Tresjolie, page 3
"Yes, exactly."
"So in the case of Milana, how old would I need to be to offer wisdom without offering offense?"
The woman smiled. "A third again older is considered safe," she said.
I studied the woman. She appeared to be about my apparent age. "You have offered me much wisdom today."
"This is not my wisdom," she said. She indicated the remaining delegation. "Only my words, and one hopes you will forgive any mistakes as I speak an unfamiliar language."
"You speak English very well," I told her. "Other than your accent, I could find no fault."
She made a slight bow. "Thank you," she said. "My teacher will be pleased to hear of your words."
"And who is your teacher?" I asked.
"You may meet her," she replied. "Her name is Audra Flying Lynx. She carries great wisdom for someone only a half decade older than you and me."
I smiled at the irony.
"I am somewhat older than my appearance," I told her.
"Are you?" she asked. "I would have thought us of a similar age."
"No. I am afraid I am somewhat older than you, and even older than your teacher."
Her eyes grew wide. "I would not have guessed."
"The empire has fabulous medicines," I said. "Was there more you wished to discuss?"
"No, Governor Waverly. We thank you for your time."
"And I thank you for the wisdom you have shared today." I looked at the note. "In the empire, it is customary to respond to a formal invitation. Is that the custom here?"
"Yes, but the response need not be so formal. Will you attend?"
"I will make all due effort," I indicated.
* * * *
I attended the celebration. It was held outdoors, and it seemed almost as if half the planet was in attendance. It had taken Foster, my aide, three days to verify the location and to learn everything he could about the birthday customs on the planet. I felt I had come well-prepared.
The Tresjolians were easily identified; they tended to wear leather nearly exclusively, and their bodies were honed and fierce, the bodies of people who worked hard.
Here and there I also saw off-worlders dressed in the local styles, but most of the off-worlders I saw were dressed in cotton and wool, materials that wouldn't offend Tresjolian standards. I was somewhat surprised, although I should not have been, when I ran into, quite literally, Candice, my old lover. On her arm was another woman.
"Governor," Candice said coolly. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"I am told this is a special birthday," I said. "Of course I am here." I had my public face on, of course, a smile plastered in place.
"Governor Waverly," Candice said. "May I present my wife, Melinda?"
Melinda freed her hand from Candice's arm to shake my hand, saying, "A pleasure to meet you." Her eyes let me know it wasn't remotely a pleasure. "How have you enjoyed Tresjolie so far?"
"The planet offers unexpected challenges," I indicated. "The defection of my government has complicated affairs, but these difficulties are temporary."
Candice and Melinda both narrowed their eyes at me. "I see you are quick to accept blame for the consequences of your actions," Candice said coolly. "Good day, Governor."
They stepped past me, disappearing into the crowd.
I greeted everyone I met, maintaining my public appearance. The off-worlders were still cold to me, but the natives were warm and welcoming, even those who only spoke a few words of English.
With so many in attendance, the meal was served buffet style. I had brought a small basket of off-world fruit, which I had prepared by my own hand. I ate sparingly, enough to be polite, enjoying the small samples of local foods that I tried.
A short while later, servers roamed up and down the groups of people passing out what I knew was to be dessert. The custom was to offer wisdom to the guest of honor sometime after everyone had been served dessert but prior to finishing your serving. It was also customary for the wisdom to be offered in ascending order of age, as much as possible.
I was not the oldest here; I thought perhaps that distinction fell to Lars Gavin, the former Attorney General. I had seen him and his wife earlier.
I was surprised when I felt two people approach from behind me. I was sitting alone at one end of a picnic table, no one else sufficiently brave to join me. Lars and Shalysa sat down in the place opposite me, carrying their desserts.
I nodded to them, and they replied with, "Governor."
They began eating their desserts. They noticed I wasn't eating mine.
"You do not care for luman, Governor?" Shalysa asked.
"Not exactly," I said. "But I understand now is when we are to offer the guest of honor -- what was her name again?"
"Milana Stout Tree," Lars furnished. "A fine woman."
"Yes, of course," I said. "Dessert is when we are to offer our wisdom, and I do not believe I am first, although I also believe I am not last."
Shalysa and Lars exchanged looks. "How did you learn of the custom?"
"It certainly wasn't from the sources who should have informed me," I said hotly, then tempered my words. "I received a delegation informing me I've been giving offense for months."
Shalysa's lips quirked into a smile, quickly stiffled.
The two communicated silently for a moment before turning to me. "Governor," Lars said, "we have chosen to honor the local custom based on our apparent ages. It has been too difficult to explain our real ages, and thus it has been far too easy to offer offense." He consulted his wife with his eyes again then turned back to me. "Furthermore, the wisdom we might offer these people is unlikely to apply to their lives."
"If I were to offer advice, Governor," said Shalysa, "I would advise you to eat your dessert and hold your counsel to yourself."
"I did not realize it was the custom to offer wisdom to the guests," I replied.
Shalysa looked away from me. "I didn't think you would listen to the people who have been here far longer than you have. What do we know, anyway?" She looked back at me. "This was meant to be a peace offering. Good luck, Governor." She got up, her remaining dessert in her hand, and the two of them moved away.
I made a mental note to have Kyler discover why the Gavins were still here. Were they formulating trouble for me?
I waited for a while, not consuming my dessert. I looked around, and the few off-worlders I could see all had empty bowls. Some of them may be fewer than ninety years old, but I was sure many were older.
Eventually Ms. Stout Tree herself stood up, raising her voice to speak. From behind me, someone spoke quietly in English, and I realized I had been offered a translator.
Ms. Stout Tree thanked everyone for helping her to celebrate her birthday. Then she smiled. "Did anyone care to offer me their wisdom?"
I almost didn't understand the translation; it was so heavily accented. There were chuckles, but no one stood up. Slowly, I climbed to my feet.
Even more slowly, every pair of eyes turned to face me. I looked around and saw several people shaking their heads. From behind me, my translator said, "This custom is only for those who are older, Governor."
I turned to my translator and smiled, then I raised my voice in my best orator's voice.
"I have recently learned of a custom." My translator translated into Tresjolian for me. I waited until he was done before speaking again. "I understand it is the custom for those older than the birthday girl to offer a small piece of wisdom."
"Birthday girl, is it?" the woman in question replied. She laughed. "I think we all see who the girl is here. I haven't been a girl since I was your age."
"Madame Stout Tree," I said. I paused and turned to my translator. "Is that the proper form of address?"
"Madame Milana might be better," she said. I had to listen carefully to understand. Then I spoke again.
"Madame Milana, you have never been my age."
Hearing the translation, the woman cackled and began moving closer, stepping slowly, carrying a cane but using it only perfunctorily. She approached within a short handful of steps and looked me up and down.
She was the oldest-appearing person I had ever seen, and I was shocked. Her hands shook, her skin was deeply wrinkled, and the joints on her hands were knobby. She appeared almost skeletal, and she looked weak and brittle. I thought she might blow away in a stiff breeze.
Why would anyone willingly grow old like this when there were ready alternatives?
But her eyes were clear, and she studied me carefully before speaking. She asked a question, and my translator apologized. "I'm sorry, I do not know the words."
Lars stood up. He spoke briefly in Tresjolian. Milana responded to him, and then Lars spoke to me. "I will serve as Milana's voice, Governor. Your voice continues to stand behind you. She asks for your age."
"In earth years," I said, "I am 157 Earth years old." I turned to the translator. "Do you know those words?"
"Yes," he said. "My apologies, Governor."
"I thank you for your assistance," I told him. He translated my words, and there was a collective gasp, and then everyone was speaking at once. But when Milana held up her hand, everyone drew quiet. She turned to Lars and asked him a question.
"How many Tresjolian years is this?" Lars interpreted.
"149," I replied.
There was another gasp and more talking, silenced by Milana's hand. Again she asked Lars a question.
"She asks if this is true," Lars said. Then he replied in Tresjolian, resulting in more conversation. Milana held up her hand and then she and Lars talked back and forth for a moment. When they were finished, Lars turned to me. "She asked how old I was. Then she asked why I have not offered my wisdom. I explained."
"Thank you, Mr. Gavin," I said.
Milana turned to face me and asked a question.
"Well, Governor," Lars translated, "what wisdom do you wish to share with me?" Milana waited for Lars to translate before cackling.
"My wisdom is this: you are never too old to learn something new." I paused. "I apologize if this is not the wisdom that would normally be offered for a birthday."
My translator spoke for me, Milana smiled and spoke. "That is good wisdom indeed," she said. "Do you find it is still true?"
"I do," I replied.
"Then I speak for everyone here," said Milana, speaking through Lars, "when I express hope that the governor will listen to her own wisdom."
Her tone carried no malice. I offered a small bow, and Milana cackled again. She turned to Lars and asked a question.
"She invites my wisdom," Lars translated. But instead of answering Milana, he turned to Shalysa.
Shalysa stood up and spoke briefly. Milana blew her a kiss in reply. Then Lars one-by-one turned to several other off-worlders, but certainly not everyone older than Milana, and they each offered a moment of wisdom. Then Lars spoke and finally he turned to Olivia Pearsons, my former secretary of native affairs.
I didn't understand a word anyone said.
When everyone was done, Milana spoke, and Lars translated. "Milana thanks us for our wisdom."
Lars sat back down, and Milana turned her back towards me, slowly making her way back to her own chair. I sat back down as well and turned to my dessert.
But I smiled. I had shown the natives the advantage of modern medicine, and the distinction could not have been more clear. I was half again as old as one of their eldest members, and I had the appearance of someone a third her age.
I wondered how quickly they would be asking for their own rejuvenation treatments.
* * * *
Over the next several weeks, no one came forth, asking for rejuvenation.
What was wrong with these people?
* * * *
Four months after I arrived, the government remained a shambles. I was handling my own work as well as serving as department head everywhere else. I was good, but I wasn't that good. The small department staffs were also good, but they needed proper leadership.
It was time to eat crow.
I started with Lars Gavin. I had Foster invite Mr. Gavin for a talk the next afternoon.
He declined but offered to accept me at his home on his schedule.
The nerve!
I accepted an invitation for ten AM three days hence.
On the designated day, I presented myself at the Gavin residence, arriving moments before ten. Lars greeted me himself. He stood in the open doorway, dressed casually, studying me.
"Governor Waverly," he said in greeting. He studied me another moment before stepping aside, allowing me to enter. "Please, come in."
I stepped inside, waited for him to close the door, then turned to him, holding out my hand. "Thank you for agreeing to see me."
"Your request caught me quite by surprise," he said, shaking my hand perfunctorily. Then he gestured. "Perhaps we can meet in my study." I turned to the indicated area, soon finding myself in a comfortable and clearly well-used office. Photos lined the wall, many of them clearly taken on Tresjolie, the rest from the other worlds Lars had visited. Shalysa featured prominently in many of them. She looked happy.
One wall was filled with bookcases, and there was a large desk facing into the room, a window behind it. I wondered if Lars ever sat in here, staring out the window, lost in his thoughts.
"Please, sit," he said. "I presume this isn't a social visit, so perhaps we can bypass the social niceties."
"Yes, thank you," I said, taking a seat in front of the desk. Lars moved around the desk and settled into the more opulent chair behind the desk. He caught me looking at the chair.
"It is produced locally," he said, "and, as you can imagine, using renewable production methods. It was a gift not long after I arrived."
"It's lovely," I said. "Is it as comfortable as it looks?"
"More," he said with a smile. "But you didn't come to talk about furniture."
I was never good at admitting I was wrong. I was also not good at admitting I needed help. I looked at my hands, folded in my lap. I steeled my resolve and looked into his face, his visage stern and uncompromising.
"I know I started poorly. I can be somewhat focused."
"Quite," he said.
"I can't run the government alone."
"It largely runs itself."
"Perhaps," I admitted, "but not entirely."
"What do you want, Governor?"
"Perhaps I deserve whatever I have coming to me, but I do not believe the planet should suffer for my less-than-diplomatic mistakes."
Lars sat back in his chair, steepling his hands under his chin and studying me. I wondered if I had surprised him.
"I have goals that may not be widely shared. I intend to continue to pursue those goals."
"That is your reputation, Governor."
"I need the government working, Mr. Gavin."
"And that becomes my problem, why?"
"Because I believe you care about this planet and the people on it."
He tapped his fingers against his lips while he continued to watch me. Finally he spoke. "You don't need me."
"I beg to differ," I said. "I need all of you. But I believe you are the key."
"What do you propose?"
"Am I wasting my time?" I asked him.
"Well, you are correct in that I care about this planet. So do the other people you say you need. And so I ask again: what do you propose?"
"All of you return to your former positions. You do your jobs."
"For a leading politician, you are amazingly bad at this, Governor," he observed.
"I know. I am very direct, and I am accustomed to being in the position of power."
"What is it you want, Governor?" he asked me.
"I want this planet to be a fruitful member of the empire," I replied. "I want a smoothly-operating government and a robust economy."
"Have you asked the people of this planet what they want?"
What an absurd thought.
"Is what I want so unreasonable?"
"Perhaps not," he said. "But it may come down to the definitions of what it means to be a fruitful member of the empire. Do you measure fruitfulness based on the total value of imports and exports?"
"How else would you measure it?"
"Why does it need to be measured?"
I stared at him. What a ludicrous question.
He shifted in his chair. "Do you care whether the people on this planet are happy?"
"That is their business," I replied. "I can't make them happy."
"No, but you can make them decidedly unhappy. Are you willing to pursue your goals at their expense?"
"They don't know what they want."
"Good lord, you are arrogant," he said. "You waltz in here, sure you know what is best for everyone else, regardless of what they want, and you wonder why anyone has a problem with that. Whose success matters to you? Your own and the corporations that would profit from your success? Or that of the people on the planet?"
"I'm not trying to hurt anyone. I'm trying to bring these people into the modern world!"
"Why?"
I didn't have an answer for that.
He waited, but I didn't have an answer.
"The population of this planet is small," he explained. "There are sixty thousand Tresjolians and about four thousand off-worlders currently living here. They all know what they want. But you come here, one woman, and you decide what they want doesn't matter. You're going to show them a better way, regardless of whether they agree it's better or not. Is that it, Governor?"
"They don't know what they're missing. I'm trying to show them that."
"And that's what you were doing at Malina's birthday party?"
"Yes. What is wrong with these people? She's only ninety. Did you see her? Did you see the pain when she walked? Did you see all those horrible wrinkles? It doesn't need to be like that!"
Lars rocked back and forth in his chair a couple of times. He leaned forward. "Do you believe you are the first person to notice these things?"
"Of course not."
"Do you really believe Olivia hasn't explained rejuvenation therapy to them?"
"Clearly not very well!"
"What is your evidence to make that statement?"
"The fact they don't pursue it."
