodhopper, can I go with you? I got a feeling that Alek’s not forgetting the fact that I was your campaign manager. I’ll probably be safer there than I’d be staying here.”

  “Sure. But don’t be surprised if you have to listen to a lot of those lectures you hate so much about the ‘Sinful Earth’. Think you can take that?” said Klein.

  “Can’t be any worse than campaigning!” Guzman laughed.

  But as they left the office to see if their two-faced Local bartender would sell them a few beers, they were stopped by a messenger from the Site 89 com office. He pulled up to them breathlessly and gasped, “Boots and saddles, both of you. Grab your weapons and tactical gear and head for the launch site pronto. You’re both needed off-planet and it’s not a request. Lift in three hours – you’ve just got time if you hurry!”

  Klein and Guzman spun on their heels and ran to get their arms. They knew a military order when they heard it. “Beer will have to wait!” Guzman panted. “Farming, too!” muttered Klein.

  Chapter Five

  Images flitted across Klein’s mind in that strange half-sleep of an iced space traveler. He had a hazy memory of being herded into a shuttle and meeting a “Sergeant Bradford,” a man that the soldiers called “Brad” behind his back. He had a loud, abrasive voice and a no-nonsense attitude, but seemed to be an honest, straightforward man, which was more than he could say for many of the people of Domremy. A vague recollection of Bradford’s last words to him – “You’ve been through this part before, this is the easy part” – flitted through his mind as he tried to recall the events of his life on Domremy prior to being recalled into space for this mission. He remembered relinquishing his M221 sniper rifle at the orders of a Marine on board the shuttle, and the sense of insecurity that gnawed at his subconscious as the gun that had served him so well disappeared into a gray plastic bin. The anxiety of being unarmed was so strong that it only vanished once the massive amount of icing drugs he had been given prior to space travel started to take effect.