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[Zenariae]

There are a few other excellent short fiction threads here that I've enjoyed reading and have inspired me to start my own, so here goes ...

[Zenariae]

He cautioned her firmly.

“Two point six billion. Perhaps a worthwhile investment if it had been sacrificed in pursuit of productive activity, Zenariae.”

The words rattled through her young head. Electromagnetic pulses stripping the shields on her Tengu were less unnerving, and it was one of those questions offered sooner as a statement and she disliked those most of all.

“Yes Papa.” She would not look at him, refusing to meet those eyes that she felt could peel the hull from a ship with a glance. She wondered why he had never become a capsuleer himself instead of compelling the experience upon her.

“That’s not an answer. My colleague at Zainou is keen to understand the circumstances.”

Zenariae briefly faced the eyes with a pleading innocence. “Yes Papa, um… it was a mistake?”  In her mind she cared more about a dead Fedo than his colleague. She hated that man, the regular check-ups on her implants, the sterile, efficient laboratory and the creepy way he touched her neck.

“All too often.” The reply she had been dreading; the one that robbed her voice of the ability to respond, the one that implied more than it explicitly spoke and she had heard all too often herself.

“Yes Papa.” She was exhausted.

“A self-sufficient income is also long overdue, Zenariae. Do not expect my patience to endure indefinitely.”

“No Papa. Um, I mean, yes Papa.” How long would she endure his admonishments, she thought?

“There is one other matter …”

She refused to look at him, a stone forming within her heart.  Rarely haughty, she could however generate a pouting insecurity and inflict its effect in total. Disarmed, he raised her face, gently cupping the rosy cheek with the reassuring hand of a father who loved his daughter. He gazed upon her and their eyes met, their bond transcending transient passions and they understood each other.

“This once belonged to your mother,” he stated, with the same measured and even coolness. His voice never changed and was one of the most predictable things she knew. His other hand meanwhile had explored an imagined pocket of space and time somewhere behind her ear, nimbly and expertly producing a small shiny object without her noticing.

She couldn’t recall the last time he executed such illusions to delight her, tricks of the hand to distract her from the mundane trudging reality that was their life together. Mama had long passed and was with the spirits. Their home, a station, bland and functional on the edge of obscurity above an uninhabitable planet was a warren of metallic corridors and warehouses, conduits of tedium burned into her mind. There were State endorsed lessons via remote link-up to otherwise occupy her and then there was Papa. This was her entire life and she craved anything more than this yet could not bring herself to hate it as much because of this man who had looked after her.

He placed a trinket into her palm, a fragile bracelet, golden, shimmering brightly with the hue of legacy and memory, and curled her fingers closely around it. The bracelet felt heavy and warm and burned strangely in her hand.

“Yes Papa.” She couldn’t bear to look.

He squeezed her hand firmly.

[Halcyon]

\o/

[Vizage]

Oh my.. That was lovely! I eagerly await more. Absolutely beautiful writing Zena! Encore!

[Jennifer Starfall]

Very nice.

[Zenariae]

It’s a paradox that occurred to even her. Hiding and staying out of sight were of no particular struggle, yet basic navigation continued to elude Zenariae as an important career step. An explorer with a poor sense of direction is perhaps otherwise gifted in that there is usually always something unexpected around the corner. Following her nose this time though was an act of silly bumbling as she found herself in a completely unknown part of the city. A friend had shown her some of the nicer areas and she’d decided to explore a little by herself and find a new dress, see the City of the Ancients and the Sanctuary.  It was away from the Boulevard and lacked the same crystal polish and delicate shine she had seen there but she had wandered into a place far grittier and industrial and was beginning to feel very uneasy, having relied on a map for directions. Was it out of date?

Somewhere she had taken a wrong turn because she wasn’t looking or studying a curious detail with her portable camera or assessing some new cooking aroma wafting in an enticing haze from a café or restaurant. Curiosity led her on though and she followed a stream of noise down a deep alley that seemed to be attracting a lot of people.  A clandestine doorway presented itself, along with several large bodies of frightening appearance that seemed to be guarding the entrance. She put away her camera instinctively and tried not to make eye-contact, seeming as nonchalant as possible as she passed through the doorway.

Heavy with smoke, sweat, and alcohol, the air inside already carried a significant stench. Workers mostly and a few business types had gathered in a small auditorium and the bookmakers were snatching up bets amid shouts and bustle. Zenariae felt out of place, her slight frame buried amongst the crowd. It was a rough place, even the more decorative looking women looked rough – no-one however seemed to take much notice of her though aside a casual, slightly startled glance here and there. She tried her best to stay out of the way but with so many bodies crammed into the space it was futile to even attempt. The jostling and shouting disturbed her and once she was almost knocked over. A burly woman had managed to catch her arm with a grin “A’rite luvvy?” and a lengthy string of some other words she was unable to comprehend.  Zenariae nodded with a nervous half-smile, but felt at least more comfortable with the idea that people here were far too interested in whatever was going on to be bothered too much about her. She had no idea what had just been said to her and carried on observing the action, the antics, the shouting. An argument had broken out in the corner over some nonsense but was quickly quelled. The crowd seemed to keep multiplying.

Suddenly a great commotion as the Fedos were brought out in individual polycarbonate containers. The bookmakers were pounced upon and could barely keep up with recording the enthusiastic amounts of hard currency thrust at them from all directions. Zenariae chuckled a little at the comic excitement of the scene as she realised she had blundered, somehow, into an illegal Fedo match. Her new dress would have to wait as this was a most curious discovery.

The Fedos must have sensed each other even through those special containment boxes, tense and arched, moving and scratching with surprisingly swift and aggressive postures. The fighting ring was at the centre, also contained in a way to shield the spectators from the noxious gases that would mean death for one of the animals. These were no ordinary Fedo. They were female fighting Fedo, purposefully bred for the abhorrent and highly toxic emissions sprayed through their sting-like tails. The containers were placed at opposite ends of the ring. The noise had become absurd as bodies jostled for a better view and the excitement among the crowd gathered momentum. A chair flew through the air at one side of the room and some shouts ensued but it was quickly dismissed. The Fedos were about to fight.

Zenariae felt a little sorry for the animals though and decided not to watch, having learnt on news holoreels about the painful death the fighting Fedos suffer. She found her way out with that mixed feeling of having experienced something new, exciting for its freshness, and the sometimes distasteful reality of the unknown.  It wasn’t anything she could do about except study her own feelings and try to behave accordingly. Life is not all a glittery Boulevard she thought, even when one searches for it.