Sissy didn’t know what to say to them, though she had dozens of questions. The silence between them did nothing to soothe her fears.
The driver kept a solid glass partition between himself and her. Real glass. Not bio-plastic. As clear as water and as thick as her fingers. Such luxury frightened her. She might damage something. And then there’d be trouble. Lots of trouble.
Would Laudae Shanet and Mr. Guilliam be her guards or her guardians?
No more hiding behind her hair and makeup. Everyone on Harmony now knew her for a mutant freak. A Lood.
“Why can’t we walk?” she finally asked. If she walked, she determined her own direction. If she took off the pointed and pinching shoes and walked barefoot, her toes stroking the ground with awe, she might understand what Harmony asked of her.
How could she find herself if she couldn’t feel the planet beneath her feet?
“The people expect a degree of formality from us,” Laudae Shanet said. She looked around, appearing as uncomfortable as Sissy felt. “Laud Gregor prefers us to remain a bit aloof from the people.”
“Pomp and circumstance,” Guilliam muttered.
Sissy grinned at him. Of all the people she’d met in the last week, of all the words she’d struggled to read, Mr. Guilliam seemed the most real, and the most practical.
She caressed the silky texture of the fine dress they’d given her. A light yellow green. She didn’t like the color or the way the dress was too long, hitting her mid-calf; the skirt too tight to take a proper step, and too loose in the bodice. The style came out of one of those pricy catalogs no one could afford.
How many months’ rent could she have paid for the price of this dress? How many meals could she buy?
“I don’t belong here,” she said quietly. “I don’t know how to act, how to dress. How to talk.”
“You’ll learn. We’ll help you learn.” Laudae Shanet patted her knee.
A small note tickled the back of Sissy’s throat, in the same tone as Laudae Shanet’s voice. Sissy hummed it into life. Her body caught the vibration and found comfort there. She sang a complementary tone, sliding upward into a cascade of melody.
Guilliam matched her note for note in his fine baritone. Laudae Shanet’s alto voice wobbled a bit as she, too, tried to sing along with them.
Soon they were singing nonsense tunes and nursery rhymes at the top of their lungs; laughing as much as they sang.
“Ah,” Sissy sighed. As long as she could find the notes that blended with Harmony, she was safe. Harmony would protect her. For now.
She reminded herself that High Priest Gregor believed Harmony needed Sissy’s weird caste marks for some mysterious purpose. Her place was not to question the Goddess, only to find and maintain Harmony.
The car glided to a stop. Sissy dared a quick peek through the window. Tall crystal columns supported an arched roof over wide double doors of etched glass.
The Crystal Temple. A back entrance hidden from the public by a high courtyard wall.
Mr. Guilliam and Shanet slid out the door opposite Sissy. She moved to follow them, scooting across the seat awkwardly.
Unseen hands opened the door beside her.
“Miss Sissy.” High Priest Gregor bowed low in greeting. He wore the formal brocaded green robes of his office, with wide padded shoulders, broad sleeves that flowed beyond his fingertips. A tall, pointed crown of more green and gold with a concealing veil of strung crystals topped him off. The only thing that identified him as different from the other green-and-gold figures arranged in a half circle behind him was his voice.
Her new green dress looked ill-fitting and far too casual for so formal a greeting. She took a deep breath from the inhaler the physicians had given her. The drugs sent a rush of stimulant through her system, brighteningher vision and filling her with energy. Instantly her lungs expanded. Air flowed in and out with ease for two breaths.
Then terror clamped down on her again. She needed direction from Harmony.
A male hand reached into the car level with her elbow. “Let me help you, Miss,” Guilliam whispered.
Trustingly she placed her own small hand in his larger one. It engulfed hers as he gave a slight tug up and out. She had to follow or have her shoulder dislocated.
As she emerged from the dim car into bright sunlight, a friendly smile peeked out from behind his veil of beads. He had a lot fewer faceted crystals and more plain green glass in his veil than did Gregor.
Carefully Sissy settled her balance on her own two feet, cautious of the new shoes that matched her dress. Green, slender, sophisticated, awkward, with high heels that threatened to throw her forward onto her nose.
“We welcome you, Miss Sissy,” Gregor intoned. “Please grace our Temple with your presence.” He offered her his right arm in escort.
Sissy nodded, not knowing what else to do. She didn’t trust her voice. Her rebellious lungs kept cutting her off in mid word. She took one step forward and teetered on the unfamiliar heels.
High Priest Gregor grabbed her arm to steady her balance. “Are you unwell, Sissy?” He sounded anxious. “The physicians assured me that you could safely leave hospital.”
“I’m okay,” Sissy insisted. She kicked off the shoes and bent to pick them up.
Laudae Shanet, her hastily donned headdress tilted a bit to one side, beat her to it. “Allow me, Miss Sissy,” she said quietly.
A feminine gasp went around the circle.
“You’ll hurt your feet, Sissy,” Laud Gregor said.
“Nah. Don’t never wear shoes at home. I can feel Harmony better with bare feet.” Sissy flashed a smile to all the green-robed people in the courtyard. She caught a glimpse of a grin in return from Laudae Shanet.
Twitters and sneers went around the circle of priests and priestesses.
“So be it!” Gregor proclaimed. “Our High Priestess removes barriers between us and our Mother Goddess.” Gregor bent and removed his own green half boots.
Sissy cringed away. She hadn’t ordered anything. She just didn’t like wearing shoes. Truthfully, she’d never been able to afford a pair that fit well enough to be comfortable.
When Gregor righted, he stared at the circle of green-and-gold clad officials. In a neighborhood Temple any one of them would have ruled with absolute power over their congregation. Here they were all subordinate to the High Priest.
And she was supposed to become High Priestess, placed above all of them, including Gregor.
“Do it,” he sneered, glaring at each of them in turn.
A stick-straight woman in the center of the pack lifted her chin haughtily. “Never.” She turned gracefully on her own high heels and stalked back inside the temple.
The remaining four women followed her. All still wore their shoes.
But the six men hopped around, pulling their feet free of their own boots.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
GREGOR WINCED AS HIS BARE feet touched the frigid paving stones of the courtyard. The first spring flowers might be poking their heads through the soil, but winter had not yet fled Harmony City. He watched Sissy skip over to a patch of grass surrounding a sacred rowan tree at the center of the open area. She buried her toes in the soft greenery and sighed deeply. The joy on her face made his own discomfort flee.
“We have become jaded while we sought comfort over our need to renew contact with Mother Harmony,” a young acolyte of about twelve years, barely out of training, whispered to Gregor.
The High Priest glared at the boy sharply. Then relented. He was right. The young offered fresh perspectives on life. Sometimes. Sometimes they were just annoying.
“What is your name, boy?” Gregor whispered back. He couldn’t be expected to remember all of them. Each of the seven priests and seven priestesses had seven acolytes. As those acolytes completed their education, they rotated out to surrounding parishes, making way for the constant stream of children ready to move into their places. Nearly half of them would marry into the Noble caste before
they reached ordination. Many more fell into support roles, not qualifying for ordination. No one expected him to remember more than the seven who assisted him at any given time.
“Caleb da Gregor pa Crystal Temple, sir,” the boy returned.
Wasn’t Marilee’s last child named Caleb?
Caleb da Gregor. So. The boy was his. Or Marilee claimed it.
Someone in records kept track of the DNA mixes, to avoid incestuous relationships. The gene pool among the Temple caste and Nobles was too small to take chances on mutations.
Like Sissy, with that full array of caste marks. She had sprung from the Worker caste, the largest and most diverse. Little chance for inbreeding there. He needed to make sure she bred soon and often to bring new genes into the mix.
“Mind if I borrow your words to remind all of us of the truth Miss Sissy has brought us?” Gregor asked.
The boy shook his head.
Gregor raised his voice and repeated the statement.
Sissy giggled. “Ain’t that the truth,” she said. And then she smiled. Her entire face lit up with a glow of wonder.
Why hadn’t Gregor thought her beautiful before? From the rapt gazes of the men still gathered in the courtyard, they all agreed. That smile could melt the hardest of hearts. Her value to him as a political tool jumped sevenfold. He might even suggest that he father her first child.
Now he just had to convince Penelope and her Laudaes.
“Laud Gregor?” Sissy asked quietly.
“Yes?” He inclined his head to bring it closer to her, indicating a need for privacy. A little difficult considering the top of her head only came to his shoulder.
“Laud Gregor, why are you all wearing green? I thought you’d all be in black until the funeral.”
“The empire is in mourning for Laudae Marilee. But today we celebrate you joining our ranks, Miss Sissy. We wear green to honor you.”
“Oh.” She shrank within herself, seeming even shorter and slighter. “You didn’t have to do that. I ain’t . . . I’m not all that special.”
“But you are, my dear. You are the miracle I’ve been waiting a generation for.” He patted her hand in reassurance.
She withdrew it, as if afraid of his touch.
“Miss Sissy,” Laudae Shanet bowed slightly as she stepped between them. “May I show you your quarters?” Her teeth started to chatter and her feet curled away from the cold in the paving stones.
“Sure,” Sissy agreed. “You going to share with me?”
“Oh, no, Miss. I wouldn’t dream of presuming on your privacy.” Shanet gasped and placed her hand over her mouth.
Sissy’s face fell. “You mean I gots . . . I have to be alone?”
“I think you’ll find that we have plenty of space in the Temple grounds and quarters for each of us to have a private place, Miss Sissy,” Gregor stepped up beside her, offering his arm again. “This is not Worker quarters where there are too many people crowded in too small a space.”
“You got so much space to waste on privacy, why not share some of it with Workers who need it?” Sissy stood her ground, ignoring his proffered arm. Her breathing became shallow and ragged. She used the inhaler. Twice.
The physicians had warned him that her lungs needed time and care to clear themselves. She might need that charcoal filter changed a couple more times before she could rid herself of all the dust she’d breathed in saving the entire city from disaster.
“I’m certain we can find larger apartments for your family, Miss,” Gregor conceded. Her position as the new HPS had to have some privileges.
“Not just my family. All of the Workers,” she insisted.
“That is an issue that can be addressed later, Miss. Now come inside before you catch a chill. You have not been well.” Gently he took her hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow. Then he guided her inside, with only a little extra force.
“Guilliam,” he addressed his assistant the moment he turned Sissy over to Shanet at the door to their quarters. An idea shimmered in the back of his mind.
“Yes, My Laud?”
“See to it that Miss Sissy’s family is moved to more spacious quarters. No. Make it a block of joined flats. At no increase in rent. That way her brother and his new bride can have a room to themselves.”
If the Worker caste became enthralled with Sissy the way Gregor’s acolytes seemed to be, he could use that force.
“Lord Chauncey isn’t going to like that, sir.” Guilliam looked around anxiously as if he expected the noble to be lurking within earshot.
“Tell Lord Chauncey he will have the eternal gratitude of the new HPS and the entire Temple. Especially my gratitude as HP on the next divided vote in the High Council.”
“What do we do with the four families we displace?” Guilliam did not look happy.
“Two of them go into the flats vacated by Miss Sissy’s family. The other two . . . hm . . . Lady Marissa is always complaining that she can’t get enough Workers in her factory out in the desert. Transfer them there.”
“The reason Lady Marissa can’t get enough Workers is because of unsafe working conditions. She has more industrial accident deaths than any three Nobles combined. The entire caste will wonder what these two families did to deserve a death sentence. Lord Chauncey won’t like losing valuable, trained employees.”
Gregor glared at his assistant. Guilliam glared back.
“Make it work, Guilliam.” They glared at each other for a long moment. “I will have a discussion with Lady Marissa about improving working conditions in her factories. Perhaps some concessions in more lucrative Spacer contracts.” He tapped his caste mark, thinking hard. An alliance with Lady Marissa at the factory level could help his plans within the High Council. Hmmmm. . . .
“And while you are at it, find out how Big Johnny came to own the broadcasting facility. All land and business are owned by Nobles and then leased to Professionals. We need leverage among the media. The threat to remove Big Johnny and Little Johnny from the HCB ought to be worth some cooperation.”
“It is my understanding, My Laud, that the Johnnys have always owned HCB, back seven generations or more.”
“I don’t like that. I believe I need to research some precedents here and take it up with the High Council.”
“And when will Miss Sissy’s family be allowed to visit, sir?”
Gregor smiled. Guilliam knew when to change the subject. That made him valuable as an assistant.
“Sometime. Make vague promises to them and keep them busy with moving and settling in. I’ll deal with the visits later. Miss Sissy can’t be allowed to remain dependent upon them. Oh, and make certain that all seven of her acolytes are young and haven’t been exposed to Laudae Penelope’s influence.”
“That will take some shuffling, sir. We had expected Miss Sissy to inherit Laudae Marilee’s team.”
“Just do it. And rotate Marilee’s team out. As far out as possible.”
“Even the young ones, sir?” Guilliam looked aghast.
“All seven of them. Let it be a warning to Laudae Penelope that even she is subject to rotation if she continues to defy me.”
Guilliam started shaking. “My Laud, if you don’t mind, sir, I’d like to take rotation now. I don’t want to be anywhere near Laudae Penelope and her aunt Lady Marissa when she finds out what you’ve done.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"YOU LOOK WORSE THAN THE night you died, Jake,” Director Marella said from the doorway of her office.
Jake looked up from the contemplation of his clasped hands. Pink palms contrasting with the Numidian dark backs. Would he ever get used to the new coloration, or looking at himself in the mirror, now that the nanos had done their work and he’d stopped itching?
He should sit straighter. His slumped back strained. His elbows dug into his thighs.
“I feel worse than I did the night you dragged me into your convoluted web.” He went back to staring at how his thumbs fit together when he slid them back an
d forth, knuckle to knuckle, then knuckle to flesh.
“What happened?” Pam touched his shoulder with something akin compassion. Not an emotion he would have expected from her.
“It’s in my report.”
“I want to hear it from you, Jake. Every word, everything you saw. Everything you smelled and heard. Everything you thought.” Dragging the high-backed, rocking, swivel chair that molded to her body like a padded glove beside him, she sat down. Then she did the unthinkable. She placed her hand over his, stilling his rubbing thumbs.
“I can’t.”
“You have to.”
“Why? Because you order it?”
“If that’s the only way I can get you to talk, then yes. I order you to give me an oral report. A full and thorough report.” She scooted the chair away from him with a single thrust of her foot.
“Screw you, Pammy. I quit.”
“Can’t.”
“Why can’t I resign?”
“If you do, you go back to being Jake Hannigan and face court-martial for willful disobedience of a direct order during combat. I believe that carries the death penalty.”
Blood drained from Jake’s face.
“Damn you, Director Marella.” He half stood.
A glare from her forced him to plop back down. This time straight and defiant.
“Good, the Jake I hired is back. I get tired of you boys slinking in here all full of grief and self-pity. Get over it, Jake. This is a hard business. You can’t ever take any of it personally.”
“Billy and Mickey are dead!”
“You never lost comrades in combat before?”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“Yeah, but that was all nice and sanitary. They were in their ships, you in yours. You watched data scatter across a screen. You knew they were gone, but it didn’t happen right in front of you. You didn’t see the blood or smell the death. Just data on a screen.”
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