Survive

by Vera Nazarian

  “Better yet, we can demonstrate,” Gracie says with enthusiasm. “Okay if I call up the TV, Gee Two?”

  I nod with amusement and let her.

  Gracie clears her throat and sings in her clear soprano the easy command sequence to bring a smart display unit from the wall and “park” it, hovering in the air a couple of feet before Dad’s chair. Our father watches the stationary levitating object in amazement. Unlike George, who got to learn basic voice commands and sound tech principles during Qualification, this is all new to Dad.

  We take turns explaining to Dad how it works, filling in the basic details of voice commands, sequences, voice-keying objects with different notes. I even get into some of the more advanced notions such as setting Aural Blocks, heating and cooling orichalcum, and so on.

  “This is phenomenal,” Dad says when we’re done. “Are you saying, anyone who can sing will be able to do this? Even without a Logos voice?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Gordie says. “Their whole society is based on this.”

  “You can do it too, Dad!” I say. “But only after you’ve rested enough—once you adjust to this gravity.”

  Right in that moment we hear unusual sounds coming from the corridor just outside the suite.

  We pause the conversation and our heads turn. . . . I recognize Princess Manala’s slightly agitated, pleading tone of voice as she is talking with someone in the hallway.

  And then I hear heavy thumps.

  Khemji.

  At once, Gracie and Gordie and I exchange looks of horrified amusement.

  “What? Who is it?” Seeing our meaningful looks, George glances warily at the open doorway.

  Just then, Princess Manala herself peeks from the entrance. She is holding a leash, the end of which is hidden as it extends into the hallway.

  “Oh, hello!” Manala says breathlessly to all of us. “Aeson said it was okay to come by and visit, as long as you are not too tired.” And then she quickly glances out into the hallway again and says, “Come, Khemji, you must meet the rest of Gwen’s family! Come! Please . . . smart, brave boy!”

  “Oh . . . yes, of course! Come in, my dear,” Dad says, as his eyebrows rise slightly at the unexpected visitor.

  He has no idea what’s coming. . . .

  Manala digs in with her heels and pulls at the leash, continuing to plead, “Just another tiny step . . . please, clever, wonderful Khemji . . . that’s right! One more! Just . . . one . . . more!”

  And leaning in with all she’s got, Manala drags into view an enormous, very fat, very black cat. Khemji is resisting half-heartedly, and is mostly hauled along the floor by the harness that goes around his very round, fluffy belly and shoulders, and doesn’t interfere with his neck at all.

  Now he just lies there at the entrance, having plopped over and gone perfectly limp, and his tail is thumping on the floor to indicate minor displeasure. His head is turned to look at us, the round yellow-gold eyes watching the room with a feline expression of surprise.

  “Whoa! What is that thing?” George lets out an involuntary exclamation and sits up.

  Manala bends down and fusses with Khemji’s harness, then manually pulls him inside our room, like one would drag in a heavy suitcase. “That’s it, Khemji! We’re here! Another moment—let me just close the door—and you’ll be set free—”

  “Set free?” George exclaims. “Are you kidding? What the hell? Is that a puma?”

  Manala shuts the door, then turns around with a wide-eyed nervous expression. “Oh!” she says, looking at George in confusion. “This is my cat Khemji! What is a puma?”

  “He’s absolutely harmless, Gee One,” I hurry to say. “Very friendly, too. Just a very big domestic cat. This is how they are on Atlantis, huge!”

  “Yeah, not so harmless when he farts,” Gordie says, looking at Manala and Khemji from a distance.

  Gracie giggles.

  “Holy crap,” George mutters, without moving.

  I recall suddenly that my brother George is a little nervous around cats. . . . Not that he doesn’t like them—he does—but he once got scratched up really badly by one of our cats when he was around seven, and Mom and Dad insisted he had to go to the ER for antibiotics just in case. Ever since that, he’s a bit wary, even though he loves animals in general.

  I notice, Manala has frozen in place near the closed door, uncertain of what to do, still holding on to the leash connected to the fluffy floor mop that is Khemji.

  “Let me help you with that harness,” I say, getting up.

  I go over there and together we undo the kitty restraints. The moment Khemji is liberated, he springs up as if nothing is wrong, and walks into the room with his tail held high. Then he stops and starts sniffing something on the floor.

  Our Dad watches with an expression of delight, smiling lightly in awe. “Amazing . . . what a beautiful animal.”

  Manala comes closer, suddenly a little shy, and stands next to me as we watch Khemji explore the area around our feet.

  “Princess Manala, my dear, we didn’t get a chance to speak during the family meal,” my Dad says, turning his attention to her. “But it’s very nice to meet you and your remarkable friend. His name is Khemji, did you say?”

  “Yes.” Manala nods, her smile still a little uncertain with shyness, as Khemji gets even closer to us and starts sniffing everyone’s feet.

  “What kind of big kitty is this?” Dad continues, as Khemji approaches his legs and is so tall that he easily comes up to the level of Dad’s knees. “Such a shiny black coat. . . . Very nice. . . . Is this a special breed?” And Dad reaches out to let Khemji sniff his fingers, then pets him around the ears.

  “Khemji is just a cat,” Manala explains simply, coming over to stand near my Dad. She watches him interact with Khemji.

  And then Khemji decides he likes Dad’s touch and starts purring. He has a very loud, rattling engine purr that you can hear across the room, and Gracie says, “Awww!”

  “Okay, that is loud,” George says with wary amusement from the sofa.

  “Oh, yeah.” I look at him with a grin.

  Moments later, Khemji starts to explore further and slowly walks past Dad—even as Dad trails his fingers across the fur on the feline’s back—and heads straight for George.

  My older brother tenses up just a tiny bit, but lets the big cat sniff and explore his knees. He remains seated without moving, and watches, with his brows raised.

  “You okay there, George?” I say.

  “Uh-huh.”

  That’s when Khemji decides to jump up on the sofa and settles down right next to my brother.

  “Oh . . . man,” George mutters with a pained smile, pulling away to the side as much as he can without moving.

  Manala immediately comes over to him and sits down on the other side of Khemji. “He likes to be scratched behind the ears and on his lower back—right here,” she says comfortably, starting to scratch Khemji’s sleek, hind area. “Also, on his stomach, but sometimes he will start to kick, so probably best not to do that too much.”

  “Whatever you say,” George says, raising one amused brow and glancing at her, still without moving.

  In that moment a knock comes on the door, and Aeson comes in.

  He sees us all watching Khemji and George on the sofa, and gives his sister a meaningful look. “Manala, please make sure Khemji is not bothering anyone. He can be a little overwhelming at first.”

  “He is certainly a handsome animal,” Dad says. “And very tame. Right, George?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine,” George says after a smallest pause.

  Meanwhile, I turn to my fiancé. “Everything okay? In the workroom, I mean?”

  “Yes, everything under control.” Aeson comes up to me and takes my hand, pressing it between his own two large ones.

  I stare up at him with intense adoration.

  With my peripheral vision I can tell that my family members are watching us discreetly, probably with amused entertainment at our expens
e. I really want to whirl around and tell them to cut it out, but—no, it’s just the strange wonder of it all that’s messing with my mind right now. . . . The fact that Dad and George and the others can see me and Aeson interact romantically right in front of them is just a little surreal.

  So, I tell myself—the silly, girlish, naïve, awkward part of myself—to cut it out instead. And I return my full attention to my love.

  “Do you realize, there’s only this evening left. . . . Only a few hours to go until thirteenth hour,” Aeson says looking into my eyes, as we stand in the middle of the room, in front of everyone.

  “And then we have to separate, and cannot see each other for a whole day,” I whisper. “So weird!”

  Im amrevu smiles.

  “Remember, the next time we’ll see each other, it will be our Wedding Day.”

  Chapter 58

  The rest of the evening and night consists mostly of gentle family time. Aeson and I sit next to each other, with few words spoken, only endless shared glances and fingers entwined, and we watch our relatives interact. Yes, our relatives, because Manala is still here, and so is Khemji, having fallen blissfully asleep curled up on the other side of the sofa between her and George.

  The funny thing is, after Manala’s initial shyness dissipates and she settles right in with all of us, she discovers she shares quite a few ancient history interests with my Dad. Over a leisurely niktos meal, Dad and Manala carry on a long, animated conversation about such scholarly topics as the contents of the Sekar Mehet Museum’s Antiquities wing in New Deshret, and how it might compare with Earth’s Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg, the Cairo Museum, and the British Museum.

  “If I understand correctly, the Imperial Poseidon Museum here in Atlantida is somewhat smaller than the Sekar Mehet Museum, which is on the opposite side of this planet in a nation called New Deshret?” Dad asks Manala as she heartily eats a stuffed vegetable flaky pastry. “Is it smaller in terms of storage capacity or the number and breadth of collections? And are they both comparable to something like the Louvre?”

  “What is the Loo?” Manala asks with her mouth full—so extraordinarily comfortable that she has completely forgotten to bother with Protocol.

  “Oh goodness, I don’t think you know about the Louvre. . . .” Dad rubs the bridge of his nose. “Very well, let’s put it this way: would this immense archive in New Deshret be considered the largest national repository of any given type of collection? In particular, I’m thinking of library collections—manuscripts, scrolls, tablets, or any other form of ancient written texts.”

  Manala stops chewing, wipes a few crumbs from the shimmering fabric layer of the front of her dress, and lifts her brows in concentration. “The ancient scrolls collection is more extensive here, Ter Charles. But the Sekar Mehet is larger overall,” she says. “But please don’t tell it to the Imperial Poseidon Museum curators, because they will be terribly insulted. There is a very long rivalry between these two very big places, the same way there is a rivalry between our two countries.”

  “Fascinating,” Dad says. “Much like Earth institutions. I would love to take an in-depth look at both their collections eventually, particularly the written texts.”

  “Oh, yes, those are in the Imperial Archives wing of the Imperial Poseidon Museum,” Manala retorts with enthusiasm. “Scrolls from Old Earth, and ancient digital recordings from only a few centuries after the time of the First Landing and the original Colony. Some of them are so mysterious!”

  Aeson glances with amusement at his sister. “Indeed, you are welcome to view them anytime, Amre-ter Charles. However, the comparable New Deshret collections will require a little international travel.”

  “Excellent,” Dad says with a slow series of nods. “All in good time. . . . The dedicated scriptorium and bibliophile museums on Earth, such as the Vatican, the Matenadaran in Yerevan, Armenia, the National Museum in New Delhi, St. Catherine’s at Mount Sinai, the Bodleian Libraries in Oxford, the Huntington Library in the United States, contain obscure wonders—or I should say, contained, now that most of their contents are here on Atlantis—and I’ve no doubt you have similar rare items of your own parallel history in your Archives.”

  “Now that I think about it, New Deshret managed to get some of the Earth’s biggest art treasures,” I recall, with a glance at Aeson. “The Parthenon, the Terracotta Army soldiers, the Great Pyramid of Giza—wait, how did they even allow the pyramid to be used in the Games?”

  “What’s this?” Dad pays attention. “Did you say the Great Pyramid was used in the Games?”

  Oh, no. . . . The last thing Dad needs right now, seared in his mind, is the image of the Great Pyramid as a rubble of moving stones . . . or the whole mess hovering in the air and spinning like an inverted top. . . . Not to mention, hundreds of people peeing on it.

  “Oh, you don’t want to know, Dad.” I roll my eyes. “Will explain later.”

  “It took special negotiation,” Aeson says thoughtfully, after taking a sip from his glass of qvaali. “The Great Pyramid was originally considered too big of a bother to bring with us—nothing but heavy, crudely hewn, ancient stones, with little artistic value except for sentimental historical reasons and its designation as one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. In fact, the Imperial Executive Council was dead set against it, and as far as the public was concerned, they were in charge of allocating most of the Earth Mission resources. But my Imperial Father suddenly had his reasons and so he made an offer to Pharikon Heru. In short—New Deshret would handle all the interstellar transportation expenditures of the pyramid, and they will get to keep it.”

  “I see . . . how convenient for him,” I say.

  Aeson makes a mocking sound. “Oh, yes. As we know now, My Father desperately wanted to have that first look at the pyramid before giving it up to New Deshret. So, he bartered for its one-time inclusion in the Games in exchange for Atlantida giving up claims to Dante Gabriel Rosetti and most of the Pre-Raphaelites—which went to New Deshret also.”

  “So much haggling. All these details sound troubling,” Dad says. “What happened to the Pyramid since? Where is it now?”

  “It’s safe, and has been transported to New Deshret where it now stands in its new permanent location near the city of Heruvar.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.” Dad sighs and takes a small bite of food from his plate. “Wherever Heruvar is, it’s just become that much richer in the historical sense.”

  “Hey, what happened to the Statue of Liberty?” George asks, carefully rubbing the top of sleeping Khemji’s big head with one finger. “You guys rescued it, right?”

  Aeson pauses to think. “It went to Ubasti. They were eager to claim it. The Symbol of Democracy holds a great deal more power in that nation than anywhere else on Atlantis.”

  George nods. “Good to know. Must visit there.”

  “So strange to think,” Dad muses. “All these cultural treasures of humanity being redistributed and relocated on an alien world. Just—unfathomable.”

  “Oh! Ter Charles, we also have many small museums here in the city,” Manala says in excitement. “Very specialized ones. You must see them all!”

  “That’s right, Dad,” Gracie puts in. “The downtown complex is huge and they have stadiums and theaters and all kinds of stuff. I remember several museum buildings there. What was that one, your favorite, Manala? Something with toys?”

  “The Museum of Ancient Toys!” Manala’s expression lights up. “I go there all the time!”

  “I saw a really weird one,” Gordie says, chewing a similar flaky veggie pie. “I’m talking about a tiny museum. It’s not downtown but out near the Bay. All they had were harnesses and bridles for pegasei. Those shiny trans-dimensional things. That’s it. Just pegasei herding equipment. Everything from the most basic to these crazy jewelry ones covered with big multi-carat gemstones.”

  At the mention of pegasei and harnesses I feel an inner jolt, and a rush of disturbing and awe-ins
piring memories from the Games, combined with species guilt.

  Arion. . . .

  “That is pretty specialized,” Gracie says, sneakily adding more food to Dad’s barely-touched plate. “You sure that was a museum and not an equipment store, Gee Three?”

  Manala’s face grows very still, and she sets down her food. She stares off into space, and moments later her great blue eyes fill with tears.

  “Manala?” I say, worried at once. “Oh no, is everything okay?”

  “That’s a terrible place,” she says in a faint voice. “They have things to hurt the pegasei. You don’t ever want to go there.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t know,” Gordie says with a small, guilty frown.

  “We won’t go there, Manala,” I say firmly, exchanging meaningful looks with Gordie, then glancing at Dad who looks concerned, and George, who just widens his eyes in an unspoken question.

  “Manala, why don’t you plan a museum outing for everyone after the Wedding,” Aeson says calmly. “You know the best exhibits, and I think Ter Charles would really enjoy having such an expert guide as you to show him the cultural sights of the city.”

  Did I mention, Aeson really knows how to emotionally ground his sister?

  Manala takes a deep breath and focuses her attention on him immediately. She sniffles her nose and wipes her eyes lightly, then says, with a tiny smile returning to her lips, “I am sorry, Ter Charles and everyone. . . . I will be so happy to show you those other museums!”

  “Then it’s settled,” Dad says with a smile of relief. “My dear Princess Manala, you will be our guide to all the wonders of Poseidon.”

  Our very mellow and pleasant niktos meal eventually ends, but not before it occurs to me that this and not the formal, earlier affair was the real Family meal of the day—all we needed was Devora Kassiopei here with us, minus the Imperator, and it would have been the perfect gathering.

  A few minutes before thirteenth hour, a young priest and priestess of Amrevet-Ra arrive, sent by the Venerable Therutat and the Venerable Darumet, as designated by tradition, and inform us “it is time.”