Morgan's Choice

by Greta van Der Rol

  “When do you expect to introduce me?” Jones asked

  “Almost straight away. Professor Unwyn will be there already. He will show the guests what we have found in the mountains and then you will reinforce the vision,” Asbarthi said.

  The vehicle slowed. Morgan caught a brief view of stone pillars and a tall metal gate. Tall trees, some illuminated by uplights at their base, flanked both sides of the drive before the roadway widened into a paved circular area in front of a vast house. Somebody opened the door of the skimmer and she slid out, gathering up her skirts as she did so.

  The house was truly horrible. She’d seen a lot of different architectural styles in her journeys through the Coalition but this place looked like a mad architect’s hallucination. She’d never seen so many towers, minarets, strange and ugly statues and garish, useless ornamentation on anything. Just to make sure no-one would miss a thing, it was all lit up with different colored lights.

  “It’s a reproduction of our Golden Age architecture,” Asbarthi murmured in her ear. “Magnificent, isn’t it?”

  “If you say so,” Morgan said.

  She walked up the wide staircase leading to the front doors, aware of the many skimmers parked nearby and the armed guards standing next to pillars. She’d guess you wouldn’t get in without an invitation. A liveried servant bowed to Devagnam and his wife. The same man greeted Asbarthi and waved him inside, his eyes lingering on Jones, then Morgan as she passed him. Well, that was to be expected.

  The entrance hall was as ornate as the outside of the house. Gold leaf reflected colored light. Voices resonated from a room to one side. Morgan recognized Unwyn’s mellow tones.

  “This way.” Asbarthi led Morgan down a corridor and into a small room. Through a doorway she heard a voice she didn’t recognize.

  “…proof positive that the Mirka are not the only ones who can govern.”

  Applause and shouts of agreement.

  “And now, my friends, let me welcome our colleague, Sitivan Asbarthi.”

  More applause.

  “Wait till I fetch you,” Asbarthi murmured as he strode through the doorway.

  A rustle of movement, then Asbarthi began to speak, his voice ringing even in the antechamber. “My friends, all of us here are Bunyada. We know it to be true that our heritage does not give the Mirka a mandate to dictate to us. Professor Unwyn has shown you his findings. But we have more than that.” He paused, a structured delay. “We have proof… proof that the Orionar stayed among us.”

  A sigh went through the listeners like a breeze in a desert. They hadn’t been expecting this.

  “You’ve all heard the story. That the round-eyed Orionar landed here on Krystor—as Professor Unwyn has now proved. Now meet the Orionar.” He spun, arm outstretched, and beckoned Jones and Morgan.

  They stepped forward into a dining room. Perhaps a dozen men and women sat around an oval dining table, many nursing glasses of wine. A view screen showing the murals in the villa hung on one wall. Professor Unwyn, seated near the head of the table, caught her eye and smiled. All the others stared at her. In an attentive silence, Asbarthi made a show of seating Jones and Morgan in elaborate chairs that resembled thrones.

  Asbarthi turned to his audience. “The Mirka tried to hide them from us. They were found in a disabled space craft, flung through space from who knows where. Ravindra hid them on his battle cruiser. They tried to escape with Hai Sur Sayvu’s daughter, Indra, to assist us in our struggle but their brave attempt failed.” He stopped for a moment, deepened his voice. “Indra Sayvu was executed, a martyr. She tried to bring the Orionar to us. But Ravindra made his first mistake when he sent Sur Jones to Mahanadi. Our people were able to help him escape and bring him to me. And then, at last, we were able to rescue Suri Selwood.”

  Morgan fixed the smile on her face. Rescue. She wouldn’t have called it that.

  Asbarthi spoke. “And here they both are. Living, breathing Orionar.”

  Somebody clapped. Another joined in, then another until the sound became a torrent.

  “Any questions?” Asbarthi asked.

  “Why are her eyes different?” someone asked. “She doesn’t have that white ring around her eyes.”

  “It’s something that happens sometimes,” Morgan said. “A rare variation. Most people have eyes like my… my companion.”

  “Where do you come from? Where is your home planet?”

  “We come from the other side of the Galaxy,” Jones said. “The location is not visible on your charts.”

  It was half true, anyway. And maybe they did come from the other side of the galaxy. Other questions arose but many of them Asbarthi answered, giving Morgan a chance to watch the faces. Most were interested, curious. One fellow in the center, however, looked skeptical.

  “This is all very well, Asbarthi,” he said at last, “but what can these people do for our cause?”

  Asbarthi pounced on him. “An excellent question, Hai Sur Dargen. We’ve tried revolution before, in planets throughout the Union. And often we fail. Why? Because the people do not support us. But now, we can offer them equality. We have Professor Unwyn’s proof of our claims and we can show them Orionar.” He waved a dramatic arm to encompass Jones and Morgan.

  Dargen folded his arms, brows lowered. “You’re not serious, Asbarthi. Freedom for the masses? Equality?”

  Asbarthi smiled. “As much freedom as they could know and understand. And equality? Even with equals one needs leaders.”

  Dargen inclined his head. “How do you propose this should happen?”

  “We’ve all been sowing the seeds, blaming Murag and his security police for all that’s wrong. You’ve been doing the same?” He waited for Dargen’s nod. “The rest of you? Yes? And what have you heard?”

  “That they’d like to rise up but they don’t trust us,” said an older man at the end of the table.

  “Yes,” Asbarthi said. “They’ve heard the stories from Mohenyo, or Prakash. So we offer them Orionar who will be their king and queen.”

  The room buzzed.

  Asbarthi let them mutter, inspecting his fingernails for a few measured seconds. “Of course, even a king requires advisors.”

  All eyes turned to Jones.

  He beamed, turning his head this way and that. He was loving this charade. “My colleague and I are honored to be able to assist you in your quest for freedom.”

  My Lords, Ladies, join me in a toast.” Asbarthi poured himself a glass of wine and raised it. “Here’s to King Tony and Queen Morgan.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Asbarthi smoothed down the front of his red and black striped jacket and flicked a final comb through his hair. He smiled at himself. Last evening’s meeting had gone well. Dargen was always going to be the main objector and he’d seemed happy enough when he left. With the power of the Devagnam name behind him, this morning’s discussion would be the sealer.

  One last flick of his fingers at an imaginary speck and he went along to the library. Devagnam was already there, seated in one of the armchairs. A lovely room, this, with its deep carpets and huge windows overlooking the garden and the distant mountains. A collection of readers stood along a shelf, next to the console where one selected and loaded a book. He took a moment to admire the ceiling, a magnificent dome displaying the descent of the Orionar down a stairway of cloud to a beautiful planet.

  “Lovely piece of work, isn’t it?” Devagnam said, following his gaze. “I commissioned Irpellan to paint it for me. Took him a year.”

  “Irpellan? That must have cost you,” Asbarthi said. The artist’s works hung in galleries in most of the major centers. He had one himself, in his mansion on Pteriosis. Until the Mirka government confiscated his assets on that planet. Never mind. The time was near when he’d have his revenge.

  “Ah, Mellnar, Dargen,” Devagnam said, striding toward the newcomers, arm outstretched. “Come in, come in. I’ve ordered refreshment. Please sit down.”

  The two men each locke
d forearms with Devagnam, then Asbarthi, and sank down into the deep cushions of chairs surrounding an ornate gilt-covered low table.

  “Interesting performance last evening, Asbarthi,” Dargen said. “Are they real?”

  Asbarthi smiled. Trust Dargen to cut to the chase. “Yes, real. He looks a little like the fellow on the ceiling, don’t you think?” He pointed a finger upwards to the figure of a white skinned man with white hair and red eyes in the mural on the cupola.

  A soft-footed servant came in with a tray and set out mugs, a pot and a plate of delicacies, and withdrew.

  “But you’re not trying to tell us they’re really Orionar?” Mellnar asked as he lifted his cup.

  “No. There is some mystery as to where they came from but for us, it doesn’t matter. They look the part and he is willing to say the words.”

  Dargen stretched out his legs. “What sort of mystery?”

  “Oh, some nonsense about a strange ship.” Dargen was such a mean-spirited fellow. Who cared, really? “Which is how we came up with the story that they came from the other side of the Galaxy.”

  Dargen’s eyebrow twitched.

  “We didn’t believe it, either. She’s probably had some sort of disease and it has been covered up,” Devagnam reached for another of the small, sweet cakes.

  “Disease?” Mellnar said, jerking upright.

  “Settle down, Mellnar. Whatever it was isn’t contagious,” Asbarthi said. “And before you ask, our contacts in the Fleet tell me the ship was an experimental new design that went wrong. It was taken on board Vidhvansaka and the two occupants kept under wraps for some time before they were permitted to interact with the crew at all. And then only minimally. Personally I think that’s a much more likely source of their different appearance—some sort of accident in this experimental ship and they were kept isolated to ensure they weren’t contagious. It was very hush-hush at the time, so my informants told me. It’s obvious Ravindra doesn’t think she’s alien or strange.”

  “No?” Dargen said.

  Asbarthi smiled. “No. He keeps—kept her in style, in quarters near his own. But the really important thing about her is that she has remarkable skills with technology. Something to do with a computer in her head.”

  Dargen put the mug back onto its circular mat on the table and pulled a face. “A computer in her head? Really, Asbarthi…”

  “Oh, yes. Hard to believe, but true. I have received reports from Ravindra’s flagship as well as her companion. I believe she has the knowledge and ability to help us combat the Fleet.” Asbarthi swallowed his smirk. That had them thinking. Devagnam, already convinced, selected another sweet from the tray.

  Dargen rubbed a finger across his lips. “You’re sure of this?”

  “I am.”

  Mellnar stared out of the window toward the mountains for a few loaded moments. When he turned back to look at Asbarthi his eyes held a glitter of excitement. “Do you intend to take on the Fleet?”

  “Yes. Krystor will be just the start. We’ll take over the planet then move on to the next one.”

  “And she will help?”

  He’d won them. Asbarthi pushed down his glee; too early to celebrate yet. “I believe she will. It may cost us—property, gold, a title.” They all nodded. Material possessions, paltry within the scheme of things. “You can leave that to me. First, we must have our people supporting us.”

  “True. And I don’t think images will be enough. I would like you to bring Professor Unwyn and the two Orionar to a meeting of the Krystor People’s Party in my village,” Dargen said.

  “Of course,” Asbarthi said. “How do you propose to arrange this?”

  “Well, I think we’re agreed it’s time we began to carefully show our hand?” Dargen exchanged looks with each of the others, affirming agreement. “I’ll have a word with the group’s convener, let him drop the word that we are changing direction and why and then I’ll let him beg me to produce these people.” He laughed along with the others. “It means an undercover visit to their worker’s club. That won’t be an issue, will it?”

  “I shouldn’t think so,” Asbarthi said, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t think that will be a problem at all.”

  “And from there?” Mellnar asked.

  Asbarthi flung his arms out. “We disseminate the word. Give it a few meetings, take images of the events and get them out to the towns. Let the word spread that the Orionar are amongst us.”

  He laughed.

  ****

  Morgan felt like one of those animated dolls that came out of a box, smiled and waved until the power pack ran out and then went back inside to be recharged. “Where are we going, again?”

  Asbarthi smiled down at her. “To Hai Sur Mellnar’s manor. You remember Hai Sur Mellnar, don’t you?” He gestured at the open door of the skimmer. “Please…”

  Yes, she remembered Hai Sur Mellnar. She lifted the skirt so she could step into the vehicle. His was the first manor they’d visited, when she was first introduced. That was five meetings ago. Wheeled out to spout the same rubbish to the people at worker’s clubs and mess halls all dressed up in this uncomfortable gown and these horrible shoes. At least Jones did the talking. He loved the whole nonsense.

  “Morgan. So nice to see you again,” Unwyn said as she slid along the seat next to Jones. “Lakshmi will not be joining us?”

  “Not for this visit, no,” Asbarthi said, settling into the cushions. “She has commercial matters to deal with at home.”

  Morgan wriggled her nose. A faint blossom fragrance, probably coming from the piles of cushions, overlaid the smell of leather. Dargen’s limousine was every bit as grand as Devagnam’s and if anything, a little more ornate. Polished metal curlicues and gewgaws winked in soft lighting. Totally overdone, as usual.

  No, hardly surprising Lakshmi wasn’t coming. Asbarthi had brought her along to the last meeting they’d attended—clearly under sufferance—and he’d only just managed to keep her from being rude. That woman was so far up in the stratosphere it was a miracle she could breathe.

  “Please bear in mind we’ll be talking to his Lordship’s workers,” Asbarthi said. “We need these people’s support.”

  She leaned back in the blasted cushions. This was so wrong. Telling people they’d have a say in government, knowing they wouldn’t. She was beginning to have serious doubts about the whole business. But anything had to be better than the Murag fellow.

  “This world will be better off without Murag,” Unwyn said. “I’ve heard his enforcers have come in and stolen the harvest at a few places. It’ll be a tough year for them.”

  “Where did you hear that?” Morgan asked.

  “The shop where I buy my supplies. There’s talk all over town. The people are not happy.”

  Asbarthi grunted, a slight smirk on his lips. Unwyn’s news obviously made him happy.

  Stealing people’s harvest… that was low. And wrong. But the other part, about who governed who; not her problem, why should she care? After all, could she really say she understood? The manesa were not humans; they operated under different rules. She’d always found it remarkable that only Mirka officers could command ships. But it worked for them. She pushed away the image of Ravindra that sidled unasked into her mind.

  The skimmer slowed and turned up a drive flanking Mellnar’s manor house, ablaze with lights in the early evening. The village where the workers lived lay beyond the big house in a valley. The vehicle breasted a ridge and started down toward the mosaic of street lights. Like all the other properties Morgan had visited, the workers’ accommodation was solid and durable, built of local materials. She preferred the rustic stone buildings to the ornate confections the ‘landed gentry’ evidently favored. The skimmer slipped down a side-street away from the town’s brightly-lit main square and around to the back of a hall. Asbarthi alighted first, to speak in low tones with the fidgeting local convener who stood hunched in his dark clothes. The man nodded and slunk away. She couldn’t imagi
ne what the fellow could have done to look any more suspicious.

  Asbarthi gestured. “Come, quickly.”

  She clutched the dark cloak around her body, hiding the gown as best she could. A white and gold dress wasn’t a great get-up for an inconspicuous visit, but she’d broached the subject with Asbarthi before and had been told that the look was the thing. She stepped out of the skimmer into cool night air that tingled on her skin. The dress wasn’t designed for warmth, either.

  “This way.”

  She followed Asbarthi, Jones and Unwyn behind her, up a short flight of steps into the backroom of the meeting hall. By now she knew the layout so well she could have done the trip blindfold. They were all the same. Large outer hall, set with rows of chairs facing a stage. The backroom served as a food preparation area. To the left of the main hall doors gave off to a passage lined with washrooms and meeting rooms.

  As usual, Asbarthi didn’t introduce any of them to the convener. The man glanced at her, brows furrowed, taking in her eyes and the color of her skin. This one didn’t seem so radiantly gob-smacked by her appearance as most of the others; she could even have thought he was a little bit suspicious.

  Asbarthi glowered at the fellow. “Shall we get on, Brenish?”

  He bowed sufficiently deeply. “Of course, Hai Sur. This way.”

  One last sideways glance at Jones and Morgan and Brenish led the way to the stage door, Unwyn and Asbarthi in attendance. A muffled round of applause signaled their arrival.

  Jones stood next to the door, obviously eager to make his big entrance. One of Mellnar’s security guards lounged against the wall, picking his fingernails; the other waited outside. Morgan sank onto a chair next to the table against the side wall. This really was getting tiresome.

  Soon enough the sing-song drone of voices from the auditorium ended and Unwyn stepped through the door to summon them. The reaction was the same as always; gasps of pleased surprise from the believers or narrowing of eyes from the doubters. Although at each meeting less and less doubters appeared to be evident; their fame must have spread. Jones made his ringing speech in his accented tones. Morgan smiled and answered questions, the same ones about where they came from and why her eyes were different to Jones’.