Distant Shores - Marco Palmieri [130]
I tried to keep the thought in mind that beam-out could come at any moment, and it helped rein in the reactions from my emotional subroutines for the time being. Although, it was difficult when she leaned up and kissed my cheek after I informed her of her new dwelling. “Thank you, Aeson. It’s almost like I’ve suddenly got a Sky Ship Friend watching over me.”
If I’d had one, my heart probably would have stopped at that.
Metaphorically speaking, of course. The heart doesn’t actually stop, it-oh, there I go again. I don’t remember the last time my digression subroutine kicked in so regularly. Where was I? Oh, yes. Mareeza and the Sky Ship Friends.
Sounds almost like the name of a music group. But, pressing on…
About seventy-five Tahal-Isut years ago-at about the point when their telescopes allowed them to determine that the bright day/night star they’d known for centuries looked more like a spaceship-someone came up with the idea of making toys based on what they thought were the occupants of that spaceship. Yes, those were the Sky Ship Friends. I’ve never actually seen the toys in question, but the images in the history books suggested a people who looked just like the Tahal-Isut, but in flowing green robes that signified natural purity.
If these people only had someone with half the creativity of H. G. Wells, I shudder to think what they might have accomplished once they discovered it was a spaceship and not a star.
Over the ensuing years, the Sky Ship Friends had become something of a cultural icon, not unlike a human teddy bear. Songs about the Sky Ship were even composed as childhood lullabies.
Voyager has become so intricately woven into this culture that it’s amazing. The more I see of it, the less convinced I am that removing our influence will ever be possible. Still, I intend to make the effort.
Mareeza’s comment, however, gave me a moment’s pause. It concerned me enough to think that she might have figured me out already. My subroutines floundered. I hadn’t planned far enough ahead for that possibility. In an effort to cover up my failure, I led her back in the direction Darek had given.
Darek had an empty apartment about three blocks from where we were. He said he would meet us there. Apparently Mareeza’s work was growing in popularity a bit more than she-or any of the references on their culture that I’d studied in the library-would have me believe. Darek had not only heard of her, he was a fan of her work and considered her to be an up-and-coming artist. The idea of someone with the potential he saw in her living in one of his buildings appealed to him.
I should add that one thing that was never hidden too far beneath the surface with Darek was his desire to be near people working their way to fame. I believe Mr. Paris would refer to him as a “schmoozer extraordinaire.” I suspect this is why he bestowed upon Mareeza the kind of apartment he did. With me, it was gratitude. With Mareeza, it was networking.
So, while Mareeza packed her belongings, I began to help Razmad with the moving. It took us no time at all to get Mareeza’s things to the buildings Darek had told me about. He was there when we arrived, his blond hair slicked back and what I’d come to know as his usual black suit pressed to perfection. Even at this early hour, he was doing his best to make a good first impression.
Darek and Mareeza quickly negotiated the rent. (I wonder why he never had this discussion with me?) Once he turned over the keys, we proceeded to move her into her new abode. Darek was kind enough to also have two of his nephews come to help.
An interesting surprise awaited us when we reached the apartment. It was larger and quite a bit more lavish than anything I’d seen on the planet to that point. Mareeza counted four bedrooms, each seemingly larger than the one she’d looked at immediately before. The largest, presumably the master bedroom, was the one she chose as her new office. It was spacious enough