So here I sit, typing into a datapad while three floating flatulent fish with armament harnesses strapped around them point lasers at my head. Just when I thought things were getting back to normal.
Okay, I’m exaggerating. Only two of the three have lasers. The third is basically unresponsive, bobbing a bit with the breeze as it stares into space.
After standing around doing nothing for almost an hour, I asked if I could write. They didn’t seem to have a problem with it. I was bored, I was nervous (for obvious reasons), and I was starting to think it would be a good idea if I kept a journal. Because it doesn’t seem like we can rely on your perfect memory in this situation. Especially since you’re lying there with your eyes open, just as unresponsive as the Floatfish.
About an hour and a half ago, when I returned to our stateroom, Ailann was gone, and Whirljack was there. A few seconds later, three heavily-armed guppies swam into the room, somehow managing to elude security, and Whirljack collapsed without them laying a fin on him.
I wonder if they’re reading what I’m writing? I’m just killing time. Maybe I could play a game instead. Cards? I’ve got an ace in the drawer, and blackjack around here somewhere.
In the meantime, I’ll pick up where I left off in those letters – the meeting about our strategy against CenGov. I expected Cillian, but Constantine showed up.
Constantine. That would be husband number thirty-two. Surprise!
Constantine was there because he wanted revenge. That means on some level, you want revenge, Ash. That’s a little scary. A being as powerful as you wants revenge.
When I think about it, though, it’s hardly the first time. There was a bit of revenge in what happened with my uncle. But then there are the times you did not take revenge. Tenzain Merkht, for example. Maybe it’s because the situation wasn’t his fault. He didn’t want the marriage any more than I did. Is that why you’ve never done anything more than intimidate him? You haven’t hurt Clive either, no matter how much you loathe him.
It’s not that I blame Constantine – I mean, if someone did those things to my brother – hell, I wanted revenge on General Panic, too. But I respected Ross’ wishes. He wanted her tried and convicted. He wanted justice. The best I could do was burn her body when it was done.
But Constantine is part Cillian, though. He has no problem reconciling justice and violence. I wonder if he inherited Cillian’s ability to kill? I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.
*****
After the meeting, we returned to our bedroom. And it was…awkward. It wasn’t like Manasseh, where seducing him became a game. Constantine watched me, but did nothing. Not so much like Cillian, then. Cillian would’ve thrown me back onto the bed. Ross would’ve used words to charm me. But Constantine watched and waited.
It’s not like he was unattractive. Of course he was attractive. You don’t make junk, Ash. I could see Ross in him, but he was more roughly carved, with larger lips. Sensuous lips. His hair was careless, more cut than styled, unlike the fashion-conscious Ross. But he hadn’t gone as far as Cillian, to shave it into a buzz-cut. He looked intelligent, but adventurous. He would have been a nice stranger to have sex with.
Sex with a stranger is fun, when you want excitement. But I’d had enough excitement for a long time. I wanted something different. Comfort? I felt – I felt lonely, Ash. I didn’t know him. Which is ridiculous, considering how long I’ve known you. I suppose there are times in every relationship when one partner does something unexpected, and the other questions, “Do I know this person?” But with you, it’s just so, so, obvious, I suppose.
Constantine raised his arms and dissolved into blue light. In an instant, Cillian was there.
I rushed across the room and buried myself against his chest. He’s so strong, so solid. “Hey baby,” he said. He rested his hand against my cheek, linking his fingers through my curls. The gesture was almost tender, and Cillian is not a tender man. I looked up into his eyes. His expression was concerned. Cillian may act like a macho idiot, but he’s not. Anyone who gets to know him realizes that he’s smarter and more sensitive than he likes to let on. It’s not quite like Mickey plays dumb sometimes. With Mickey it is really an act. He does it for expediency, and he has fun with it. With Cillian, it’s a defense mechanism. He doesn’t want anyone to think he’s weak.
“I’m glad you’re back,” I said. “I hope I didn’t hurt Constantine’s feelings. It’s just…”
“First, he’s not the jealous type. Second, he knows there’s a waiting line. Third, we all know,” Cillian paused, looking away from me, glancing briefly out the window, evaluating every potential threat within a range of ten kilometers. “We know you’ve been stretched a little thin.”
“That’s a way to put it.”
I kissed him. In a second, his tongue was down my throat, and there was nothing tender about that. Then he tossed me back onto the bed.
Cillian likes it rough, which is nice sometimes, especially at times like these, when the raw physicality of the act helps to convince me that the last twenty years haven’t been an hallucinatory dream. I like that he likes me to leave scratches on his back. His buttocks are rock solid, which is the sexiest thing ever.
“I got something to prove, baby,” he said.
“You have something to prove? Now that’s a new one.”
“I’ve heard that Ari’s deployed a weapon that’s bigger than mine. I’m gonna make it known that I’m not losing the fucking arms race.”
I had to laugh. “Bigger isn’t necessarily better – but you were the one who always thought that.”
When we were through, I lay in his arms, thinking that this closeness was the best part. I must be getting older, even if I don’t look it. Even if my body stays young, the soul ages. What will I be like in fourteen hundred years?
“Love you, baby,” he said. His eyes are tender, even if he isn’t. I know that even if I can’t hope to fully understand you, I can trust this much, at least.
*****
I wonder if the Floatfish are still reading? Maybe not. They look bored. Apparently, unlike 99.99% of the galaxy, the bedroom antics of the Matriarch are not of interest. Let alone the bedroom antics of God. Is that some kind of heresy? I suppose it depends on your religion. I don’t even know if Archonism has a position on it. Will people who write fanfiction about the Archon go to hell? I’m the mother of the church – I suppose I’d better know. I’ll have to ask Archbishop Venesti.
I think of Malachi’s words: Any god which requires you to take it seriously isn’t really worthy of worship.
I think I finally get it. All the great creator gods are trickster gods. Between your alchemical talent, and the raw power you can pull in from the nul-universe, you could reduce your opponents to biological waste. But you never do. You always win through a trick.
The problem with Earthers is that they do take everything seriously.
Of course they do. A machine has no sense of humor. That’s why they’re so easy to trick.
Where did you get that, Ash? Where does a tree get a sense of humor?
Whirljack still hasn’t moved, and it’s been over two hours. I’m waiting for the punch line.