Niya
Great.
Chlo’s railroaded me into leaving Engra, even though my intention was to have just Aeryen leave. Not me. Never me.
I’ve just spent the last day having sex with Joston Lynar, the most irresponsible male in the Seven Galaxies.
And I’m probably pregnant, since I can’t help but think that that was a prophetic dream.
Now I can’t stay on Engra, even if I want to. Because it was one thing to have Aeryen suddenly appear—I was able to explain that away to anyone who wanted to know. But I wouldn’t be able to explain away an obvious pregnancy.
We get to the entrance of what must be the theater. It looks like the entire crew is here, and everyone is in high spirits. At first I think it’s because of the vid—I mean, Joston Parst is probably the best vid I’ve ever seen, and it just gets better every time I see it again, and Chlo has told me that it’s the crew’s favorite—but then I see what everyone’s so hepped up about: Aeryen.
This is a cargo ship full of adults. A kid is an anomaly. A scarcity. Almost a sideshow. No one can get enough of him. There’s a huge, hairy guy asking him questions while a tall, bald female vies for the platform.
Behind me, Nik and Joston are talking.
“I’ll meet you in an hour,” Joston says into my ear. “You didn’t really expect me to watch even a flicker of Parst, did you?”
“I don’t expect anything from you,” I say, because I don’t.
Nor do I want anything from him. Or need anything. Despite what I said last night.
That was last night. This is now. Reality. And everything I’m doing is for Aeryen. Not for me.
I’m still not sure I’m going to return to the Marinax. But I’ll know when I’m back on Engra. I’ll decide then.
And I won’t have to worry about Aeryen. He’s already made so many friends, and I know that Chlo will take good care of him.
Wilm. The name keeps rising into my thoughts.
That wasn’t a prophetic dream. It can’t have been. For one thing, I’m on the Marinax, not on Engra. I think you have to be on the ground in your home world in order to have a prophetic dream. At least that’s what I’ve heard. I’ve never had a prophetic dream before.
For another thing, I can’t possibly be fertile. I’m not sure I ever have been. And, also, Joston is Chorynean. Maybe it’s impossible. Perhaps that’s why he was so irresponsible. Because it’s moot. Doesn’t matter.
Couldn’t happen. Didn’t happen.
I go into the theater and take a seat next to Aymee.
“Where’s Chlo?” I say.
“She said she’d be a little late,” Aymee says. “I don’t know how any of you like this despicable vid.”
“Joston doesn’t want to see it at all,” I say.
“I don’t blame him,” Aymee says. “I saw Nik with a bottle of Sircean brandy. I think he and Joston are going to have a couple of shots before, you know.”
“You’re not going to come, really, are you?” I say.
“Depends on how I feel,” Aymee says. “Right now, I’m determined to do it. It sounds exciting.”
“Mom!” Aeryen says as he runs up to our seats. He’s smiling. His anger at me forgotten.
“These are my new friends,” Aeryen says. “This is Lieutenant Hyll Draybirge”—he points to the huge, hairy guy—“and this is Elna. She’s in charge of all the shipments!”
I shake both their hands and watch as they glare at each other. Pure hatred. I wonder how they can stand being cooped up on the same ship together all the time, but I don’t have an opportunity to ponder this, since the vid is about to start.
“Aymee, nice to see you here tonight,” says a commanding-looking, tall, dark-skinned male with the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen. I stand up.
“Niya, this is Captain Zavl’yn,” Aymee says.
“Niya,” says the captain. “We’re privileged to have you here. And especially your fine son.”
“Zav’s my new friend too,” Aeryen says.
“Too right,” the captain says, grinning.
“Aeryen,” I say. “Captain Zavl’yn is the right way to address the ship’s captain.”
“No formalities between old pals. Right, Aeryen?” the captain says.
“Right!” Aeryen says.
I think in two months Aeryen will have taken over the entire ship. Maybe that part of my dream is prophetic, although metaphorical—the part where Aeryen can fly all by himself.
The lights blink, everyone grabs a seat, and as the lights go out, a respectful silence descends. Then the huge blank wall at the front of the theater lights up with the familiar, fiery logo of The Treachery of Joston Parst and the room erupts in applause, hoots, and cheers.
Aymee, to my left, squirms in her seat and sighs, then leans over and whispers to me, “I don’t know why anyone likes this junk.”
“Because it’s great,” I say, not whispering, because everyone else in this room agrees with me. And because no one else can hear me over the cheering.
Aeryen, to my right, bounces in his seat and joins in with the hooting and applause. This is definitely his favorite vid, and a flash of worry zips through my head. Something I’ve never considered. Does Aeryen like Joston Parst because he’s siding with the villain? And is that why he likes Joston Lynar?
The fabulous Parst theme song, turned up to an earsplitting volume, crashes into the room, everyone cheers louder, Aeryen stands up and yells his appreciation, and Aymee sinks into her seat, covering her eyes.
“I hate this part,” she says to me, even though I’m sure she hates the entire vid, so it was hardly necessary to distinguish this part.
I hate Joston Lynar, I think as the vid starts.
“Don’t kid yourself,” Aymee says, leaning right next to me and whispering in my ear.
What is she talking about? I turn around to look at her.
“You don’t hate him,” Aymee says, still whispering. “You love him.”
“What?”
“Shhhh!” says Aeryen, and his new friends, sitting to his right, nod in agreement.