Shattered Lives, page 24
part #2 of Rymellan Series
“Doesn’t sound like she’s upset about the triad,” Les said.
“Even if she was, she couldn’t do anything to me, as far as my career goes. She doesn’t oversee domestic patrols.” Oh no. She turned to Les. “Larson does. Remember him? He’s in with Morton.”
Les shrugged. “We can’t worry about what everyone else will do. It’s out of our control.”
It felt like their entire lives were out of their control.
“I’ve been thinking about what we do control,” Les said, crossing her legs. “We control how we respond to the pressure. We control how we present ourselves. When we’re out with Jayne, we have to treat her as our Chosen. We have to be absolutely impeccable in public.”
“I know that.”
“And I still think we need to signal where we stand on the triad right now. So I thought that perhaps we should arrange to go to the Dance Hall. With Jayne.”
“The Dance Hall?” Mo snorted. “Remember I said I’d let you know if you were starting to show signs of insanity? Well, it’s happening.”
“Mo, people need to see us out. Otherwise they’ll think we’re hiding, or aren’t accepting her as our Chosen.”
“We haven’t been to the Dance Hall together for almost two years. Our notification party doesn’t count.”
“Before we separated, we went every time we were on leave, and usually more than once,” Les reminded her.
Yeah, just the two of them. Now it would always be the three of them. This reminded Mo of the days when she and Les wanted to be alone, but were stuck babysitting Andrew and Nathan.
“We’ll have to go sometime.”
Mo looked at her. “Maybe I want to enjoy the illusion that we’re Chosens—just the two of us—for a little while longer.” For the rest of their lives, if only that were possible. Even if they ended up exercising CT134, they’d never be just each other’s Chosen again. Alive or dead, Jayne would always be with them. Mo let herself fall back onto the bed and blew out some air. “You’re not dancing with her,” she said, accepting one inevitable eventuality and fighting another.
Les sighed. “I can’t ignore her. Neither can you. We’ve danced with other women before. It’s never been a problem.”
“This is different.”
“Why?”
Mary’s words came back to her: But this Adams woman, she’s not just anybody. She’s Lesley’s Chosen. The Chosen Council says they’re meant for each other. “It just is.” Mo folded her arms. “Why do we have to go so soon? Why can’t we wait?”
“We won’t be going tomorrow,” Les said. “She still needs time to recuperate. But I think we should go soon. Not only for appearance’s sake, but because the only way we’re going to figure out if this triad has a chance of surviving is if we start living like one.”
“What?” Mo shrieked.
“Publicly!” Les rubbed her forehead. “We have two years to figure this out. The sooner we start acting as a triad, the sooner any problems will surface and we can get some idea of whether this arrangement we’ve all agreed to will actually work.”
Mo pressed her lips together. She hated it when Les made sense and it meant she’d have to agree to something that frightened her. “I’m dancing with her first.”
“Okay.”
“And if the band is playing a song I like, you’re dancing with me, not her.”
Les groaned. “You like most songs.”
“Okay, so it could take a while.” Weeks, maybe months.
Les gave Mo a withering look. “Come on. It’s only a dance.”
Even though Mo knew she’d have to relent, she took her time responding.
“Mo!”
“Okay, okay. I’ll tell you when you can dance with her.”
“And don’t stare at us the whole time. I don’t want to feel two holes burning into my back.”
“Well, that’s just it,” Mo said. “Before, when you were dancing with someone, I could too. Now I can’t.”
“So talk to someone or get something to drink.” Les brightened. “I know, let’s invite the family along. Karen’s eager to meet Jayne. Neil and Barbara will probably go, if we ask them.”
Oh, great, then she’d have everyone staring at her in sympathy when Les danced with Jayne. But on the other hand, having others along for support the first time they stepped out with Jayne could make everything else easier. “Maybe they should meet Jayne before we go to the Dance Hall, but yeah, let’s invite them. Strength in numbers and all that.” She wagged her finger at Les. “But don’t you dare invite Jayne to the lake. Because if you do, I won’t forgive you for a long, long time.” If ever. “The lake is on private property. We don’t have to put on a show there.”
“I would never suggest that.” Les grabbed Mo’s finger and kissed it. “Talking about the lake, I was thinking earlier that we haven’t been since we reunited.”
“When have we had the flaming time?” Mo said. “First it was preparing for the notifications, and now it’s recovering from them.” Which would probably take the rest of their lives.
Les chuckled. “Let’s go tonight.”
“Let’s,” she said, though sadness overshadowed the pleasure she usually felt about the lake. It would always be like this from now on: snatched time with Les, and a handful of places they could call their own. Not what she’d imagined when she’d let herself picture their lives as Chosens. But she’d take it. Not being Les’s Chosen would have been worse—something she suspected she’d say to herself a lot in the coming weeks and months.
“Before I forget, Carol told me something else about Jayne’s art,” Les said.
“What?”
“Jayne’s . . . papa was an artist. Apparently she learned a lot from him.”
Mo’s skin crawled. “Let’s hope art is the only family tradition she carries on.”
They stared at each other. Les broke the silence. “Do you want help unpacking your stuff?”
“Sure,” Mo said, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. Les helping usually meant Les did most of the work. She sprang off the bed. “Um, why don’t you get started, and I’ll go down and get us a couple of juices?”
Les nodded, already unzipping a bag.
*****
Jayne shifted position on the sofa to prevent a cushion from digging into a sore spot. “I would have been fine on my own,” she said to Carol.
“Maybe, but I’ll feel better if you’re not alone.” Carol carried her satchel over to the pile of essays that sat on the end table she’d moved within Jayne’s reach. The top essay’s cover page had a large red F and Article 347! scrawled across it. “Plus, the three of you should spend some time together without having annoying relatives and murderous animals around.” She stuffed the essays into her satchel and dropped it to the floor, then frowned at her comm unit. “They should be here any minute. I was about to say I hope they didn’t miss the train, but they don’t take the train, do they?” She looked up at Jayne.
“What time will you be back?”
“About two-thirty. It’s my early day today.”
Around six excruciating hours of awkward conversation, then.
The knock at the front door drowned out Jayne’s sigh. She listened to Carol greet Lesley and Mo, then told herself to relax as Carol led them into the living room.
“Make yourselves at home,” Carol told them. “Eat anything, drink anything, comm station is over there in the corner if you want to use it.” She put her hand on her hip. “Now, she’s not supposed to move around much. Her sketchbook is over there. Jayne, ask them for it when you want it. You know you will at some point.”
Jayne inwardly cringed. Wasn’t it time for the annoying relative to leave?
“Anyway, I’ve got to go,” Carol said, as if reading Jayne’s mind. She grabbed her satchel. “Beep me if you need anything, though my comm unit is off when I’m teaching.”
“We’ll be fine,” Jayne said tersely. Carol sounded as if she were giving instructions to babysitters.
“Do you want one of us to fly you to the Learning Academy?” Mo asked.
“No, no, it’s only a ten minute train ride away.” Carol smiled. “I’ll see you all later.”
The front door thumped shut. Without Carol, the living room was suddenly quiet, and the silence quickly grew awkward. “I wonder if 0.543 seconds is a new time-to-awkwardness record,” Mo said, to Jayne’s delight. The remark instantly sapped all awkwardness from the room.
“Why don’t I go make tziva?” Lesley glanced around.
Jayne pointed toward the kitchen. “Through there.”
“Thank you.” She disappeared through the archway.
Mo sat in one of the chairs across from the sofa. “You’re looking better. Are you feeling better, too?”
“I’m a little stiff, but yes, I’m feeling much better.” Jayne’s tongue roamed toward the gap for the hundredth time. “I’ll get my new tooth on Monday.”
Mo peered at her. “You don’t really notice it.”
Jayne nodded. Fortunately she still had her two front teeth and the ones closest to them.
“Les!” Mo shouted, startling Jayne.
Lesley appeared in the archway. “What?”
“You didn’t change the counselling appointment to Monday, did you?”
“No. Carol said you had an appointment for your tooth then,” Lesley said to Jayne. “Did she mention that I’d contacted the counsellor and postponed our appointment?”
“No, she must have forgotten.”
“Carol said you’d be free on Wednesday, so I changed it to then. The appointment’s at 2:00.”
Maybe Carol should go to the flaming appointment!
“I’ll be back on duty on Thursday, and you’ll be active on supply soon,” Lesley said to Mo. “It’ll be tough finding a good time to see this counsellor.”
Mo snorted. “I don’t even know why we have to go. What’s she expecting us to say?”
Lesley shrugged. “Let me get back to the tziva.” She turned back to the kitchen.
Jayne searched for something to say, fearing another awkward silence. “What does active on supply mean?” she asked.
“Oh, right. Sorry.” Mo leaned back in the chair. “I’m a fighter pilot. I’ve been away on tours for the last, um, four years, but I’ve dropped from the next tour. Not because of the triad. I dropped before I knew about it. Les and I have to figure out where our careers are going.”
“You mean you’ve been away in space?” Jayne asked, surprised. What about Lesley?
Mo nodded. “On a ship called the Falcon. Since I won’t be going on tour anytime soon, I’ve joined the supply list. I’ll be flying out of a space station, filling in when someone’s on holiday or ill. Not all pilots go on tours. We spent the first two and a half years after graduation flying what’s called domestic.”
“You mean you and Lesley?” She couldn’t see Mo meaning anyone else.
“Yeah. Les used to be a fighter pilot—well, she still is. She was flying supply until they told her—” Mo’s face froze. “I’ll let her tell you. It has nothing to do with the triad.”
Jayne couldn’t tell if Mo was lying and wouldn’t call her on it, even if she could. “So Lesley was in Defence at one point?”
“Yeah. She transferred into Interior when she was twenty-five.”
They’d put their relationship on hold around that time. Were they forced apart, or had Lesley voluntarily transferred? Jayne wouldn’t dare ask.
“Before then, she was on the Falcon with me.”
“Do you know where a tray is?” Lesley asked from the archway. “No, forget that. Mo, come help me.”
“I guess I’m the tray,” Mo murmured as she passed Jayne.
The tziva couldn’t be ready yet. Jayne strained to listen to the voices in the kitchen, wondering if Lesley had summoned Mo so she could talk to her privately, but she couldn’t make out a word. She took the opportunity to check the time on her comm unit, which she’d tucked underneath one of the sofa’s cushions. Only another five hours and fifty minutes to go, which would probably feel like five days.
And Carol was wrong. Lesley may have seen a couple of sketches, but that didn’t mean Jayne could sketch in front of them. And since Lesley was unfailingly polite, her reaction to the sketches wasn’t surprising. Jayne didn’t mind. Politeness may be dishonest, but it was easier to bear than outright ridicule.
She started to roll onto her back, winced, and quickly returned to her former position. While she wasn’t as sore as yesterday, she still found lying on her back uncomfortable. Fortunately she preferred sleeping on her side.
Since Lesley and Mo didn’t seem about to return, she retrieved her comm unit again and checked the morning announcements. One headline immediately jumped out at her: Cmdr. L. Finney and Lt. Cmdr. L. Thompson to receive the Medal of the Protector at an upcoming awards ceremony. She requested the full article.
The Preeminent Ruler will award Commander L. Finney and Lieutenant Commander L. Thompson the Medal of the Protector for their participation in the capture and execution of Anthony Burke Owen. Government Hall will play host to this magnificent occasion. Senior members of the military and government will be in attendance, along with a number of Rymellan luminaries. Counsellor C. Abrams will receive the Commendation of the Way at the same ceremony, for her role in protecting the Way. The date, time, and guest list will be announced as soon as they are available.
She read the announcement again. Lesley had to know about the medal, at least. Jayne quickly dismissed the notion that Lesley hadn’t mentioned it because Owen had committed a Chosen Violation. More likely, she hadn’t had an opportunity to bring it up since their notifications. Between the badgering relatives and everyone clamouring for Jayne’s execution, it was hard to get a word in edgewise.
If the triad survived, Jayne assumed she’d be invited. Perhaps they hadn’t announced the guest list because they first needed to know whether Lesley would arrive at the ceremony with one Chosen or two. In fact, the timing of the announcement was curious. Maybe it was intended to remind Rymellans of Lesley’s dedication and strength in the Way. Or maybe she was reading too much into it.
How ironic would that be, having an Adams on hand to watch the Preeminent Ruler award a medal related to a Chosen Violation—and to the Chosen of an Adams! Jayne could almost laugh about it, if she wasn’t recuperating from being beaten and stabbed nearly to death. Hopefully those upset with her presence would limit their displeasure to whispers and dirty looks. She chuckled to herself. Assuming she made it to the ceremony.
Lesley and Mo’s voices grew louder. Jayne quickly turned off the comm unit and shoved it under the cushion.
“I’ll put this here,” Mo said, setting a mug down where Carol’s essays had been. Lesley looked around. Apparently deciding against squeezing herself onto the other end of the sofa, she handed Mo her mug and fetched a chair from the kitchen. Jayne couldn’t blame her; she preferred it that way. When she stretched her legs, she wouldn’t accidentally kick Lesley.
“At this point, the counsellor will probably want to know that we’re talking and making an effort to see each other,” Lesley said, picking up the earlier conversation. “It would be good if we could tell her we’re planning to go out together. Mo and I enjoy dancing, so we thought perhaps we should go to the Dance Hall when you’re feeling better.”
The Dance Hall! Jayne reached for her tziva, even though it would be too hot to drink. Would Lesley and Mo expect her to dance with them, or would an appearance inside the hall be enough? Because she didn’t know how to dance.
It wasn’t that she’d never been interested in dancing; she would have loved to go to the dances at the Learning Academy. But when she was fourteen, her uncle had sat her down and suggested that it would be best if she waited for someone to invite her to dances and parties, rather than making the first move. They’d both known that nobody would ever invite her out and that she’d never dream of asking anyone on a date. But it would have allowed him to say that he’d advised her against it, had she screwed up the courage to approach anyone and caused offence. He needn’t have worried.
The closest she’d come to the Dance Hall was listening to Carol talk about it. Carol had invited her to go on several occasions, but Jayne had always declined. She would have ended up sitting alone all night unless Carol made a point to sit with her, and that would hardly have been fun for Carol.
“We thought we’d go to C3’s Dance Hall,” Lesley said.
“C3-10’s Dance Hall, to be more specific,” Mo added. “That’s the closest one to us.”
Lesley nodded. “It’s where we’ll go when we’re settled, so we figure people might as well get used to seeing us there.”
So the past few days hadn’t completely shattered their optimism and naivety. “Just let me know when you’d like to go,” Jayne said, knowing she had no choice but to agree.
“Invite Carol and Ronald. We’re inviting our siblings,” Mo said.
With Carol and Ronald along, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
“And a friend of mine has invited us all to supper,” Lesley said.
Mo snorted. “She’s more than a friend.”
Jayne perked up her ears. Mo couldn’t possibly mean . . .
“She’s my commanding officer,” Lesley said. “And my mentor. And C3’s commander.”
“And a descendent of the last triad,” Mo added. Jayne detected a hint of derision in Mo’s voice and looked at her, but Mo chose that moment to sip her tziva.
“Her name’s Laura Finney,” Lesley said.
Finney? She’d executed Owen and was getting a medal for it. Who would they expect Jayne to eat with next, the commander who’d executed her parents? Were all their friends in the military? Jayne heaved a mental sigh. Her life had suddenly become a minefield. She didn’t have anything against Finney per se, but she was starting to feel surrounded by orange cloaks. Their lives were absorbing hers—not that she’d had much of one to begin with.
“Is there any day you wouldn’t be able to make it in the next couple of weeks?” Lesley asked.
