Massoud (Massoud Chronicles Book 1)

by Amanda R. Norris

  Enough imagery of the event had been generated to produce massive amounts of Alliance Fleet propaganda—or informational resources, to use the sanctioned terminology. Much of this centered on Teloc who had not appreciated that he had added a dramatic flourish to the battle with his hail to the Xenos. Already, a wide array of clothing sported a paraphrased version of his challenge to the Xeno fleet—For our Families. Another common meme was: Teloc of Gnost with Gnost struck out and replaced with the word Denison. This latter graphology did not directly converge with the government’s desire to promote Alliance unity, but Denison was a free society and such things had to be tolerated.

  After the awards ceremony, Fleet Media demanded Teloc pose by himself, with Massoud, with Massoud and Constance, with Massoud and her extended family, but the most appealing poses were of Teloc alone with Constance. If Teloc calmed his child, she relaxed him. He looked natural and comfortable in the images taken with her. At one point, shy little Hammie approached Teloc and held onto his trouser leg. Teloc noticed, hunkered down to the small boy, and took Hammie’s little hand in one of his own while he supported Constance in his other arm. This image of Teloc smiling gently at the sweet-natured boy was to become the mainstay of a recruitment drive. Teloc was the quintessential fleet officer, looking superbly professional in his uniform, protecting both the children of the Terran worlds and those of Gnost.

  As Teloc stood up, he caught Elizabeth’s eye and smiled at her. It was not his usual discreet smile, but a broad beaming smile. It was dazzling. Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat. Her husband had never looked so stunningly handsome. For an instant, there were only the two of them in the room. Everything they felt for each other suffused their faces, and for the first time Elizabeth unconditionally gave her heart, her soul and her very essence into this man’s keeping. She trusted him unreservedly. When they eventually broke eye contact, they became aware of how public their moment had been, and blushed. The media personnel had been recording enthusiastically. Massoud felt a burning awareness of Lightfoot’s observation of them both. His face wore a barely suppressed grimace. Her skin prickled under his scrutiny; his views on fraternization were well known.

  Several days later, the image of Teloc, with his dazzling smile, had become common currency. When Massoud reported to the academy for work, she was barraged with comments about her splendid husband. It seemed that he had single-handedly changed the planet’s perception of Gnostians from supercilious and distant, to dashing and courageous. She tried to protect Teloc from the unsettling information that he’d been voted the “Sexiest Man on Denison”, but could not hide from him his nomination as the “Sexiest in the Sector.” The poor man had neither the peace of anonymity nor the personal skills to handle the idolization.

  The Battle of Denison had also given Massoud a degree of prominence, but of a more discreet and professional variety. Her remaining students were markedly more attentive and respectful than in the past, her academic colleagues no longer patronized her because of her lack of a degree, and the head of her department would not sanction a change in the syllabus without her express approval.

  With Teloc’s promotion, he returned to space duty under Lightfoot’s direct command, and after accompanying the admiral on a diplomatic visit to Gnost. Massoud became a single parent. In practical matters, it made little difference because Teloc had barely been at home when he served under Biash. Nonetheless, Massoud missed his intermittent visits home. Instead she had to be content with remote communications, which were severely limited.

  Each spacefarer had a communications allowance which was a measure of power usage, not data volume. The allowance was measured in energy since long distance communications consumed a significant proportion of a ship’s engine’s output. Over relatively short distances, personnel could engage in real-time communication using little power, over moderate distances they could send video and still images, but at greater distances, they could only send text messages. As a natural consequence, letter writing became an art that was very much appreciated. It was well known that accomplished letter-writers maintained their romantic relationships while their less talented friends suffered heartbreak. This naturally generated a sub-economy of paid surrogate correspondents.

  If Teloc had decided to use the services of a surrogate writer, Massoud would have known immediately because his writing style was quite distinct. His written communications rarely included a short sentence, and he recounted the details of his day with exactitude and precision. It was only in the last few lines that he spoke of his feelings with a simple sincerity that prompted Elizabeth to read the bottom of his letters before she read the top. His words could not be described as romantic, but they were the best that Elizabeth could hope for from a Gnostian spouse. She was permitted to send him more data than he could send her, and he always expressed the deepest of pleasure when he received an image of his rapidly growing daughter.

  17. Hypocrite

  A fter the memorial for the Battle of Denison, Massoud went to Friday prayers whenever possible. She did not do it to conform, or to please her sister, or because she respected the friendly imam. She did it because it felt right. Her faith was more individual and unique than that postulated at the mosque, and she knew better than to mention that aloud. Nevertheless, the mosque provided her with a context, a framework, and a reminder that she was subject to Allah’s will.

  Noor had been truly shaken by the near invasion and annihilation of the planet she called home and had almost stopped quibbling about her sister’s choice of profession. Instead, her efforts to support her sister and brother-in-law magnified. She was delighted to see Elizabeth coming to prayers after a dozen year’s absence and had the delicacy not to comment on it. However, she encouraged this change by promoting Elizabeth’s relationship with other members of the tiny Muslim community on Denison. This was the reason Elizabeth found herself at a large round table in an excellent restaurant on a Wednesday night, while a well-paid babysitter watched her troublesome child. Her fellow diners were Noor’s friends, a collection of very respectable married women from the mosque whose greatest thrill was a meal independent of their children and husbands. Elizabeth liked them well enough, although at an earlier stage in her life she might have found their company uninteresting. She understood them better now. The pressures of work and parenthood made this evening of simple escape exceptionally welcome for them all.

  She was enjoying herself in forgetfulness of her daily life, until Noor recognized a couple entering the well-appointed dining room. She tapped Elizabeth’s arm to draw her attention to them. Elizabeth turned and felt an immediate surge of indignation.

  “That man is an absolute hypocrite!”

  Noor looked puzzled. “Who? The man Belle is with?”

  Belle Chrostowski spotted Massoud just as she was being seated, probably because Massoud was craning her neck to get a better look at her. Chrostowski was looking exceptionally glamorous in a golden sheath dress, and with amber glints in her eyes and on her skin. The fashionable accoutrements did not complement the stricken look that appeared on her face the moment she spotted her old shipmate. Massoud indicated with her head for her friend to follow and went directly to the women’s room. Chrostowski soon joined her.

  “Are you out of your mind?” were the words Massoud hurled at Chrostowski as soon as she entered.

  “Look, I know what you’re thinking. But it’s just a bit of fun, really. He’s nice.”

  “Nice! You can’t date him.”

  “Why not? You think I’m too old for him?” she asked archly. “He doesn’t seem to mind.”

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” Massoud grumbled. “Does he know you’re in the fleet?”

  “No...Look, Massoud, he thinks that I’m a merchant spacefarer and that’s why I’m not around much. Why tell him the truth? If he doesn’t know, there’s no harm done.”

  “Until he finds out! He’ll probably bust you back to cadet. That’s if his own career i
sn’t shot to pieces. Heavens, Chrostowski, you’re playing with fire.”

  Chrostowski body caved a little, her defiance weakened. “You won’t tell him, will you Massoud? I like him a lot. What does it matter if he finds out now, or finds out later? The damage is already done. I just want someone in my life for a while. When you’re fifty-two and have no one to go home to, you’ll understand.”

  “I don’t know,” Massoud said hesitantly, affected by the desolation in her companion’s voice.

  “He’s sweet, and he wears his heart on his sleeve. He isn’t stringing me a line either, the way some people do. I know it’s not true love, but it’s good. I just want it to last a bit longer.” Chrostowski looked pleadingly at Massoud, clutching her shiny handbag in front of her, and repeated her request, “You won’t tell him, will you?”

  “Sweet! Really?” Massoud scratched her forehead, her other hand on her hip. “Well, I suppose what’s done is done. You might as well enjoy it as long as you can. When I first saw you two together, I assumed he knew what you did for a living, and I was ready to leap down his throat for preaching one thing and doing the other. I suppose I’m glad that he isn’t a hypocrite. But you’ve got to be careful, Chrostowski. You could get hurt here, and into trouble...Do you really like him?” Massoud wrinkled her nose at the thought.

  “Yeah, I do. He’s a bit more male than I usually like, I suppose. But that’s okay for now. I’m in the mood for masculinity,” Chrostowski explained. “But whatever happens, happens. I’m not the type that expects smooth sailing throughout my life. I can take what’s coming.”

  Massoud shook her head, accepting her friend’s choice reluctantly. “Okay, for the record, I didn’t see you or him tonight. You didn’t see me. I am going to spend the rest of the evening with my back to you. Don’t take it as an insult. Now, you go back out there, and I’ll do what people normally do in these places.”

  With that, Massoud entered a stall. The virtual waterfall in the women’s room had triggered a need to relieve herself. The program must have been selected by someone who never had to wait in line for a toilet. Afterwards, Massoud dithered in front of a mirror so that she would not exit the women’s room too closely on Chrostowski’s heels. However, what she saw when she reentered the dining room proved that her precautions had been in vain. Noor was standing beside the table of her friend Belle, and was introducing herself to Belle’s date, a certain Admiral Lightfoot, the champion of stricter fraternization policies. Massoud froze, then watched as Noor gestured towards her. Most likely she was explaining how her sister had introduced her to Lt. Isabelle Chrostowski. The admiral’s face shot red and he clamped his lips tightly, while gluing his furious eyes on a mortified Chrostowski. Noor observed the silent exchange between the couple with surprise and bewilderment, and excused herself.

  Noor and Elizabeth reached their own table simultaneously. At this point, all the observant wives from the mosque were studying the admiral’s table with intense interest.

  “What did I do?” whispered Noor.

  “You just lost Chrostowski a boyfriend and maybe even her job,” Elizabeth replied.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He’s totally against fraternization. He would never date someone in the fleet. Chrostowski lied to him and said she was a civilian. He could have her court martialed.”

  “What for?” Noor was both distressed and a little befuddled.

  “I don’t know—deception, insubordination, fraternization. I’m sure there’s something in the regulations.”

  “But you and Teloc...”

  “We wouldn’t get away with that nowadays. They’ve really tightened up enforcement. Anything that could impair military efficiency is a big no-no. And Lightfoot has been at the center of making the rules stricter. What in heavens was Chrostowski thinking?” Elizabeth shook her head. “Maybe getting entangled with her will show him that it’s hard to keep your personal and professional life separate in a city where a quarter of the population has a connection to the Alliance Fleet.” Sadly, she was skeptical of her own argument.

  As soon as Noor had left Chrostowski and the admiral’s table, the couple had started an argument in suppressed but gritty tones. Within a few minutes, the admiral processed his payment and got up from the table, throwing a viperous final glance at his dinner companion, before storming towards the entrance. It was awkward, but Massoud knew that protocol required her to bow to him as he passed, even if she was in street clothing. So, she rose and they exchanged terse bows, with the admiral glowering at her as if she had caused his problems.

  Chrostowski approached the sisters’ table unhappily and, feeling guilty, Noor quickly offered her a seat, commiserations, and apologies. The other women at the table made pitying sounds but their faces were vibrantly curious.

  Chrostowski turned to Massoud. “Well, that blew up in my face. It’s no surprise, is it?”

  “I’m sorry Belle.” Massoud said. Using the other woman’s first name felt strange, but appropriate, given the circumstances. “Do you think he’ll take disciplinary action?”

  “No. I don’t think so. He can’t expose himself to criticism either.”

  “Well, that’s something,” Massoud said gently.

  The reference to discipline helped one of Noor’s friends, an eager faced woman, make a connection. “That man looks just like that admiral. What’s his name?” she asked.

  “Lightfoot,” Noor answered despondently. “It was him. He didn’t know Belle was under his command. They’re not allowed to date.”

  “He just found out?” asked the eager friend.

  “Yes, and it’s my fault. I didn’t understand the rules. I should have known. We have two fleet officers in the family. I ought to have known. I’m so sorry, Belle.”

  Noor looked at Belle with big penitent eyes that inspired Chrostowski’s forgiveness.

  “It’s alright Noor. The relationship wasn’t going anywhere anyway,” Chrostowski said resignedly. “And we’d only been seeing each other for a short while.”

  “Had you slept with him yet?” blurted the eager friend, her eyes round and expectant.

  “Yes. Of course.” This answer triggered a variety of reactions from the chaste mothers at the table. Some wore faces of vicarious excitement, others disapproval, and all of them had an air of inquisitiveness. Chrostowski looked around the group, mystified by their reaction to such an ordinary thing.

  “He’s so very handsome,” the eager friend blurted out. It seemed she could talk in no other fashion.

  “Eh, yeah. He is,” Chrostowski said warily, scanning the ladies again as if suspecting an ambush. Massoud started to formulate an escape plan for her comrade.

  “I bet he’s really...experienced,” said another chaste matron, who likely did not know that her voice was peppered with longing.

  The normally forthright Chrostowski was striving for a response, taken aback, as she was, by the burning attention of the women. However, she was saved from answering by a severe looking woman to her right, who declared:

  “Nisa, have you any idea how you sound? Why are you so interested in knowing the sordid details of a slutty relationship? These fleet women will sleep with anyone. They have no virtue, but you should know better.” The other women at the table dropped their eyes to their plates, unwilling to make visual contact with either Massoud or Chrostowski.

  Chrostowski might have responded with indignation, but she had never heard anything so ridiculous in her life. So, she simply descended into a fit of laughter. After a few seconds, she realized she was the only one amused, and scanned the group again.

  “You people are serious? Wow! What I did with the admiral was very conventional. If you knew what I did with other people you’d be really shocked!” She smiled broadly but depreciatively at them all, leaning back and hooking her arm over the back of her chair. “You people have made my evening. Truly, I mean it. This is weird, but great. I had no idea anyone thought like that. It looks like my l
ife is totally fun and amazing, even with all the bumps in it. I wouldn’t trade it for what you repressed, frustrated, poor cows have. Thanks! You all made me feel much better.” With bitter pleasure, Chrostowski started to gather her things to leave.

  Noor piped up and placed a placating hand on her friend’s arm. “Belle, I’m sorry. They didn’t mean any harm.” Chrostowski shrugged. Noor addressed her acquaintance at the table. “Belle is my friend. You shouldn’t be so hateful,” and then turning to her sister, she added, “Let’s take Belle home. She’s upset.” In fact, it was Noor who was upset to see her friends behave so insensitively.

  The sisters settled their bill, arranged their evening bags on their shoulders and, along with Chrostowski, stepped out into the cool night air. Noor immediately repeated her apologies to Chrostowski, who deflected the matter by pointing out that Noor could not be responsible for the actions of others. Neither of them noticed that Elizabeth was fuming until she spat out the words:

  “They were only saying what you have been thinking about me for years, Noor. Why is it acceptable for Chrostowski to lead her life however she wants, but you bitch about my choices, which haven’t been that different from hers? You have one standard for me and another standard for the rest of the world. It’s just not right.”

  Noor was flabbergasted. Chrostowski literally stepped out of the conversation.

  “What do you mean, Elizabeth?” Noor asked sharply.

  “You know what I mean. Ever since you moved to Denison, you’ve treated me as an embarrassment—as if my job was something to be ashamed of. You don’t even tell people what I do for a living if you can avoid it. Well, I’ve had enough. I’m proud of what I do. I’m proud to be one of those ‘fleet women’. It makes me a better person. So, deal with it!”