The Starlight Fortress

by Fiona Rawsontile

  “Wait a minute, ma’am!” Scranton stepped up from aside. “We have tried the north entrance many times—”

  “When the enemy was sure we couldn’t enter from the south? Now the situation has changed.”

  Geneva’s judgment proved right when the infantry arrived at the north end. They barely encountered any resistance and quickly took over the north half of the valley. Being sandwiched by the Thypholian troops, the insurgent force surrendered at dawn. When Geneva took over the casualty report from Scranton—zero dead, eight wounded—she saw, for the first time, the hatred in his eyes being replaced by something else.

  * * *

  Five hours later, she was back to the base in Thyphol’s capital, followed by half of the force from the camp. To her surprise, Pompey greeted her when she stepped out of the Hover.

  “Excellent job, Geneva. My father and I were impressed by your performance. You’ve set a great example for our soldiers and officers on how to manipulate adverse situations in a battle. Would you like to speak to them?” He pointed his hand over her shoulders.

  She turned back and saw the soldiers standing on the large square behind the ship. “I don’t mind talking to them,” she said meaningfully. “I hope you don’t have to unring the bell, though.”

  A playful smile emerged on Pompey’s face. “Whatever you care to say, go ahead.”

  Geneva walked past the ship in the chilly wind and headed to a microphone set in front of the crowd. Public speaking was a routine part of her life. She was always prepared to give speeches on various occasions, yet talking to her enemy directly was one she’d never expected. First, how was she going to address them?

  “My dear … soldiers.” She looked at the straight and motionless arrays in front of her. “I would’ve called you differently if this were happening before the task, because I resented you at that time, and I had justified reasons. You’ve been trying to invade our home. Whether your intention is to rob our resources or to help us build a better country, we don’t appreciate it. In the past few days I sat inside your ships, got an eyeful of your setup. I have to admit that you are better equipped than my soldiers, much better! It felt miserable when I tried to imagine how you blew up my ships in the past with the same equipment, how you killed my soldiers, those who had come from good families and worked hard to practice their skills, thinking they might stand a chance in front of their enemy, who had trusted me to bring them glories and victories.”

  She lowered her head and sighed softly. “But we are also luckier than you are, for the same reason I’ve just mentioned. We don’t feel the guilt that normally haunts a soldier who’s been through warfare. When one is forced to fight back for one’s survival, it is not considered a crime in any sense. Our soldiers who die in battles are remembered as heroes, not murderers; their families speak of them with pride, not with shame. If they survive to the day they retire, they will live the rest of their life in peace, no matter how many of you guys they’ve killed. But do they enjoy it? I don’t think so. They’d rather be farmers, salesmen, bank tellers … They’d rather have a boring life without extraordinary experiences, if they were given the choice.

  “If we were given a choice.

  “So when I first took this mission, I thought it would be an easy one. I thought I’d enjoy watching your ships turning into ashes, watching you shedding blood, but I didn’t. Involuntarily I cared about you. I took over the responsibility the same way I did for my soldiers. I couldn’t help it, because you felt the same to me. You and my soldiers grew up in separate systems, educated and trained with your own programs and philosophies. But shall those things make you different human beings? Different species? So irreconcilable that one can only live after the other is extinguished?”

  The sun rose above the horizon, bringing in a trace of warmth.

  “Anyway, I wish in my lifetime, one day we could all sit together and raise our glass toward each other, not our guns, and forget about the nightmare we are currently living through.” She thought of the Caparise as she wrapped up her speech. “But until that happens, I’m sorry we’ll have to keep slaughtering each other, and by no means will my people give in.”

  Chapter 19

  The next day, Geneva was led to a separate house located at the back of the palace. The house wasn’t as old as the main building. It was probably built around the time when Pompey’s father abdicated to him, but the style was more ancient. Standing in front of the tall stairs leading to a bronze door, Geneva held her belly up for a second as if that reduced its weight for the following exercise. If she were going to live in this house for the rest of her life, an elevator had to be installed. That was a must!

  She walked through the giant front hall decorated with corselets, swords, and rifles, and stopped in front of more stairs. Fortunately these stairs were shallower than the ones outside. She took her time to catch her breath before she began climbing again. When she was on the third floor, she heard a man bellowing above, “It couldn’t be twenty-five hundred! You think you can fool me because I can’t see? This is, at most, ten-year-old wine!”

  Geneva traced the sound and entered a room on the forth floor. A hefty old man was sitting in an over-sized wooden chair like a mythological god. On the other side of the room stood a frightened old maid with a food tray in her hands. There was liquid and broken glass all over the place.

  Please him … Geneva thought quickly. That was why all the other girls failed. She walked over to the maid, picked up the bottle from the tray, and checked the label. “It was indeed produced eighty-seven years ago.”

  “It couldn’t be! Nobody can fool me … Who are you?”

  “I’m a new maid.”

  “Then haven’t they taught you the proper way to speak to me?”

  “I’m not a maid. See, you can be fooled.”

  Picasso pounded the armrest with a fist. Nice furniture! Now Geneva wondered if that chair was made of wood. The maid shook her head at Geneva, more frightened than before.

  But after a moment, the old man relaxed. “So you must be the captive queen? Pompey told me your recent mission. Not bad, for a woman at your age. Sit.” He pointed at another chair identical to the one he was sitting in.

  “It’s wet,” Geneva said, “and I can’t climb.” Not in her present shape.

  The maid went into another room and brought back a smaller chair. As Geneva and Picasso talked, the maid quietly moved around and cleaned the room.

  “So what do you think about my soldiers?” Picasso asked. His fake green eyes turned in Geneva’s direction.

  “They’re fine.” She looked up at a picture on the wall opposite her. Was that a painting or a photo? She couldn’t tell. Nowadays some paintings looked like photos, and photos could take on characteristics of paintings. Anyway, it was a picture of Picasso before he lost his eyes, with his wife and two sons. The two Picassos were fairly alike in their stiff hair, broad faces, and prominent noses, while Pompey had his mother’s mouth and eyes.

  “Just fine?”

  She looked back at her soon-to-be husband. “They obey orders and perform their duties, but they aren’t very creative. And they lack a certain type of spirit my soldiers have.”

  “What spirit?”

  “Not sure how to put this. They uh … When they fight they are like dogs trying to retrieve a ball for their wealthy masters. My soldiers are hunted wolves who haven’t smelled meat for days.”

  Picasso lowered his head and sighed softly. “This wasn’t the case at my time. When we were a small country, a negligible figure among our giant neighbors, you have no idea what kind of weaponry we had to put up with. But my soldiers followed me, we fought like hunted wolves, we conquered one area after another, and our country gradually grew into a strong empire …”

  Geneva felt her chest vibrating with his words.

  “But now it’s all different.” The passion in his voice faded. “It’s all about technology, armaments, simulations. Fancy, but meaningless.” He gul
ped his wine.

  “Your son seems to enjoy it.”

  “Why not, if he has to do it?”

  She cast him an inquiry gaze. Then she realized he couldn’t see her and said, “Someone pressed a gun at his back?”

  “You could say that. I failed to see this happening, but as our troops developed, so did all those war-associated industries, and those families that benefited from the cheap colonial resources. You know this, Geneva. We are the seemingly most powerful individuals in our countries, but exactly how much control do we have, over personal affairs, not to mention national policies? Sometimes I feel I’m just a chessman.”

  She agreed.

  “So we made this Neutral Agreement with Artorna that they can’t sell weapons or ships to either you or us. I told those guys in my country this was to protect their business, but really, I intended to do a favor to all the people in my system and in yours.”

  She stared back.

  “Supposedly we both buy weapons from Artorna,” Picasso continued, “eventually they wouldn’t need any other business to rip us off, and we’d lose our last soldier in battles.”

  Hmm … She raised a hand and rubbed her head. The deal she had tried to make with Edwards might have helped her people for a few battles, but in the long run, maybe the old man was right.

  “But why is Artorna willing to abide by the Agreement?”

  He smiled. “Because right now the three systems are more or less comparable. I always said to Pompey, ‘Your goal is to win, but you can’t overlook the price. If both RA and we suffered heavy losses, who could guarantee that Artorna wouldn’t take some advantage?’ There’s one way to make an agreement. There are many to break it.”

  Geneva nodded. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to marry an old man whom she could talk with.

  “Anyway, my son is still the decision maker, as long as he doesn’t touch the fundamental interests of those groups in our country. He doesn’t enjoy killing. He’s not a bad guy, you know?”

  Geneva wondered if any father in the world would think of his son as a bad guy. “Still, there should be things you could do to stop it.”

  “If we were willing to fight hard, to have our reign challenged, to spend a long time dismantling their privileges. But we’re not that motivated … Your kids might be.”

  She felt his gaze falling on her belly, even though she knew he couldn’t see it.

  Then the old man leaned back in his chair, his fake eyes half-closed. “He wouldn’t have forced you to marry me—he’s not a bad guy—if he were able to have his own children.”

  Geneva inhaled with surprise. “You mean …”

  “He never talks about it, but I know he likes kids. That’s probably why he chose to be an obstetrician in the first place. He would’ve had a dozen kids by now if he could. Over the years he’s been changing girlfriends, hope against hope. That’s why he always wants me to marry a young woman.”

  “He could adopt.”

  “We can’t just crown anybody!” Picasso said proudly. “And it would be too obvious if he adopts children. I know you don’t want to marry an old man, Geneva, but for your country, it may not be a bad thing. As I just said, your children may have the motivation to end this war. To me, that’s the best chance your people are likely to get.”

  * * *

  As promised, Pompey permitted Geneva to make a phone call to home. The phone request had to go through Artorna first before it was transferred to her country. While she was waiting in his office, Pompey picked up several cards from his desk and showed them to her. “I’m trying to decide on your wedding invitations. Any opinion, Aunt Geneva?”

  She made no response.

  “It’ll be three months after your due date. I hope you don’t find it a rush. By the way, I’d like to name one of my brothers Terence. I always liked that name. You could pick the name for the other one.”

  That reminded Geneva of the name, Kyle. She remembered that morning, when she was standing outside Sterling’s house. It looked like an ordinary day … She felt an urge of revenge rushing to her head. “When are you getting married, son? After you impregnate your girlfriend?”

  Pompey slowly rose from his chair, with a grim look that had never appeared on his face. They stared at each other stiffly until footsteps came from the hallway.

  “The line is connected, sir,” a woman said at the entrance.

  “She has five minutes,” Pompey said without looking away from Geneva. “When she’s done, make sure you see her leaving this area.”

  Following his secretary, Geneva entered one of the phone rooms downstairs. She sat down at a desk and picked up a speaker. She had the choice of a video call, but she preferred audio alone.

  “Is that you, Geneva?” she heard him asking. Her lips moved but a sour chest pain prevented her from making a sound. Was this the last time she’d ever hear his voice? Then she saw the secretary standing at the entrance and remembered the five-minute constraint. She had important things to say. “Yes, it’s me. I’m all right.”

  “Don’t worry. We’re trying to get you back. William had a meeting with Jonathan yesterday. They—”

  “Listen, Sterling!” She had long given up her hope of going home. No political pressure could revoke an announced royal wedding. “We are going to have two boys. You guessed it right!”

  “Ur, I don’t think I …”

  “We were on the beach of Crack Island, remember?” She tried to sound sweet and casual. “We were eating lunch, and before I answered my cell phone, you said we were going to have twin boys in the future. Your prediction was correct!”

  There was a moment of silence before he said, “Yes, now I remember.”

  She exhaled quietly. “I’ll take care of them, Sterling.”

  “Don’t give up!”

  “And they’ll grow up to be honest and upright people, just like you.”

  “No, I’m such a useless guy! Since we met all I brought you was pain … and bad luck!”

  “Without pain you’ll never know you have lived.” She smiled with tears. “And according to your logic, from this moment my life will become easier.”

  “Are you really going to marry him?”

  No contract is unbreakable. She remembered the words of Pompey’s lawyer girlfriend. But she couldn’t say that on the phone. Besides, the secretary at the entrance had just showed two fingers to her. “I don’t have much time left, Sterling. My cousin Calvin is the heir down the list. I don’t know how he’s going to manage everything.” She sighed. “I should have always been prepared for the worst … I hope you could stay a little longer to help him, but don’t volunteer to do dangerous stuff again. Tell Admiral Oakley that he shouldn’t feel bad about Rafael’s personal decision.”

  “I still can’t understand why Rafael did this. Geneva, did you talk to him when he abducted you?”

  She bit her lips quickly. “No.”

  “How did he learn about your schedule?”

  “Don’t dwell on this anymore, Sterling! I’m treated well here, and maybe my stay would turn out to be beneficial for all of us. I’m lucky that I ever met you.” Now the secretary had started heading in her direction. “You’ll find a woman better than I am,” she added quickly and hung up the phone.

  Chapter 20

  Since that day, Pompey had stopped talking to her directly. She was assigned to a female doctor on her following visits to his clinic, and she gave birth to two healthy babies a week before her due date. She was happy that Pompey finally left her alone, until one day, when she arrived at the baby room early and saw him sitting beside the cribs, a sore and longing expression on his face. Even though she believed she was justified to hate him, she regretted for saying those words to him.

  Meanwhile, the wedding preparation was running at full speed. Every now and then a group of people would show up in the palace, discussing and arguing and fussing about various details. Sometimes she was called away politely to try on dresses and take pictures. She had learn
ed to let go of her body while her mind drifted somewhere else. She watched TV every night and occasionally heard her wedding being mentioned in the news. There were vastly different reactions around the world about her marriage with the old emperor. Most of the Sunphereans were enraged, but people in other countries generally looked forward to it. They probably thought of this marriage as a precursor of the peace they had been waiting for, but Geneva knew it wouldn’t be so easy.

  * * *

  Yet nobody, not a single human being who has ever existed in this world, can always predict the future however his or her life seems to have been determined. That moment came on the morning three days before her wedding. After Geneva nursed her twins, the older brother, Terence, fell into sleep right away, but Kyle was crying nonstop. She wrapped Kyle in a blanket and carried him outside into a garden. Normally he would stop crying when he was taken outside, but for some reason it didn’t work on that day. She wandered around for a while before she heard a strange sound coming from ahead. It was likely produced by a bird, a wild, predatory bird, not the kind one found in everyday life. She traced the sound and arrived at a side gate, where several guards and footmen were standing beside the grocery truck and looking up at a tree.

  “Are you sure you bought a hen?” one of the guards cried, rubbing the bloody scratches on his right hand. “Not an eagle or something?”

  She stood behind them and looked up. Wow, that was the prettiest hen she had ever seen! When she was little, she had a chicken house inside her palace. Those hens were fat with dull and monotone feathers; their clucks were boring and unchallenging. But this hen, or whatever species it belonged to, was strong and fit. Her sharp eyes flashed with wit and vigilance, and her colorful feathers glittered in the sunlight.

  “I don’t know!” she heard someone in front of her saying. “I mean I got it together with the others, but she knew how to open the cage!”