Dawnwind 1: Last Man Standing (30 page)

Deso wished them luck, but doubted that the colonists would get what they wanted.
 
More likely, in view of the attack and the loss of life, the Colonial Authority would call for the abandonment of Napiso.

Tired and stressed, Deso had decided to walk through the colony’s gardens on her way back to the ship.
 
At this late hour, the gardens were almost abandoned.
 
Light-spheres drifted along their preprogrammed routes, illuminators set to minimum.
 
Misters and sprinklers activated, bathing the foliage in precious water.
 
A pair of uniformed peacekeepers drifted past her, nodding as they went.
 
Two old women, wearing mourning-white, did not even acknowledge Deso’s presence.
 
She had almost reached the other side of the gardens, could see the capsule platform gleaming in the dark, when she stumbled across the guardsman.

He was sprawled on the lawn, legs and arms spread wide.
 
For a moment, Deso thought he was injured or ill.
 
Then, noticing her presence, the fellow sat up.
 
As he did, his jet-black hair came into view.

“Guardsman Epcott,” said Deso.

His blue eyes seemed to shimmer in the light.
 
They flitted over her uniform, her insignia. He inclined his head.
 
“First Officer.
 
I don’t believe we’ve actually met.”

She watched him stand, absently brush grass from his shipsuit.
 
He seemed completely at ease.

“We haven’t,” said Deso.
 
“But I’ve heard about you.”

A wry smile flitted across his face.
 
“Good things or bad?”

“Good,” she said.
 
“Walk with me back to the transport.”
 

She had meant to make it a question, but it came out as a command.
 
Epcott fell into step beside her.

“What were you doing in the gardens by yourself?”

“Praying.”

His answer caught her off guard.
 
“I hope I didn’t interrupt.”

“No, I was done.
 
When you came along, I was just enjoying the silence.
 
And you, First?
 
May I ask what you were doing, walking alone through the park?”

“I was heading back to the transport,” she said.
 
“After a very long day with the administrative council.”

“Ah.
 
Is Administrator Sej still being prickly?”

Desu glanced at him.
 
“I see you’ve met him.”

“He lost three of his children and one of his grandchildren in the Sewkari attack,” said Epcott.
 
“I think he’s entitled to be a little prickly.”

His answer made her frown.
 
“I wasn’t aware of that.”

“I don’t think he knows how to grieve,” said Epcott.
 
“Did you notice?
 
Even when he’s around other people, he pulls out his PIN and doesn’t interact.”

“I . . . hadn’t noticed,” admitted Desu.
 
“He wasn’t wearing white.”

“He told me he doesn’t have time to mourn.”

“You spoke with him?”

“A few times,” said John.
 
“At the communal pool.”

“If I had known....”

He glanced at her.
 
“Would it have affected your dealings with him?”

“Maybe,” said Desu.
 

They had reached the capsule platform.
 
An infoscreen advised that the next capsule to the landing bay would be along in seven minutes.
 
Desu watched Epcott produce his PIN and power it up, start studying something on the screen.

“You should know,” she said suddenly, “that your crewmates from the
Maiden
think very highly of you.”

“Do they?”
 
He seemed surprised.
 
“I was only aboard for a few weeks, catching a ride to Shrouded Jewel.”

“They do.
 
Most of them credit their survival to you.”

He frowned, as if he wasn’t happy to hear that.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” said Desu, “but in our report, we set you apart for a special commendation.”

“That’s . . .”
 
He hesitated, frowned.
 
“I’m not sure how to feel about that.
 
I did what had to be done, ma’am.”

She nodded, wondering at the nature of his modesty.
 
“You weren’t the only one.”

“Oh. Good.
 
A lot of people deserved recognition.
 
Pim. Nodomi.
 
Mister Jebim.”

“They’ve got it,” she told him.
 
“At least, as far as myself and my colleagues are concerned.
 
The official recognition will have to come from the Committee of Inquiry.”

“I hope the others get it,” said John.

“Them and not you?”

He offered her a lopsided smile.
 
“I stand out enough, ma’am.”

She chuckled.
 
“There’s no arguing that.”

The capsule arrived and they climbed into it.
 
Epcott returned his attention to his PIN, scrolling through lines of text.
 
Desu sat beside him, contemplating what she had just learned
about Administrator Sej.
 
Had she actually spoken with the man about anything other than the attack and the destruction of the
Harmonious Maiden
?
 
She couldn’t remember.

The capsule sealed and they shot through the tunnel connecting the colony with its landing bay.
 
She glanced at Epcott.
 

“You’re very perceptive, guardsman.”

He looked at her, smiled.
 
“A survival trait I picked up a while ago, ma’am.”

She nodded, slipping that bit of information away for later consideration.
 
“Have you given any thought to specializing? Or do you plan to keep floating?”

“Actually,” said John, “I’ve recently begun considering a specialist position.”
 
He handed her his PIN.

Desu glanced at the screen.
 
Her brow wrinkled in surprise.
 
“Command protocols?”

“If I’m going to stand out, ma’am, I might as well stand out in a big way.”

“I can’t fault that logic,” said Desu.
 
She handed his PIN back to him.
 

A moment later, they arrived at the landing bay.
 
They boarded the transport, the final two guardsmen to leave Napiso.
 
A few moments later, the landing bay’s dome blossomed and the transport rose, to vanish into the darkness.

Rainsky

5820

Junian Calendar

Olu Teneso was studying her reflection when the door-chimes sounded.
 
Frowning, she lowered her hand mirror and crossed to her front door, hoping whoever was there would not linger.
 
Today, Olu had no time for guests.
 
Opening the door, she let out a gasp of surprise.

“John!”

Grinning, John stepped into Olu’s spread arms, picking her up and whirling her about as if she were a child.
 
Laughing, Olu slapped his shoulder and was set back on her feet.

“We thought you weren’t going to make it!”

“I didn’t think I was, but then I was able to catch a transport from Station Six at the last minute.”

“Iseta will be thrilled!”
 
Olu pulled him into the house and shut the door.
 
“You are coming to the wedding?”

John tapped his shoulder bag.
 
“I’ve got my clothes right here.”

Smiling, Olu let her gaze wander over the young man.
 
John was wearing the green and black uniform of the Junian Guard.
 
He had put on muscle and his eyes were brighter than they had been, the last time Olu had seen him.
 
His black hair was longer and looked lustrous.

“You look good.
 
I think the Guard suits you.”
 
Her gaze drifted to his shoulder insignia and her eyes widened.
 
“You’ve been promoted!”

John chuckled.
 
“First Officer Nezu’s doing, I’m afraid.”

“Congratulations!”

“You look good too, Olu.
 
I like the makeup.”

Belatedly, Olu remembered that she was wearing her wedding face.
 
Normally, her eyepaint was discreet and minimal as befitted a mature woman.
 
But today, Olu’s makeup was complex and traditional.
 
Her entire face was covered in thick golden facepaint, decorated with complicated purple whorls, while her eyelids and lips had been painted silver.

“It took forever to put on,” said Olu.

“And it won’t even take five minutes to take off,” joked John.
 
He glanced around the daychamber.
 
“Where’s Vesu?”

“Holding vigil at the temple.
 
He’s been there all night, fasting and praying.”

“Vesu? Fasting?”

Olu laughed.
 
“I know.
 
That just goes to show how very fond of Iseta he actually is.”
 
Abruptly, chimes began to ring.
 
Olu sighed and said, loudly, “Acknowledged.”
 

She saw John’s questioning look and explained.
 
“I have half an hour to get to the temple.”

“Well, I’d better get changed.
 
Shall I meet you there?”

“Could you?
 
I would linger, John, but I have to organize the wedding party.”
 
Olu scowled.
 
“Anu should be doing that, but she’s utterly useless when it comes to organization.”

“Your sister, right?”

“Iseta’s mother.”

“You know, I’m looking forward to meeting your sisters, Olu.
 
You never talk about them very much.”

“And after you’ve met them, you’ll understand why.”

* * * * *

 
The wedding was being held at a local temple, southeast of Ted Dov.
 
A circular building of lavender marble with a domed roof, it occupied the center of a shallow lake.
 
A wooden pontoon bridge, hung with luminous banners, connected the temple to the shore.

There was a large groundcar station on the lakeshore, next to a reception hall.
 
As soon as John’s car had parked itself, he climbed out and hurried toward the temple.
 
The wedding was due to start at dawn, and he didn’t want to be late.
 
He’d studied Junian wedding etiquette when he had gotten the announcement.
 
Barging in after the ceremony started would be extremely bad manners.

The same etiquette had dictated John’s outfit.
 
He would have been happier to attend in his uniform, but this was a formal ceremony.
 
As such, he had dressed appropriately in an ankle-length sunset orange underrobe, a dark purple overrobe covered with stylized red flowers and traditional wooden sandals.
 
Arriving barefaced wouldn’t do either so John had painted a simple lavender strip across his eyes, rimmed with pale blue, dusted with fine sparkle-powder.

The temple loomed above him now, its circular doors still open.
 
John was relieved to spot other wedding guests standing outside, hands touching ears, obviously on their comms.
 
He nodded at them in passing and swept through the temple doors.

Inside, he found a brightly dressed crowd.
 
Curious glances were cast his way and John’s swift appraisal of the other guests confirmed his suspicion; he was the only alien present.
 
 
He plastered a smile on his face.

There were about a hundred people gathered around a circular pool filled with crystalline water. The dome rose over their heads, its inner surface decorated with colorful murals depicting the various gods of the Junian pantheon.
 
John recognized a few.
 
Uxipe. Jeso. Lebalo. Podu.

“You like the mural?”

John turned and found himself facing an elderly woman with short, white hair and fine, pale skin.
 
Her eyepaint was a riot of purple, yellow and red.
 
It matched the color scheme of her formal robes precisely.
 

“It’s impressive,” said John.

“Painted by hand,” said the woman. “No nanotech used at all.”

“That must have taken a long time.”

She nodded.
 
“It was a labor of devotion.”
 
The woman turned her gaze back to him, brought milk-white fingers to her shoulder in greeting.
 
“Talala Esomo.”

John brushed her upturned palms.
 
“John Epcott.”

“Ah. The alien.”
 
Her gaze flitted to his hair.
 
“I should have guessed.
 
How do you know the couple?”

“They met over my hospital bed,” admitted John.

“You’re one of Imisu’s patients?”

“I was. Very briefly.”

Talala nodded.
 
“What do you do, Mr. Epcott?”

“I serve in the Guard.”

“Really?”

“Yes, ma’am.”
 
John glanced at the painted dome.
 
“Are you still painting?”

She chortled.
 
“Clever thing.
 
Was I too proud?
 
Is that what gave me away?”

John nodded at the mural.
 
“I’d say that’s something to be proud of.”

“You’re quite right,” said Talala.
 
“It took me five years to paint that, lying on a floatpad.”
 
She grinned.
 
“When I was finally finished, though, it made me famous.”

He couldn’t help but grin back at the old lady.
 
She was completely unabashed.
 
“How do you know the couple?”

“I taught Iseta.
 
Or I tried to.
 
Sweet girl, but she doesn’t have a drop of artistic blood in her entire body.”

The old woman appeared ready to go on, but at that moment, the doors to the temple began to shut.
 
Illuminators concealed within the pool brightened, casting flickering blue light across the temple’s interior.

“The ceremony’s starting.”
 
Talala touched John’s hand, dropped her voice to a whisper.
 
“We’ll talk again at the reception.”

The guests gathered close to the edge of the pool.
 
A circular door opened and those who had been keeping vigil appeared.
 
They wore identical, dark blue robes, and carried small light-spheres within their cupped hands.
 
Their faces were drawn and haggard, caked with thick gray makeup.
 
John spotted Vesu, and felt a wave of unease sweep over him.
 
Vesu, jolly and patient, now sported a painted face that looked like it belonged to a drowned corpse.
 

The robed figures knelt along the far edge of the pool, heads lowered, peering into their cupped hands.
 
Behind them, another door opened.
 
The cleric emerged, his entire body painted black, dabbed with phosphorescent white, here and there.
 
His scarf of office was wound around his body, secured at shoulder and ankle.
 
Its manifold colors glowed in the flickering light from the pool.

The cleric stepped into the water and walked to the center of the pool.
 
Extending his arms, he tilted his head back and began to speak.
 
The language was unintelligible to John, a form of Archaic Junian that was believed to have originated in the mythical Sea of Souls.
 
It was, to put it bluntly, the language of the gods.

The cleric was speaking, not to the wedding, but to the gods themselves.
 
His voice echoed off the dome, rebounded and amplified, until it seemed to reverberate through the bones of the attendees.
 
When the man stopped speaking, the silence was profound.

“The gods attend,” intoned the cleric.
 

It was both statement and warning.
 
The crowd stirred.
 
John glanced around, saw several guests offering silent prayers.

The cleric’s stance shifted, became more relaxed.
 
He turned to his left and right, nodded both times.
 
Rounded doors opened and the wedding party emerged.

The groom’s family stepped into the pool, wearing stiff white robes, their makeup appropriately somber.
 
They were losing a member of their family, so were in ritual mourning.
 

On the other side of the pool, the bride’s family wore similarly stiff robes, but their colors were festive greens, oranges and purples.
 
Their facepaint was jubilant.
 
Smiles were fixed on their faces with almost manic glee.
 
John spotted Olu, grinning like a fiend.

The two families approached the cleric, the bridal party splashing, while the groom’s family trudged as if making their way through mud.
 
When they reached the cleric, the groups parted, exposing the bride and groom.
 
Both were naked.
 
John saw that they had both been to the surgeon-barber.
 
Their hair had been shorn close to their skulls, reminiscent of children about to go through their lifechange.

The cleric reached out, took the bride and groom by their hands and drew them away from their respective families.
 
He began to speak, in a deep, sonorous voice.
 
John tuned the words out, let his attention wander.
 
Among the bridal party, the theatrical smiles had softened into real expressions of pleasure.
 
There were similar looks on the faces of the groom’s family, although their heads were still lowered in ritualistic sorrow.

The cleric continued to talk.
 
John’s attention moved to the guests.
 
He saw more than one person trying to stifle a yawn.
 
A woman in orange and yellow glanced, discreetly, at her timeband.
 
Talala Esomo caught his eye, grinned and rolled her eyes, communicating in the universal language.
 
Is this ever going to end?