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Quaia’s mouth fell open, but she couldn’t suppress the smile that turned the corners up as the guards accompanying this strange Vokl stomped toward High Mother.
Who, it turned out, had some sense after all because she fell silent.
“Please,” the captain said. “Let us convene in the Great Room.”
CHAPTER 2
“What protocols? What change? What incident? This is not a military matter! This is a rite of faith!” High Mother railed. She shuffled along the floor toward the captain and Quaia.
“I am not at liberty to discuss those details, Madame,” the captain explained. “You would have found everything you are allowed to know in the communique. I can say that the Imperator’s wish is that the Ripening be brought in line with the more scientific approach his glorious Excellency has applied to other aspects of the Federation’s rule.”
Quaia was staring at him. High Mother’s histrionics had no effect on him, and he obviously feared her in no way. Yet he remained calm, almost… polite, as if he were providing a service to her and wished to have her return patronage.
Quaia, for her part, was still reeling from the news. For seasons on end, she had been dreading this day. She had prepared herself mentally for the humiliating, debauched Ripening, under the guidance of the deranged maniac Goethen.
But Goethen was not here. In his place was a Vokl, saying the old-fashioned ritual was to be more… scientific?
“Scientific?” High Mother crowed, as if reading Quaia’s thoughts. “This is an article of faith! A holy passage! What next? Are we to measure a woman’s coming of age in quidbits? No bards? No minstrels? Just you and your unholy conglomerate of brutes to help us welcome a woman’s coming time? Blasphemy!” she raged.
The captain gave each finger of his gloves a sharp tug, removed both, folded them neatly, and pressed them into the chest pocket of his blazer. He cast a skeptical gaze at High Mother. “Due respect, Madame, of course. But the Second Age has passed. Your husband, glorious be his memory, is no longer principal in this Federation. This is a new time now. You are welcome to lodge grievance with the commission if you please. But my instinct would be to keep your concerns to yourself and let us do our work. We are here at the Imperator’s behest. Any quarrel with us is a quarrel with him.”
He glanced around the great room, straight at High Mother’s pretentious headdress, then up at the Mouth of Heaven in all its soiled gloom and seemed to quickly surmise the situation. “And, if you’ll pardon my candor, it would seem to me that you are somewhat… dated in your understanding of the direction in which the Federation is headed. You may see a priest or two yet for a station blessing or some such. But there will be no feast or wandering quorilinist to celebrate the puncture of a maidenhead.”
High Mother’s chest puffed out and her jowls shook at the captain. “How dare you…” she sputtered, eyeing his uniform up and down.
Quaia, faint from all the talk of science and measurements and maiden’s heads, and lightheaded from the lifting of Goethen’s awful presence at her Ripening, nonetheless had a giddy moment at seeing High Mother so humiliated.
“I am of the House Avaria! A Sister of the Second Order!” High Mother screamed.
The captain stood stock still, staring her right in the eye and looking like he had every intention of waiting out the tantrum.
Two of the first women caught each other’s eye. They exchanged looks of great concern before shuffling from the flanks of the procession and toward High Mother. They both gave a slight curtsy to the captain, who responded with a polite nod and tight smile. They came to stand next to High Mother and one leaned in to whisper in her ear.
Quaia’s giddiness surged at what she thought was, surely, a timeless act that had played out with each changing cycle of power in the Federation. Two women who, while not all that bright, were clever enough to understand that Torian’s man was now Imperator and, thus, their benefactor and not the other way around. Whatever delusions of grandeur High Mother still harbored seemed to be quickly and efficiently shattered by the captain. They were all at the mercy of his charity. It took some time for the two women to quiet High Mother down.
Quaia would have given her other arm to know what whispered truths passed between their pretty lips and High Mother’s weathered ears. The pleasure at seeing her rage deflate, at watching her step into the light of realization of her own helplessness, was sinful. Watching the crooked smile she forced at the captain was like arranging a fresh summer cherry on a clotted cake.
As the two women returned to their places in the line, High Mother arranged herself and her back stiffened. “Forgive my outburst, Captain,” she said quietly, her voice gargling with age. “I have had a heavy time grieving my husband. This unexpected change, obviously, took me by surprise.” She glanced back at her entourage.
All took this as a cue to nod and lower their heads thus enabling the old crone’s inexcusable behavior.
She would not be long in the Crow’s Nest, her quarters at the top of the station, Quaia thought. Not once the infighting about succession began. She took no pleasure in that knowledge because she’d always abhorred violence but that was normally how these things ended.
The captain’s eyes moved to Quaia, and she felt like they hardened into an intense displeasure. It cooled her entire body, but she was resolved to face Goethen, so if this guy thought he could intimidate her, he should have put on more of a freakish ghoul act. She tipped her chin up slightly and looked away, as though something more interesting had caught her attention.
But she could still feel his eyes on her, burning through her skin.
Perhaps this was not an ideal substitution.
On the bright side, Quaia was certain his stark, military manner was equally enraging to High Mother who was used to the floral orations of aristocrats. It was quite a pleasure watching her struggle to hold her tongue.
The ruckus died down in spurts and then faded to titters, then ultimately silence, because the captain simply waited for it to do so, with his steely, unreadable affect.
“With that out of the way,” the captain said, once the silence had become uncomfortable, “his Excellency the Imperator asked that I extend you the courtesy of attending the first part of the proceedings as an audience. There will be little of the pomp and fanfare you are used to, I’m afraid. But as a gesture of goodwill, you may watch if you please.”
High Mother’s eyes filled with rage again. The captain merely shifted his gaze to her, however, and she dissolved into a weak mess.
Quaia watched the rage melt with pleasure as it ran headfirst into the sanitizing sunlight of reality. Whatever power High Mother had possessed had passed. Her time was over now, and her duty was to obey the new seat of power. It was exquisitely pleasing to watch this play out on her face.
