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The NamingBy DL Harvey of Portland, Maine

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The Naming

By DL Harvey of Portland, Maine

Friday, May 08, 2015

Northwest Quadrant of Planet Agro-012, Hypolita Galaxy, Lily’s Valley Manor,

Southern Tower, Lily Valley Plantation Castle

“Why ever do you have this game here? Pool or billiards hadn’t emerged as a functional

game until the Victorian Era of Northern Europe on Earth.” Eschie asked her employer, The

Duchess of Lily’s Valley. She took aim with her cue stick and slammed it into the solid white

ball. That ball collided with and scattered the multi-colored balls from their triangular formation

into the four corners of the table. None sunk in any of the six pockets at the edges of the felt

covered table.

Eschie reflexively pinched a bit of her gown’s skirt to lift it so she could move to a stool

nearby and watch her opponent take her shot. Since she was sitting so near the pegs on the wall,

she removed her headdress of cloth draped horns and ornamental wig and hung it up. It’s finery,

though shimmering in golds seemed pale and conservative next to the Duchess’s tall pointed hat

with trailing streamers of bold blues, flashing silver, and delicate white. “Everything in this room

doesn’t meet regulation décor for this region’s attraction in the Historic Touring Circuit. Well,

except your heraldry. She motioned to the various incarnations of the waterlily emblem on

shields, banners, and tapestries.

“Twenty cycles we’ve been playing and you ask now?” The Duchess eyed her long-time

friend and right hand assistant, noting the benefits of her sleeve extensions’ removal. She

confirmed the ends of her own sleeves wrapped and tucked around her wrists before took a swig

of her drink. She sized up the balls’ positions and angles related to the table’s pockets before

taking her shot.

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The Duchess, like Eschie donned a long tunic and surcoat. But unlike Eschie’s more

modest, unadorned colors of natural hues, The Duchess’s tunic was a vibrant blue with a Silvery

surcoat. The surcoats embroidered flourishes along the hemline matched the tunic’s coloring, the

design of which could be splashes of water or flame. With the advances of technology, she

could present courtly accoutrements in the form of layers of elaborate fabric without dieing

under the weight and heat of it. But the costume was still difficult to maneuver in even with

clever stitches presenting the illusion of dragging fabric without the threat of tripping and falling

on her face.

Eschie shrugged watching the first two of her employer’s shots sink the solid colored

targets. “I was curious and looked it up last night. Pool, it’s quaint, but it doesn’t belong in the

era replication of the region. It’s a finable violation if found outside your own work and living

quarters. In most things you follow the strictures of the Department of Tourism’s Remote

Historic Circuit Agreement, so,” Eschie let the sentence dangle. “I’m surprised they haven’t

caught on to the “under construction” signs that seem to shift like clockwork from tower to

tower.”

“Eschie, you did the research, before you first arrived. You already know that most of

this,” The Duchess motioned toward their clothes and the building and took her first shot, “is a

close approximation to a romantic notion of the era of the middles ages; all 1000 years of it. I

plead creative license. This,” she swung her cue in a circle over the table but pointing out as if to

include the room, “is an honoring my journey. The accumulation reflect aspects of my journey

that brought me here.” The Duchess said her voice dripping with defiance. She then proceeded to

run the table, sinking all the balls.

The castle was fashioned from the best materials in the galaxy imitating the most

prevalent material in Medieval Europe on Earth: stone. Instead of appearing the cutting edge of

technology it was, the walls and floors, inside and out, appeared to be stone or wood. The

Duchess curled her toes in the plush rug unnecessary for the heated floors or the subtle give like

cushion. And because it was technology and not actual stone, she could program the walls to

reflect colors and images. But the fabrics were all locally made and by hand and not as versatile.

The water lily, a flower that had once been called the lotus, preserved as blossoming in the center

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of each formal, decorative tapestry. After 20 years, the celebration called Lily Day was primarily

a Northwest Quadrant occasion attracting people from far reaching corners in the settled

universe. And every year, she was gifted with a hand-crafted masterpiece of her crest.

Eschie was racking up the balls into a diamond formation, when The Duchess spoke.

“I attended the Masque in Barcelona during my thirteenth year. The dignitaries across

several galaxies were gathering which is why there is The Masque. All that intrigue taking place

in an area that prohibited the use of technology for all but basic functions, I thought it would be

an excellent distraction for my first independent foray into society sans bodyguards,” The

Duchess began. Her voice was a mix of whimsy, sarcasm, and self-mockery.

“Basically scanning for spying augmentations and weaponizable accessories,” Eschie

snorted. She took her aim and shot.

European Continental Region, Earth, Barcelona

Veruca was giddy exiting the resting rooms between the transport station and the customs

gates. She’d slipped her bodyguards for her first excursion out into the public on her own. She

been in the port for less than an hour before she’d gone to the restroom and altered her costume.

What had once appeared as the elongated, meteoric representation of Ceres, holey and sulfu

stained after all of the strip mining, had become a shining beacon of shining yellows, golds, and

luminescent rays extended in all directions. Inside out, her costume was an abstract

interpretation of the sun god, Apollo.

She tapped together the pride of her costume, the shoes. She’d worked with her best

friend, Micah, to design them. She had to get past customs with technology that would allow her

to hover over the ground, but still imply that she was hovering while even grounded. The thick,

gelatinous filled platform allowed for her to accomplish disguising the mechanisms in the soles,

insulate her feet from the power source, and appear attempting the illusion of hovering over the

ground while she slid traversed the polished stones of Barcelona’s walkways. The rollers along

the edge of the shoes allowed her to glide across the surface with ease, but the toe-pointe

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molding within the shoes would become cruelly painful if she had to remain grounded for too

long. The physical exertions wouldn’t be too much of a trial after years of the out-dated trend of

ballet and martial arts training. And Micah had assured her that she wouldn’t have to suffer the

exertions for long. She just had to get through customs. He then lectured her on anti-gravity in

that it was an illusion. But Veruca thought Micah could be redifining another bit of physics with

the invention that enabled hovering by substantially reducing the pressure of her weight on her

feet. Basically, lessening a localized masses pull on gravity as distance increased from the

ground.

She rolled her way to the far left entrance among the throngs of people coming to attend

the Barcelona Masque. The celebration was a three day event to honor the bi-annual arrival of

dignitaries from across the homo-sapian settled universe. The theme for this Masque had been

Forgotten Gods. Looking left and right as she flitted through, she saw the most noteworthy

Venus peppered among bodies of varied colors, blues, greens, reds, golds and some like herself.

Veruca’s body tint was a swirl of golds, oranges, reds, and such on a bright yellow back drop.

One could only see most of her shoulders, arms, legs and face, but the color scheme blended

smartly with the rounded body of her imitation of the sun costuming, something Micah had

worked year around to perfect. Upon her head, was an awesome headpiece of a spike crown as

only the Prince of the Skies would wear. This year, she would win The Prize for the best costume

at the costume contest.

She stepped through the doors in line with everyone else. She could feel the scan for

prohibited materials as she stepped over the threshold into the building. A drop of her blood had

been collected upon stepping through simultaneous with her image captured for security.

Looking to her right, she could see scantily clad men and women, most in white with their

septers in the process of inspection across the pit where humans surveyed screens and people.

“The Gypsy is here!” yelled a young guard flying at her opposite from where she’d come.

He was actually running into the center of the pit of Guards. “The Gypsy, a real, live psychic is

here, in the city!”

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A psychic could help her with her conundrum, with her father and his ambitions. She

leaned forward, grazing a long nail tip along her jaw bone hiking the sensitivity to sounds. “It’s

rumored she’s in The Noble Tavern.”

“Calm yourself, Cadet!” growled the mustached man supervising the calm citizens

plodding through. “The Tavern was raided last night. Nothing there.”

“But,” the Cadet tried again.

Making eye contact with the superior officer, Veruca sensed her imminent interrogation.

She scratched at her jaw again, reducing the sensitivity of her translater device. The device was

legal when functioning exclusively as a translator. It was quite so legal when switched to other

options like eavesdropping. Because it was an insert, it was impossible to inspect. When the

other functions were off, it was only a translator incerted into a hallowed out portion of her jaw.

The first thing the man did was tug on the tip of a ray. He bent it down and in every

direction. He, Veruca, and anyone else looking on saw it bend freely and then spring back to a

crooked point. The color flowing inside never wavered or even indicated that it was a fluid. He

poked her belly with a finger.

Veruca raised a crimson eyebrow quizzically and frowned dramatically. “Do you know

who I am?” She asked.

“Place your hand on the counter,” the man asked. His voice and his face lacked any

emotional expression, not for the comical flapping of rays or curiousity for her fluffy costume.

His eyes scanned the room, a habit Veruca found herself mimicking. She placed her hand on the

counter and stared across the room at the broad, muscular back of a man with his skin tinted

green and a thing white material wrapped around his hips, just his hips. She bit her lips

contemplating the shape of the unusually defined set of glutes.

The Cadet giggled and guffawed to interrupt himself.

Her eyes flashed on him as he let his gaze flicker between Veruca and the man she’d

been ogling. She focused her attention back to the official that could ban her from the city when

he cleared his throat testily. “Veruca de Longrave, you are 13 cycles old. Where is your

guardian?”

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Veruca pointed through the door. “He was too slow.”

“Give us his name.” the man requested suddenly polite finding out she was a dignitary

brat, “we’ll keep you safe until he arrives.”

“You know,” Veruca leaned forward, “I think I lost a ring. It is worth a fortune. Could

you help me find it? I would hate to meet my guardian in less than prime condition.” She

fingered the large stone on her middle finger, sliding it up and down the length.

The guard swallowed. She followed he gaze to discovered people were passing quickly

interested only in their own travails. He held out his hand, “We certainly hope you enjoy our

city, Miss DE LONGRAVE .”

Veruca removed her ring and left it in the guard’s palm when she shook his palm. “Thank

you so much for your service. You really are wonderful.” With her free hand and the tilt of her

head, she motioned the Cadet to follow her.

She noticed that the man had bushier than normal eyebrows as the lowered as the

intensity of his frown increased. She scurried away with a weird I’m-sorry-but-grateful smile

tossed over her shoulder.

The cadet caught up with her outside the building. “What do you want?” he sneered.

“The Gypsy, what is she?”

“A psychic. All the dignitaries visit her,” he paused and leaned forward to whisper, “in

secret of course.”

“And she can be found at The Noble Tavern?”

“Yeah,” his brow furrowed. The pinkening of his face forced her to notice the magenta

uniform he and the other guards wore. It clashed with his complexion. “Stick with the main

shows, Miss. You’re too young to be in that part of town.”

She resisted tapping impatiently as it could turn on her shoes’ hovering abilities. She tried

crossing her arms and slapped poked herself in the nose. “What does she look like?”

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“She would want something,” he said shifting under her glare. “She’s dangerous and you

have nothing to barter with.” He puffed up his chest, “Look here, Little Girl. Go play. Run off

before I go make an announcement proclaiming an unattended juvenile loose in the city.”

“You wouldn’t,” she growled, “I just –“

“Paid him to look the other way,” he interrupted. “I was paying attention.”

She pulled off another ring and tossed it at him before she stalked off. She wobbled and

almost fell before remembering to roll out of sight of the building.

Two blocks away, she moved her toes and clicked the heels. She was finally floating in

the crowds. She saluted randomly placed guards if she passed to close them while wandering

around. She found the three-dimensional hologram of the city, the labrynth people could wander

through to gain perspective before discerning the direction they wanted to go. It filled one in on

the events and times, promotional booths of political interest groups, and other tourist attractions.

It also warned of high crime neighborhoods, communication hubs where one could call home

two galaxies away, and the names and functions of stores, restaurants and services. The model

shifted with you, answered commands, but only allowed one person at a time affording privacy

to the individual. She found The Tavern.

After a visit to a communications hub to research “the Gypsy” and find nothing a police

report with a vague description, she rrived at the address listed for The Noble tavern. It was a

stucco and stone building below an aquaduct built during the Roman Empire’s occupation of the

Iberian Peninsula. She entered the building no problem, but it looked like people lived in the

rooms on the first floor. She followed the hall to end before she remembered the cadet had said

“subterran.” She approached the elevator. Inside, she felt her ego grow as her shoes adjusted

appropriately to the decent to the 2nd basement. She managed to make it to the bottom without

crashing into the ceiling.

Lily Valley’s future Duchess sought to take control of her own future in a true throwback,

a pub / pool hall.

The doors opened to reveal a dark-wooded décor the likes of which Veruca had no idea

existed. The clack of the balls on the pool tables out of view startled her when the doors openned

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into the tavern. Video recordings used to educating her on jurisdictional historic tours throughout

the galaxy had introduced her to the sound, the game, but the sound was more shocking live.

On the wall opposite across from the elevator, she could see narrow windows, large

enough for her to squeeze through if she needed to, if she didn’t have her costume on. It

provided some light to the darkened room. Overhanging lanterns shined down spotlighting

specific areas, such as the space just outside the elevator doors.

She landed and stumbled forward. Her fingertips brushed the plush rug, before she

righted herself. Her shoes were heavy enough to counter balance her upper body’s weight. She

hastily straightened. She verified her crown was in place and that her rays weren’t tangled.

Twisting around, she saw the barrier more easily. It would have negated the charges in her shoes,

rendering them almost useless. And the light made sure everyone in the room saw it.

She noticed that ambient chatter had ceased completely. Lanterns hanging over tables lit

the lower bodies turned towards her. Some faces were illuminated with people leaning forward

into the light, waiting for her to see them.

With her self-defense training, she managed to roll through the room maintaining a

centered weight, a posture ready for attack. The complete costume illuminated her immediately

surrounding area. The rays on her suit swayed and bobbed as she passed tables. Her brother had

forced her to increased the intensity of her training from the moment she’d decided to attend to

the moment she left that resulted in an unsightly but a usefully muscular body. She didn’t have to

concentrate on her moment, as she focused on the people surrounding her.

She had expected to see enough women that she’d have to really search the room.

However, only three individuals required closer examination, as in she had to glide within reach

of said individuals to compare against the description she had found of an old gypsy woman. An

older woman with hair streaked blonde and heavy lines on her face was too tall and thin. Another

with black hair was too young, short, and wore too many bladed weapons. The woman she was

looking for wore age like a crown, with status and arrogance.

The Gypsy, who could claim no true lineage to the Romanians of old, was a tower with

iron gray hair and flowing colorful rags assembled to resemble a layered dress. She had several

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strips of fabric tying up her hair from her face while letting the rest of it fall in waves, some of

which draped over her shoulders to her waist. Her eyes were white, like an android, but shot

around the room before they rested on Veruca.

“You shine with hope and awe and not enough caution, Child,” the woman’s gravelly

voice was suspicious and accusing. “What do you want?”

“Are you a real seer?”

“Are you really Veruca de Longrave?” The old woman mocked taking aim at the white

ball before she forced its collision into one of the striped balls; old world technology at its

noisiest.

Veruca pouted. She hadn’t been answered, but she could use her identity as leverage. “I

can’t have our transaction tracked. I can owe you a favor.”

“Favor from a spoiled Senator’s brat? You’re nothing more than a trade good.”

The old woman leaned forward to take her shot.

Veruca could feel the approach of others. Pulling two of the spines from her

rounded body, she thwacked them on the pool table with a horrendous crack. The seals between

the chemicals within the rays broke. The chemicals activated and hardened into thin spines. She

twirled them between her fingers as she turned to face the on-comers. She she was in a corner

deep in the room away from the exits, save a window she couldn’t escape through above the old

woman’s head.

“Those might be payment enough,” the old woman chuckled. She lifted her chin

at the approaching guards. “Nice move for a prop.”

“I want to take charge of my future.” Veruca declared lowering her arms, handing

over one of the two spines. “My father has ambitious schemes, plans for my life. I want to

explore other options, other destinies.”

“Be a pretty bird, lead a pretty life,” the old woman set aside the spine. She took

up the long stick and leaned over the table to poke the balls to the other side of the table. She

seemed to follow the cue moving to the side of the table far from Veruca.

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“No,” Veruca tapped the tips of her spine, releasing a neutralizing chemical and

watched it dissolve into dust. “I am more than that.” Veruca saw the old woman glance at the ray

projecting up alongside her head. It should’ve been the one she’d had grabbed, Veruca thought.

“I doubt that.” The thump of a ball sunk into a pocket punctuated the statement

closer to the glowing girl.

Veruca moved around the table stalking the old woman. “Prove it,” she said and

stepped between The Gypsy and her game.

“You best move your impertinent self,” The Gypsy scowled and leaned

aggressively into Veruca’s space, displacing some of those spines, bending them out of the way.

She idly flicked one of the rays. It bounced.

“This could take all night,” Veruca whined scooting sideways. “I just want to get

some options I can’t see to consider. Everything is planned for me, more than I’m allowed to

know.” She took a deep breath and confessed, “I want something I create, something mine.”

“Fortune telling is illegal for matters of legal, livelihood, or some such nonsense

as is counseling without license and training.” The statement sounded like a guideline, something

that blanketed the interpretation of entertainment endeavors.

The woman stared through those milky eyes into Veruca’s tinted orange ones. “What’s

the real color of your eyes?”

“Brown.”

“Doesn’t work with that outfit, does it?”

Veruca met the snarky grin with one of her own before raising her brow. “The

reading, if you have the skill.”

“I have a special room prepared. It maximizes the use of my skills.”

Veruca grunted.

“It helps when I’m surrounded by natural materials. But for what you ask, distractions

could distort my visions.” The Gypsy explained leading Veruca further into the room.

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“Unfortunately, we’ll have to go through a business before accessing my workspace.” She

handed her spine to the man guarding the back door of the room full of pool tables.

Veruca’s suspicions increased. The woman was being moderately conciliatory.

The door opened to a stairwell that led in a squared spiral up and down. She could see a

door on the next landing below. A small window flashed with lights. But she heard nothing until

it was opened.

Veruca’s senses reeled when The Gypsy cracked the seal to the door open. They were

bombarded with pounding rhythms of blaring music. Crossing that threshold was walking into a

new world, cultivated to mock civilization throughout the known and colonized universe. Music

so unlike the stuff piped on the official media channels pervasive to the galactic culture filled the

room with pulsing life. The tall, warehouse walls were papered with poster slogans of every

conceivable era touting “freedom” ideologies that re-emerged in waves throughout time. People

crowded the room, with their own forms of rebellious dress. In addition to Masque costumes and

body tinting, many sported facial augmentations that would confound ident-scanners. She caught

a glimpse of a swirling inferno of a volcano god with flame like hair and rocks along his more

protruding body parts like his chin and shoulders. A woman was an abstract tree nymph with real

plants growing out of her back and her skin tinted like bark. Another guy, who could’ve been

blue or green, with a chin implant extending it out but long enough to tap his chest if he tried to

look down. She wished for a little height to get a sense of the crowd by hovering just above it.

With a sigh, Veruca tried to turn on her shoes. She felt the lift off and smiled in relief.

Seeing the effect of her shoes on things surrounding her, she clicked them together again to set

them on the lowest settings. She would’ve cried a little at returning pressure onto her feet, but

that would have interfered with preening under the admiring glances of the establishment’s

patrons. Her costume really shined under the myriad of lights blazing about the room. She

admired her reflection, the effect of her costume under the lights in the mirrored sign behind the

bar. She had to remember this amazing place; The Magic Carpet.

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The Gypsy used a common hand gesture to suggest that Veruca get her own party started.

Drinks sloshed in glasses all around her. Vulgarity and abandoned sensuality reflected the tone

and subject of the music with bodies moving too close, smooshing in a manner the mainstream

media, which had been her only access to popular entertainment, had only implied. It was a great

deal more than her heart or head was ready to consider. She refused and followed The Gypsy

through another door to another trial.

The Gypsy’s chamber looked like a throne room. Doors were hidden in the walls of pale

beige wood panels. She made her way toward the large chair on a raised dais and pointed Veruca

at a large cushion in the middle of the room. The ceiling reached as high as the ceiling of the

dance club’s, much higher than would seem practical, when this room was so small.

Veruca stared up as she crossed the room to the large lumpy cushion. She became

increasingly dizzy and fell face first into the seat. A scent puffed into the air when it moved

under her weight. She started kneeding the fabric into a comfortable seat in which to recline.

With the weight of her feet, she realized that she was in another electricity free zone and she was

stuck on a stinking pillow. She’d need thorough and multiple showers upon returning home.

“You, petty, ungrateful child,” the seer demanded anger. Her powerful voice rang

through the walls. “You will pay attention to me.”

This declaration and the fact that she’d finished what she’d been doing, Veruca collapse

back into a reclining position. She blinked innocently, the one that made her brother concerned

and suspicious.

It was no different with this commanding woman. “Focus,” she instructioned, “Focus on

the absurd notion that you are more than what you are.”

Defiance flickered to life more fully and more completely than Veruca had felt

before. But she obeyed like she’d obeyed her father and then, later her brother over the years.

She thought of hints like her brother’s taunts that she needed to be stronger to accept her

responsibilities. Her father’s jibe at her value as a commodity his cronies appreciated. She

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focused on the papers she’d blotted with her blood, paper of ownership, inventory, and fiscal

statements to the governments. She had a destiny, but she wanted to define it.

The woman twitched and wrenched like her side had been hit, then her face.

Blood trickled from her lip and the old face showed the fear. Veruca had learned to hide that

same fear every time she had to meet with her brother for training or when she met her father,

hiding what her brother taught her. She slammed her head back into her chair reflecting the life

Veruca lived, more than a trade good, but not much more. The feminine yet booming and coarse

voice echoed around the room speaking in the language common to the Vagrants throughout the

galaxies. Veruca touched her jaw, activating her translator.

“searching… searching…” and then, the voice changed mimicking The Gypsy,

“… called Lily not for the Valley but for those that thrive, slowing rivers into deep waters. The

flower that can strangle progress or be the reason life itself thrives. By holding your ground and

spreading the seeds of life you could be a willing sacrifice or be sacrificed. Here on forth, you

are the Water Lily.”

“That’s bullsh-!” Veruca meant to exclaim. She recognized the significance of

using the Vagrant language but it had taken her a moment to accept it. Before she could snatch at

a ray a sharp pain blossomed in her neck. Darkness closed around her, lethargy drenched her

limbs. Yet she could still hear the Gypsy’s consciousness return.

The matriarch’s ragged breath filled the resounding silence. “Spoiled brat, my

hat,” she hacked out.

A door opened and shut according to Veruca’s struggling consciousness. And a few pairs

of feet padded toward her.

“Take her costume,” commanded the Queen of the Vagabonds. Breath on Veruca’s face

told her that the woman was within an inch of her face and said, “Payment for your psychic

reading, My Dear Girl. Ritual namings cost extra.” The sound of her sucking on their lip ended

any more conversation.

A person yanked on the clothes on her body efficiently removing her costume

completely. Her crown, her shoes, and her costume but not the body glove inherent to all

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earthdwellers. She was thanking the stars that she hadn’t forgone habit for rebellion especially

when a hand putting too much pressure on her skin slid from her throat down. A tear was

streaming into her hairline when the hand left abruptly. An “oof!” with the sound of a body

colliding with the wall and then dragged from the room were the last sequence of sounds she

heard made by her abductors.

She had been named. She had been robbed. Now, she had been saved. She couldn’t take

it anymore. She was out.

Veruca felt the dirt, sticking to the backs of her arms and calves. Her head felt heavy but

cushioned by grass. It was Earth, the singular planet to declare itself a preserve in attempts to

regain the natural beauty of wildly developing land except in the cities. While the cities were

designed to host animal and plant life indigenous to each region leaving little room for humans

and their waste, the spaces were still heavily cultivated, constructed. She could be anywhere in

the city but she was certain she was in it. She moved. Her wonderful costume and horrendous

shoes were gone. Moisture trickling down her jaw told her that they’d removed her translating

device as well as location implant and her communication devices in her wrist. The instant

sealant used to bandage such wounds had taken too long to seal. There was still a trickle of

moisture-thinned blood trailing down, away from the sites. They’d used a specific speed healing

medicine in the areas, as indicated by the symptom “moisture-thinned blood.”

“Considerate felons,” she muttered under her breath as she stared at the sky for a

moment.

A soft thump landed in the dirt close to her face. It was a wooden stick. Veruca shifted

her gaze to see feet strapped to small, feet-sized slabs of wood just past a staff. They were

attached to a green skinned, squatting man who just happened to wear a short, white material

wrapped around his hips. She closed her eyes thanking the gods that she couldn’t see up his skirt.

He took a knee and asked, “Are you alright?”

Veruca pushed stray hairs back from her face. Her hair hadn’t taken to the tinting and

came out looking like limp strands of blood, nothing like a sun-ray. And it lay either glued to her

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scalp or somehow poking her in the eyes. “Yes,” she said heaving a troubled sigh. She pushed

herself to a sitting position noting that this stranger had his hands nearby to catch her. The

sedative had worn off. “No side-effects,” she announced breathing a sigh of relief. The use of

such a high end product was a message in itself. “What time is it?”

“Well, if we sit here much longer, we’re going to miss the fireworks and the acrobats.”

She stared at his face. Though he smiled, his eyes looked worried inspecting the shallow

cut on her jaw and wrist. He had thin lips but a broad grin even if it was strained. He had a chin-

hair insert that reached his chest. His complexion was tinted green like an ailing plant. His eyes

were smallish and dark. Shadowed like they were, she couldn’t guess at their color. A few locks

of hair dangled into his face, forcing him to flick a hand to get them out of his eyes. He had a

headpiece that looked like a pharaoh’s crown with a little bulb on top and an ostrich feather on

either side. The wooden stick he leaned upon was a crook, like Mary had in Mary Had A Little

Lamb.

Veruca recalled the 3-D city hologram that had shown the times and locations of specific

events, “It was a short acting poison, then.”

He held out a hand, “I guess it was.” He helped her stand. “You’re wearing just your

bodysuit.” He informed her revealing that he was foreign to Earth. Earthdwellers called them

bodygloves to differentiate them from the awkward and invasive bodysuits pilots wore. His

discomfort at seeing her day-ware further sealed the assumption regarding his off-worldly

origins. While bodygloves, the form-fitted preferred clothing of earth citizens unlike the bulky

suit she’d worn for the contest, they were considered extremely inappropriate anywhere else in

the galaxy hence the Masque, where no one was restricted to their indigenous cultural material

hang ups.

“Completely robbed,” Veruca explained. She wasn’t going to cry. She was going to deal

with this like an adult, “I’ve got to contact the authorities and the person that designed my

costume. Thank you for your help.”

“How old are you?” The man asked scanning the area around them.

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“I’ve fifteen cycles,” she answered, repositioning her abused feet more comfortably in the

grass. She copied his behavior. She had been dumped in a park, behind some shrubbery, in a

circle of trees. An ornate bench stood not too far away. She sneered at having been laid upon the

ground with the bugs.

“You’re too young to be out here alone. I’ll go with you to find a security office. I’m

betting you’re some officials,” he swallowed his next word and substituted, “offspring.”

“There’ll be no reward. No one knows I’m out.” She answered cutting off that line of

thought, now, that she thought through the consequences of reporting her robbery.

“And why is that? What were you doing?” He clasped a hand on her upper arm, more to

guide her as they walked through the tree line. With every tap of his crook to the ground, Veruca

felt an electric zing graze her feet.

“I don’t have to tell you,” she tried to pull her arm away. Seeing how difficult it was to

focus through the trees to see their interior, she asked, “How’d you find me?”

“I’m asking so you can get your story straight. Security asks these kinds of questions.

Like why you were out, why you didn’t tell your guardians, who you were meeting,” he hedged.

Veruca stopped. She was robbed by The Gypsy, a vagrant and not an entertainer.

Vagabonds were known to travel the universe. Along the way, they broke laws like fortune

telling, conning people out of their money, smuggling, theft, and murder.

“Who did you go see?”

“No one,” Veruca affected the pout that worked on her brother.

He asked again, more insistently.

“None of your business,” she snapped, trying out her angry pout.

He stopped and yanked on her arm. “We’re not finding anyone until you answer me.

Who did you go see?”

She thought about tossing him on his ass.

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Her must have given her away because he moved his fingers and tapped that staff down

hard into the grass. It more than zinged her feet.

“The Gypsy,” she groused.

“How in the wor-?” He asked in shock. Then, he moved her around. He stared at her legs,

her shoulders, and then he lifted her about a foot off of the ground by her upper arms. He held

her close enough to inspect her face, under her chin and jawline.

“The only people who knew she was around were security personnel. I was there when

someone reported it, loudly.”

He put her down, still holding her and staring, “You were that spiny thing I saw floating

through the Magic Carpet.” He squinted at her thoughtfully for the moment, “What the hell was

that?”

Then his voice had a startling amount of volume when he exclaimed, “You were in the

Magic Carpet Club!” He was still holding her, so he shook her once. “By the Stars! You cannot

go to Security. The Gypsy, kidnapping, theft, and that concoction could have been lethal. You

could be dead right now, doing something so stupid.”

Veruca opened her mouth. He looked outraged and worried. It was weird to see it and

know it was about her. She couldn’t respond staring at him with more curiosity. A slight trill

tickled its way up her spine. Green but with sharply apparent bones in his cheeks, jaw line, high

on his chest and wrists where the gauntlets type things ended. She couldn’t see the muscles move

beneath the accessories but he wore no shirt or pants or a body glove to insinuate the developed

belly and chest. She straightened a finger out to poke the flesh of his pectoral muscle to find it

hard.

He jarred her when he suddenly set her down and let go, “You went alone looking for a

reading, didn’t you? Into her den. How did you find her?” He dodged another curious finger

aimed at his abdomen. He wasn’t done ranting, though, “No side-effects? That was a kindness.

You’re lucky you were only robbed!”

She shivered in response to that statement. She had been lucky.

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He stepped back. He tilted her face so he could see the small incision on her jaw. His

glowering face halted as he lifted his arm. The leather cuff’s outer surface unsnapped with the

rhythmic press of his fingers along the decorative seam. Tapping on some buttons he turned on a

gadget and used it to scan her for other violations. He pulled her along with him by her arm. His

relief was palpable. He used a quiet, gentle voice to ask, “Again, how did you find out about The

Gypsy?” He proceeded to lead her through the park.

“It was the security agent that yelled she was in town. He knew where she was.” She

relaxed herself and asked calmly, “What are you doing when you do that thing with your crook?”

The scan evidently revealed what she already knew. It was a simple robbery, nothing more. She

glanced sideways to see a familiar sight, the gauze covered butt. He had been there, too. He’d

heard the cadet make The Gypsy’s announcement.

“This?” he tapped the ground with his staff so she could feel the faint buzz of electricity

beneath her feet. “It releases a charge to keep the bugs away. No biting means no disease.”

Veruca rolled her eyes. He was amusing. It was Barcelona, a major metropolitan city on

earth where everything was carefully cultivated including the bacteria and bugs that perpetuated

the plant life specific to regional habitats. He was disrupting life out of irrelevant paranoia. She

sighed and leaned a little more into him.

“What is it that you wanted to know?” he mused dropping her arm. “What kind of pet to

get? A present for Daddy? How to get an increase in your allowance?” He glanced at Veruca’s

face growing uglier with anger. “I know. Who you were going to marry?” What had started out

curious, ended mocking.

Tired of the open condescension, she pulled herself free. “You don’t deserve to know.”

She sneered and kicked at his head. Had it connected, it would’ve been powerful enough

to knock him out. But she hadn’t connected. He had caught her ankle and held it higher than she

could comfortably maintain. The position clarified the fact that she wouldn’t have been able to

hit his head, because she would’ve needed to jump to do so. For that maneuver she would’ve

needed distance. She should’ve gone for his knee.

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“Nice move. Now, what are you going to do?” He stumbled when she tried to pull her

foot free, but he didn’t let go or lift it higher. And he hadn’t fallen.

She jumped and used her free foot to kick out while the restrained foot pulled him

forward. They both landed on the ground, knocking the wind out of her. He, who had received a

foot in the gut and had the wind kicked out of him, recovered more quickly. He pinned her to the

ground his ankles on her legs and thumbs on the pressure points in her shoulders.

“I was Apollo! You,.. Ass!” She tried to shove him off. “Get off me!” She barely kept

herself from screaming at him. She wiggled to struggle for only a moment before she started to

cry. The sun was setting. People cheered on daring performances nearby. And they were close

enough to some food. And this adventure had gone so wrong.

“Admit you were a stupid, little girl going into a Vagrant hive.” He moved to the side

using and arm and a leg to keep her down. He spotted his crook and grabbed it, tapping it to

release that charge again. She had just stopped moving giving him limited freedom to act.

Tears streamed down her face, nothing loud and blubbery. Her fingers dug into the grass

beside her. “Yes, it was stupid.” She took a few breaths then turned her head to meet his eyes.

She hissed, “But I am never stupid.”

He carefully controlled his reaction to her crazy mood swings. He set down his staff next

to her body. “Well, since you’re so smart. You’ll swallow the cost of tonight and pretend it never

happened.” He produced a small fabric from a compartment in his prop and wiped her face clean.

Then, he gently wrapped it around her wrist.

She lay silent for a while. She went to see a known Vagabond. Vagabonds were generally

accepted to be criminals. And the theft of her costume, some of the technology of which

bordered on illegal itself, confirmed that. And she was within the city limits with the potential

contraband. No, it wouldn’t be smart to make the report.

He waited.

To onlookers, they looked like a couple snuggling while gazing at the sky wasting time

before the fireworks started. They lay hidden from the city proper stretched out as they were

behind some shrubbery. They stayed that way until their heartbeats and breathing had calmed.

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She nodded when she was ready to speak, “I have to call Micah to make certain he filed

the patents on the costume’s tech.”

His smile became crooked as he tried to suppress it. He avoided looking at her as he got

up. His smiled broadened when she made a narrow-eyed, suspicious face in response to his

poorly suppressed mirth. Holding out a hand to Veruca, “Well, we’ll grab a bite and then go do

that.”

Clinging to his large, warm hand, Veruca glanced up to see that he hadn’t stopped

grinning. “Who are you anyway?” She could’ve danced with the smile growing within her chest.

“Osiris,” he answered steering her toward a cart selling some kind of meat on a stick.

After paying for that with a dermal-surface chip, he then marched them toward a media center.

The communication facility dedicated to serving the public preserving privacy and anonymity

also had restrooms and other services.

“Seriously,” she insisted before entering the communications hub. “What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?”

“Veruca De Longrave,” she answered automatically.

“You still haven’t learned,” he sighed shaking his head a little. “Look, Little Girl, identity

is big business, kidnapping is too, if it’s done right. Give a false n-,” he interrupted himself,

“Aaahhh, You go call your friend. I’ll get you a new costume to get home in.”

*************

“Everything alright?” Osiris asked as Veruca turned away from the worst communication

device she could have chosen to access. Memorized identity numbers could get her an audio only

calling device. It had been limited for not-enough minutes.

“Micah had filed for everything before he even made my costume. And I’ve an

appointment to get an ident device installed in my hand.” She lifted the hand to look inside the

cloth wrapped around her wrist. “I’ll talk to my brother to check on my data, make sure it stays

secure and unused. My accounts are frozen. I can only get access from his permission anyway.”

She looked around, seeing the park through the window.

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“You were taking us here to begin with, weren’t you?” It was a place for anonymity,

drop-offs, communication, transactions, and health care.

He grunted keeping his arms behind his back. “You being you, you’ll end up just losing

your hand. Invest in an external, easy to replace, remove and to limit your access to your

presence.”

She ground her teeth at hearing the “you being you” comment. “I don’t normally do stuff

like this.”

“Go out on the town, track down career criminals, get mugged and trust the first person

who comes along to help you out?” He crossed his arms, looking down on her with a smug

expression.

She now understood his recent smiles he wore. He was amused. It lay beneath that smug

expression daring her to redefine his assessment of her day’s events. She shrugged. “Let’s just

get me home reducing any chance anyone could catch wind of this.” She glanced pointedly at the

material hanging from his fisted hands tucked under his arms.

He scrunched up his face and brought his finds forward, “left overs,” he said. He held up

a long, dark green, soft, fuzzy wrap, a wide belt with rows of different colored stones and a

feathery headdress, or crown, with a flower in the center. Another piece of gold fabric to drape

over the tunic’s front and back with a similar flower embroidered on it. There were bracers that

went with the headdress by the look of the feathers and leather ties in his fingers. He handed her

the wide belt last, considering it had an imitation sword in it. “Queen of the Mississippi Wetland

Forest!” He announced.

“Tell me those aren’t waterlilies,” she said looping the belt onto her shoulder to free up a

hand. She pulled on the gold fabric to examine it. A waterlily with lilypads lay like leopard

pattern across the front. The bracers had a similar pattern.

“It’s what you got. I wasn’t getting you something that you’d trip on. They come from

two separate costumes.”

She made a face at him. Then, she smiled, “Thank you. I owe you.” She held his gaze

wondering if he could see the sadness, disappointment, gratitude, and humility in it.

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Fireworks flashed in the sky outside. The large windows lightened becoming more

transparent as the center’s lights dimmed. Flashes of colors filled the room in a rhythm to the

anthem for the Gathered Galactic Body.

She stared at this man, who was helping her, telling her she should be suspicious,

defensive, and secretive when meeting anyone. She could’ve been accosted by in the park. Here

was a stranger trying to take care of her. He was tall, much taller than she realized. His hair was

black, cut evenly and held back from his brow. The ends would fall forward brushing his jaw

when he’d tilted his head down to look at her when they spoke.

“Aaah, I think we should get going.” Osiris stepped back and motioned toward a

changing room in the back, “You don’t want to miss all of the festivities.”

The wrap, when crossed and tied, revealed slits down the legs, easing movement. The

hem reached her knees. She decided to use the Tunic to hide the belt and her bracers as she’d

keep her hands beneath it. The headdress was a decorated helmet. It was a feathery, flowery,

warrior costume.

When she came back out to the media room, she was ready to twirl her newly created

goddess ensemble for him. It wouldn’t win any contests, but it made her smile. He would be a

good resource in how to gain her freedom, she’d bet. He knew Vagrants and the Vagabond

culture of living outside of society. She bet he also knew more about the governments means

means in tracking individual activity. Found only when intended held a certain amount of appeal.

He’d help her keep herself safe.

But he was gone. His crook left against the wall, with his gauntlets, and the rest of his

costume. He’d changed, too. There were no green men in sight, not even when she ran outside

into the center of the intersection to gaze down different streets.

“Ewwww, there’s hair in there!” exclaimed some child’s voice from the entrance of the

communication hub/ media center. It sounded as though he’d been repeating himself gaining

volumn with every elocution

She returned to the crook. A small sign dangled in the curved part of the staff,

“For the Waterlily Princess.” She looked at her tunic and wrinkled her nose, but then just

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stared at it. She got something out of her adventure, a crook, someplace to start rebuilding

herself, and a name. While she let the world see the excessive, vacuous Veruca de

Longrave, she’ll plan her new life as The Lily. She couldn’t use The Waterlily; it was just

too much. She would define her purpose, gain her freedom, and live as a sacrifice for no

one.

Northwest Quadrant of Planet Agro-012, Hypolita Galaxy, Lily’s Valley Manor,

Southern Tower, Lily’s Valley Plantation Castle

Eschie’s laughter echoed off the walls of the small room. “Your empire, your

performance name,” she motioned to the surrounded regalia, “your reputation, the name of this

plantation is all named from a con-job?” She wailed, collapsing on the floor, behind the pool

table.

“It’s not that funny.” Lily, Duchess of Lily’s Valley, formerly known as Veruca De

Longrave said. She fought the amusement filling her face as she bent to take another shot at the

game. It had been a turning point. “Osiris had been hired by my brother,” she added sobering up

Eschie’s hysterics, “because he’d known I wanted to go out exploring by myself. He had lost me

when I entered The Noble Tavern. The cadet had been a plant working with Micah to sell his

hardware to the Vagabonds. I’d been The Mark the whole time. So, yes, that had been a major

turning point in my life that led to,” She motioned to everything around her, “all this.” She

missed her shot and sat on a stool facing Eschie.

“I told you the story, Eschie, because this room is very important to me. I didn’t get here

because of my place in society, my education, or my connections. I earned it. I proved to myself

that I deserve a home, that I deserved people like you and Osiris whom you know of as Wade.

People I can trust. And I like knowing that I eventually beat that old woman at a game of pool.

So, no, there is no government who will take this away from me, make me hide it, or prevent me

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from sharing it. My life is worth remembering and it all started with being Named during that

Masque.”

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