Tales of the Spinward March Book 2: The Red Queen

by David Winnie

  “No wonder you are so neurotic.” He chided.

  “Who said I’m neurotic?”

  “I did.”

  “Doctor Yuri or boyfriend Yuri?” Annika stipulated.

  Yuri got a faraway look in his eye. “Hmmm, boyfriend Yuri. I like that.”

  “Don’t evade the question,” she snapped.

  “I’m not. I just choose not to answer. Besides, Doctor Yuri is on vacation.”

  Annika rolled on her hip, facing Yuri. “So, my boyfriend thinks I’m neurotic,” she demanded.

  “All boyfriends think their girlfriends are neurotic.”

  Annika rolled her eyes.

  Then she slid the roof all the way back, unfastened her safety belt and stood on her seat, oblivious to Yuri’s frightened yells. The girl leaned until her legs were against the windscreen and screamed joyously!

  “Look, Yuri, I’m flying!” she cried, “Victory! For Ten Thousand Years! I am Victorious! Wheee!”

  Yuri held the air car smoothly, fearful of jolting Annika from her pose.

  Eventually, Annika grew bored. She plopped back in her seat. “Hey, let me drive,” she said.

  “Can I trust you?”

  “Probably not. Come on, please?”

  He released the controls. Without waiting, Annika grabbed the control and pulled it back. The air car climbed steeply. It started to stall. She rolled the car over and dove for the sea. “Wheee!” she screamed again. A twist of the control and the car rolled over and over. Yuri was feeling green as Annika laughed and chortled, flipping, looping and rolling the car.

  “Annika,” Yuri pleaded. She leveled out the car and reset the autopilot.

  “That was fun!”

  “How long have you been flying?”

  “Years.”

  “Seriously?” he asked incredulously.

  “Well, flown about. They didn’t want to take too many chances with me.”

  Yuri asked, “How many times have you piloted, then?”

  “Counting today?” She gave him an impish grin.

  “Of course.”

  She seemed to be tabulating. “Counting today,” her voice trailed off, “once.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yup.”

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “That’s why you love me.” She bestowed a peck upon his cheek.

  “Hey, what’s that?” Yuri pointed above them.

  Annika squinted. “Buccaneer fighters,” she informed him. “Our escort.”

  “We have an escort?” Yuri queried.

  “Yup. Only way Major Campion would agree to let me ride with you instead in the back of a sub-orbital,” she stated. “He’s in a shuttle behind us, along with the rest of my bodyguard.”

  “Seriously?”

  “You say seriously a lot,” she quipped.

  “I am finding out I need to be serious with you,” he responded. He aimed a thumb upwards. “Necessary, I suppose.”

  “If Major Campion says it is. It doesn’t bother you, does it?” Annika asked.

  “I guess not. I’ve never had an escort before.”

  “Well, technically, it’s for me. So, you should plan on staying close on this vacation,” she informed him.

  “I plan on it.” He slid closer to her.

  They continued north and east. Soon, a chain of rocky islands appeared. “Thasos,” Yuri pointed. “I went there as a student. It has magnificent beaches, great restaurants and an amazing market. I was able to get us a suite near the waterfront, with a balcony.” He thought for a moment. “But you knew that.”

  “Don’t be angry, my love,” she soothed. “The Major already found out. It’s easier and better this way.”

  “Do I want to know how he did it?”

  “Nope.”

  Supper was lamb in a fine restaurant. They shared a bottle of wine, Annika’s first alcohol. She enjoyed the crisp, sweet drink, but choked a bit when some slipped down the wrong part of her throat. Shortly, she began to feel ill.

  They cut the night short and hurried to the hotel. It was an uncomfortable night for both. Annika was woozy and had difficulty trying to sleep. “The room is spinning,” she complained. Finally, she slipped out of bed and was ill. Yuri entered the bath as she was finishing. “So, I think we’ve discovered you can’t drink alcohol. At least not very much.” That was Doctor Yuri speaking, Annika decided. She had to agree. Yuri half carried her back to bed.

  Wisely, he let her sleep it off.

  When she did finally wake, she was thirsty for her electrolytes and water. She didn’t want breakfast, so Yuri packed a basket for the car with fruit and cheese. They left later than expected.

  “I say it was the lamb,” Annika stated primly.

  “I would point I ate the lamb, too, and wasn’t sick.” Yuri replied.

  “That’s because you’re Russian. That makes you weird.”

  “And your ancestors were Mongolian. What’s that make you?”

  “Blessed,” she smiled.

  “Yes, I see you are very blessed right now.” He feigned vomiting.

  “Be nice. I’m sick. How long until New Moscow?”

  “Six hours.”

  “Good. I think I’ll take a nap.”

  New Moscow was the pride of the Russian Federation.

  The ancient city had been flattened in the War of the Five Cities. The resolve of the Russian people was legendary. It took four centuries, but the city was restored beyond its former glory.

  During the rebuilding, the vast rings of streets were still centered on the Kremlin Fortress and Red Square. The colorful domes and towers of Saint Basil’s were rebuilt. Entrepreneurs recreated the famous department stores, Gum and Voyentarg.

  The Cathedral of Christ the Savior property was expanded and boasted one of the finest universities of the entire Empire.

  Old Moscow had been proud of its many gardens and urban forests. New Moscow had carefully grown and nurtured larger parks and gardens. Gorky, Sokolniki and Izmaylovsky parks were far vaster than before.

  It was said that from the air, New Moscow looked more like a forest growing a city, than a city with a forest.

  Yuri steered the air car to the villa he had rented. From the outside, it was a large set of ivy covered walls. Inside, the courtyard was a stately garden. The walls themselves held all the rooms, most of which opened to the garden.

  Importantly, room enough to include Major Campion and his team of bodyguards.

  Annika was the consummate tourist. Having been raised traveling the Empire for months at a time, she settled quickly in her new home, and then set about exploring the city. Yuri enjoyed showing her his adopted home. She was intrigued by the many churches, stopping the car to walk around the Cathedrals.

  Yuri took her to the theaters. At the Bolshoi and its ballet, she turned up her nose. Vaakhtangov Theater was of more interest; they were performing an ancient musical. She was enthralled and spent days singing parts of a song: “Let me fall into the ocean, let me fall into the sea. Let me be stormy and let me be calm. Let the tide in and set me free…”

  Yuri loved the sound of her voice. It was high and pure, like a breeze whistling through a beech wood grove. She sang other songs as well, some in strange languages. One sounded happy, a bouncing twirl that she would skip about singing for a few minutes, before her voice tailed off and she would get quiet and pensive. Always she wanted to be alone for a while when she sang that song. He asked her once why it made her sad.

  “It was Blue’s and my song.”

  One sunny day, Annika announced after breakfast she wanted Yuri to take her shopping. They took the car to Red Square, where the finest stores coexisted with a vast, open market. She brought a net bag with her and a small list. “I’ve been helping Greta, our cook,” Annika said. “She’s sent me with a list to see if I can find a few things.” The couple had great fun moving from stall to stall and examining the wares, finding the items. Annika was a good negotiator, talking and cajoling vendor
s for better prices and higher quality goods.

  They had arrived outside the famous Gum Department store. One of the icons of the old city, it had been faithfully reproduced. The young couple wandered through the aisles examining the goods. She selected a pair of running shoes she liked. Yuri chose a new shirt and jacket.

  The second floor was more clothing, mostly for children. Annika giggled, showing Yuri the baby and young children’s clothing. The third floor was toys. Yuri expected to continue to go to the next floor, but Annika wandered in. As they traversed the aisles, they would pick up a shiny top here or a glittery ball there and show them to the other. Yuri had stopped, looking over a vexing puzzle made of glossy colors and odd shapes. He was going to show Annika.

  She wasn’t there.

  He carried the puzzle with him while he looked for her. He found her staring at a vast display along the back wall.

  “Dolls.” She said softly, “Yuri, look. Dolls.”

  He came to her side as she looked from side to side in slow motion, trying to take in the inventory. “Well come on, take a closer look.” He urged her forward.

  Annika moved slowly, in awe. There were dolls of every size, shape and color. Dress up doll, play dolls, talking dolls, baby dolls. She began to stop and touch them, then would pick one up and hold it, examining it as if looking for something.

  She stood for five minutes staring at a princess doll dressed all in ruffled pink, a tiny tiara on its head. Toward the end of the aisle, she gave a small cry and picked a plain rag doll from the bottom shelf. She stared at it as she had the others, then hugged it tightly to her chest

  “Would you like that one?” Yuri asked. Annika nodded, holding it tighter.

  He paid for their purchases. It was a good time to go home.

  Annika wouldn’t set the doll down, clutching it to her chest on the ride home. She fled into the house and slammed the bedroom door closed.

  She came out at supper, her eyes red. The doll was still firmly hugged under her left arm.

  It was a quiet evening. Yuri sat on a bench next to the garden, working on his puzzle. Annika sat on another bench, hugging and talking softly to her new friend.

  It grew late. Yuri held out his hand and said, “Come on Annika, time for bed.” They went to their room, changed and climbed into bed. They spooned, with Annika still holding her doll.

  “When we were seven, Yellow, Orange and I saw some other little girls playing with dolls in one of the gardens. It looked like great fun, so I asked the Proctor if my sisters and I could have a doll. He said that dolls defined an unhealthy female model and had little or no educational value. So we made our own, out of old socks and cleaning rags we found. It was great fun after lights out, the three of us playing with our dolls. Mine was Miss Breezy, Orange’s was Tabitha and Yellow’s was Kitty Kat. We thought it was a funny name, but it was Yellow’s. Oh, the fun we had, making up stories and adventures, singing songs and dancing with our dolls. We had to hide them carefully, so the boys and the Proctors wouldn’t find them.”

  “But they did. The Proctor made us watch as he fed them into the recycler, reminded us of our responsibilities and how important it was that we prepare to become Khan one day.

  “I miss Yellow. But I really miss Anje.”

  She buried her face in the doll and cried herself to sleep.

  Chapter 17

  They left Moscow for the fall harvest.

  Yuri flew his air car up into the eastbound flight path and set the autopilot. The ship flew swiftly above the Ural Mountains and over the vast plains. As they left the foothills, Yuri pointed to vast blue/green fields to the east.

  “There’s the beginning of my parents’ farm,” he told her, “Those are the algae bogs used to make food proteins. That is the bulk of the harvest, but it’s largely automated. We’ll be working the local family farms on the collective to bring in the foodstuff harvest. The whole of our community is able to feed itself and we feed much of Terra with the algae bogs.”

  Yuri dove the air car back toward the ground, heading for a large clump of buildings. “My parents’ house,” he announced. As the engines wound down, there was a cry. “Yuri-i-i-i-i-i!” A handsome woman wearing a long peasant dress came flying out of the main house and embraced him as he climbed from the car. “Yuri, my precious son. You’re home!”

  “Mama,” he cooed as she grabbed him by the face, covering his face with kisses.

  As Annika stepped around the car, Yuri released his mother and said, “Mama, this is my friend, Annika. Annika, this is my mama.”

  “Clara,” the auburn-haired woman said, releasing her son. “Uh, what should I call you? I mean: Crown Princess, Majesty?”

  “How about just Annika?” She flashed a wide, toothy grin as she was enfolded into strong, maternal arms.

  “YURI!” A bear of a man stalked purposefully from the barn. His thick, black hair swayed like the mane of a lion. A fierce beard, streaked with grey, covered his lower face and raged half way down his chest. He was dressed in a utilitarian blue coverall and was wiping his hands with an old red rag.

  Yuri was engulfed in a massive bear hug, and kissed on the cheek. Andrei began wiping his son ineffectively with the rag, chanting, “Sorry, sorry. Working on a balky tractor.”

  Ah, so this must be Annika. I am Andrei. Please call me Papa.” Before she could move, the beast had her in his apelike arms and was giving her a surprisingly warm and comfortable hug. “Oh, damn, sorry. Sorry. Damned tractor anyway.” Andrei now wiped Annika with his dirty rag.

  “Papa! Quit mauling the poor girl,” Clara cried. “Such an ill-mannered brute I married!”

  Andrei looked terribly contrite. “I am just so glad to see my son and meet his friend.”

  “Fine, you’ve met them. Now back to work! You can meet her again at supper. Now, boh!” ordered Clara.

  “Son, I am working on a tractor in the barn. Why don’t you come help me when you and Annika settle in?” His father ambled back to the barn.

  Clara followed him as he walked away. “He really is the sweetest man,” she confided to Annika. “But he gets so excited, like a little boy sometimes. Maybe that’s why I love him so.” She clapped her hands together. “So, children, I have you in the guest cottage. Yuri, you know where it is. After you are settled, Yuri, you go help your father. Annika, how about if you come find me in the kitchen?”

  Annika had attended many dinners as one of the Eight on dozens of worlds throughout the Empire. Nothing had prepared her for supper at the Russolov table.

  Andrei, as the father, sat at the head of the table. Annika sat on his right as their honored guest.

  Everyone else filled in haphazardly on a mixture of chairs and benches. Yuri had been consigned far to Andrei’s left. Annika was not sure how many people dined that evening. People would come sit, eat, leave, and then come back minutes later. Clara was kept busy refilling the dozens of bowls of meat, vegetables, rolls and salads. After Andrei had offered a grace, the food began to circle the table. In both directions! She would hand a bowl to Andrei only to have him hand her a platter. Before she could get any food off the platter, the woman to her right would be handing her another vessel while relieving her of the one she had just been handed.

  It was maddening!

  The circling food finally slowed and stopped. Annika had managed to put some food on her plate. How had everyone managed to heap their plates so high?

  And the conversation! Everyone seemed to be talking at once. Shrieks of laughter would break out suddenly, then be cut off by a joke from the other end of the table.

  Meekly, she ate, smiling occasionally and laughing when it seemed appropriate.

  Finally, the ordeal was over. The women got up and, with a few of the men, cleared the table. Annika tried to stand, but Andrei patted her hand. “Not this time, little one,” he rumbled. “Tonight, you are our guest. Now tomorrow, we may make a scullery maid of you.” He tipped his head back and roared with laughter. Annika joined
him. What would Moritz Stype say to the future Empress of the Terran Empire scrubbing pots and pans?

  Yuri moved next to her and took her hand under the table. Clara reappeared, bearing tiny glasses and a chilled bottle. She passed out the glasses and began to pour everyone shots. Annika placed her hand over her glass and said, “None for me, Mama.”

  “Eh?”

  “She doesn’t drink, Mama.”

  Thank you, Yuri.

  “Ah, right, she’s not Russian,” reasoned Andrei.

  Clara brought Annika a glass of juice, explaining, “It is bad luck to toast with water.”

  The toasts started. Everyone had something to celebrate and drink to. Some were quite funny. Others were somber, remembering someone long past and fondly remembered. Annika stood and made a toast of her own. “To my brothers, Blaise, Victor and Hijau. And my sister, Anja.” Yuri stood. “To my lovely friend, Annika.” There was a raucous cheer and the drinks went down again.

  Andrei stood, his glass held high. He wobbled about and belched. “To my son, Yuri, returned home at last. And his beautiful woman, Annika. May your lives be filled with happiness, joy and childr…” He toppled forward and passed out on the table.

  Astoundingly, Andrei, Yuri and the rest of the revelers were up and working the next morning, albeit slowly. Yuri nursed his coffee and had a few slices of toast before heading out the door mumbling about finishing the damned tractor for his father.

  Clara walked to the guest house to gather up Annika. She escorted her around the family farm, gathering eggs, milking the goats and cows, feeding livestock. It was hot, dirty work. Annika loved it. She spent the afternoon on the back porch, shelling peas and talking with Clara.

  “With all the algae fields, why are you growing food like this?” asked Annika.

  “Because we always have grown our own food,” Clara explained. “Farmers across the Empire have a connection with their land. They work hard and the land will reward them with their bounty. Besides,” she waved a pea pod, “these fresh peas will taste much better than any protein.”