The Pearl (Galactic Jewels Book 1) (5 page)

Our closet might be the biggest room, but the shower room was my favorite. Tiled from top to bottom in gold and silver designs, the oval shaped room held three shower bays personalized for our unique species’ tastes.

I stripped out of my clubbing outfit, dropped it in the laundry hatch, and stepped onto my shower plate. Mist released from the hundreds of heads and the plate rotated slowly. A bell tinkled and I lifted my arms. Gold foam coated me and I relaxed into the massaging nubs of the three large silicon pads that molded to my body, moving the soapy bubbles across my skin. I pushed strands of wet hair off my cheek and sighed, breathing in the minty fragrance. A clean water mist rinsed me and the process repeated for my hair, smaller silicone rods replacing the pads and massaging the shampoo and conditioner into my scalp.

The water raced off the rotating plate into the recycling grid below, treating the water and putting it back into the ship’s system. Heat lamps dried me instantly and I walked naked to the closet, grabbing my velvet robe off the hook inside the door.

Fransín wouldn’t wake for hours; I’d always needed less sleep than she did, especially after dancing—that girl took her grooving seriously. I grabbed my coffee from the wall dispensary and ordered another, setting a five-minute delay while I drank my first cup.

On the far side of the room, a long window overlooked the space beyond our ship, but this morning the swirling colors of the gate held little appeal, only serving to remind me of the grains shifting through my hourglass. I stroked the window, turning it opaque. An image of a Bevi mountain waterfall filled the space, the splash of water reverberating softly through the room.

Curling up on the chaise below the window, I sipped and waited, hoping Fransín might get up early today since this was one of our last mornings together. My favorite book rested in a wall cubby and I touched the jeweled bookmark resting between the aging pages. Fransín had given it to me as a festival gift years before and I treasured it. She’d saved a thousand pectagas to trade for it, a tidbit I’d learned well after she’d given me the gift. The rubies and sapphires and emeralds on the jewel-encrusted hilt glittered in the subdued light of the waterfall, winking and twinkling like a live creature beside me.

I couldn’t shake the impending loss of her constant companionship.

We didn’t
 
talk about that. Ever. Our separation was coming whether we discussed it or not, all part of the deal when she’d signed on as my companion, divested of choice and any real sort of future. We’d discussed all of our options, some that had included her being a pearl or ruby with her own consort, which would have afforded us the ability to see each other after our individual unions. She hadn’t wanted that, knowing that the decision left her forever a consort. We’d both walked into our decisions eyes wide open and it had taken me a few weeks to resign myself to what she’d given up for me.

As for my union, political shuffling probably happened behind the scenes, but that was fine. You wanted to send up a General’s son because you owed him a favor? You risked your galaxy's representative not being chosen. I had full access to every detail about their representative, not only what he presented during the date.

We called these
presentations
because it was a mere formality. By the time I met these representatives face to face I’d spent hours with their historical documentation from not only their existence, but my team went through generations of documentation, pulling out details I needed to be as informed as possible.

I knew his likes, dislikes, preferences, pet peeves, decisions he’d made and how he’d weighted the details. Every predilection, bias, and fondness meant something; the reason he picked blue over green, took the subway instead of the motorcade, ate noodles instead of seafare, ran pattril instead of benwin. All those results went into my algorithm of which galaxies were allowed to send representatives.

His history wasn’t the only factoring portion, I also had insight into his mother’s, father’s, grandfather’s, great auntie’s. I knew who his brother had chosen for his mate—and
why.
I knew his sister’s tastes and what she despised.

Unions were a big deal. They had to be. Together we held the seams of the universe together, we ruled our utopian societies with firm but gentle hands, guiding them with ideas and cross-pollination between the species that kept everything running smoothly. As the pearl, I was the final decision on all things, and my mate was my best counsel. The algorithm accounted for my own weaknesses and rated candidates based on how their strengths matched up.

Out of all the candidates I’d researched, the Hemperklu had quickly risen to the top three, then, the more discussions I’d had with him, earned the top spot where he’d remained for the last two and a half years. Based on the research and accompanying packet, the Spiznwix had been near the top as well, but he’d performed so poorly when we’d met in real life, I couldn’t imagine having to rule with him on a daily basis.

Some times real life trumped what existed in databanks and algorithms.
 

C
HAPTER
7

F
RANSÍN
CAME
IN
, gold skirt askew, green hair mussed and plastered to her cheek, weaving and fighting the grips of sleep. “Morning.” She rubbed her eyes. “How was it?”

I tipped my cup, draining the last swallow of the warm nectar, buying me time to let the heaviness of the morning drain away while she came over. I grinned. “Best birthday yet.”

After a lopsided sleepy hug, she wandered into the closet. I stood and shook my arms and legs, forcing the trapped energy of my deep morning musing to dissipate.

“What time do we dock?” she yelled from behind the wall.

“Three hours.” I grabbed my new cup of coffee.

“Really?” Her voice cracked. She hopped forward, yanking off her skirt. “Rift! Sorry. I thought we’d have more time.”

“It’s fine,” I said, ordering a mug for her. “We’ll work together.”

She hurriedly pulled on a kimono and took a huge gulp of the searing hot coffee that would have decimated my mouth. “Hair first, or makeup?”

“You decide.”

Beside the closet, the room opened into a vast prep area dotted with mirrors, plush couches, and a single chair in the center and ringed with mirrors. Soft light echoed off the surfaces, bathing the room in sparkling moonlight. One light followed me, alerted to our readying by our movements and tracked me with the perfect hues Fransín needed to prep me. I disrobed and settled into her chair, the plush cushions enveloping my nakedness.

She drank three cups of coffee and worked in silence, focused on her real job as my consort. Communicator was a skill M had taught her between dates. Fransín’s true tasks included this preparation and helping me research the candidates and review thousands of data hours.

She brushed my hair, her fingers nimbly dividing sections, trembling a bit at the acknowledgement at this final preparation for the last time.

“I think we need to talk about it,” I said like I had the last half-dozen mornings.

She chewed her lower lip, her skin turning the pale green-yellow of a Tipper willow leaf before it fell to the ground. “I don’t.”

Sectioning off another big hunk, she wound it around the heated drum, setting the curl. I stayed quiet, watching her plait my hair and weave it into an intricate crown. “What am I going to do without you?”

She sniffed and smiled. Her voice warbled and lost its song. “You’ll be too busy with the Hemperklu, taking on universal challenges, tackling epic problems and solutions. Plus all your upcoming days in the tantric hut. I’ll be the last thing on your mind.”

Her hand settled a curl at my temple; and I reached up and captured her fingers. “Fransín, you’ve been my everything since we were babies. How can you say that? You know its not true.”

She blinked rapidly, fighting tears. “It’s what I tell myself so I know you’ll be happy and that this is for the ultimate reason. What you’re doing is bigger than our silly friendship.”

I ached for her. She would endure this time and time again as they gave her new assignments to a ruby or a retired pearl. I would never have another. She’d chosen this, eyes wide open that her others might be a boring Pia or an overly dramatic Foley. If luck was with her, she’d be assigned a Lyrica. A pang of jealousy gripped my insides at how much she’d enjoy that. I hoped such a blessing came true. She deserved to be rewarded after we’d underestimated how painful our parting would be. “Will you please talk to me?”

She pressed her lips together, turning even paler. “I told you everything I had to say last night.”

I opened my mouth to rebut—she hadn’t said—
Oh…
The dancing… that was her language and she
had
said everything. I’d missed it… the weight of what she’d done for me, the reason she’d devoted so much time to my birthday celebration—the music, the humans, the playlist. She hadn’t spent a day or two on that sim. She had spent months and as a being who craved the Lyrica way, she’d given me all her love and devotion in the gift of song. I tugged her hand away from my temple and drew her around to stand in front of my chair, settling my hands at her waist. “How long did you work on that?”

She shook her head, flushing jade. “The time doesn’t matter. I enjoyed it.”

“Months, then.”

She sniffed. “A couple.”

“When did you start?” My fingers tightened on her waist, her skin flushing evergreen above the collar of the kimono.

“I started it during your first date.”

“With the LinnOw?” Three years ago…

“Yeah. Remember we’d joked how ill-suited you were, him consumed with material wealth. His entire galaxy spoke two-word sentences at a maximum.”

I laughed. “That was the worst date.” It had been a strange and sudden baptism into this new world.

“Tonight, though…” She brushed back the unfinished side of my hair, lovingly caressed my cheek, traced the line of my jaw. She hadn’t put any of my makeup on yet, so my face was still fresh, unmarked. “Tonight will be memorable magic. I’ve been looking forward to this almost as much as you. She’ll be no Hemperklu, but it will be amazing; a wonderful way to end this journey.” Her throat clogged.

“You will always be my first love.” I drew out the words, wishing I had a singing voice. I gathered my courage and busted out a few lyrics of one of our favorite songs from our childhood. One about sunshine and rainbows. We’d had to look them both up in the archives, falling instantly in love with how silly and bright and so much like we were back then. My heart burned. Awareness of this day hadn’t made it any easier. We’d known this was part of the deal. We’d always known this was coming. Our duties bound us, but not to each other.

“Thank you,” I said. “For doing this. For the sacrifice of what you gave to me so I could have you with me through this. I wouldn’t have missed it.”

She cupped my face and kissed me gently on the lips. “It wasn’t a sacrifice. I love you. You’re my best friend. Besides, I couldn’t leave you to someone else.”

I pulled her into my arms and she came awkwardly, curling onto my lap. I stroked her green hair and rubbed the tip of her shoulder, unsure who was comforting who. “We don’t have time for this,” she said.

“No.” I couldn’t pick the Samarian who came to me tonight, but that didn’t mean that I could shirk my appearance. Not only would every minute be broadcast, but I wanted to take the time and care for tonight. I squeezed her tight, holding her to my chest. “I love you,” I whispered. “I see you.”

She answered back, then crawled unceremoniously out of my lap, shook her body, her arms, her legs, and hummed as she began again, entwining the locks around the heated irons, adding curls and squares and ovals and loops, braiding and banding and adding flowers until my hair stood like a crown, wild and brave and beautiful. Like Fransín.

I hummed along with her as she did my makeup—out of tune and annoying. She didn’t criticize or make me stop, lost in her art, painting my lips a deep plum, my cheeks a pale peach, my eyes a shimmery gold. Jewels at my hairline and down my neck mimicked the pattern of her gifted bookmark, a secret symbolic tribute to our relationship. Using a fat brush, she dusted my breasts and nipples with copper glitter. She switched to a long-handled detail brush and painted an intricate pattern of fuchsia hearts dripping from my nipples, across my belly, and into a bejeweled arrow of faux pubic hair.

The Samarian would get to see me naked—like all the other candidates had—confirmation that the hours of video they’d seen hadn’t been manipulated or digitally mastered. I was the girl from the tapes, the presentations, the same databank that I’d reviewed. My nudity was part of the process, as was his. Our exposure to each other was no different than the upcoming hours of conversations, covering similar topics that we’d discussed on intercommunicators. The steps and stages were steeped in tradition, including this final meeting to honor each other, our galaxies, the offering.

She painted my toenails and languid waves across my calves in blues and greens and purples, patterns in the crux of my knees and elbows, then stepped back to admire her handiwork, holding up an index finger and asking me to twirl. I did and she nodded, singing a few more notes.

She glanced at the readout on the clock. “Ninety minutes, enough time to get dressed.” She disappeared into the closet and I finished my coffee. I looked up when she came back, giving a startled gasp at lush silks and embroidered satins flowing off her arms in rivers of ruby and gold and sapphire. “Where did you get that?” She’d stowed the unfamiliar gown in the most secret of spaces; I hadn’t seen it in the three years aboard the ship.