Authors: Tracy St. John
She stopped at a smaller eatery for a bite to eat. There she bought a slice of roasted ronka bedded in a roll of soft, grainy bread and sprinkled with spices. Munching on her steaming, savory lunch, Michaela wandered on to the next square. That was where the first of the retail shops were located. She wanted to buy Zarl a get-well present and maybe a few more furnishings she needed for her private rooms.
No clothes today, she told herself firmly, thinking of how her men had teased her about her shopping. She’d show them she could exercise restraint.
Michaela strolled near the center of the second square as she had the first, interested as always in what the buskers were up to. This center featured a fountain that sprayed arcs of colored water, creating a rainbow swirl in its basin that somehow formed into intricate patterns. Michaela often thought she could spend all day watching the feat and wondering what the next design would turn out to be. Some reminded her of the Middle Eastern designs she’d discussed with Imold. She’d have to tell the ceremony designers to look in the fountain for examples.
A laughing Imdiko, apparently a performing artist, capered nearby. He wore the unlikely clothing of a tattered armored formsuit designed for battle and an equally tattered orange robe much like Imold’s. He teased passersby with bawdy songs and remarks on their appearances.
“Hello, Nobek! It’s good to see you with that gleam in your eyes. Of course, it comes from the light shining through the back of your head rather than good humor, but we’ll take what we can get when it comes to your breed.”
The Imdiko bowed to the passing man, who laughed uproariously at his hijinks. He went on to jab at another scarred Nobek. “Speaking of empty heads, I do believe I hear my voice echoing in the cavern of this one’s skull. Does Maestro Spel know his concert hall is loose and lumbering about the market? And that it’s damned ugly to boot? Tell me sir, why have you not been condemned and knocked down?”
His victim shook his head and chuckled. “Have you had your midday meal, you awful creature? If not, I will put it on my account at Arcec’s as reward for your humor.”
The Imdiko grinned and bowed. “You are as generous as you are grotesque. A song or insult to the person of your choice as my thanks.”
“Sing me a song, and then I must move on.”
The Imdiko belted out a song about a horny Nobek who visited a brothel on Dantovon. The subject of the tune crawled under the skirts of a big, ugly woman only to discover he was pleasuring a male Tragoom. The singer’s voice wasn’t the best Michaela had ever heard, but the song was hilarious and apparently original. She laughed so hard her sides ached, along with the others who gathered to hear the Imdiko sing.
The performer bowed to the applause. “Thank you, my discerning friends. You may not be the cleanest bunch I’ve ever seen, but you do have good taste. You can see me perform at Tyspi’s for a week starting in two days. Bring money. Lots of money. Then give it to me and not Tyspi, for he is a greedy and undeserving ass of a man. Oh, hello Dramok Tyspi. Would you like to renegotiate my bar tab?”
“Not on your life, you ridiculous bastard,” laughed a well-dressed man who watched with the rest of them.
Michaela thought her clan might enjoy the show and made a mental note to tell them about it. Raxstad in particular would probably laugh his head off. She wandered on.
On the other side of the fantastic fountain, a young acrobat performed tumbles and flips that made her gasp. Near him, a Dramok played a stringed instrument that issued a haunting melody.
This was how performers promoted the shows they did at the nearby clubs. The free entertainment was a tease to draw crowds into the establishments, which gave a share of their earnings to the performers. Michaela wondered how much money she could make belly dancing.
It made her sigh to think about that. Her clan had made it clear they didn’t expect her to work, but Michaela thought it would be nice to make an income of her own. She thought dancing for other men was too salacious, however. She needed another avenue, something that would feel rewarding emotionally as well as financially.
Michaela turned her attention from the performers to the shops in the square. She doubted she would find the furniture she needed in this area of the market, but there were a couple of specialty stores and one that featured gourmet food gifts. Knowing Zarl loved the sweet, sugary bylshka beans from Adraf, Michaela decided to check if that shop sold the delicacy.
On her way there, she glanced at the hologram vid presentation of a clothing boutique. It was one of the three in the market that catered to the Earther women in Kalquor’s capital city.
Michaela had known better than to look. Right away one particular dress caught her eye, a frothy pink confection that looked like it should be worn by a fairy tale princess.
She sighed with longing. The color and cut would suit her perfectly. It figured that such a dress would be here to tempt her on the very day she had resolved not to purchase a single article of clothing. Damn it to hell.
A voice purred in her ear. “You should buy it.”
Michaela jumped and whirled around. Feyom stood there, looking down on her from her superior six-feet-plus height. The woman smiled at her, but the expression was not pleasant. It looked like a predatory leer.
Eyeing the other woman warily, Michaela answered, “It’s lovely, but I have more than enough clothes. My clan has been very generous.”
“Those three have always been that way with the less fortunate.” Feyom chortled as Michaela’s face fell. “I am only joking, like that Imdiko performer over there. He is funny, isn’t he? He called me too grand for the Empire and crawled after me like a pet begging for a treat.”
“How nice for you,” Michaela managed to say. Feyom did look stunning in a long purple gown that matched her eyes. She wore it easily though it looked quite expensive and more suited to attend a ball than shopping.
Feyom looked from Michaela to the pink dress in the vid and back to Michaela again. “Seriously, that dress is perfect for you. It would help disguise how broad your shoulders are. You’d look more feminine, if that’s what you’re going for. Not so much like a boy trying on his mother’s clothes.”
It didn’t matter that Michaela knew Feyom deliberately baited her. Her insecurities reared up anyway. She struggled not to hunch her wide shoulders and give the Kalquorian woman the nasty little victory she strove for.
Her only real defense lay in doing the opposite of what Feyom expected. Michaela answered in a voice deeper than usual. “It’s not just the female side of me that delights my clan, Matara Feyom. They enjoy everything I have to offer, very much.”
Feyom smirked. “Maybe for now. I do worry about how they’ll feel should you have difficulties producing children for them, however. The novelty of your amazing body will wear off sooner or later, and then what?” She tittered. “You’d better be able to be more woman than your appearance would suggest. If I were you, I’d distract Korkla, Govi, and Raxstad from their wishes for fatherhood for as long as you possibly can.”
Michaela couldn’t come up with a reply, and Feyom didn’t wait around to give her the opportunity to do so. With a hateful smirk still curling her lips, the Kalquorian sauntered away.
Michaela watched as her tormentor floated through the market square, heading towards the outer square and tunnel. She noted the appreciative glances of the men charting Feyom’s passage, the obvious admiration in their eyes for the Kalquorian who oozed womanhood.
Too late, her arguments against Feyom’s assessment of Michaela’s ability to bear children arose. She came close to making a spectacle of herself, wanting to scream after the departing woman that she had been confirmed fertile back on Plasius by Israla’s own physician. Michaela had all the requisite female part, she had the eggs, and she had been getting her period since the age of 12. There was no medical reason why she couldn’t give her clan all the children they desired.
She dammed the too-late words rising in her throat, twisting away from Feyom’s departing back and the cascade of heads turning as she walked by. Michaela again faced the pretty pink dress. It was like many of her other clothes, displaying the trappings of femininity. It was exactly the kind of outfit that she hid behind so often, helping her to assume the mask of the girl that lived inside her.
A woman on the inside, but not outside.
It’s all a farce. On me, that would be no less window dressing than it is in that hologram,
she thought miserably.
Michaela walked away from the store. She moved blindly, not seeing anything but the way Feyom had looked, statuesque and beautiful. She replayed how the men looked at the Kalquorian with such desire. Michaela was so lost in her misery that she didn’t notice they looked at her as well with those same wishful expressions. Many of the men who recognized Michaela from the events of the past few days stared with the most want of all. She saw none of that.
It wouldn’t have mattered to her anyway. Korkla, Raxstad, and Govi were her clan, her world. Michaela didn’t care what other men thought about her. She also had no doubt that her clanmates cared about her.
Yet she couldn’t help but fret. Jessica was already pregnant. Michaela had been having near constant sex with her own clan since the Coming of Age Festival on Plasius ten weeks ago. Shouldn’t she be pregnant as well?
Michaela had been hopeful when her last period had been late even though her clan had decided they would freeze any embryos for later. She still had to move past her self-revulsion before becoming a parent. That didn’t mean she was excited at the idea of future motherhood.
Two weeks ago, she’d been on the verge of getting tested when her delayed period arrived with a vengeance. It had lasted longer than it ever had before. The cramping had been horrific too. Govi had attributed both the lateness and heaviness to the abrupt changes in Michaela’s life. So much stress had been put into play that it was no wonder her body reacted the way it had. Michaela had agreed with his conclusions, thinking perhaps she wasn’t yet expecting a child for the same reasons.
Feyom’s pointed remarks had Michaela second-guessing all that now. Could she get pregnant at all? What if the doctor on Plasius had been wrong? Michaela didn’t want to give any credence to Feyom’s comments, but perhaps the time had come to get tested again. Jessica’s Kalquorian doctor Flencik was supposed to be first rate. Perhaps Govi could get some professional consideration and have him take a look at Michaela.
It would be good to have Dr. Flencik confirm all was well with the baby-making gear, Michaela thought. Resolve quickened her step, and she headed towards the tunnel. She looked forward to having the proof to wipe that hateful smirk off Feyom’s face.
* * * *
Govi frowned at his computer, working as fast as attention to detail would allow. He might hate the time administrative duties took from being with his patients, but he wasn’t one to stint on his duties. Records and notes were diligently attended to, even though he had no care for such things.
As Michaela had noted in earlier visits, he didn’t bother with decorating his office. Govi spent as little time in this room as possible. It made no sense to him that he should take it beyond its utilitarian appearance. However, he had brought a small vid frame from home, one that he’d loaded a picture of his clan in. His full clan, including his Matara. Every time his glance fell on Michaela’s smiling face, Govi had to smile back. Just the sight of her made him happy.
He breathed a sigh of relief as he finished writing up a report. It was the last one until the final hour of the day, which meant he could make rounds for most of the afternoon. The Imdiko was so intent on completing his paperwork that though part of his mind registered the floral scent invading the usual antiseptic air, he was still startled by the husky female voice that spoke.
“Hello, Govi.”
His head jerked up, and he blinked in surprise to see a visitor in the doorway: Matara Feyom. Instinct had him on his feet and bowing before his thinking mind caught up.
“Good day, Matara. What a surprise to see you here.”
She smiled and slid into the office. “I was in the area and thought I’d stop by. I wanted to make sure everything was all right with you and your clan.”
Govi’s surprise ebbed, and he arranged his features into a pleasant, if bland expression. However, his thoughts were far from pleasant. Suspicion crowded his head, especially since Feyom voiced concern for his clan. She was one of the most self-absorbed people Govi had ever met. He’d learned years ago that this particular woman did nothing without an agenda, one that would suit her often unwise and hurtful impulses. It was one of many reasons his clan had rejected her as a clanmate.
She might have been breathtakingly beautiful, but that attribute was only a surface asset. Govi counted himself lucky that he didn’t have to live with Feyom for the rest of his life.
He let none of his feelings for her show. Instead he politely answered, “My clan is doing very well. Thank you for asking.”
What the do you want, you awful woman?
Her face was a mask of sweet concern. “I am so glad to hear it, my friend. I heard about your poor Matara nearly being abducted along with the empress. I hope your little Michaela was not too horribly traumatized.”