And saying this, Manala runs back inside and disappears in the hallway.
“Oh, God . . . George . . .” I say, putting my hand over my mouth. “That really was terrible. Why did you say all those hurtful things to her?”
George is still hard-faced as he stares in Manala’s wake. Now he frowns and lets out a held breath. “Yeah, I don’t know what came over me,” he admits quietly. “Damn. But—you’ve got to admit, it worked to calm her down. She was completely out of control, possibly a danger to herself. She may hate me now, but at least she’ll think twice before allowing herself to fall apart like that.”
“That was harsh,” Gordie says. “But you could be right. It did work to stop the crazy.”
“Guys, she’s not crazy,” I say with frustration and sadness.
“Yeah, well, could’ve fooled me,” George says in the same grim, hard voice. And then he also heads back inside.
No one is in the mood to look at Wedding gifts, and now that we know Khemji is out there, Gracie, Gordie, and I head back to the guest suite. George must’ve gone ahead, because he’s not in the corridor, and neither is Manala.
When we enter the suite, Dad looks up from his reading and smiles. “So, I hear there’s been an actual Khemji sighting? George told me the good news, that you all just saw the prodigal cat on the balcony.”
“Where is George?” I ask.
“He was here a moment ago, looking for his jacket, I believe.” Dad looks around. “Must’ve gone out again.”
“What about Manala?” Gracie asks.
“Hm-m-m, I don’t recall her coming by. Wasn’t she with all of you?”
“She was.” I sigh and sit down across from Dad. “Then, things got a little too much, so she got very upset and ran away.”
I don’t mention the role that George’s harsh words had to do with Manala’s sudden escape.
“Poor girl.” Thoughtfully, Dad looks at me and the others. “One would think she would be encouraged, now that you’ve seen the cat so nearby. Let’s hope she does better, soon. I still think her mother should be told.”
“It’s okay, Aeson is handling it, for now.” I mumble with a guilty glance at Gracie and Gordie.
And speaking of Aeson—my husband arrives moments later, looking concerned.
“Where is Khemji now? And where is Manala?” he asks us. “I’ve informed her personal guards to be more vigilant of her.”
I explain again without mentioning George’s actions—for now. I think later, in the privacy of our own quarters I’ll tell Aeson about the tense situation, but now it just feels like it would be counterproductive. The last thing we need is Aeson having a problem with George.
Damn, I think. This is getting weird and unpleasantly complicated.
“All right, I’ve dispatched some staff downstairs to see if they can capture Khemji from that direction,” Aeson says. “I’m going after him myself now—unfortunately can’t spare more than an hour on this search today due to some SPC matters. If you see Manala before I return, tell her we’re going to take care of Khemji soon.”
“Okay.” I smile at Aeson and watch him head out the door in businesslike fashion.
We sit around for a few minutes, then Gracie suggests the three of us go for a walk downstairs and see if we can help with the search.
“Dad, we’ll be back soon,” I say, as Gracie, Gordie, and I stand up.
“Take your time,” Dad replies with a light smile, looking up from his tablet. I recognize his familiar absentminded look of concentration that my father gets whenever he is deep in his research or working on course notes. In some ways it is very comforting to see it again. . . .
We proceed downstairs, accompanied by my guards, including Tuar, and on the way down I tell Gracie and Gordie I want to stop by Manala’s apartments on the floor below. “Just want to make sure she is doing okay after everything.”
“Sure,” Gracie says with a meaningful look. “Let’s check up on her.”
We get out of the elevator at the Imperial Princess’s Quarters and approach the doors. I see two guards stationed at the entrance to her quarters—which, very likely, means Manala is inside. Although Manala’s personal guards are mandatory only if she leaves the Palace grounds, as of this afternoon Aeson has instructed them to follow her discreetly whenever possible, and keep him informed if anything is out of the ordinary.
The guards allow me access without question, but I knock politely before entering. “Manala?” I say, stepping inside the large antechamber very similar to Aeson’s Quarters. “Manala, it’s Gwen!”
“And Grace!” My sister announces loudly, stepping after me. “And Gordie, too,” she adds, glancing at our brother who stands a little sheepishly behind us.
I haven’t been inside Manala’s apartments that often, but the layout is again very similar to the Crown Prince’s layout on the floor above. Similar twisting corridors of suites and guest rooms, and even another duplicate bedroom with a four-point star window directly below my own. As far as I know, Manala uses it as her personal bedchamber, the same way she used my current bedroom—the identical room in the Crown Prince’s Quarters—when she was a little girl, whenever she wanted to sleep over in her brother’s apartments and hide from her parents or servants. I know this from what Aeson told me.
“Manala, are you there?” I ask, crossing her antechamber. Before I even get to the corridor, I see Manala’s silent figure coming toward us.
“Oh! It’s you, Gwen,” she whispers, then peers behind me to see Gracie and Gordie. Her expression is startled and her eyes very wide. All of her face is smudged with dried tears, and her messy golden hair looks like she’s been lying down on it. “He—your other brother—he is not here, is he?”
“Don’t worry, George is not here,” I say, taking a deep breath. “And Manala, I just want to say I’m very sorry for what happened earlier. George was out of line, and he shouldn’t have treated you like that. I’m going to have another talk with him about it—I promise.”
“Okay. . . .”
“Now, tell me, are you okay?” I continue gently, seeing her unblinking expression. “What are you doing now? Would you like to come back with us? We’re going on a little walk outside—”
“I am hiding . . .” Manala interrupts in the same whisper, shaking her head negatively.
“Oh. Well, do you want to come—”
“No!” Manala says in a very loud whisper. “No. . . . He told me to be quiet and I think he was right, even though he was horrid. If—if I go to look for Khemji, I will make noise. Too much noise. I cannot help it, I will cry, and I will ruin everything again. . . . But if I stay here and hide, and be quiet, maybe Khemji will come back.”
“I see.” I glance from Gracie to Gordie who both appear somewhat confused.
Manala looks at all of us with haunted eyes.
“All right,” I say gently. “As long as you’re doing okay, we should let you get some rest—”
In that moment, a loud banging sound comes from outside the Quarters, as the elevator opens, and then I hear voices—the guards exclaiming—then more heavy banging noises. And then, yells and loud cussing in English, in my brother George’s voice.
In the next instant, the wide doors to the Quarters open—or rather, are opened by the guards—while George comes stumbling into the antechamber, cussing and yelling, his face bleeding, and holding a wildly struggling, yowling, huge bundle, partially wrapped in his jacket.
“Shut the damn door!” he cries to the guards, and takes two more staggering steps inside, his arms closed in an iron vise around the thing he’s holding.
Immediately, the doors slam behind him. Then George sees us and says, “Hey! Are the windows closed here? Any doors that need to be closed? Shut them now! Quickly! Before I let him go!”
“Oh my God!” Gracie says, staring hard.
Because George is really bleeding . . . his face, the outside of his hands in multiple places, his forearms, a horrible gash on his
shirt. . . .
“Okay, you have three more seconds to shut everything, and I’m releasing him—”
Manala makes a stifled cry, then looks around the large room wildly, but everything appears to be closed, windows, doors. Only the corridor behind her is open. . . . And it has no door.
“Oh no, back there—my bedroom window is open!” Manala cries, putting her hands up to her mouth.
However, the rest of us think quickly. “Block the corridor!” I exclaim, and Gordie, Gracie, and I all line up to stand at the opening.
George yells again, cusses hard, and then lets go of the struggling, howling, scratching cat in his arms.
The moment he does so, Khemji erupts from the makeshift confinement of the torn jacket, and tumbles like a fat, black, monster furball, landing with a thud on the floor, and then springboards under the nearest sofa.
Seconds later, angry hissing and yowling can be heard from the general vicinity.
George releases a held breath, then wipes his bleeding, dirt-smudged face with the back of his even more bleeding hand. Wincing, he runs it through his tousled hair. “Special delivery . . .” he says tiredly.
“You found him . . .” Manala whispers, staring at George with intensity and starting to tremble. “You—saved Khemji. . . .”
“Wow, George! How did you manage?” I ask, staring at my brother in amazement.
“Not too well, as you can see from all the slasher gore—apologies to all.” George shrugs, not meeting Manala’s stunned gaze. “Cornered him downstairs, in the little courtyard—pure luck. Figured it was now or never, tackled him. He tore me up pretty good, but—whatever.”
“You need medical care, now!” Gracie says.
“Yes, it looks terrible and painful, and you need antibiotics, urgently.” I frown, examining him. “Seriously, I mean it—go!”
“Yeah, not a problem. I’ll deal with it in a minute,” George says, turning to stare.
Under the sofa, Khemji continues to yowl and make grouchy noises in confusion. No idea how he managed to wedge himself under there, considering his huge size.
“Khemji, oh, oh, my poor Khemji!” Manala now gives him her full attention, speaking in an emotion-filled, quavering voice. She approaches the sofa slowly and carefully, then gets down on her knees on the floor to look underneath. “It’s all right, everything is all right now, im saa. . . . Yes, oh yes! I will give you your favorite food! My sweetest smart boy, you recognize me? Did you forget me so soon? I am your Manala!”
“All right, I’m out,” George says quietly to us with a weary look. He then turns around without another word or glance at anyone, and walks to the doors.
Chapter 70
While Gracie and Gordie stay behind to help Manala deal with Khemji, I follow George back to the guest suite upstairs. Even as we ride the elevator, George is dripping blood, so I call Aeson and explain what happened, and he immediately dispatches an emergency medical team.
We get to the suite, and I hurry to explain to Dad why George looks like an extra in a slasher movie, and that it looks worse than it really is. Actually, I don’t know if it’s true and have my private doubts—George looks scary-awful, with rivulets of blood pouring down and huge gashes on him.
“A-a-a-ah, George, I’m so sorry, son. . . . Hold this over your arm there—yes, there—to slow the bleeding.” Dad shakes his head with a frown as he hands George a clean towel from the stack I’ve taken from the bathroom. “Yes, nice job on catching the animal, but you should’ve waited for reinforcements instead of taking him on yourself—all things considered.” I know Dad’s thinking of that incident when George was a little boy and he had to go to the ER because of how badly he got scratched up by our old cat Samantha.
“Yeah, I’m an idiot. And oww—” George says, pressing one wadded towel against the worst of the cuts to his arm. Then he winces again because he’s got a large gash on the jaw near his mouth, which apparently causes pain when he talks. “Just my crap luck with cats.”
“Hope it doesn’t scar,” I say.
“Hey, who doesn’t love an attractive scar? Or two . . . or a dozen,” George quips, wincing repeatedly, even as the med techs arrive in the suite. “Bring on the scars, baby.”
“Don’t say that. . . .” I shake my head.
Dad and I stand back, letting the two Atlantean medics do their work. “How bad is it?” Dad asks.
“Not serious,” one of the techs says curtly, cutting away strips and removing George’s ruined shirt. He then cleans my brother’s wounds and applies some kind of antiseptic and pain spray on George. Meanwhile, the other medic administers an antibiotic injection.
“My Imperial Lady Gwen, there should be no scarring,” the other tech says. He must’ve heard my comments just as they entered. “The injuries are not too deep. This will bind the damaged tissues and regenerate the dermal layers.”
“Yes, please, deprive me of my chance at sexy scars,” George mumbles, as his cheek and jaw get treated with the sealing spray.
Minutes later everything is done. The techs leave some of the spray with George and tell him to use it if any of the sealed wounds crack open—they should not, but just in case—and to avoid washing until tomorrow.
The med techs depart, and my brother puts on a new shirt—just in time for Gracie and Gordie to show up.
“Well, Manala is definitely doing all right,” Gracie says with a smile. “She is so happy! Totally fussing with the fat stinker.”
“Oh yeah?” George angles his head slightly, paying attention. “Glad to hear it. Finally, her world’s been set aright.”
“Khemji’s fine too—came out from his hiding place and ate a big bowl of his favorite smelly protein stuff.” And Gracie snorts.
“Yeah, all while purring and farting already,” Gordie adds with a laugh.
“Purring and farting? I bet that was you, Gee Three.” George throws Gordie an amused glance.
“Says the dude who’s covered in bloody cat stuff,” Gordie retorts.
“Hey, not anymore.” George indicates his spray-on bandages. “I am now pristine and covered in eau de antiseptic.”
“Oh, and we checked that all her windows are closed,” Gracie adds, remembering.
“Good!” I say. “Thanks for staying with Manala to make sure of all that. She just went through a whole lot, and the last thing we need is another cat escape.”
“Yes, indeed,” my Dad says, and sits down in his chair.
Aeson arrives soon after, looking pleased. “At last, the great search has been called off. . . . Just saw Manala, and she is very much restored to her own self,” he says with a smile to all of us and George in particular. “All thanks to you, George. She’s now making up for Khemji’s skipped feedings.”
George sighs with relief. “It’s the least I could do,” he says bluntly, “after I yelled at her.”
There is a small pause, as Aeson and George look at each other.
“Oh?” Aeson says.
“Yeah,” my brother continues. “She was having a meltdown and I said some rotten things that I shouldn’t have, to snap her out of it—”
Aeson continues to look at George with an unreadable expression, and finally says, “All I know is, my sister is very happy right now, and she told me that you saved Khemji. Her words and sentiments were full of praise and highly complimentary toward you, so whatever happened doesn’t matter.”
“Well, it matters to me,” George says seriously. “So you can be sure, I will be apologizing to her.”
“Thanks, George . . .” I say gently.
My heart is warmed by so much relief that I cannot begin to describe—relief that my brother and my husband have gotten this problematic issue out in the open and resolved it so quickly and easily.
Unfortunately, our general common relief doesn’t last long, because Aeson’s wrist comm suddenly starts chiming urgently. Im amrevu checks the incoming message and his expression becomes grave and serious.
“What is
it?” I ask immediately. “Something wrong?”
“Problem at Septu Station,” he replies carefully, glancing at everyone present in the room. “Apologies, I must go—”
And just like that, Aeson leaves in a hurry.
As soon as Aeson is gone, those of us who’ve been on Atlantis a while longer, exchange worried glances, while Dad and George look at the rest of us with uncertainty and expectation.
“What is wrong?” Dad asks.
“What’s Septu Station?” George speaks carefully to keep his facial bandages intact.
Gracie glances at me then at Gordie, whose jaw twitches. Then my sister taps her wrist unit to check for work messages. “Just checking to see if any new orders came in from Fleet Cadet HQ,” she says carefully.
I sigh. With a sinking feeling in my stomach I consider for a moment what it would be like to shatter my father and older brother’s peace of mind in the next few minutes—by revealing to them the extent of the current precarious situation our world is in.
Even as I pause, George narrows his eyes at me. “Gee Two, I know that look. What’s happening? Spill it.”
Ah, George and his damn perceptiveness.
“Well,” I say, taking a deep breath and staring at Gracie and Gordie, before facing the other two. “Let’s see, how to begin. . . . There are some difficult ongoing things here that involve—”
“Aliens!” Gordie blurts. “Actual ancient extraterrestrials, or should I say, extraatlantials! Whoa, I just coined a word—”
“What?” George says.
My poor Dad just stares.
And so, the three of us explain to Dad and George the status quo—with many interruptions from each other, sidetracking into the so-called purpose of the Earth mission, elaborating on the existence of the ancient ark-ship, the ghost moon, historical asides, and minimally informed speculations about the Imperator’s possible goals for all of us here on this planet and back on Earth. We tell them what we know of the ancient enemy of Atlantis, the current great golden light grid around Helios, the destruction of Rah Station and the second smaller light grid there, and the fact that the Atlantean Star Pilot Corps has mobilized, that my husband is in charge of all of it, and Fleet personnel have been deployed all over the planet. I also add other secret and sensitive tidbits that even Gracie and Gordie were previously unaware of—in short, I don’t hold back.
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