by P. S. Power
Even then most just stood around, listening to her. At the end of her ten song set Paul ran over and distracted people. With an offer of cake.
"It's set up over here. Come, everyone, we're almost ready for it!" He was a bit older, being about forty, and lean, with a good face that reminded her how she'd kind of flirted with him a few times. He'd never responded, which probably had something to do with his coming wedding. He still limped a bit, having been shot in the leg about two months before.
Pran tried to stay seated, not putting her instruments away, until he took time to come over to her and wave.
"Pran, come on. Everyone means everyone." There was a bit of a tone to the words, that spoke of him being used to bossing people around. She got up however, so it worked for him pretty well.
The cake, once she saw it, a minute later, was incredible. It was made of small balls of raised dough, she thought, and covered with a sticky looking caramel. Cinnamon too. She thought. It was about half as tall as she was and sitting on a table that put the whole thing even with the top of Twyla's head. On the very top was a small, and not very well done, set of figurines. One of a man, the other a lady.
Paul and Twyla cut the first slice, working together, and everyone clapped, as if that were a great feat of courage, or skill. Once the first slice was pulled out, it was clear the interior was of a totally different kind of cake, one that seemed to be made of dried fruit and nuts.
A voice spoke, from over her shoulder, a man, but she didn't understand who it was at first, having been distracted by the spectacle in the other direction.
"That looks good, doesn't it? Who would have thought that old Paul could land anyone, much less a peach like her. Not that I knew him well. I wasn't on the ship that long."
Turning, she understood why that was.
"Zeke! Are you in for the meeting tomorrow then?" It made sense to her, since the hard looking military man from the past was one of the small handful of downloads she'd ever met. He didn't get a hug from her however, since the last time they'd met he had sort of planned to steal her body.
When she got a good look at him, he looked nice. Dressed for a wedding, but also in real clothes, not things that were made of strange materials from the past, and had odd looking fasteners that ran up the front. This was just a burgundy tunic and trousers, with a pair of leather boots in tan.
The man frowned at her.
"Sorry? Meeting? Is this another one of those things that you do to throw people off? I ask about this, and then when I'm distracted end up with a bullet in my butt?" There was a suspicious look then, as if her dress could be hiding anything. A kinetic pistol, or maybe an air rifle?
All she really had was a sap.
"Nope. Michael Morse and a few other people are going to be there, some of the High Councilors, too. I thought you might be coming to act as a representative from the Coalition? That is your group, isn't it?" Hopefully not that other one that Clarice had spoken of. They sounded too silly to take seriously.
"I... used to be. That got old after a while. I mainly just came to see if you were on our side or not."
She nodded.
"The current plan is to try and get things under control without fighting or bloodshed. Help the kids at the Grange and maybe steal the bodies of some of the people in Camp Wallace. In order to help them, which is real enough. It doesn't get millions of bodies, but Doctor Millis thinks that a lot could be done that way and some of the technical plans you have might work. It isn't great for a military take over though. Do you think your old friends will put up with that? Just helping people and not killing everyone that won't do what they want?"
The man, even if he didn't realize it yet, was sort of surrounded. Not just by Guardians and hands from The Lament, either. Three of his own people stood right there with him. Kabrin too, being right next to his wife. It was pretty clear that the Bard didn't get who this man was supposed to be, so hearing the conversation lull, he moved in and put his hand out.
"Hello! Are you related to the groom?" There was a resemblance there. Pran had always thought so. Ezekiel shook his head, but smiled, which was a large thing that showed well cared for teeth.
"I'm a friend of Pran's. From The Lament. I was..." Then he looked past the man and noticed that a wall of black had come up around him. It looked almost like a protective detail that really wanted to do a good job.
Pran waved her hands, making little motions to get them to stand back.
"No fair, I saw him first. Now, I want to try that cake, if I'm allowed. Then I need to finish playing. I expect you to all start dancing, so that everyone knows what to do. I thought I was about to lose everyone earlier." Visions of a lynch mob had come to mind, but Kabrin laughed, even if no one else did.
"Hardly. They were simply enthralled, that's all. The bride and groom arranged quite the coup, getting you to play for a private engagement. Clarice was also telling me that I need to come to her office and see the sculpture that you're doing? I think that's a fine hobby, for a performer like yourself, but you should really think about a music career first. There's more money and fame in it. Then you can command the best sculpting jobs as well, when you tire of it. Unless you intend to go into politics full time? I hear that it can be rewarding." There was a glibness to almost everything he said, but also a strange kind of charm.
Zeke looked at him and smiled.
"I wasn't aware that we still had used car salesmen." Whatever that meant. There was a smile with it, but Clarice moved in, and hit him lightly on the shoulder.
"Stop that. He's my husband, and also just telling the truth. Bard Pran is one of the most impressive talents that I've seen in years. Decades, and I'm including me in that. You know about my famous ego."
The man looked at her, and then nodded.
"Sorry there, then. So... Cake and then arrest, or has the situation changed? Pran was saying something about a meeting, but you can never quite tell with her." He looked directly at Doctor Millis, who was in a black suit and had a strange ribbon on again. This one was green and red.
"That does seem to be the case. So, no arrest, I don't think?" He looked at Clark, and then Mara and they looked over at Saran, who shook her head.
"Well, better we know about people than not. Things are still a bit uncertain for people to come in, unannounced like this." Her glance moved over toward Pran. Like it was her fault?
It wasn't that however, she realized, just the two well dressed old men that had come up behind her. One of them was Donal, but the other was bigger, being tall and thin, and had a full head of jet black hair that didn't match his thin, almost gaunt, face.
"Oh, hi! I was just about to get some of that cake? We should all go." It looked good and while there was plenty, she needed to get back to work, or everyone would forget she was there.
Her clever plan to distract everyone and get them focused on more relevant themes, such as a wedding party, didn't work too well. Donal smiled at her, beaming, and then took the hand of the larger man next to him. They were darling together, but several of the people looking at them flinched a bit. Put off by the scene, for some reason she didn't understand.
It was funny, but all of those people were standing away from the group around her, except Kabrin. He looked away, while his wife subtly shook her head at him, lips clenching.
"Bard Pran, this is my partner, Riley. Riley, this is a friend of mine, Pran." It was said with perfect clarity, and almost none of the accent that she associated with the man from their previous two conversations. That kind of sold the idea that he was more than just an old man that liked clean streets, didn't it? She put out her hand to shake, which got the High Councilor, of whatever it was they called spying, to take it back, his eyes a bit cold.
"It's so nice to meet you, Bard Pran. We should speak, later." It had the tone of being an order, not just a pleasant suggestion. Why this man in particular would want to talk to her, she didn't know.
Except that she was surrounded by bo
th important people and infiltrators from the past? That could be enough reason, she had to allow. Smiling she nodded.
"That would be great. Now, who's for getting some of that cake, before I start my second set?" She walked away, gesturing, as everyone kind of followed her, seeming tense as they did.
The cake itself was a bit dry, and too rich for her, but she ate what was given her and managed not to get her hands sticky at the same time. Then, working her way over carefully, no one watching her in particular she got set up to play again.
The performance was less overawing it seemed, because she was largely ignored, except by the dancers. It was nice, and people came over to ask her to play specific tunes, which she only knew about half of off the top of her head. In the end she played for hours, watching the crowd only loosely, since her focus had to be on what she was doing. Even trying anything else would end up with her making too many mistakes and looking bad. In the end however, after Paul and Twyla were allowed to leave, Captain Jacques came over and gave her a small hug.
He smelled of wine, but didn't paw at her really. He just seemed happy.
"Perfect. You did very well. I suppose I should actually pay you for this? The deal was for ten songs, but you did much more than that." He spread his hands, as if saying he hadn't asked her for anything like it, but she winked.
"Paul's a friend of mine, and hopefully I attracted some positive attention here." She paused and then had an idea for the second time. It kind of made sense to her, given everything that had been happening. "If you really want to repay me, would it be possible to borrow an airship for a meeting tomorrow? A big one. You'll want to be there for it, I think. I'd rather hold it someplace unexpected, like up in the air. There will be... Well, I can't tell you who will be there, but if it isn't worth your time and the lend of a ship, I'll pay for it myself. Given that I have no money at all, you have to get that I really mean it when I say that it's a big deal." She nodded a bit, and smiled, encouraging him to agree with her.
Slightly tipsy or not the man looked at her like she was suggesting the use of an entire airship for a personal party. Which she realized, she kind of was. It was a ridiculous idea, but after a moment he shook his head.
Her face didn't fall however, which was a good thing, given what he said next.
"A simple up and circle? That can be done. I'll ask Mina to set that up. She should be around here somewhere. What time?"
It took a bit to hammer out all the details, but they agreed to hold the event at three, meaning that she had to get all the people into place by two-thirty. That would make for a tight time frame, but she decided to do it. Just having something like that set up would make it safer and more special seeming. She hoped it worked that way, at least.
Before she left, walking with Clark, Mara, Bards Clarice and Kabrin and Tuvin, she explained the idea, quietly.
No one said much about it however, either too tired from all the dancing or too worried about what the next day would bring. She was exhausted, herself. Still, as soon as she could get away from everyone, she washed her old black clothing carefully, hanging it to dry. All of it, since it was either covered with clay or dried sweat. That meant she was sleeping in the nude that night, waking every ten minutes, fearing that someone would come in and attack her while she was vulnerable.
Even the radio didn't make a sound. Not until morning, when light was coming through the window of her room, if dimly. Before true dawn.
"Emergency. Anyone, please respond. Emergency! This is The Remote. Repeat, this is The Remote. We're under attack! Please respond!"
Pran was still bleary eyed and sleepy headed, but ran, stumbling, across the room. The cold air woke her, her arms and legs instantly showing gooseflesh.
"This is Lincoln, I hear you Remote. Give a report?"
"Lincoln? Thank God! We're deflated, due to a storm, and bandits are trying to cut the lines. We're currently just outside of Clemet, near Oaktree, the Captain and First Mate have gone to hold the doors. We need help! There must be twenty of them out there. If they set the bag on fire, we'll roast alive in here!"
"Understood. I'll set up aid. Keep calling and try to find out if anyone is in the area. Who is this?"
"Apprentice Shipman Lars, ma'am."
"All right, Lars. Keep making those calls, and don't worry too much. Bandits will want your goods, and if they set you on fire they get nothing." She didn't know if that was the case, but it sounded better than her screaming about his impending death. She even sounded relaxed and confident.
"Right. Yeah. I'll see to it."
"I'm clearing the channel then. Stay near the device."
Then, after pulling a blanket from the bed to wrap up in, she padded into the house, shouting.
"Emergency! The Remote is under attack! Get Bard Clarice!" She was ready to keep screaming for a while but after the first round, a man repeated her words, shouting, which got Clark and Mara to come out of their rooms, dashing down the hallway. Pran followed, repeating what Apprentice Lars had said.
"I told him to keep trying to summon aid, but I doubt anyone will get there in time. There was no mention of a Guardian being on board." Which at least meant no Judge. They'd almost certainly have a Doctor however. Plus crew, who all had lives that might be lost as she listened, helplessly.
That... It was a feeling that she'd lived with most of her life. Even when she'd tried to do things to make a difference, to improve her world or that of other people, Pran always carried that with her. The feeling of being too small. Too weak, to do anything that would ever make a difference. She had though. In little ways, and not all that often, but a few times she'd done things that showed she wasn't totally lost in the world. Hadn't she?
Nothing too major, but she'd gone into an alley to fight a rapist, and that had saved Meridith, the victim of the crime... half a rape or more. It might have even saved her life. There was no way to prove that however.
With the attack of the tech-cult people on The Lament, the downloads as it turned out, she'd saved lives, hadn't she? That was a known thing. She'd heard the people talking herself. Only, now that she thought about it, they hadn't said they were going to kill the crew or anything. They even had people on board. Like Michael Morse. The man who'd created the world that they all lived in.
Wanting to sigh in frustration, Pran realized that she might have simply been killing people that were a lot more innocent than she'd thought. Not that it had felt like there was any other way at the time. That might be the best she could do in life. Just bumble along hoping that people were really in need of her help.
Well, if nothing else, she'd done some laundry, and entertained a few people along the way. Thinking of that she looked down, as a still awake High Bard came running down the hallway, from a direction nowhere near her own room. It seemed there was the regular party going on, elsewhere in the giant place.
Pran didn't wave to her, using both hands to keep the bed cover wrapped tightly around her.
"This way. There's an attack on an Airship. The Remote. They're trying to fight, but it sounds dire. Bandits, if Lars has it right. The Shipman on the radio."
Then she turned and scurried. It wasn't a full run, so everyone kept up with her easily enough. They didn't even look at her funny, having no clothes on. It wasn't really needed, she was willing to bet, but when they got to her room, well down the long wood floored hallway, she called out, dashing to her bathroom.
"I need to get dressed. It's on channel eight." The voice was still repeating a distress call, but as she got into the other room, the door still open, she heard a woman speaking over the box.
"This is The Clementine. Come in Remote."
There was more talking then, so she didn't close the door, just pulling on the still very damp and cool clothing she had hanging on the wall bars. They were meant for towels, but had worked well enough for her purposes. Gooseflesh puckered the skin on her arms and made her head bristly, hair all on end from the cold, but there was no ti
me to stand and shiver.
Except, really, there was. The honest fact was a thing that the lady, who was the First Mate of the Clementine if she were being honest, explained to the boy. Without ever really doing that in so many words.
"Understood Remote. We're coming. Our ETA is... Seven hours. Can you hold the ship that long?"
There was dead silence, or nearly so. In the background Pran could make out the sound of loud pops and screaming. Some shouting, too. Not the words themselves, but the noise and din of a battle going on. It seemed pretty real to her then.
Lars sounded freaked, but finally replied.
"I... Don't think so. I should go and... Fight, I guess. Seven hours? Hurry." Then the line went silent.
There was a button on the talking part of the device that had to be pushed, in order for it to allow sound to travel into the world, however that worked. If the boy, who was a man and not a child, no matter what he sounded like, had run off to help, that's what would happen. It meant they had no way to get new information however.
Hopefully they could hold out, or win the fight. Pran doubted that would happen. It forced a wave of self-doubt to rush over her. It was cold. A clammy feeling that reminded her that she was, and always would be, small, helpless and alone. She shook a bit, and wrapped her arms in front of her, worried for those people so far away. Ones she didn't even know and couldn't do a thing to protect. If she were there, things would have been different.
The idea took her for a second, and visions of heroics popped into the front of her brain, but then faded nearly as fast as they came in. What would she have done really? Grab an air rifle and shoot at the attackers? Poorly, if she were going to be honest. Apprentice Lars would do just as well at that as she would have. Possibly better, if he'd been a hunter or target shooter before taking his current training.
Now if Mara and Clark where there, or even Zeke, things might well be different.
That thought got her to blink.
"Um... Clarice? Do you have people on The Remote?" The idea was hazy at best, since not all of those old time tech people from the System were fighters either, but if a few were, it could help. Maybe.