by J. Naomi Ay
By the time Mills the Elder’s drinks were consumed, it was far too late for the busses to be running. Yet, luck must have been in his corner that night, for as he was walking by the side of the road, the fine gentleman and his limousine raced past him. The heavy vehicle, which was traveling at an extraordinary high rate of speed, loosened all sorts of gravel, sending it flying. A large rock came pummeling at Mills, hitting the Elder in the eye. The poor refugee was left both bleeding and nearly blinded, in addition to significantly drunk. He collapsed upon the roadway in a pool of blood, alarming the chauffer, who noticed the body flaying about in his rearview mirror. Immediately reversing the limo, the Duke and crew returned to the poor immigrant’s side, whereupon the Duke offered Mills the Elder both medical care and recompense.
“I’d rather have a job, Milord,” Mills the Elder said, respectfully, his nearly blind eyes staring at the opposite seat where he noticed a shiny, oddly-colored orb glowing right across from him.
“But, you’re from Hahr,” the Duke replied, noticing neither orb, nor anything else for he too had spent the last few hours imbibing. “You might be a spy. I can’t have you in my house.”
“Then, I’ll sleep in the barn,” Mills the Elder insisted. “You owe me at least this. With my young lad, who is also in need of both employment and a home where he’ll be warm and fed. I guarantee he’ll serve you all the days of his long life.”
As Mills the Elder was still bleeding profusely, and his eyes would never be the same, the Duke’s conscience would not allow him to refuse.
Thus, both Mills became residents of the Manor House of Shrotru, and the Younger was forever denied any more apple juice and graham crackers. Instead, he was put to work shoveling manure and cleaning stalls in exchange for three bowls of mutton soup each day.
Mills the Elder supervised his young progeny’s hard work, while sitting upon a bale of hay, and issuing commands.
“Work hard, young Mills,” he ordered. “And, someday, you’ll be given a great reward. The shiny, sparkling orb has told me that.”
Mills the Younger never saw the orb, which had befriended his father, apparently at the exact same moment when the elder’s sight and brain were damaged. He didn’t dispute the elder’s claim, for he assumed his hard work would be repaid, perhaps with something as delightful as a soup made of a different meat.
When Mills the Younger was around ten years old, for no one knew or could recall when the lad was born, the young lord, Viscount Avner was sent to the stables to learn how to ride. This was a task more easily said than done, for Avner was deathly afraid of the large and imposing equine beasts. However, the Duke was quite insistent that his heir not remain such a ninny.
The boy was commanded to ride beneath the Duke’s bedroom balcony every afternoon exactly at four, to demonstrate his prowess upon a horse. When the child promptly fell twice upon mounting the tamest pony, he declared that he would never again sit upon another one.
Thus, a deal was struck, and along with it, a friendship of sorts was born. Mills the Younger, while dressed in Avner’s riding clothes, would go forth. Every day, the Duke looked down upon him, and waved a hand in a happy salute at the boy who pretended to be his son. Every day, Mills the Younger would lift his own hand in greeting, while keeping his hat pulled low over his ears.
In later years, Mills the Younger would substitute for Avner in many things, including but not limited to his time guarding the Manor House’s long fence.
“You’ll do whatever they require of you,” Mills the Elder ordered, for he was deeply loyal to the Duke of Shrotru, and the nation of Karupatani, his adopted home. “Never forget, the King of Hahr is your enemy. He killed your mother. I curse Markiis Kalila and all of his descendants.”
When Mills the Younger was asked to move into the Manor House to become the new Duke’s manservant, he immediately accepted, even though he had no choice. Avner was a sort-of friend, and living in the building would be much nicer than the stables. And, Avner’s demands were mostly limited to assistance with his clothes.
Avner’s wife, Mills the Younger didn’t particularly like. Sheela was demanding, and her voice was as shrill as the Duke’s was quiet. The children that resulted were all decent and kind, although Mills hadn’t a clue how they came about. It was clear to him from the onset that Avner’s true persuasion was elsewhere, however thwarted by the demands of his office and estate.
Never the less, Mills the Younger served the Duke with unmatched dedication, while maintaining an appropriate distance between the two.
When the time came to depart the planet, Avner pulled Mills aside, for by then, the Elder was long gone and Mills was simply Mills.
“You’ll come with us,” the Duke insisted. “You have always been my greatest friend. I will not leave you here alone to die.”
Surprisingly, Mills was quite ambivalent about the whole situation, for the idea of travelling across a vast distance in outer space sounded like certain death to him. There was a small possibility he might survive the impending nuclear annihilation, and he was inclined to take his chances with that instead.
“I’ll let you know tomorrow,” Mills told Avner, deciding his best option was to sleep on the decision, and so he returned the barn and the hay loft where he always slept the best.
During the night, Mills was awoken by the strangest light shining in the barn, and emitted by an orb of an undetermined color and size.
It didn’t speak to Mills, as it had done to the elder. Not really. All it did was float in the air, unnoticed by either the horses, or stable boys. However, Mills decided that its presence was a message for him not to fear the long journey in outer space, or the new planet.
Chapter 5
Clara grew up in the inner city. As the eldest of five, she was left in charge of her younger siblings despite her own youth. There were three other girls in the family, each sired by a different man, while the youngest, Kurtis was the only boy.
Clara never knew her father, and neither did the two girls next in line. The fourth child, Kalice shared a sire with Kurtis, a bloke called Kell, who however briefly, made an effort to care about the other children. It was difficult for him, though, as Kell lacked compassion for anyone beyond himself, and in general, preferred the company of his bottle to a flat full of whiney and hungry children.
After Kurtis was born, after it became apparent that something was wrong with the child, Kell disappeared one night, along with his few articles of clothing, the family's singular television, and the loose change Clara's mother, Nancee had left on the nightstand.
"What the fuck?" Nancee raged, upon arising the next afternoon. She, too, overly enjoyed a bottle's company, which made her days commence shortly before dusk. "Where is Kell?"
"I don't know," Clara shrugged, while the others stared blankly at the space on the wall where the television had hung up until that morning.
Nancee's temper was quick, especially when the migraines speared her brain, which was nearly every day unless she quieted them with her medicine bottle.
"That asshole!" she screamed, storming about the flat like a tornado trapped inside the walls. Furniture was tossed about. Dishes flung against the hearth. Glasses smashed against the counters of the kitchen.
The children began to scream, their tiny mouths open far and wide, all except for Kurtis who lay placidly in his crib. The second eldest, Cornel gathered the next younger two, while Clara hefted the infant, ushering everyone out into the hallway until Nancee's tirade had concluded.
When Nancee had finished her rampage, and when her headache pains were calmed with a fair amount of booze, she would sheepishly open her flat door, and coax her children back inside. She would kiss them and hug them to her ample, warm breasts, and slightly sour body.
“I love you,” she declared. “I love each and every one of you.”
“We love you too, Mama,” the children replied, and they did.
None of the children went to school as they were all too y
oung, thus Clara was tasked with their care and feeding, as well as maintaining a measure of order. Also, since Nancee spent most of the day asleep, Kurtis's needs were left to the girl, as she was the only one tall enough to reach inside his crib.
Fortunately, for seven year old Clara, Kurtis was easy to tend. As an infant, he was overly sleepy and would lie in his crib all day, never making a sound. Periodically, Clara would change his diapers, although the infant seemed content enough to lay in his mess. Three times daily, whether he wanted it or not, she fed him a bottle of milk.
One day, during the hours a child ought to be in school, a police officer noticed Clara shopping for milk in the corner convenience store. He followed her home to Nancee's flat, whereupon the Truant Officer was summoned, after which, both Clara and Cornel were enrolled in school.
Now, during the morning hours, three year old Kalice sat on the floor by the infant's crib, and kept an eye on him whenever she could tear one away from the new used television. If he messed his diaper, and she could smell it, she would inform Nancee, although usually, it was still dirty by the time Clara arrived home.
At night, the girl slept next to Kurtis, bringing him into bed with the other girls. Periodically, she would wake just to make certain he was still breathing, or to cover him with the blankets the others had pulled away.
When Kurtis was about six months old, and should have been sitting up and babbling like the children had done, he continued to lay there quite still, and oddly silent. Occasionally, he smiled, or waved his hands about, watching them as if he had no clue what they were, or where they had come from.
At nine months, Kurtis could pull himself up, but had not yet figured out how to crawl. Instead, he pushed himself around backwards, his head on the ground and his heels digging into the stained shag carpet of the flat. Kalice thought this terribly entertaining, and would spend her days watching the boy propel himself around. No matter where he went, nor how often he bumped his head, he would not cry.
When Clara was twelve, Nancee pulled her out of school, and sent her to the Manor House where she was hired on as a maid apprentice. Money was more important than education. If one did not eat, one did not survive, and there was no one else who could work to support the children.
Diligently, Clara learned to shine silver flatware, iron bed sheets, wash windows, and dust railings. It was brainless work, especially for a girl who had been a fairly good student and quick learner.
However, Clara’s job gave her a lot of time to think, and her attention often wandered back to Kurtis. While she was ironing the Duchess's fine cotton sheets, Clara often wondered whether or not Kurtis's diaper had been changed. When she arrived home in the evening, would she discover him suffering from festering sores? While she cleared the dining room table of the Duke's luncheon plates, Clara hoped that Kalice had remembered to prepare Kurtis his bottle.
By the time Clara was sixteen, she was the third maid serving the Duchess, and the one responsible for cleaning her shoes and polishing the jewelry every day. Though the Duchess had more jewelry than even the Queen, it didn’t take the girl long to keep it in good form. Clara loved gazing at the jewels, and holding them in her hands.
However, every time she took something to shine, the Duchess would record a tally, making certain Clara returned it with all the stones present, and intact. Despite how she wished for even the tiniest of those stones, Clara never swiped a thing, although many times she dreamed of what one diamond might do.
At night, as she lay in bed, nine year old Kurtis still in diapers and curled against her side, she imagined taking one of the Duchess's stones to the pawnbroker down the street. Afterward, she’d take all the money, and give it to someone who could care for Kurtis.
Clara visualized a special hospital, or another sort of place that had more children like him in lovely little cots. They would be tended by kind nurses in clean white uniforms, who would spend their time caring for each child. The nurses would spoon feed the children breakfast because they could not do so themselves, and wipe them quickly when they messed, without shouting like Nancee did. The nurses would hold the children's hands, and play pattycake to make them laugh, hugging them, and kissing them just because they were kind.
Clara knew why she was chosen. She was young, decently attractive, and fertile. The Duchess knew her jewelry would be attended to, as well as the Lady's hair, and gowns, for Clara had done all of these tasks many times when the other maids had taken ill.
Cornel, who was working in the kitchens of the Manor House was chosen, too, for the same reasons as Clara, and for her ability to cook. At the last minute she refused, so Mills was selected instead. Cornel wouldn’t leave her boyfriend, but she didn’t really understand what would happen if she stayed.
As Clara stood by the windows of the spacecraft, staring at the strange cloud that covered what had been the city, she thought of her family. Cornel would be vaporized while embracing her boyfriend. Nancee would be out walking the streets, smoking a cig when she looked up at the sky, at the plume as thick as the smoke in her lungs. Katrina and Kalice would be at their desks in school, when they glanced out the window and thought no more homework, no more tests, only recess from here on out. Kurtis would be laying prone and alone in the shared bed, as the great flash of light turned his bones to dust. He would smile, and perhaps even made a happy noise, for now he was free from the prison of his body.
“Do you think they will still be a duke and a duchess in this new place?” Clara asked Mills, who was playing cards with Lewy, a member of the spacecraft's crew. Clara was watching because she didn’t know how to play the game, although it didn’t seem to be that hard. There was nothing else for her to do here. The Duchess, with her gowns and jewels, was closeted in the family’s private room down below. The Lady had forbidden Clara to attend her, so in truth, Clara was quite bored.
Lewy, who dealt the cards, and Mills, who sat thumbing his coins, hissed at Clara to be quiet. There were three crew aboard the ship, as well as the Captain, Mills, and Clara, while the rest of the occupants were the ducal family. All told, there were ten souls. Ten people each on a dozen ships, with only a handful of women among them. How many babies would each woman need to bear in order to populate this new planet?
“Be quiet." Mills echoed the crewmen, as he tossed out a Jack of Spades. “I can’t concentrate with you jabbering. I'm busy here.”
“I’m not jabbering,” Clara mumbled. “Just asking a simple question. Is it going to be the same, do you think?"
"Aw, damn!" Lewy slapped down his cards. “You’re going to have to be quiet, Miss, on account of I can’t concentrate with you talking.”
“I’m sorry.” Clara looked at her folded hands, resolving not to interrupt anymore. She wouldn’t speak unless spoken to. She would be as quiet as a mouse.
The truth was, Clara felt like she really didn’t belong anywhere. She wasn’t part of the family, and she wasn’t part of the crew. She didn’t have a room for her bed, only a small corner of the common area through which everyone constantly passed. It was this room where the children played, where the little one had set up all of his trains, and despite the hour could be found busily pushing them along the track.
Technically, Mills wasn’t assigned a room either, but he was friendly with the crew, who allowed him to spend his nights upon an empty bunk. One crewman was always on duty, while the other two were supposed to be resting, although the Captain seemed to be awake at all times.
Begrudgingly, Clara rose to her feet, not tired enough to sleep, but too bored to do anything else. As she wandered through the door, someone grabbed her, pulling her aside, towards a closet filled with rations and supplies.
“How about it, Clara?” Pori wrapped his arm around the girl, pulling her tightly against his chest. “How about we get started populating the new planet?”
Clara wanted to scream, but was so surprised by the crewman’s act, that for a moment, she couldn’t breathe, let alone speak.
“Leave me alone,” Clara gasped when she finally found her voice. “Get away from me!”
“Hands off, Pori,” Mills called from the table not even looking up from his cards. “She’s the Duke’s plaything. You only get to use her when he’s done.”
“More likely, you’re the Duke’s plaything,” Pori chortled, his breath smelling stale against Clara’s skin. He ran his hands down her side and cupped her breasts. “All the rules will change when we are there. Maybe I’ll even be a duke, or better yet, a king. How would you like that, Clara? Should I make you my queen, or would you prefer to be my official mistress?”
“I doubt that,” Torim remarked, coming round the corner, his hair disheveled, and his eyes half-opened as if his sleep had been disturbed. Pulling the girl away, he balled up his fist, and shoved it into Pori’s face. “Don’t touch her.”
“Yes, Your Lordship,” Pori sneered, lowering his eyes, and holding up his hands. “Surely, you don’t think I meant any ill will?”
Lord Torim’s mouth turned up in a slight smile, as he too relinquished the girl, and instead went for the crewman’s neck. Slamming Pori against the wall, Torim drew his face up next to the taller man, as close as if he were to touch his lips with a kiss.
“If I catch you again, I’ll break your neck,” he hissed, pressing his thumb against the crewman’s throat. “If anyone other than King is to rule Rehnor, it will be Prince Kirat.”
“Yes, sir.” Pori disappeared behind a cabinet.
Torim turned and gazed at Clara in a way not unlike the crewman had just done.
Quickly, the girl dipped into a curtsey, before hurrying into the common room. There, she found the children sitting on the floor playing with the toy trains.