Angolin, p.20
Angolin, page 20
“Nerves” is a human-contrived malady. Sir’s mental and physical health—
Are fine. This isn’t from combat stress. It’s this evening that I’m worried about.
Dharmen watched the Rijksfontein’s center spray shoot two hundred stories into twilit sky and drop its waters in artful, force field-constricted cascades onto the Emblusplein, the great circular common anchoring the Angolin Midways. From it, the west avenue led to the Parliament Pavilion. The east way wound into the mountains above Mid Realm. The north road went toward Greathall but never found the hidden folds beneath. And the south Midway faded into the Centrum’s skyline, towering over the surrounding web of conurbs and public gardens.
Tonight, Angolin’s formal center swarmed with people on their way home from the Kraal, on their way to a late dinner, or simply admiring the fountain. Couples strolled arm in arm beside its marblite embankment.
Nüren leaned over. “It’s called the Fountain of Beginnings for a reason, you know.”
Dharmen met him round-eyed, hoping no one else had heard.
“I proposed to his mother here,” Nüren dashed that hope and beamed to everyone.
Dori and Brona glowed. “Young Miss Enri must have been absolutely delighted by that,” Brona said.
Willem was more subdued. Brona and Yos went back to gazing into each other’s eyes. They had been doing so all evening; something was budding between them. Theus watched them dejectedly as he had all evening.
“You never told me it happened here,” Dharmen said to Nüren. “You just said it was by a fountain.”
“I said it was by the fountain. Listen to your father now and again; you might just pick up a few things,” Nüren said with a smile and a few quick taps to his snow-white temple.
“Is that any way to talk to your only son who just treated you to a birthday dinner at the best restaurant in Angolin?” Dharmen chided.
“At this ripe old age, you talk as you like. You’ll understand one day.”
“Sir, you’re far from old,” Dori said. “Dharm’s already there ahead of the rest of us, but not you . . . And what’s all this?”
A crowd appeared, large, noisy, and suddenly. They were university students from the looks of them, and sticking out like painted tarocs, wearing all the wrong gender colors and making a huge ruckus. They banged synth drums and chanted slogans, some against the government but more deriding the Guard.
“Good thing we’re off duty,” Dori said. “Aside from this bizarre affront to the Heavenly Pantheon, uniforms wouldn’t be good here.”
“What’s that? You afraid of protesters, Commander Secár?” Dharmen bellowed.
“That’ll do, Dharm!” she returned.
Dharmen read one of the revolving holos. “The Guard is the hatchet of Parliament and accomplice to enslavement of Angolinian society” was its floating message. “See that, Commander? Good thing we are off duty. I wouldn’t want my slaving ways to offend these people!”
The holo bearer peered ferociously from beneath a bright-orange hood. He tapped a field on the holo. A smaller one materialized right in Dharmen’s face: “Demand peace. Dismantle the Guard.”
Dharmen backhanded the message with a look that dared a response. “Forget service and loyalty, let’s all walk the midways yelling and broadcasting treason. What I wouldn’t give to be a bored teenager with nothing better to do.”
“I’m not a teenager,” the other snipped. “I’m twenty, for your information.”
“I have eyes, kid. What the Netherworld difference does that make? Stupid is stupid at any age,” Dharmen shot back. “And while you’re demanding peace, you’d better learn to defend your hide too, ’cause it’ll take more than slogans to fight the Carmogen . . . What was that? I didn’t quite hear. You got something to say, speak up!”
“I said take your atrocities elsewhere. We don’t need them in Angolin. We want a free and peaceful existence without military oppression and warmongering.”
“Atrocities?” Dharmen said incredulously. “You want atrocities? I’ll tell you about atrocities. Men like me spending their lives protecting boys who don’t appreciate it is an atrocity. Watching your comrades get killed in front of you while kids back home walk around with name-calling holos is atrocious.”
“Easy, son. He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” Nüren said to Dharmen. “Like any other misinformation acted upon, it’ll pass.”
Dharmen’s blood boiled; he hadn’t taken his eyes off mister “I’m twenty for your information” for a second. “This man spent his entire life protecting Angolin,” he said, motioning to his father. “Without him, you wouldn’t have the freedom to mouth off to your elders and float signs around. Are you telling him all his years of service were atrocities too?”
“I want what the Outside World has to offer,” said the young man. “I don’t need isolation, and I don’t need old has-beens. None of us do!” He muttered something else under his breath at Nüren.
“You wanna say that loud enough for everyone to hear?” Dharmen said and stepped closer.
“No. Not really—”
Dharmen yanked him by the collar. “Then say it to me, just me, because I want to hear it!”
Tumbling water was the plein’s only sound. People stopped to watch; even the other protesters were silent. Dharmen understood he had lost control. He didn’t like it, but he wasn’t about to let anyone insult his father’s honor, and definitely not an anti-Guard, civilian little—
“Lieutenant Commander, stand down!” Dori rumbled.
“Let him go, Dharm,” Theus said at his side. “He’s not worth it. None of this is worth it.”
Dharmen let some of Theus’s calm wash over him. He bored eyes into the young man and then shoved him backward. What little force he gave it was still enough to send his skinny frame to the pavement. He got up with a belligerent glower that Dharmen’s outmatched and scuttled back to his holo-wielding friends. To Dharmen’s mild surprise, they began slowly moving away. Onlookers threw words at their backs, told them to do something useful with themselves, or be off.
“Guess I’m not the only one not having any of it!” Dharmen yelled after them.
Nüren leaned in and whispered, “Temper, temper, m’boy. Don’t you have something much more important to concentrate on tonight?”
Dharmen eyed him, nearly forgetting what had just happened.
“He gets it from his mother,” Nüren said to the rest of the group. “She was no woman to be trifled with, let me tell you!” He ushered everyone to pleinside benches, well out of Dharmen’s reach of any more flash protesters.
Dharmen sat brooding. There were more and more demonstrations lately, and some got out of hand. This group was harmless, but its antigovernment, antimilitary, anti-Angolin babble rattled him. So much disregard from those just old enough to begin enjoying everything he and others fought to maintain for them, but too young to understand or appreciate it. He breathed hard through his anger. Just what do these kids want?
He watched the loud, postadolescent interruption to an otherwise wonderful evening pass on. Normalcy slowly returned with no more chanting death to the Realm and antagonizing the gods. Women warmed the night in honor of Lothnë the Great, and men cooled it in Rior’s glory: Angolinians living as they always had. He caught sight of a woman coming from the direction of the Kraal. Blonde, middle-aged, short, and plump, though with an upright, dignified, purposeful gait. She looked over kindly as she headed east. It wasn’t Aremel (she would never be out and about walking alone), but she bore a striking resemblance. Dharmen glanced to his side. Willem was watching her too, his eyes lowering as she left sight.
“We’ll find her, love, don’t worry.”
“I know,” Willem replied, upbeat. “Tonight’s for celebrating anyway, not worrying. Happy birthday, Nüren! Hope you enjoyed dinner. And the Plein—great choice for an after-dinner stroll.”
Nüren smiled. “I’m not the one who chose it.”
Dharmen blushed and stood. Better to do this himself before his father did it for him. “And now . . . now I hope to make someone else even happier.” Ignoring the bemused looks, he moved over to Willem and bent down on one knee.
Dori and Brona stifled excited wails and embraced each other. The evening’s apparent competitive détente on Dori’s part seemed to be continuing.
“Will. Love,” Dharmen started, “I just want to say that . . . well, we’ve been through so much together, and outside my family, I . . .” He had to catch his breath. His heart pounded harder than it had during his minutes-earlier run-in. “I know I’m the storm in your calm as you once put it, and other things get in our way these days, but I won’t face whatever’s coming unless it’s with you. I’ve always loved you, and I always will. Will you marry me?”
Willem gave him a dauntless but teary smile. Like a cloudburst through sunshine, the water left his eyelids. “I sure will, soldier!” He bent down, grabbed Dharmen’s face, and kissed him.
Cheers and applause filled Dharmen’s ears. Lots of them. He rose, holding Willem’s hand. He knew it was Angolin’s largest gathering spot, but uplords, what an audience! Strangers came over for rounds of handshakes. He couldn’t believe the moment’s goodwill. He felt pride in his people that he hadn’t felt in ages. And then he realized something that heartened him more than anything could: the love of his life had just said yes!
A raucous pack of athletes came by from the direction of Mount Innsaec Arena. The evening match had just ended. “You’ll make him a happy man, right mate?” one of them yelled to Willem.
“Definitely!” he yelled back. “What was the score? Did we win?”
Nüren gave Dharmen and Willem vise-like hugs. Dharmen hadn’t seen his father like this since his mother was alive. “I didn’t see a ring, son.”
“That’ll come later.” Dharmen’s eyes were sly. “But one thing’s coming right now.”
Willem shut his eyes as Dharmen picked him up and carried him to the fountain.
“You’ve lived on a Guard base, Hanne,” Dharmen said, “you know the drill . . .”
Willem hit the water with a screaming guffaw. The others howled as he reached down and hurled handfuls of water at them. Brona and Yos were taken completely by surprise until Theus explained the quirks of the same-sex Guard marriage proposals he had witnessed. Dharmen laughed as Willem threw water on him. And then he mounted the embankment.
“Son, what kind of a bizarre proposal is this?” Nüren asked.
“Any kind but a hetero one, Father!”
“But—”
Dharmen dove in. He and Willem splashed around playfully before climbing out and dripping all over the mood pavers. Puzzled onlookers laughed and chatted with them. Another group of protesters came by. Dharmen ignored them. Nothing, he thought, is going to ruin this moment.
Dharmen walked the darkened, narrow loft corridor to the guest sleep-in. He could hear clanking synthware being arranged for deactivation downstairs. He shut the sound from his mind. The evening had ended awesomely, and he didn’t want his new, unwanted housekeeper interfering with that. He stopped at the door and knocked.
“Father?”
It slid open. “Oh, thank Krone, it’s you, m’boy. I thought it was that blasted synth woman. Never could get used to those things, even back at the First.”
“Right. Have everything you need?”
“Affirmative.”
“Father, I need to apologize for tonight.” Silent eyes met Dharmen, evincing understanding well beyond his notice. “That little shit got to me, but I shouldn’t have picked a fight to begin with. I went too far too fast. I dishonored the Guard, myself, and you.”
“Nonsense, son! People get angry. Give yourself some shred of credit. Krone has no rule of honor that says a soldier can’t lose his temper once in a while, especially at a silly kid intent on provoking it.”
“Maybe, but with me it’s all the time and beyond Rem-E’s help. I don’t know what to do about it,” Dharmen sighed. “It’s like a monster living inside me. I wish I had a cool head like you, and just about everybody else.”
“Well, there’s no rule that says a soldier can’t be himself either. You’re a good man, Dharmen, but one who tends toward hotheadedness is all.” Nüren leaned forward. “But save it for the enemy. I don’t think the Carmis or the traitors are much of a match for your kind of . . . spirit. I just wish we could harness it in some usable form and fix it to a gunship. That would be a weapon to contend with!”
“But, I . . .”
Eyes kind but sharp let Dharmen know the conversation was finished.
“Sleep well, Father. I’ll see you in the morning.”
The door shut. Dharmen went to the main sleep-in and found Willem already in bed. “Are you happy, love?”
“Infinitely! But I have a question.”
“A question.” Dharmen looked around as though to imaginary people in the room. “I propose, I get soaked for him, and he has a question.”
“Why tonight, Dharmen?” Willem asked with a marginal, placid smile. “Why now, in the midst of everything?”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s not a complaint. I was just wondering.”
“Look, I know you’re worried about Aremel. I’m worried about her too, but we’ll find her.”
“It’s not just that. I want to know why you chose this moment. You’re so careful about nearly everything, I’m surprised you picked tonight and didn’t want to wait.”
Dharmen thought about it. “I wanted to do it months ago, the night our dine-in was nearly blown up. Then I wanted to right after we shot down those stolen ships from Port, and then you were nearly kidnapped—odd time to ask your partner to marry you.” He sat beside Willem. “And Kleve Park would have been perfect, but we were too preoccupied with Gallin.”
“So you chose your father’s birthday celebration instead?”
“It was a good try at a cover, as much as Father let it be.” He took Willem’s hand and put it to his chest. “Think about it, love. When would be the right time? There’s never that for us anymore. But you are the right man for me, that’s what matters. If we can get past all this and be happy together, now is the time; and regardless of what comes next, we’ll face it as a team. Promise?”
Willem leaned over and kissed him. “You’ve made me the happiest man in Angolin tonight, Dharmen. Anything you want is a promise!” He reached over, pulled at and loosened the tie in Dharmen’s night trousers. Dharmen began pulling them off . . .
There was a knock at the door. Dharmen groaned. He knew it wasn’t his father—the raps were too evenly spaced, too mechanical.
“Come in,” Willem ordered after commanding light output higher. He remained in bed, but Dharmen got up and barely managed to pull his pants back up before the door slid open.
It walked in. Dharmen gave it his usual wince, a gesture only a real person would perceive. The artificial woman stood obliviously beneath its flowing brown hair and inhumanly tranquil demeanor, devoid of emotion or reaction to emotion. Advanced particle manipulation and AI neuroscience, Dharmen thought. I’d love to find the engineers who reintroduced that combo to Angolin and throw them off the fjord line!
“Sirs, if you do not require my service further tonight, I will retire downstairs for regeneration,” it said, monotone.
“That’ll do just fine, robot,” Dharmen said. It even sounds real.
“I am called Clera 6, sir,” the other dispassionately corrected. “I introduced myself with designation upon my arrival. And I am particle synthesized. I am not a robot.”
“Is that a fact, robot?”
“Yes, sir. Perhaps you have forgotten.”
“Perhaps I haven’t.”
“First names are fine, Clera 6. You may call him Dharmen,” said Willem.
“You may continue to call me sir, robot,” said Dharmen. “And what’s with the six, by the way? Where are Cleras 1 through 5? Got fancier gigs up in the Condorcet Estates?”
“They were desynthed, sir.”
“All of them? Really?” He scrutinized the simulated woman darkly. “Doesn’t bode well for you, does it?”
A foot shot out at Dharmen from beneath the bedcovers. “Thank you, Clera 6. We’ll see you in the morning,” Willem said.
“Shall I see to General Tate before I go?”
“No!” Dharmen answered in Willem’s place. “Father is already asleep. He goes to bed early. That’ll be the case every night while he stays with us, so leave him alone.”
“Of course, sir.” It smiled factitiously.
Amid its correctly upturned lips, Dharmen noticed a twitch in the synth’s expression: a smallish muscle glitch, if the thing had anything resembling muscle tissue beneath its particle-constructed skin. It wasn’t meant pleasantly, whatever it was. The unreal woman backed out of the doorway, and it slid shut behind her.
“That thing’s too damned quiet. I didn’t even hear it climb the stairs,” Dharmen said.
“That thing has a name,” Willem said. “And please try to make this work. I’ve already explained a hundred times why we need her.”
Dharmen ignored that. He went to the chair near the lavatory door and readjusted his uniform hanging across the seatback before commanding lights off and climbing into bed.
“So did you tell anyone else what you were planning tonight?” Willem asked.
“Only Thee. I didn’t bother with Dori. She would have given it away.”
“Mmmm. And your father?”
“No, but he knew anyway. He always knows what I’m up to. You can’t hide anything from a Tate.”
“No argument there!” Willem said.
“Speaking of which, let’s try to keep it down tonight. I don’t want him hearing us.”
“And spoken by the loud one himself,” Willem said with low brows above slyly smiling eyes.
“Hmmph, doesn’t matter anyway,” Dharmen grinned. “Knowing my father, he’ll ignore his hetero side and listen at the wall.”
“With your moaning, he won’t need to,” Willem said. He pinned Dharmen down, gently kissing his neck, and slowly moving those kisses downward . . .
