"Reggie, I'd appreciate it if ye kept the doors locked t' our "private quarters" during the Open House, luv.. unless ye know the person well, and ye've good reason t' show 'em about, eh? There's a dear!"
"No worries, Moira. I don't mind showing our TAZ mates the rest of the house; but I completely agree that our other guests can be content with seeing the main Atrium, the porch, and the bloody bar.
"No need to let casual visitors see what a "bucolic" fortress we've actually constructed 'below decks'. To them, we're just another Canarian plantation for retired billionaires, my love."
(//All communications during the Open House will be made on the frequency provided, unless prior permission is explicitly granted. Thank you. R & M.)
Reggie quietly slipped out the rear entrance of the Veranda, half a bottle of "20 Cientes" Reposado in his hand, and stared at the surgically flat plateau to the north, once a craggy peak towering a good kilometer above the Veranda.
Not quite staggering, but swaying slightly, he covered the 3 kilometers to the base of the plateau, marvelling again at the precision and power of the alien technology that had reduced the mountain, and the villa at the peak, to a perfectly flat, obsidian surface in a matter of seconds.
He climbed the short stairway to the low plateau, remembering the vast amount of soil brought in to act as a base for the new "Uli Rouge" plantation, which he now owned. Another kilometer's walk brought him to the center of the plateau, the deLuna Memorial.
He sat on one of the benches surrounding the central plaza, looking at the pure white sand brought from Honshu, and the three towering crystals, memorials to the three lives snuffed out here, along with the mountain. He took another deep swig of the Reposado, and addressed the center, tallest crystal.
"Hello, Fiona my dear. How are you and the girls doing?"
.....
"Excellent. Yes, I'm doing well. Extremely happy. You'd like Moira, and she loves this old carcass deeply, for some reason."
.....
"Hmm? Oh, indeed, you two are not alike at all. She is not a diplomat, nor cultured, nor much for fine dresses or fancy balls. She is feisty, like you; but I would not like to get on her bad side, for fear of losing appendages. But, perhaps she is more fitted for my own temperament, Fiona."
.....
"Thank you Madam. I am glad you approve. I am in good hands, once again."
.....
"No, there has been no further sign of any further "Artifices", or their Creators. Apparently losing one moon-sized vessel, along with your... demise.. has caused them to cease looking in our direction.. Yes, I am most glad about that as well, my dear.
.....
"Jealousy? I don't think so. Moira knows about you, and about our history. She need only look at this Memorial to know what you and your beautiful daughters meant to me. But, life must go on. It is my great fortune to have found an understanding and loving person to share that life, eh?"
.....
"Well, you and I.. it just wasn't in the cards, it seems, Fi. But I'll be just fine. Isn't it time you ladies moved on as well? You'll always be in my heart. One for the road?"
Reggie took one more swig from the bottle, and placed it gently at the base of the central crystal. He touched the Monument briefly, turned, and walked briskly away.
Reggie wished there were something he could do for the young Summers. Bringing the old guitar to the lad's attention had helped for a bit; but now, it seemed that Dane had retreated into the instrument, using it to dredge up memories of... well.. that was not his business.
They sat on the Veranda's "veranda". Dane didn't sing.. merely strumming, rocking slowly in Moira's favorite wicker rocker.
His wrist unit chimed. "Speak of the devil, he mused."
"Oy, love. I'm safe in Baffin. Me new snubby's a wonder. I just happened by a gaggle of SCRA ships at Freeport 6, and 'sooth, I'm more than a bit relieved to have some gunslingers about fer a change. Home soon. I love ye, ye old fart! M."
Reggie smiled. Not easy, considering the fact that he and Summers had been waiting patiently for days to be recalled to the Virulian Enclave. He was frustrated. No wonder John Henry had stormed out. Preposterous.
He reached over and gently touched the young Administrator on the shoulder, rousing him from his reverie.
"Well, Dane. Have we warmed the bloody bench long enough? I've spoken to Gheis. He's onboard. Give the word, and I'll send the message."
With no alcohol, he'd had to face his memories sober.
Sleep had become elusive yet again, and thus spared him the nightmares.
And with nothing spoiling the countryside, nothing to occupy his mind, he faced his feelings, looked deep into that which truly scared him. Submerged in the ache, and face everything he had ran away from.
One memory always seemed to surface. Never going away, always in the back of his mind, could never forget it.
Her eyes, the sunset behind, pulling him into the waves, her smile, the chill of the water, the slight breeze, how her hair, semi wet, waved in the wind.
He stared off into the far sunlight, wondering if it was summertime...
"Well, Dane. Have we warmed the bloody bench long enough? I've spoken to Gheis. He's onboard. Give the word, and I'll send the message."
Dane thought a moment, strummed a few notes...
"Yeah...its time."
The strumming moved a long lazily through notes, picking up speed gradually, but in time, finding a melody, yearning for a voice. The words didn't come out as a song, but just as thoughts, whispered, as he let out a breath, and thought of her smile...
"I felt you in my life, before I even met you...and when I laid beside you, or the first time I told you...I feel you in my heart, and I don't even know you...I felt you in my life, before I ever thought too...I feel the need to lay down, beside you, and tell you...I feel you in my heart, and I don't even know you..."
He looked into the far blue horizon again, the light catching the watery glaze in his eyes, a breeze tickled his hair, and he smiled...yeah, it was summertime...
Reggie rose from his comfy rocker and went into the Veranda for more coffee. He also transmitted the message to the Virulian Temple.
Returning to the wide porch, he handed Dane a refill, and sat again.
"Well, Dane, the message is sent. You're welcome to stay on here if you like, but I'm sure you have more pressing matters. I know I'm getting behind. Moira's been carrying the load while I've been "chained" here to the porch.
"Dame Hunter has our numbers. Doc won't answer, of course.. he's fed up with this whole charade; and, I have my doubts I'll be getting a call either.
I shall miss your music and your company, sir. Feel free to drop by any time in future as our honored guest."
It was harvest time around Port Canaria.. Reggie's favorite time of year to be home.
The air was permeated with the sounds and aromas of harvest. Coffee beans roasting to a dark oily brown provided the base note to the heady perfume, followed by the middle note of sweet, pungent Kallisti Gold from the drying sheds.
The top note was his pride and joy.. the fully organic, mild and smooth aroma of tobacco, separated into two sheds, one for the tobacco itself, and one for the large "wrapper" leaves, the hallmark of "Canaria Cheroots".
The only authentic touch Reggie had not incorporated was a line of dusky Hispanic women, rolling the cheroots on shapely, glistening thighs.. one can only go so far..
Gallic tobacco was all the rage in Sirius. Reggie found the product harsh and lacking in consistency; but he was resigned to the basic economic fact that one could gild a turd, and find buyers for it. So it goes.
Yes, if they could find a way to bottle this particular perfume, Waverly LLC would be well on its way to its 6th Billion.
He heard the squeak of the screen door behind him. One delicate yet deadly hand rested gently on his shoulder, while the other placed a fresh cup of dark roast on the small wicker table next to his rocker.
"It's good t' have ye home fer a change, ye scoundrel!" Moira's tone was belied by the soft caress of her hair against his face as she bent to kiss his neck.
"And home I shall stay until time for Mal's crazy Festival, Moira. I have missed you immensely." He rose, and placing an arm around her slender waste, guided her back towards the Veranda's interior.
"Why, ye randy bugger! Maybe I should get ye some o' them dusky "tabaccanistas" afore ye wear me right out!"
Reggie trudged through the waist-high bushes, shaking his head at the meager yield he could expect. The last of the coffee beans were due to be picked next week, right after the largest tobacco "wrapper" leaves had been placed away, awaiting the now-curing "filler" tobacco.
The Veranda's entire harvest had suffered this year, for some reason. Even the Kallisti Gold had a less.. "spiritual" quality to it.. the outer small "hairs" sometimes reverting from their normal golden hue to ochre or brown..
And the apples.. forget it. It was almost as if the trees in unison had turned and lifted their leaves and their energies towards the heavens in supplication, absently bringing forth small, hard, juiceless droppings.
He decided to walk to the center of the second plantation, the Uli Rouge, and visit an old friend. Perhaps she could shed some light on this. Fumbling in his vest, he found the old meerschaum. He held it for a few moments, remembering when she had given it to him. The bowl of ivory from some huge aquatic beast on Kyushu, the teakwood stem from a grove on Honshu.
Finally, Reggie lit his pipe and lifted his gaze to the three tall spires in the distance, expecting the dazzling reflections of the crystals, and the transparent shimmering of the vortex that surrounded them.
He frowned.. something was not right. Instead of the golden sparkle, and gentle distortion of the view beyond the vortex, the air now seemed to roil, faster and more chaotically, the horizon behind it almost obscured.
He quickened his pace and soon reached the plantation's boundary. All the fields had been plowed under after an early harvest in order to enrich and give volume to the soil, which extended down only a few meters to a perfectly smooth fused obsidian surface.. the last remains of "Shaking Mountain", her home.
Instantly, he stopped. Then he ran, shifting his gaze from the field to the vortex ahead, and back down again.. Yes. It matched. Short of breath, he slowed and approached more cautiously. The vortex ahead seemed even more ominous from this distance, and the growth that Reggie had spied within its confines could now be seen.
They were vines, but no vine he had ever seen before. The vines closest to the Memorial Plaza had already reached 2 inches in diameter, and snaked across the ground a good three feet or more. Along the length were sparse, purplish-black leaves that seemed to absorb every bit of sunlight, interspersed with long sharp thorns.
Repulsed, yet committed, Reggie stepped into the whirling eddy of the vortex, which had always served as a healing force for him, a way to attune to the Universe. Instead, he experienced confusion and dread, but he pressed on like a sailor into a gale.
"Fiona! Fiona!!", he screamed, both within and without. If there was an answer, the buzzing of a thousand bees filling his ears obliterated it. He ran towards the obelisks again, the temperature around him dropping at each stride.
Finally, he reached the three giant crystals. They were dull, opaque. He could faintly see veined webs inside the central one which seemed to pulse as he stared.
He reached out to touch the monument. It was cold, icy cold, deathly cold.
Reggie summoned the energy to scream again, and to run blindly out of the vortex, away from this monstrosity which had no explanation or logic.
He left behind the skin of his palm, and part of a finger.
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