Survive

by Vera Nazarian

  “Gwen . . .” he says, looking intensely at me. There is a very vulnerable expression in his eyes. “I hope you are—okay with how this turned out. Sorry if it came as a great shock. I tried to make it as easy for you as possible—and for them.”

  You did it right. . . .

  I press my lips together to control their trembling, and crane my neck sideways. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “Are you okay?” he persists. “Are you happy?”

  “More than you can imagine.” I squeeze his fingers with mine.

  And then I pull him by the hand and make him follow me across the room. We stop at the large table, and I reach out tentatively and place my hand on the curved metallic object that sits there. I feel the cool touch of its delicate etched surface.

  “This is my Mom,” I say in a numb voice. “I want you to meet her.”

  Chapter 53

  I stand with Aeson, looking at the urn with my mother’s ashes. Moments later the other Larks join us, and we all stand and observe her in solemn silence.

  “Sweethearts,” Dad says softly. “Your Mother is here with us, always.” And he places his hand on the urn.

  Then there are more long, silent moments.

  They pass around us somehow, flowing in and around and through us, like a strange haze.

  At some point, Dad steps back and goes to sit down on the sofa. He is overcome with the gravity, and the aftermath of all the emotion, and he definitely needs to rest.

  The rest of us linger a few moments more, then move around the room. Gracie and Gordie go to pour all of us some drinks. George stares out through the large ornate window at the star-filled evening sky.

  Quoni approaches Aeson and converses with him discreetly, then, with a salute, excuses himself. He glances to the rest of us and bows, taking his leave of Dad and George, and promising to be in contact tomorrow to deliver the rest of their boxes. And then he’s gone.

  I turn to Aeson, my brain getting back in gear. “Where will they be staying?” I ask. “At least for tonight? I mean, they can’t exactly be sleeping here on the sofas in this Room of Secrets? I see no beds.”

  “No, of course not. They will have bedrooms assigned to them in our Quarters, up to and immediately following the Wedding, after which I’ll have better arrangements for them.” Aeson checks his wrist comm. “In fact, according to my staff, the rooms are ready now.”

  And then he pauses and looks at me seriously. “Gwen, just to be clear, I wanted them to be in this room, under lock and key until we got back, to make sure that they are safe. That’s the reason Quoni stayed behind, guarding them every moment here in the Palace.”

  “Oh. . . .” I blink, thoughts churning.

  And then it occurs to me, Of course—Aeson wanted to protect my family, just in case, from his Imperial Father.

  “I understand,” I say. “Your Room of Childhood Secrets is a great place to hide them, since no one would think to look—”

  Aeson blinks in turn.

  “Gwen, there is no Room of Childhood Secrets. I’m sorry, I had to make up all that for a number of reasons, mostly having to do with my Imperial Father and the expectations of the Court. This is just a study room I used a lot during my younger days. That table there—I used to draw and do my homework on it. Yes, there may be a few memorable boyhood trinkets and items here, but nothing of an arcane nature.” He makes a small sound, somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh.

  And then he adds, almost as an afterthought, “Do you really think, considering the kind of permanent surveillance that I’ve been living under for all of my life, the endless suspicion and mistrust, that I would risk cultivating material objects, or keep anything meaningful where my Father could get to it when I was a young boy? That so-called Room of Childhood Secrets? It’s up here.” And he points to his head.

  My mouth falls open. “What about the love gift? I mean, you already got me Dad and George, which is more than a love gift in itself, but—that ancient key?”

  Aeson smiles, and a slight flush comes to is face. “The key is still my love gift to you, a symbol of everything I hold inside me being always open to you—you need only ask.”

  I shake my head at my endearing-yet-impossible, sneaky fiancé, with an expression of exasperation and love. “Oh, Aeson. . . . You really are such an outrageous liar, and yet I cannot fault you at all. This is very frustrating, you know that? That I can’t fault you. You did it again! Something wonderful, and yet you fooled me completely like an idiot. This needs to stop, or I’m going to have trouble taking anything you say seriously, even as I adore what you do.”

  “I know,” he replies, looking at me with a slightly sheepish expression. “It is terrible of me. Old, ingrained habits.”

  I squeeze his hand with emotion. “We’ll discuss this deviousness later,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him sternly, and yet my smile breaking through. “As for this—” I brandish the antique key. “This is going to stay with me always, because it is indeed so perfectly you—a source of endless revelations. Also, a jerk who hides stuff.”

  He smiles. “I never said I was perfect.”

  I snort. “Oh, you’re far from perfect, mister! I’ve no idea why I even love you. So frustrating.”

  We cut our banter short, and rejoin the conversation with my reunited family. Gracie is telling Dad all about her orbital Piloting skills and random happenings from the past year during our Fleet journey, and Gordie mumbles about his job at Heri Agriculture.

  George and Dad listen, nodding, taking sips of their drinks, and both look more and more exhausted. In fact, they’re too tired to even begin to tell us their side of things—about Mom, about all those difficult months on chaos-filled, doomed Earth. . . .

  “All right, time for bed!” I announce, half an hour later, seeing them fading completely.

  And so, we all head down the corridor to find their guest bedrooms, with all of us carrying their luggage because we want to—touching the old, dear, familiar Earth things from home. . . . Dad walks slowly with some difficulty, and holds Mom’s urn to his chest.

  “You’ll feel much better in the morning, I promise,” I say to Dad as we all start to fuss around the nice guest suite with two adjacent bedrooms located on my side of the Quarters. Even as George and Dad start opening their suitcases, servants arrive to assist.

  “Oh, dear . . . oh, goodness . . . thank you. That’s all right, I can manage,” Dad says in a fading voice, as a helpful servant takes over the task of unpacking, while another brings a stack of fresh towels and items of toilette, and a third carries a Ghost meal refreshment tray, since no one is in any condition to eat a full-blown niktos meal.

  We all hug and kiss once again, letting them settle in, this time leaving them to their rest.

  “Come on, Gracie,” I say, as my little sister lingers, not wanting to leave Dad’s side. “We’ll continue tomorrow. Saying good night now. . . .”

  “Will they be all right?” Gracie whispers to me as soon as we’re outside the door of their suite. “I mean—will they be safe here?”

  Even Gracie knows the potential dangers our family could be in, when it comes to Imperial “favor.”

  “They are safe, I promise,” Aeson leans in to reply discreetly to both of us, even as Gordie moves closer to hear this. “I’ve increased security to this floor.”

  The way he says it, I know that Aeson probably went above and beyond. And so, for now, I relax, trusting his abilities to do just that.

  With Dad and George gone to bed early, the rest of us return to Aeson’s workroom. Gracie and Gordie are so wound up that they’re not going anywhere far from the Palace, such as their apartments in town. And so, we spend most of the remainder of the night sitting around on the sofas and making detailed plans for tomorrow, on our wonderfully expanded family’s behalf.

  Aeson briefly goes to the workstation desks to check on the two night-shift astra daimon on duty at the computers monitoring the alien threat, then returns to the sofa a
nd we talk.

  “As far as my formal schedule, I only have the Wedding Dress Final Fitting early in the morning,” I say. “Otherwise I’m clear. Since you’re both sleeping here, Gracie, you two can go to them, first thing when they wake up, and help with acclimatization.”

  “Okay.” Gracie nods.

  “How are we going to introduce them to his family?” Gordie asks, with a glance at Aeson. “How much do the Imperials know about their arrival anyway?”

  “Safe to assume my Father already knows,” Aeson says softly.

  “It was going to be inevitable, so. . . .” I try not to think about it, but it’s difficult. The Imperator’s reaction and mood right about now is probably . . . ugh. “In any case—Gordie, remember we have the Imperial Family dea meal on our Wedding schedule.”

  “Yes,” Gracie says. “Sort of the equivalent of an Earth rehearsal dinner.”

  “A what?” Gordie says with a small frown.

  “I already explained it to you a billion times,” Gracie says with frustration. “It’s when families of the bride and groom meet the night before the wedding to do a rehearsal run-through of the ceremony then eat dinner and make toasts. Except, this Imperial thing is not the night before, and there’s no rehearsal.”

  “Sorry I don’t remember that junk,” Gordie says. “So, when exactly is it?”

  “Check your calendar Wedding schedule app on your wrist . . . jeez.” Gracie rolls her eyes again. “Do you even know you have it?”

  “Day after tomorrow,” I say thoughtfully. “That’s when we all eat dea meal here in the Imperator’s Quarters. It was supposed to be just Aeson’s Family and the three of us, but now there will be five of us.”

  “Good, the more the merrier,” Gracie says. “Lark power!”

  “Right,” Gordie mumbles.

  “And it gives them a full day to rest and get acclimated with the environment and gravity and everything else weird here,” Gracie says.

  “How much stuff are we telling them?” Gordie pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and scratches his ear. “I mean, the difficult stuff. The lethal in-law. The evil alien light grid. They need to know about the dangers before that rehearsal dinner thing.”

  “Sh-h-h-h,” I say, worried about Palace surveillance in the room, coupled with Gordie’s choice of words, lethal in-law. “Ease them in gently, please. I’ll speak to them about the family situation myself, as soon as possible.”

  By “family situation” I of course mean the Imperator. Dad and George really need to know some of the basics, although I imagine they already know or suspect a lot of it, considering all the guarded secrecy around their mode of arrival.

  Will I be mentioning the role the Imperator played in creating the conditions—the rescue delay tactics—that contributed to my Mom’s passing? I’m not sure yet. . . . How will my Dad react to meeting the Imperator if he knew that this malicious man had intentionally withheld my Mom’s access to a potential medical cure?

  “The Wedding family event is indeed going to be complicated by several of these factors,” Aeson says. “But I promise, some of us will put in every effort to make the Imperial dea meal as pleasant as possible, for all of you. My Mother and my sister Manala will be told in advance.”

  “Thank you, Aeson.” I nod at him. “I appreciate it.”

  “Oh, dear lord—Dad and George will need fancy Wedding clothes!” Gracie exclaims.

  “Not a problem.” Aeson smiles. “All will be handled tomorrow.”

  “That’s right, yes! In fact, during my dress fitting!” I say. “The seamstresses and tailors will be here anyway.”

  “And what about their role in the Wedding Ceremony itself?” Gracie persists.

  I take a deep breath, as my imagination unfurls with shining new possibilities. “I’ll talk to the Venerable Therutat tomorrow.”

  It’s just after dawn on Red Amrevet 6 when I wake up with Gracie sharing my room. My sister is curled up in a ball on her side of the large bed and still fast asleep when I open my eyes—just in time to see my personal maid silently moving about the bedroom, laying out today’s three possible outfits for my choosing.

  “Thank you, Aranit,” I mumble sleepily, speaking softly so as not to wake up my sister. I’m still disconcerted by the fact that Imperial servants just enter people’s rooms and carry out their duties, but after so many weeks I’m getting better at coping with this regular invasion of privacy.

  At least the servants are more manageable in our home in Phoinios Heights where I’ve asked them specifically not to come in when we’re still in our bedrooms. No such luxury here; the traditional workings of Imperial staff are inviolate.

  I can’t wait to return home at last, I think yet again. Phoinios Heights is home.

  I get dressed without waking up Gracie, and tiptoe down the hallway, past Gordie’s guest bedroom, and to the door of the suite where Dad and George are staying. Putting my ear to the door I hear no voices, only Dad’s labored sleep breathing—poor Dad, the gravity is not making it any easier—so I let them continue to rest.

  Meanwhile I have work to do.

  My Final Fitting of the Wedding attire is scheduled for eighth hour of Ra, but I have almost two hours until then, during which I get things done. First, I compose a detailed email request with an explanation of my father and brother’s arrival and send it off to the First Priestess Therutat. Then I meet Aeson in the workroom where we discuss more logistics.

  Aeson makes calls and various detailed arrangements on behalf of my family. He also talks with Quoni who is back in orbit with the rest of the crew, having docked the velo-cruiser with the Atlantis Station and checked in with Nomarch Evandros at the SPC Headquarters. According to Aeson, Quoni will be coming back down to the surface in a few hours, this time with the velo-cruiser itself and the rest of their cargo, including the remaining Lark property.

  Gracie and Gordie show up around seventh hour, informing us that Dad and George are still sleeping, and we all continue to brainstorm various details of our plans over eos bread.

  At eighth hour, promptly, my appointment happens. Tailors and seamstresses arrive, together with Consul Denu, the designer, Lady Isulat, and other priestesses. Servants carry several large boxes, and everyone is ushered into my bedroom for privacy, where my fitting will take place.

  Traditionally, the Bridegroom must not see the Dress before the Wedding Day, so Aeson is warned sternly to remain on his side of the Quarters.

  And then, it happens—I get to put on a spectacular creation of master artisans, and stand before a full-length mirror as they adjust the layers and the fabrics and my golden veil. . . .

  Oh my God. . . .

  Suffice it to say, this Dress is perfect. What’s it like? No, I will not mention anything more about it now. . . . Seriously, it would be against Atlantean tradition to even discuss the glory that is my Dress, before the actual Wedding Day.

  My heart beats fast as they continue to work on me.

  Then, after they fiddle with it some more, and make me turn around and move in every direction multiple times, Consul Denu and the designer and Lady Isulat consult with each other, and declare that everything is satisfactory.

  With utmost care they help me remove the Dress, then box up portions of the outfit, including the matching shoes, and hang the main object deep in my closet.

  While this is happening, I take the opportunity to tell Consul Denu about the formal clothing needs of my newly arrived Dad and brother.

  “My dear Imperial Lady, have no worries,” Consul Denu says with a smile. “I’ve already been informed by my Imperial Lord Aeson. I will meet with your Father and Brother shortly, and they will be measured and accommodated with appropriate Court attire.”

  “Thank you!” I say warmly.

  On that note, the Consul and his portion of the retinue leave, having congratulated me on my stunning addition to Imperial Wedding fashion.

  And then it’s time for the fitting of the Amrevet Dress.r />
  Oh . . . my . . . God.

  I put it on, and the priestesses and seamstresses make micro-adjustments.

  I stand before the mirror, blushing, wanting to hide my face.

  And then, just as carefully they help me remove it. . . . In the closet it goes, until the Wedding Day.

  I rush to put on my normal clothing, then thank Lady Isulat and the others, and ask her to pass on my compliments to the Venerable Therutat for orchestrating my masterful attire.

  They leave, and now it’s time for me to go check up on Dad and George.

  As I approach their guest suite, I hear animated voices. The door is open, and apparently everyone is already there. I find Gracie and Gordie are arguing in nervous voices while George is telling them to relax. Aeson is standing nearby, and then I see Dad.

  Charles Lark, my father, is sitting slightly hunched forward in a chair, and next to him are two medical techs, doing something to his arm and chest, and there’s medical equipment everywhere.

  “Oh, no, Dad!” I rush toward him. “What’s going on?”

  Dad looks up at me and smiles weakly, then shakes his free hand in a familiar “never mind” gesture. “Don’t worry . . . I’m fine,” he says in a breathless voice. “Woke up feeling pressure . . . in my chest . . . but it’s nothing . . . a kind of panic reaction to the gravity.”

  “What do you mean? Oh God! Oh no!” I say, looking from him to the medics to everyone else in the room.

  “Gwen, he’s fine now, and his condition was not severe. I called the medical team just in case,” Aeson says in a calm tone. “He was having minor heart palpitations. But they have stabilized him.”

  “Oh my God!” I put a hand to my mouth, step closer to him. “Dad! I am so sorry!”