Trahzi peeked over his shoulder. Gerald was strapped to a chair, black and blue, smoking slightly, his clothes covered in burn marks. Dozens of windows in standard rotated around him.
“Come on, now,” Doctor Ssandr encouraged. “If I can teach a bulniese python to sing the galactic anthem, I can certainly get a decent test score out of you. Let’s start again from the beginning.”
She gave him a fresh prod with her shock stick. He barely twitched. Cadbury landed on his head and pecked at his hair.
“We would be happy to reschedule you for twelve hundred fifty hours local time if that would please you,” Enri offered.
Trahzi crinkled her nose. “We hate waiting.”
* * *
Ilrica sat tensely in her seat, absentmindedly running her claws back and forth along her desk, cutting into the material, her eyes lost in thought.
Ms. Stubbs rubbed her lucky tarnac’s claw as she walked up to the front of the class, chanting a good fortune mantra to herself. “I can’t tell you what a pleasant week it has been. Not one mishap, not one animal attack, not one mysterious illness...”
She reached down into the collar of her uniform and pulled out three more charms and began rubbing them. “...Unfortunately, everything has an end. Ahem. We would like to welcome Mr. Dyson back from his trip...”
“That’s not Geri!” Zurra complained, her neck stretching out like a giraffe so she could see over everyone.
The class turned and saw a plump lady with over styled hair sitting in Gerald’s desk. Only Cha’Rolette seemed unfazed. Ilrica was relieved and dropped her chin into the palms of her hands.
“May I ask who you are, ma’am?”
“Oh, my. Forgive me for not introducing myself. I am Mr. Dyson’s personal secretary. I will be taking notes for him from today’s lecture.”
Ms. Stubbs perked up. “Oh, that’s... wonderful actually.” Relieved, she smoothed her hair out. Some of the color seemed to come back to her cheeks.
Trahzi stood up. “Teacher, we must object. Academy rules specifically prohibit the use of a proxy, digital or organic.”
Ms. Stubbs grabbed a fistful of charms. “Yes, that is true, Trahzi. However, rules were made to be flexible.”
“No, they’re not. That’s why they are called rules.”
“I say, good riddance,” Cleylselle shouted. “I feel like I have a target painted on my back whenever he is around.” He looked at Trahzi sidelong, to make sure she had caught the slight.
“Yeah, we don’t want him here anyway,” Kamanie added.
“I want him here!” Zurra whined, waving her hands around like taffy. “He’s the only reason I even came to this stupid school!” She took a deep breath and held it in, her face turning red in a fit.
“What are you, six?”
Most of the students joined in, adding their approval of Gerald’s absence. Cha’Rolette was strangely silent. She just sat there, a wry little smile on her face.
Zurra noticed it and glared at her, her head deflating. “What did you do?”
* * *
“It is ten hundred hours, Master Dyson,” Enri announced, tapping a button on the window before him. “Time for dance instruction.”
“It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.” A tall, lithe woman said with a formal bow. “I am Mistress Qeeshol, and I have been contracted by the Ssykes family to familiarize you with traditional and contemporary Alliance formal dances.”
Gerald scratched the back of his neck. “I really don’t see how this has anything to do with my new job.”
“As a regional manager you will be attending many elite social gatherings, both to report and to raise funds. It is essential that you be prepared.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“We will begin with the basic Imperial Bolero.” She snapped her fingers and the hardwood floor beneath them became a cushioned hexagonal grid. Rhythmic music began to play, causing Cadbury to sway back and forth happily.
“This is a couple’s dance. You turn right twice, left once, while rotating a half turn clockwise during the chorus. It has a fast pace, but we’ll learn it slow before speeding up.”
He raised an eyebrow. “A couple’s dance?”
“Oh, anyone making a donation to your cause is going to expect at least one dance.”
Gerald reluctantly stepped forward and took her hand, stepping roundly on her toe.
“Ouch!” she squeaked in pain.”
“Sorry.”
* * *
“Eleven hundred hours, music instruction.”
“This is a Zadra flute,” Mr. Nurmeen said as he held up the silver instrument. It kind of looked like a pan flute, with multiple tubes running parallel, except that they all fused at the top into a single mouthpiece. Blue wisps of energy ran along the tubes, snaking in and out of the plugs like living things.
“A subtle Issaguardian instrument, in the hands of a master it is considered to produce the most romantic melodies in the galaxy.”
“It is?” Gerald asked warily as he looked it over.
“Oh yes, a marriage serenade must be played on a zadra or not at all. Why, when I serenaded my third wife, it only took four notes before she grabbed my...”
“Marriage serenade?” Gerald interrupted. “Now, wait just a minute...”
Enri stepped forward and raised his hand. “Master Dyson, tomorrow afternoon the new Soeckian mission will be opening, will it not?”
“Yes.”
“You will be attending many such events as part of your duties, and music is traditionally a part of them. Learning an instrument is essential to the performance of your job.”
Gerald sat back down. “Uh huh,” he said doubtfully.
* * *
The students had never seen Ms. Stubbs in such a good mood. After finishing her lectures early, she gave everyone some free-study time and sat at her desk, a stupid little grin on her face. “Nothing’s broken... nothing’s broken...” she sang happily to herself.
Tulda lazily scrolled through a window of gossip magazines. “You know, I don’t really get it. Why are you doing all of this for him?”
Cha’Rolette finished up the practice test she was working on and prepared to begin another. He’s a representative of Ssykes Industries, and so he needs to reflect our values and image. She leaned forward, her eyes becoming dreamy, a faint smile on her lips. We’ll have him polished up and fit for proper display in no time.
Kamanie twirled her hair with a finger. “Yeah, but I thought your whole goal was to destroy him?”
Cha’Rolette blushed. It... it is. Nothing has changed, she said, twiddling with her fingers.
“So, I don’t get it. How does doing all of these things for him further that goal?”
“Wow, that was surprisingly sober thinking for you Kamanie,” Tulda praised.
“Thank you,” she beamed, smacking her gum.
Look, I don’t expect you two to understand the subtlety of what I am doing.
Tulda shrugged. “All I know is that I’ve never seen you do so much for any guy before.”
“I’ve never seen her do anything for anyone before.”
Just shut up and chew your gum, she ordered, her ta’atu flashing.
“Okay,” they agreed happily, returning to their magazines.
* * *
“Twelve hundred hours, personal grooming and appearance.”
Haute couture designer Gwof Wonthreen threw a cube on the ground that unfolded itself over and over again, until half the room was filled with a portable tailoring station, mirrored display, and dozens of racks filled with the most stylish and fashionable outfits of the day.
“Oh, this is just going to be a joy,” he gushed, dozens of little robots flying from the housing in his back and taking Gerald’s measurements. “I’ve never designed clothing for a human before. I haven’t been this excited since I married my second wife. Now, strip down out of that ghastly little robe and let’s cover you in elegance.”
One of the little robots pulled out a roll of expensive looking fabric and Gwof rubbed his cheek against it. “Have you ever tried Turresian silk? It’s amazing. Light as a feather. Thickens in the cold, thins in the heat. Stores warmth during the day then slowly releases it at night. Self-cleaning. Ohh, I would marry this stuff if the Emperor would allow it.”
“One of my dancers has a dress made of that,” Mistress Qeeshol praised as she bandaged up her foot. “It’s incredible.”
Gwof grabbed Gerald’s hand and made him touch it.
“It’s very nice, but my cassock is part of my religion.”
Gwof clapped his hands. “Ah, religious habits. Well, I can work with that too.”
“Don’t take too long, K’Ritlama warned as she setup her portable salon station. “I have at least a dozen hair styles The Duchess wanted me to try out on him so she can pick her favorite.” She worked up a lather of purple and pink bubbles in a basin. Cadbury poked her head out and squawked, releasing a trail of bubbles.
Gerald held up his hands. “Look, guys...”
There was a knock at the door. When Enri opened it, Trahzi was standing there, holding her puppy. She gave off the most pleasant little smile and tilted her head adorably.
“Oh wow, Trahzi,” Gerald praised. “You look happy.”
“You told us we should smile more often.”
Gerald looked at her warmly as she held the puppy gently in her arms. It looked up and licked her chin.
“I’m here too,” Zurra yelled, jumping in front of Trahzi and bouncing around like a rubber ball. “Wow, there’s like a dozen people in there.”
“Apparently I have a staff now,” Gerald said, motioning to his collection of tutors and specialists.
“May I help you ladies?” Enri asked.
“We are here to walk with Gerald,” Trahzi said. She looked down at Zurra harshly. “Just us two.”
Zurra pouted. “I don’t need permission from the Kool Aid Man’s slutty daughter in order to spend time with my wife.”
“I’m afraid some of Mr. Dyson’s appointments have gone on longer than expected.”
“Yes,” Doctor Ssandr said, prodding Gerald in the butt with her shock stick. “I’ll tear up my diploma before I leave here with nothing higher than a twelve percent for the first day!”
Trahzi’s smile disappeared.
Enri opened up a window and scrolled through it. “Perhaps I can squeeze you in next week, we have a five minute gap between elocution and debate theory.”
Trahzi snarled and the entire room filled with fire. When it was gone, everyone except Gerald and Trahzi had disappeared.
Gerald looked around at the now empty room. “What happened?”
“They were an obstacle, so we removed them.”
He became worried. “Did you kill them?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, I think so.”
Trahzi petted the puppy. “No, we did not end their lives, we simply put them somewhere where they cannot bother us. You and I are now free to take our walk.”
“But... where did they go?”
“Is that really important?”
“Look, Trahzi, I don’t like this either, but these people are just doing their job, you can’t just banish them somewhere.”
Trahzi sighed and stroked the puppy’s head. “Very well.”
There was another flash of fire and everyone reappeared. They were all writhing around on the ground, screaming and moaning, their hands and feet up in the air as if they had been defending themselves from some frightful thing.
Doctor Ssandr covered her face and began sobbing in terror. Mr. Nurmeen put his chin on his knees and began rocking back and forth, his face white as snow.
Enri stood up, his eyes shaking.
“Now, apologize to the nice man,” Gerald bade.
Trahzi pursed her black lips. “We... apologize for that. We would like to go on our walk with Gerald now,” she said as politely as she could.
Gerald lifted his hand, urging her to say more.
She rolled her eyes. “...please.”
Enri nodded slowly. “That’s okay... the next item on his agenda was protocol and etiquette... he can do that while you walk. The rest of us will just lay down here and... cry for a while.”
Enri dropped to his knees and lay down, his eyes fixed on some distant terror.
* * *
Mister Dugger was a squat little barrel of a man. While Gerald and Trahzi walked, he waddled close behind them, his sharp little eyes scanning her curvaceous body from top to bottom.
“Dyson! Back straight, shoulders back, hands at your side, the little finger of your hand at the seam of your trousers,” he barked.
Gerald glanced back. “Are you a protocol instructor or a drill instructor?”
“I have been both. The way you stand and the way you move is communication. It tells everyone else who you are and what you are worth. Looking at you right now, you’re worth about half a credit and you know it.”
Gerald sighed and adjusted the way he was walking. He hadn’t seen a single spider web, and it was bumming him out. “You know, it makes me very happy to see you and the puppy are getting along,” he said, turning to Trahzi.
Trahzi ran her hand along the puppy’s back. “Yes, it was very difficult at first, but we are becoming more accustomed to the process. Actually, we wish to thank you. Caring for this animal has taught us a great deal about the others. Because you have to raise your young, you form a bond with them that was completely alien to us.”
She looked over at Gerald and smiled. “But no longer. We find the presence of this animal very soothing. Sometimes we even long for her presence when we cannot be with her.”
Gerald smiled back.
As they walked across the quad, Gerald noticed a familiar face making her way towards the parking lot. “Hey Ilrica, long time no see!” he called out.
Ilrica jumped so hard she spilled several of the tablets she was carrying.
“Oh...” she said, looking away from him, obviously flustered. “Hiya Gerald, heard you had a rough flight.”
“Yeah, they’re calling it a once in a lifetime cosmic event. Even blew out the aether drives on the military ships,” he commented as he helped her pick up the tablets.
“Um, thank you,” Ilrica said, avoiding eye contact with him as she accepted the tablets.
Trahzi looked on suspiciously.
“Dyson! We’ve gone over this. Always pass tablets face-down,” Dugger instructed.
“Yes, drill sergeant,” he teased.
Ilrica stood up, looking as if she couldn’t decide to stay or run. Her tail swished around nervously.
“Why are you always carrying around so many tablets?” Trahzi asked.
She rocked on the balls of her feet. “Oh, you know, just trying to bring my grades up,” she said, her tail wrapping around her leg.
“You have never cared about grades in the past,” Trahzi observed.
“Yes I have, shows what you know. Big super all-knowing cosmic entity and you don’t know anything about anything.”
To prove her point, Trahzi swiped her hand and a scrambled window appeared. Her eyes burned with fire and the window unscrambled itself. “Here is your last test on Nanaheim history. “You answered every question by writing in ‘it doesn’t matter, they’re dead.’”
“Wow, that was a good slice,” Ilrica praised.
“And very illegal,” Gerald said looking around. “Why don’t you close the window with classified school documents before someone notices?”
Trahzi shrugged and closed the window. “We find your preoccupation with law puzzling.”
Gerald breathed in relief and turned to Ilrica. “Are you okay? You’re acting a little funny today.”
Ilrica stood up straight when she looked into his eyes. “Funny? No, I feel fine. I’m not funny, you’re funny.”
She turned to leave but Gerald grabbed her elbow. “You just don’t seem like
your usual self, that’s all.”
Ilrica blushed bright red at his touch. Her ears stood straight up, her tail shot straight out. “Ahhh, you know what? I just realized I have to be somewhere. I’ll talk to you guys later.”
She broke his grip and sprinted away, tossed her tablets into the back of a rented skiv, and then drove away into the skyline, nearly hitting three cars and a taxi along the way.
“That was weird,” Gerald said.
“What is that smell?” Trahzi said, sniffing the air.
Gerald breathed in. “I smell it too. Smells like cinnamon rolls.”
The puppy gave off a tiny bark then nuzzled into Trahzi’s shoulder. Trahzi rocked her quietly, humming to sooth her. There was something so effortlessly maternal about what she was doing, Gerald could not help but smile at it.
“Have you given her a name?” he asked.
Trahzi looked up. “Name?”
“Yes, as the one raising her, it is your privilege to choose the name she will be known by.”
Trahzi held up the puppy before her. It yawned sleepily. “You others place a great deal of emphasis on names. It is something we are trying to understand. From what we have observed, it seems like the choice of what someone will be called forever after is a lot of power to give to one person.”
“Well, most people are pretty responsible and don’t give their kids names like North West or Chris P. Lettuce, although I did know a girl named Cristal once...” Gerald shuddered.
Trahzi held the puppy against her red cheek and thought. After a moment she resolved something deeply within herself. “We will name her Trahzi.”
“Trahzi?”
“Yes, it means we accept her as one of us. There can be no greater compliment.”
“But if you name her Trahzi, people will get confused.”
“That is their problem, not ours.”
Gerald looked at her with a light rebuke.
Trahzi rolled her black eyes. “Very well, others may call her Puppy Trahzi.”
Gerald reached up and patted Puppy Trahzi on the head. “Puppy Trahzi it is.”
Trahzi accepted this and they began walking again.
“I would have named her Nikki. Nikki is a good name.”
“Mr. Dyson! “Walk two feet behind her, not at her side.”
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