1. The Desert House
The sunlight streamed through the windows from the near star, the heat of he environment was minimal, for though the world was a desert, it was not yet warm outside, and gleaming crystals the size of urban vehicles passed through the ceiling of the bedroom, glowing faintly with the glimmers of light above, they served to reflect the suns rise outside as a lambent red that cast the walls in deep ochres and reds, shelves that lined them set with nick-nacks and goods, small and sentimental things for both occupants.
The house was isolated, far from other settlements, the stars that it orbited were named Ai (in truth its astronomical name was longer, but its local name mattered more) and Va, the planet was for most of its year named Aiverd, Varoerd the other part of its long orbital path when it gained more heat from the second, lesser star, the building was built for extreme seasons, and here it was the second spring, as the planet fell toward Ai, now the larger in the sky.
The bed was draped with conformal covers and surfaces that moulded to the body, to provide optimal support, and it was built into a lower area where the stones were heated from below by hot air that ran through a local system. Levanna was usually the first to rise, and had been since they had first been together in her homeland of Altea, now renamed Idrise. Her companion had been there for some years and would no doubt return within a few months, his time and hers was leave from his consuming task.
He was a Lawtender, a law enforcement officer of the Great Civilization, his particular discipline was something not dissimilar to a prison warden or parole officer, and as arrests in Altea had declined, he was at last moving from the camp where he had worked to return to his own home.
Levanna’s background however, made her tend to be the first to rise, she had before he came, been a slave in Altea, from industrial work to flower-selling and prostitution she had rarely been so free with her own time as now, but old habits died hard.
She would normally rise before dawn, not on Aiverd, for this world had two suns, and at the current point in its complex table of orbits, only four hours of darkness; for now only Ai was rising over the horizon, in a few hours, Va would follow, and moderate heat outside would become furnace-like.
Jet-lag had its part to play, however, for she had only been here for a little more than one of the planet’s long thirty-hour days. Her companion’s people were nothing if not orderly, and the lower area of floor around the bed had a step on which two pairs of low sandals were set. Than Marasen, for his part, remained quite asleep as she stirred.
With her languid lashes fluttering, she opened her tired soft deep-set ice blue eyes. She was still set with Jet Lag, and she chose to keep most of her body covered by the warmth of the sheets of her bed. Her silhouette was one of refined beauty, her feminine form seeming like a vase covered beneath the folds of the sheet. Seeing that it was time to rise she grumbled a little and took her time to rise. With a cursory glance beside her, she saw that her lover had already woken up. Cheeks flushed in embarrassment, she rose with haste and her red silken camisole nightgown was pulled on quickly to give her modesty, as she then pulled her long-curled locks into a ponytail. She grabbed a robe, and let it drape on her. stepping on dainty bare feet to head towards the kitchen. She would likely check for ingredients to make a proper breakfast and would share it with her lover once she found him.
A gentle hand began to meander through the kitchen supplies and she selected ingredients, both savory and rich to the palette. Slicing the potatoes unpeeled in pouring them into simmering salted water to soften them before letting a touch of butter beading and melting into the hot frying pan. and draining them and tossing the potatoes along with diced onions into the skilled with a touch of seasoned salts. The fragrance was gentle with the sweetness of the onions blending into the earthiness of the spices. She then prepared the ham and cheese omelette to be dressed by the side of the seasoned potatoes she fried with delightful vigor.
After plating her finished dish with a dash of pepper sauce, she carried it to the dining room, presuming with a knowing glance that he would smell the preparation and would meet her there where they would share the meal together.
The smoke of the incense rose in a plume through the holes built into the burner, an orb of bronze it sat on an elevated platform. The plume rose until it struck the underside of the leonine statue, where the smoke broke apart into upward flowing rivulets that made the static features of the black iron statue with its verdigris’d copper surface. Eyes of blue stone looked out over the room from the altar it sat upon. The altar was low wood, and it held a few items of significance other than the statue. It was of the feline goddess Bast, he wasn’t a true believer, at least not overtly, but still he prayed.
His chair was low, and he sat cross legged on it, his hands resting on his knees, eyes closed. The nature of such things was endlessly disputed, some said the gods of the Ennead and Ogodad actually existed, others that they were a form of projection of their worshippers through rite and ritual without a distinct reality, except perhaps a single meta-consciousness that was spread between them. Than was of the latter opinion, but he didn’t think it was less important than that because of it. He prayed for his sister.
In one of the drawers nearby he had a set of drawings that had been drafted for the reason for his devotion, her tomb; he was unlikely to die, but his sister was adopted, and she was of a breed whose essence wilted even with the most astute applications of the Rejuvenat Adepts. This wasn’t entirely unusual of course; the Great Civilization boasted many claims to equality but being able to provide equal medical services to every species wasn’t one of those, it was simply a fact that the more of a species there were the more would be known about them.
His sister came from a country called Altea, the same place, in fact, as Levanna did, and the many species there were believed to be created by the interaction of supernatural forces and biology, and a wholly biological answer wasn’t sustainable. The Rejuvenat Adepts indeed had said that the Golden Lotus flower, reputed to take no less than ten million years to bloom, would eventually be harnessed, of course, with such a slow rate of growth it would be an incalculable eternity before it was available for use; there was a prospect that it could be grown through accelerated means one way or another, and the Rejuvenat Adepts were not optimistic of this and expected it to be many millions of years before they could produce a viable crop to secure the entire beastling population. They recommended stasis at the onset of senescence for those who did not wish to perish, as the necrontyr had done for their great sleep of sixty five million years; eventually the population of the galaxy would stabilize indeed the great civilization kept up its population growth only by a societal pressure to do so, but though each lotus had a thousand seeds it would take even longer for it to be available to all and sustainable.
Than’s parents had leaned toward the other suggestion, and religion provided other means of attaining eternity, albeit many superstitious outsiders regarded them as necromantic practices to be shunned.
Than had taken to the prayer as preparation for the time when his sister would die, and would it was hoped achieve a transformation. He already gave offerings.
He set a small cone onto the plate before the false door, a ceramic piece with a name stamped upon its base, like a playing piece, and spoke aloud; “An offering the Nisut gives to Osiris Lord of the West, Great God, Lord of Graven Tombs, to that he may make verbal offerings in bread, beer, ox, fowl, alabaster, linen, unguents, incense, offerings and provisions, everything good and pure on which a god lives, for the spirits of justified revered ones.”
In time he would pray differently, the name of his sister would be included.
With that done, he settled his mind and meditated. He was better at resisting the jet-lag of travel than his companion, and he expected she was still asleep, that allowed him some time to set his mind in order. He rested until the chime of the genius loci took his attention, and at last he moved, and followed by its soft feminine voice. “Madame Levanna is preparing breakfast.”
He gave a gesture of acknowledgement and thanks, and rose. The intelligent software wouldn’t disturb meditative practise, but after that it was fine. He walked through to the dining area, like many other houses there was no shortage of space, the planet was not wholly frontier, but it was built with a number of intelligent systems, and extended far beneath the ground, into the bedrock thirty feet below, this downward building was traditional to necrontyr, but also gave a distinctly mechanical feel for much of the lower areas, and the residence was the tip of the iceberg. From the meditation room he stepped through a library of permaparchment books and into the central lounge that was illuminated by five large crystal pillars, up a set of stairs to the dining area. There was a table, but not a large one, the stone oval could seat up to four people in comfort.
When he met Levanna, he kissed her, his hand squeezing her shoulders. He wore less than she, a loose kilt of linen that was black and red, and slippers that softened his tread. “Good morning Levanna,” he said, sitting, smiling momentarily at the lovely smell, “how did you sleep?”
“About as well as one can when it’s sunny all day. How do your people do it in this place?” Levanna had a mischievous grin, and leaned her hip off balance as if she was challenging him to question her with that sly offset posture and it was punctured with a wink.
“‘Ere I thought you had also had a desire to punch out the windows. Alas, I can’t imagine how one CAN sleep. I must remind you to install blackout curtains in this place. How’s a lady to get any beauty sleep to begin with?”
She gestured at the windows with the light of the two stars pouring into the room with a massage of his shoulders as she pulled out his chair for him. She set up the Altean cutlery, and reached her arms around him and gave him a gentle embrace.
“Thought I might as well make myself useful. A lady who can’t at least cook with a few hours on hand shouldn’t be calling herself a lady.” she whispered with that coy little susurrus leaving a touch of her soft moistened lips against his ear. She was careful to coax him gently to her side. “But there’s many things one could call me. What would you prefer today?”
Than looked at the windows and smiled, he gave a wave toward one, with a two fingered gesture, two fingers pointed together and guided downward in an arc that caused all of the windows in the room to dim, as though the glass they were made of was becoming darker and darker, dimming the light.
He sat down, and let her push the chair in behind him, that kind of behaviour wasn’t exactly gentlemanly, but he was prepared to let her do it if she found it more enjoyable, or less uncomfortable. He leaned back into the chair as she held him, and nuzzled into her dark ponytail, his lips finding her skin for a soft kiss to the side of her neck.
“But I will admit it does take some getting used to living here, still, it has the virtue of privacy, and no nosy neighbours, which is sometimes, just what you want.”
“Things to call you?” he smiled, “that my sweet, depends on the time of the day, for this morning we should head out to see my parents, I’ve been promising to do so for a while, my dad wants to take you sailing, and no doubt they want to call you Levanna,” he looked at her with a smile, “after that, who knows.”
“Well you’re more optimistic than I am, but well enough then, we’re going sailing? Now that sounds like a lot of fun. Reminds me of all the good parts of home. I’ve had me a load of fun with sailing all down the Altean coast, and each time I’ve always felt like I was in for a good time.”
Levanna liked the affection but knew she wasn’t likely going to incur the favour of Than’s parents. He said they weren’t noble, but he looked as highborn as the others. They would not likely accept her as anything more than a temporary consort, but she was at least glad she was going to meet his parents, it means she was at least not considered the trash that she thought she was. She was not an ugly woman, but she was very much a lowborn.
What grace covered the gentle touch of her fingers and the concentrated steps of her small feet, the sway of her wide hips and her ladylike posture was made by her grooming that made her an Altean man’s dream as a prostitute. This did not do well for her esteem, but the time she had managed to save other girls from the same fate at least made her feel better than a no-name whore.
Something out of her imagination drew her attentions into the warmth of the darkened room, and she was also relieved from the sting that was still casting upon her eyes due to her troubled sleep. She gave his shoulders a massage and then sat across from him after setting her cutlery down in its place. She felt the fluffiness of the eggs in the omelette and the savoriness of the ham and the soft stretchiness of the cheese as it melted on her tongue. She was a fine chef as she had little trouble allowing the combinations of flavors and textures to make a meal that was both pleasing to the eyes and to the tongue.
Than smiled, and he seemed to enjoy the omelette, eating from the twin-tined Altean fork with every sign of gusto. He gave Levanna a smile, but he couldn’t imagine many of her trips down the Altean coast had ended well for her in the past, he didn’t say anything however, for he was not keen to dwell on her past experiences when she didn’t bring up the topic. Than was deeply aware of his own privileges, and while he could hardly claim to be a titular noble in the way that the lords of Altea were, he was if anything more lucky. He wondered at the trillions of humans in the galaxy how many might actually be as fortunate as him; he felt only the few billion who could claim citizenship of the Great Civilization actually could; there were likely more nobles of sundry backward cultures, and certainly more gentry, but he would not trade places with them.
When dinner was done he washed, though this was like much else in his life something that was made immensely easier by technology, in the kitchen there was an arc, something like a reading lamp, that projected a vibrostat field over the sink, simply waving the plates through this dislodged dirt, falling into an integrated disposal without any water, the feeling on the skin was a susurrus, mildly pleasant like being rubbed against by a dog. He set the plates and utensils back in the cupboard and drawers, as they were dried in the same moment they were washed.
“Now,” he said, “we should probably get dressed, we have a trip to make,” he said. “And we need to get you dressed too,” he added. Like much of the rest of the Great Civilization there was a formal way of doing a great many things, they tended to believe in propriety and a cultural norm that was added to the regional and local cultures, there were many variants of this. If she worried about clothing, he certainly seemed to have her covered, as he gave her a swift kiss and returned to the bedroom.
He preferred to shower at night, before bed, and they had done so, but he shaved in the morning, particularly when he had the liberty of time, and he allowed a stubble to remain where he shaved, leaving her to her own grooming for a time. Only then did he seek out the wardrobe built into a dressing room that adjoined the bed-chamber.
“You’re probably going to think I’m even more of a noble when you see this,” he said, sliding one of the doors of pale cream inlaid wood back. Within the wardrobe there were several layers, and while in Altea she had seen him dressed in uniforms, in long storm-coats and tunics, coveralls for work and more, here there were a wide variety of clothes, and at the end he had started from, long formal garments. “I swear that everyone has these,” he said. He was doing his best not to appear rich, when at one end of the wardrobe was a full length garment of spun gold and copper. “Things get a lot less expensive here,” he said, drawing out a hangar. There was a scent of burnt wood from the wardrobe, which disinfected and cleaned the interior, and she might stare briefly at the small skittering things within, tiny mechanical beetles the size of money-spiders, whose attention re-wove and threaded damage, and removed residual damage. She’d not seen a washing machine, and she might have briefly imagined that there was hand-washing required, not so, instead the same technologies that served to wash dishes were used for clothes, though other systems preserved them.
Even small things were meticulously considered; the hangers were made of a wood-hued plastic that contained a spring-loaded mechanism, the unoccupied hangers had a green dot on them, as they carried no weight, it was visible which hangars were free.
He gave her a look, “Don’t worry, we’re not going sailing in these,” he said. The garment in question was originally Menelmacari, one might think then that they were restricted to the elves or to regions closer to them, but in truth the C’tani had long ago taken it up and it was as much their own national garb as the original creators’, though the Great Civilization’s dress was far more diverse.
He stat and slipped his slippers off, instead drawing socks on, and pulling supple suede boots onto his feet, with them he changed to other underwear and donned the inner robe from its hanger. The inner layer was a single robe with its fastening far to the right of his chest, while above that he wore another layer with brocade and fastenings of silver and leather shoulder-lapels, this was worn with wide teal sleeves decorated with hieratic gothic script. The upper and outermost layer matched the sleeves of this layer. He buckled a belt on and took down one of several swords from a compartment that held two, touching the more elaborate of them, a curving khopesh that was a gift from his sister.
The weapon he wore was a closer fit to his own biological heritage, a salinter, a short curving sword that had come to Karlack with the Achillus Crusade, Levanna had never seen Than carry a sword before, he did not consider himself nearly sharp enough with the power-sword to warrant carrying it, though he carried a pistol with it. The sword was a fashion item, and paired with a lean dagger called a glevil, part of the same set.
He certainly looked like a noble.
He gave Levanna a grin, “This one,” he said, opening another wardrobe, “is for you, hands on your head place Levanna; it’s not part of the outfit, but you’ll have to live with my cheek,” he said, and took a lean corset of flexible material, pale polymers and living metal, that made up an underbust design, “This,” he said, “you’ll find I can adjust the comfort of,” he grinned, “with a gesture,” it went on easily, but self-tightened, cinching her waistline to a trim fit. “This isn’t part of the outfit, this is just me teasing you,” he said.
“The wardrobes contain loom-scarabs,” he said, as he checked she was done with her own undergarments and the shoes that matched his own, “they can actually weave any clothing fabric you please, at least if it’s made out of organic or polymer materials, I sent them your measurements about a week ago,” he added, sliding another door across to reveal a match for his own outfit – absent the weapons – and gave her a smile. “Cruelty free silk,” he said, and the weave was finer than the skymoth silk of Altea typically was, though the fabric less lustrous. He lifted her hair and adjusted the back of the robe onto her, “you can of course have them make whatever you like, but I just asked for the standard sort of garments, three sets of outdoor wear two of this formalwear,” the script on the middle robe he pulled onto her was different, Seroi rather than Gothic, “a few other bits and pieces, you’re free to have them spin you anything you want of course,” he said, “I’ll show you how to order them later if you wish.”
When he’d ordered this outfit for her, he’d made a point to violate as many Altean sumptuary laws as possible, cloth of gold and silk, and every other he could think of, though he did not give her a sword nor a firearm, the former because he did not think she would be comfortable moving with one, and might trip up on it, the latter because the Great Civilization only allowed its own citizens to carry firearms.
“One more thing before you give me an opinion,” he said, for he wanted to make sure she look the part, and he drew a twin-edged blade, tapering, it was clearly a dagger and not a utility knife, to make sure that it was something common Alteans weren’t likely permitted, “this is a glevil, it was my grandfather’s, he was a deserter from the military of one of the pre-C’tani states’ militaries, conscripted, of course,” he said. He’d used blades long before being conscripted, but Than did not mention that particular cut throat element of his past in this context, “I’d like you to have it,” he said, “don’t worry, by the time he passed he had quite a few of these,” he added, playing down the sentimental value of it.
He turned, standing behind her and looking over her shoulder toward a full-length mirror-field that had appeared on the window of the dressing room, “What do you think? Do we look like a pair?”
“I do think we make a fine pair, even if I think you’re practically dressing me in a queen’s clothes. It’s practically like dressing a really fine dog in a custom-made top hat with fancy monocles and a tux. It’s adorable but looks off on me. You sure your parents won’t mind?”
The gown made every curve feel like it was softly emphasized, her figure embraced into the form of a highborn lady. She did take a lingering moment to gaze into the mirror with herself reflecting upon it. She was almost feeling like the reflection was a ghost.
It was the ghost of the hunger of her mother before her. She thought of the mother that she lost, and punctured fragile dualities, as it was she that made her feel incompatible with the form she saw. As it was that very same woman who sold her to a slaver. That same hunger was what her mother felt when she was rushing from store to store with battered fingers trying to find a way to feed her household.
Levanna never remembered her, but she was someone who she would always imagine in a more beautiful form, sort of like a fairy entity. Her voice would match the other children’s as they would call for their mothers in the night. Crying out when they felt the cold solitude of vulnerability.
“Mother, mother save me.” They would cry. Even when forced to fight, to flex, to fuck.
She took a deep breath and hid a single tear shed. “Ah, and now I’m making it look unsightly. I know many who would have murdered several men to dream of even looking at something like this. Somehow I feel like I’ll disappoint ya, but then I see perhaps I’m not the one thinking clearly… do I look beautiful?” She asked, not expecting an answer. “Maybe.”
Than wrapped his arms around Levanna’s shoulders, the long sleeves that came with his hug covering her in part, almost folding her like a bird of prey hiding its kill from other predators. He rested his lips among the wound tresses of her hair and kissed her scalp, it was a gesture that he intended to make reassuring, but it wasn’t possible to know what someone found relaxing, and he knew that much. Still, some things were almost universal, closeness, acceptance, chaste affection. “You are beautiful,” he said, brown eyes looking at her in the mirror, “you might have trouble accepting it, but that’s the truth,” he said.
He reached up to wipe her cheek with the softer lining of his own garment, “It isn’t unsightly to cry, you’ve good reason to cry. You can always cry with me.”
“Do you want to sit down?” he asked, he would take as long as she needed to rest, and for him, the world was now her comfort and her consolation, no other duty was important in that hour.
Levanna massaged her temples as she was encouraged to rise “Sit down? And have your parents wait another minute with me foffing about, perish the thought!” Levanna cooed as she purred warmly at the affection, “Well, we shouldn’t have them wait too much longer. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. It’s just a weird thing for me to fuss about. I hardly imagined I’d ever be much more than someone’s personal wench, and even less getting to meet your family and whatnot.”
She talked out loud, her insecurities not quite rushing to the surface.
“Also, I don’t wanna blow your chances to get a decent girl either, and have your parents be disappointed in finding out you’re still insistent on having me around. I mean, while I can probably still help carry a line, I’m not gettin’ any younger either. Plus I don’t know if that’s what they want from me either way. What did you tell them about me in the first place? That you just found a lady in Altea while doing your buddy cop routine with Sheran and the others, and she just happened to be the one you wanted to take home? Did you tell them my driving was terrible?”
“You are a respectable woman,” Than’s answer was assertive, but not overbearing, “far more so than many others I’ve met, and my parents aren’t going to be disappointed, and he gaze her a kiss to her brow again, “Let’s go,” he said.
“As for what I’ve told them, a fair bit, where you’re from, of course, and your name, and a few of the stories about how Sherin and the rest of us found you; more importantly how you helped us, believe me you made all the difference there and we couldn’t have done it without you,” he said.
“And your driving was better than mine, remember, though mum and dad come from a time when ground vehicles were more common, so maybe they’re better at it? But you did stop all three of us from crashing at once,” he said, “still, this time, we’re travelling my way.”
The house’s exterior was accessed by a formidable heavy door, made of thick stone that slid to one side to slowly reveal the interior, a wide almost processional footpath leading down the hill, to where they would be able to walk to steps to the lower levels of the rocks around the house, Than didn’t take that route, instead walking toward the monolithic, engraved pillar that clung to the table-lands like a relic of some ancient tomb, “This is a teleportation pillar,” he said, “you’ll see them everywhere, you don’t actually need to use them, they’re technological loci for many things, but they are also the best way to know where you’ll arrive when you displace, we’re going to head on to the capital world,” he said, “but we have to go to an orbital station first,” there were ground-based portals but they were less comfortable.
Levanna had not used the technology before, he’d made it a point to show off as much of the planet by air as possible, but now she was going to do something quite different, “Ready?” he asked.
Upon her assent, the world around them suddenly turned cool, and the suns went out; or rather, they were moved behind a polarized window and they were looking out at the tan curve of the world below, the air-conditioned interior of the space station that served as the main transport hub for Varoerd, the teleportation technology was a miracle, by any standard, and using it was quite different to merely seeing it used.
“Might as well be.” She felt her breath caught from the wonder of seeing just how commonplace magic was here. Imagining for a moment what regular teleportation might be like she realized that regardless of how clearly to her that this technology may be rightly understood by the common folk of C’tan, it might as well have been magic in scientific dressings. The whole situation felt absolutely alien to her, mostly because of several implications that weren’t lost on her. The whole situation felt dreamlike and entirely absent of the feeling of dread that loosely defined most of her child and adult life. She was thinking of that she had never thought possible, she was thinking about the future. If she was asked about what the future meant even three and a half years ago, she would never imagine this would mean, ‘not dead in a gutter’ and she had imagined the times she had found other girls she had heard of, the one she remembered clearly was one around her age found with a piano wire garrote mark around her neck. She couldn’t have thought that this wouldn’t be her future, nor even be a distant memory.
Who she was meeting with she would dismiss as fanciful romance novel stuff. She did not think she could have thought up ‘Meeting a Paragon Founder of a Nation’ and that the very thought of saying it out loud would make her feel like a bubbly teenager again. That she would end up where she was now wouldn’t be a possibility in her even weirdest dreams. Fashionable or not, she was still working on her ability to pretend she had no idea about the situation she was in. She planned to recall her social etiquette and plug in various beautiful scenarios where she could imagine that she would get to talk about interesting art or about song she had heard retold from simply being around beautiful concubines of lords, and when this would fail her physical grace could usually cover for any situation and scenario. Levanna would play to her strengths, at least that was what she thought she would do.