“Right. The thing is, only the men need to take them. We females have more control over our bodies. If you want to marry and start producing babies, you have the ability to take control over your body and stimulate the right hormones to finish your maturing in a matter of lunars, with no damage to your system.” Chiara winked at me. “That's why women ran the planet, a thousand years ago. The men couldn't control their bodies, and when the transition into full maturity hit them, they were sorry messes."
“Uncle did mention that ... but not much.” I sighed. Maybe it was a good thing Uncle hadn't explained that aspect of female Hovenu physiology. We had enough trouble with some leaders of the old guard families, trying to pressure Uncle into arranging a marriage for me with a man I had never met. Maybe he thought I would be frightened, or get angry, if I knew that I could slide into physical maturity on command, and I didn't have the safety zone of another five years of maturity between me and an unwanted husband.
“We've lost a lot, down through the centuries since we went into hiding.” Her smile began to fade. “It doesn't seem right, it doesn't make sense, that Amaxus didn't tell you. Your bloodline is too important to leave you in that much ignorance. Wasn't your uncle ever married?"
“He was, but Shandra was killed just a few years after they were married...” I stopped and closed my eyes as a memory began filling my mind. Uncle Max and a pretty, tiny, dark-haired lady. They had laughed a lot, and it seemed Uncle was always putting his arms around her, kissing her, leading her out of the room—and my parents were constantly trying to keep me from invading their privacy.
“What happened?"
“She had to go on a trip to meet some new contacts, and wouldn't let him come. He was sick ... but what if it was the transition you're talking about?"
“Possibly. So what happened?"
“It turned out to be a trap. He was so sick when she was killed, I thought he was going to die.” I shivered.
“Hmm, sounds like it was a fixation."
“What's that?"
That question earned me another of Chiara's wide-eyed, incredulous looks. She muttered something about pounding Uncle Max for leaving me in ignorance, then she sighed and put aside her work and settled back in her chair for what I suspected would be a long, and long-overdue talk.
“Fixation is when a mated couple go beyond the physical and emotional, and achieve a bond in their souls and minds. They react to what each other goes through. They're able to give each other strength, even heal one another if they're wounded. And fixation doesn't wait for marriage to happen, either.” She looked away, and I saw that wistful, sad little smile again. “When two souls are meant to be together, it's a gift, a blessing, for them as well as for the Hoven race. Sometimes, two people who have never met can walk down a street and just look into each other's eyes, and they know. It's like they've known each other all their lives. And what they can do when they submit to what has to be Fi'in's will and merge their lives ... everyone benefits."
“So Uncle Max and Shandra were fixated, and that's why they married before he hit his transition into maturity and when she died...” I shivered and felt sick. “I don't think I want to get married. Ever."
“Girl, don't say that. I said it once. I said it many times over the years, when ordinary Human men wanted to marry me. Now that I'm surrounded by men of my own kind...” Chiara gave me a lopsided grin. A chuckle escaped her. She looked very tired, but I had the feeling another wall had broken down for her while we talked. “You're never too old—and maybe never too young, too—to have your life messed up by hormones."
“You're not too old to have children,” I said before I could think.
“I know. Let's get back to this script, all right? I'm never satisfied, even after the story goes into production. Let's use this extra time we have.” She turned back to her work, but I thought I saw something in her eyes that started me thinking.
Uncle Max did like Chiara. When he knew her story, he had expressed nothing but admiration and sympathy for what she had gone through. And she certainly liked Uncle Max. Hearing about Shandra seemed to have upset her. I wondered what it would be like if they married. My hormones were still very quiet, but there was no reason why I couldn't help someone else find the perfect mate to calm their hormonal disturbances.
* * * *
The pressure of waiting for the right Meruk to appear finally broke. Uncle came home humming and grinning and doing a hop-skip step as he walked up from the flitter port.
Chiara, Regina and I were at home, working out a processing schedule for some incoming immigrants from Gadara continent. Like most of our people, when they had lived too long in one place, neighbors eventually noticed their lack of aging. These people had to come to Romblu, take on new identities, and settle into a very busy community where no one would really notice them, and begin the laborious process of building up new histories and lives to go with the new identities we created for them. At times like this, I wondered what would happen to Uncle when he grew too old to be accepted as a normal Human. Would he stage some spectacular accidental death that left no body? I always grew depressed when I considered that eventuality, even with friends around to get my mind off the problem. So, when Uncle came home in high spirits, I was in no mood to hear the cause, because of the thoughts going through my head.
“We're on our way,” he announced, stepping through the door. When none of us responded other than to look up from our work, he scowled and slammed the door and made a great production of coming into the living room and throwing himself down into the first available chair. “We're on our way."
“To where?” Chiara asked with a drawling, lazy voice. The one she had always used to irritate people at meetings.
Uncle couldn't hold onto his scowl, and he grinned at her. “To production and a hit series, of course. We have our star, we have half a season's worth of story ideas, we have our production crew. What more could one want?"
“Kel Brent?” I asked.
“Are you telling me what we want or—"
“I'm asking if you finally got him.” For a second I considered transforming into something huge and heavy, and pinning Uncle Max to the floor until he started talking straight. With my luck and his obnoxious good humor, he would start a shifting duel and I'd end up on the losing side.
“He registered for a preliminary contract yesterday, quite late. And he was waiting at the front gate when I arrived this morning. We had our interview, his characterization test, signed contracts, and I took him to costuming before lunch. Right now, he's probably depositing his first optioning voucher in his debit account. Satisfied?” he added, as he leaned back in the chair, giving all three of us a smug look.
“And?” Chiara prodded. “After eleven years working with you, Amaxus Fyx, I know that look. You have another load to drop on us."
“Travel vouchers.” Uncle pulled them out of his pocket and tossed them to me. “The second script takes place in Neversole, right? Go scout locations and write your story."
“Just like that?” I squeaked.
“Just like that. You're going to spend three hundred out of five hundred days each year on the road, getting local color and flavor and researching your script. The higher-ups want everything as realistic as possible."
“Realism is a rather strange priority with FAN,” Chiara said, her tone becoming lofty again. She turned to me and winked. “Are you sending this child out all by herself?"
“Sorry, Chiara.” Uncle straightened up. “With Kendle on the road, I'm going to need somebody right at hand to take care of final touches on the scripts, and to help take care of some of her other duties. And there's still a lot of time to make up for,” he added, his voice softening.
I had the feeling Uncle meant much more than just the obvious. But the problem was deciding if that was just my imagination, or reality. I did know that Chiara seemed very pleased to be left behind, and that fueled my suspicions, because from what I heard, she liked to travel.
The upshot was that I left for Neversole and stayed on the road for nearly three lunars straight, doing research and scouting locations for scripts. I saw the launch episode of Hoven Quest from a hotel suite on the west coast of Romblu.
* * * *
The call came the night after I arrived in Neversole. At twenty-seven forty in the evening, to be exact.
“Who is it?” I grumbled into the screen, glad that it had a manual visual control. The more modern ones turned on visual if there was light in the room. I had a light on over the bed, but I was in no fit shape to be seen.
I had gone to bed around twenty-five thirty, and had tossed and turned until I fell asleep maybe three minutes before the call came in. Unfortunately, Uncle Max had trained me to have all calls automatically patched through to my room, instead of making the switchboard in the hotel lobby handle them. It made for better security, but rotten sleeping conditions.
“Kendle, we have a problem.” It was Cleon Talvers, one of the people from costuming, an ordinary Human. “You know that torque and the wristband you described in the script?"
“Hmm?” I rubbed my hands through my hair to straighten it out, pulled my robe on over my sleepshirt, and flipped the visuals on. Cleon looked like he had not slept in several days. “What about the torque?"
“We lost the sketches Rissa made, and we're running out of time. The metalworker only has two days before he has to go on to another assignment. Can you give me another design? You're the resident expert on Hoveni.” He gave me a pleading grin.
For a moment I debated. Preservation of my self-esteem versus getting the phone call over and solving a problem for the program. Besides, I had not been satisfied with Rissa's designs. She had present styles and tastes in mind when she created her costumes and jewelry. The torque and wristband Meruk would find in the initial episode were supposed to be over a millennia old. Styles changed.
“Okay ... Rissa is going to kill me.” I shrugged and grinned at Cleon. He grinned even wider. Rissa was no favorite of anyone at the Network. “I have a few sketches of my own, sort of visual aides, to help me write."
“Just hold them up to the screen and I'll turn the recorder on. No need for a courier.” He reached forward and touched a few dials out of my sight. The picture flickered. “All set."
“Give me a second."
My notes and sketches were sitting on the desk. I had been working on them, trying to wear myself out so I could get a decent night's sleep. That was turning into a lost cause, I could see. I picked up my sketchpad and scooted back over to the console.
“Okay, here it is, but if anybody asks—"
“Anybody angry, you mean?” Cleon interrupted.
“Especially Rissa. You tell the truth, that you lost the originals, but you got this from real Hovenu jewelry. Authenticity factor, remember? And this is from real Hovenu jewelry, but getting to the museum where it's displayed would take too long for you.” I turned the sketchpad around to show him my scribbles. “Please, Cleon, don't tell anybody about this."
“Don't worry. The unions won't kill you for crossing over,” he soothed.
“Not that. Uncle Max wanted me to go to art school when I was little, and I wouldn't go. I convinced him I didn't have any talent.” The truth was, I had so little privacy, where the show and Meruk and my fantasies were concerned, I was determined to hold onto my scribblings and design dreams as long as possible.
“Your secret is safe with me. Until it's time to hand out the awards, of course,” Cleon added. He winked.
In minutes, the connection was cut and I was allowed to go back to sleep. Not that I was able, of course. The scribblings I had shown him were of a real torque made by my maternal great-grandmother Fyx, when my great-grandfather and his brothers found her. The slashes and spirals, when viewed from the proper angle, in the proper order, had meaning. It stood for rejoicing and reunion. My great-grandmother, who thought herself alone in the world, had finally found others of her kind. She could become a mother, and hopefully continue the dream of the re-unification of the Hoven race.
It was ironic, I knew, that the colors I had chosen for the torque, merely to match Kel Brent's—and Meruk's—eyes and hair, were the colors of the Searcher clan. How many people, I wondered, would see and understand, and be drawn to us because of that?
Just as I was drifting off to sleep, I wondered if it was all coincidence that Rissa's drawings had been lost, and that she had gone on to another job, making herself impossible to reach in an emergency. I had a sneaking suspicion someone decided to circumvent her artistic arrogance and simply make it impossible for her modern designs to cancel all our hard work.
“Oh, please, Fi'in,” I whispered through a yawn. “Bring all of this together into success."
In my dreams, I raced through a forest and across a plain, and then leaped over a river, turning into a kri-hawk at the last moment. There were hundreds of my kind with me, all young, all laughing and playing in freedom. Someone flew by my side, but I could never quite get a glimpse of him. Despite being slower than normal Humans to mature, despite being years away from that point, I knew what to hope for, what to look forward to. And I hoped that my dream and the sensation of another presence was a sign. Not just that I would not be the youngest in our circle any longer, but that someone special was being brought to me by fate or destiny or even the strength of my lonely prayers. I did not need hormones to want to be a mother and lover and wife.
* * * *
“You're sure these aren't the real thing?” Kel asked me. His impossibly beautiful, blue-green eyes seemed to go right through me. There was something wistful about his expression, like he wanted to laugh, but was afraid to.
It was good we had a calling screen between us, and it was a conference call, because my non-existent hormones started to act up. Something about Kel, whether because he was the embodiment of Meruk, or just because he was so disgustingly handsome and casual about everything—I always reacted to him, his voice and face, and especially those eyes.
He was on location at the Goristan Plains, where Meruk's journey was to begin. Recording the launch episode was three days along, and the torque and wristband had just arrived, fresh from the metalworker's shop. Uncle was the third member of the conference call. Half the time, I wished he wasn't there, and the other half, desperately glad he was.
“Positive. We wouldn't dare risk the museum pieces that those were copied from.” I looked to Uncle's half of the screen and wondered what was going on behind his relaxed, calm expression. “So, are you going to just sit there wasting the Network's money, or are you going to tell me why you called?"
“Kel had some ideas—he's an amateur Hoveni buff himself, it turns out,” Uncle began. “It concerns the scene where Meruk's foster father tells him about the map Meruk's real parents left, and the speech when he gives the torque and wristband to him."
“They don't make sense?” Inside, I groaned, feeling sick, while managing to maintain a relatively controlled expression. Much easier to do when I was not looking at Kel.
“Too much sense. I get the feeling Meruk's foster father knew all along he was a Hoven,” Kel said. His eyes flicked to something off the screen and I heard voices in the background. “And that can't be, if his real parents wanted to protect him from the Set'ri."
“Okay ... I understand what you're talking about. The scenes containing the explanation were cut by the Network's people, not our team. Uncle?” I turned pleading eyes to him.
“I'll talk to Chiara. She has more pull than I do.” He chuckled. “You know, between the two of you, we're not going to do anything inaccurate in this show. You make a good team."
“If we ever get to meet,” Kel put in. He looked back at me, sort of hesitant, and I wondered if he felt a little shy. What had I done? “I looked for you at the send-off party, kind of hoping we could talk about the script."
“Uncle keeps me moving,” I said with a scowl at Uncle. He only laughed. “If you want, I
can transmit the missing script pages to you. Better than waiting for Chiara to get that permission and bring them over."
“Go to it.” Uncle looked at his wrist chronometer. “Kel, aren't you supposed to start shooting the tomb scene right about now?"
Kel looked around, then at his own chronometer. He grimaced and muttered something under his breath. When he looked up again, his face was flushed. With anger or embarrassment, I couldn't tell.
“Got to run. Something about the angle of the light, we can only do it once or twice today.” He stood up, reaching for the controls of the screen. “It was nice to finally talk to you, Kendle. I'll be looking for those missing pages."
“I'll send them.” My insides settled as soon as the screen blanked. “Uncle—"
“He's good, isn't he? Most young men just getting their first big breaks let it go to their heads. He's more concerned about the story than anything else.” Uncle Max settled back in his chair, away from the screen.
“You know, you certainly didn't need me for this emergency call. Chiara knows as much about the pilot script as I do."
“She's on the west coast right now, meeting some of our contacts. To prepare for the reaction to the show,” he added, with only a trace of hesitation, a pause that only someone looking for it would have noticed.
“Are the two of you getting along all right?” I asked, not even bothering trying to be casual about the question.
“Fine, why?” He gave me that puzzled look I had grown up with, when my questions were either too stupid to be answered, or escaped him entirely.
“Well, she's becoming like one of the family ... I wouldn't want the two of you to be uncomfortable around each other, that's all."
“Young lady—” He paused, when my intercom blipped, letting me know my first morning appointment had arrived downstairs.
Hoven Quest Page 5