Gorgobaryx, the Exile.

Once, he had been one of the great dragonlords of Aranthara, but was forced out by his own people after the failure of the Second Draconic War. Supposedly, he still bore the scars that Paragon had left on him. All Jacob had heard was that he was living in seclusion on some backwater world somewhere, and that he wasn’t fond of visitors.

“Not to poke a hole in your boat or anything, but that sounds like a shitty plan,” Jacob said. “You’re just going to kill yourself for nothing. I’m sure your father wouldn’t be too happy with that.”

“We are confident that Gorgobaryx will join our cause,” Anton said firmly.

“Good for you. I won’t.”

“Please reconsider.”

“No thanks. I’ve died enough times to know I’d rather not do it again.”

Anton brought up his System interface. “My father is ready to see you now. I’m sure he will explain the intricacies of the situation better than I could.”

Jacob looked at Thatch.

The director shrugged. “Hear them out at least. It would be rude not to.”

Jacob sighed. “Whatever. Fine. Take me to your father.”

Anton brought them back inside the main wing of the palace and up several sets of wide stairs, then down a hallway bordered by armed guards. He knocked on a heavy door at the end of it, and a voice called them in.

They entered a large study with walls and floor of dark, rich wood, and decorated everywhere with gold ornamentation. A fireplace burned merrily on the right side of the room, and near the back there sat a man behind a large desk of the same dark wood.

The man was prodigiously fat, his fur-lined velvet robes stretched near breaking on him, putting stark emphasis on all his many rolls. His face was half chin, with big, rosy cheeks and a soft forehead that folded in on itself. His blubber spilled over the edges of his double-wide chair, and his legs, which looked almost vestigial compared to his vast bulk, dangled off the floor. He wore a floppy hat atop his head, tilted fashionably to one side of his head.

“Ah! There he is,” he said, as though Jacob was the one who was late. “Welcome, friends, and to you in particular, Mr. Sorenson, since this is our first time meeting each other. I trust my son has filled you in on the task you will be performing for us.”

That I will perform, is it?

“Actually, I have some misgivings about it,” Jacob said. Thatch cleared his throat loudly, and he added: “My lord?”

Anton pulled out a pair of cushioned chairs for them, and they sat. The young noble himself went and laid down on his side in a large couch at the left-hand side of the room, head propped up in his hand.

“Misgivings? How come?” Alfonse asked. His frown folded his bulbous face in on itself so that his eyes were almost completely swallowed up. “Ah, did Anton quote you an insulting figure for compensation? I told him not to do that. He’s a good boy, but he’s not all that bright.”

“I’m right here, father,” Anton said, sighing dramatically.

“We hadn’t gotten to that part, yet,” Jacob explained. “It’s the premise itself I’m not on board with. The dragons aren’t exactly happy playmates at the best of times, and Gorgobaryx has more reason than most to gobble up any humans he comes across without thinking twice. Immortal or not, I don’t like the idea of digesting in a dragon’s stomach.”

“Ah, it’s only that?” Alfonse waved his concerns away with a stubby, ballooned-out hand. “The compensation we’re offering will sway him into cooperation. He has already responded favorably to a meeting from our preliminary communications.”

“What are you offering him that’s so good?”

“Ten billion flora in gold, and a minor urgek world of his choosing once the filth has been wiped away.”

That was certainly a kingly prize.

“He’s going to take it,” Alfonse continued. “My sources have told me that he is tired of living in shame and obscurity. With this, he has a chance to reignite his fame, if you’ll pardon my pun.”

“If it’s such a sure bet, why am I here?”

“You will attend the diplomatic proceedings to add an extra layer of prestige. It’s important to show the old lizard that we take him seriously. Which is why I’m sending not only my oldest son, but also a laureled hero of Earth.”

“Will Gorgobaryx even have heard about what happened there, or care?”

“My son will explain the significance to him.”

“And that’s it?”

“You will be responsible to escort my son there and back safely. There are more than dragons to worry about, you know. Pirates, for instance. Additionally, if negotiations go sour for any reason, you will of course keep my son safe.”

“Respectfully, my lord, I was only an A-Rank. I’m not exactly a dragonslayer.”

“Ah, modesty. You’re one of the Nine—your abilities are already legend, sir. But in any case, I’m not expecting any dragonslaying. Only that you buy time for a measured retreat, should it come to that.”

It was a risky prospect. He’d have to look into Gorgobaryx on his own to determine if he was at all likely to agree to any human schemes, or if the baron and his son were simply delusional. Maybe Grim would know—wherever he was.

“Ten million,” Jacob said off-handedly, as though he were billing them for lunch.

Alfonse chuckled, and a shrewd glint entered his sunken little pig eyes. “You certainly value yourself highly, Mr. Sorenson. I like that. One million.”

“Seven.”

“Three.”

“Five.”

“Three and a half.”

“Five.”

“Come on.”

“Five million flora, please and thank you. And I’ll take two million in advance. One million to retrofit my ship, and one million to excuse the fucking slum you threw my woman into.”

“He is spirited, this one,” Alfonse laughed with a look towards his son.

Anton tilted his head sideways to the effect of a shrug. “Earthers are like that, father. And he has much fuel for his rage at present, I should think.”

“Ah, of course. We are all devastated about what happened to the mother world.”

“Sure. Five million, then?”

“Very well,” Alfonse said with a dismissive wave, as though he really were paying for lunch.

“And you will employ my two companions, as well. They’re competent heroes. Five hundred thousand for each of them.”

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

“Done. In return, you will agree to a small thing for me.”

“What?”

“You will attend court each evening before your departure. What’s the point of having one of the Nine in my city if I can’t show him off?”

“All right.”

“Good. I will see you there tonight, then. My son will refer you to an excellent tailor, and an excellent dressmaker for your woman—I don’t believe I caught her name—should you wish to bring her. Of course, there are several ladies of good stock here who desire your favor, should you wish for a change of pace. You’re an important man now, Mr. Sorenson—you should furnish yourself with a woman according to that status.”

“I’m fine with the woman I’ve got, thank you.”

“Very well. I just wanted to make the offer clear.” The baron inhaled a snort of a breath through his small nose. “Shall we get on with making this official, then?”

“I’ll need some time to deliberate and consult my allies. I’ll get back to you in a day or two. As a show of good faith, I’ll attend whatever courtly things you have planned in the meantime.”

“Fine, fine. In that case, you will have to excuse me. I would like to speak with Mr. Thatch privately.”

Jacob wondered what secrets they would be cooking up together, but he figured he’d be able to wheedle that out of Thatch later without too much trouble.

Anton accompanied him out of the study. When they passed the courtyard on the way out, Jacob stopped.

“You mind if I pick some of these flowers?” he asked.

Anton grinned. “Certainly. I’m sure your woman will appreciate it. It’s impossible for most people to get flowers on Mars, I’m told.”

Jacob picked a healthy bouquet of pink, red, orange, blue, and white flowers, and Anton had an attendant fetch him some paper to wrap it all in.

She’d like it.

*****

Fenris waited on his haunches by the door when Jacob came into the apartment, as though he had heard him coming a ways off. Dodging the wolf’s attempts to yank at his pant legs, Jacob made his way into the living room, giving Becca the flower and pulling her in for a kiss.

“They're beautiful, Jacob, thank you,” she said, and went into the kitchen to put them in some water. “Where did you even get these?”

“The baron’s got loads.”

Tarim was there, too, taking up the whole couch. Jacob shoved him out of the way with a foot so he could take a seat for himself.

“Well well, we’ve got an important visitor, I see,” Jacob mused. “To what do we owe this pleasure, young man?”

Tarim smiled sheepishly. “Well, uh… I’ve got something to ask you, actually.”

“My god, you knocked her up.”

Tarim shoved him back. “I didn’t get her pregnant! It’s… could I have a thousand flora? It’s kind of important.”

Aha.

“Sure, kid,” Jacob said. “I’ll send it over in a minute.”

“Wait, really?” The kid’s monstrous yellow eye widened. “You’re not going to push back or anything?”

“Nope.”

“You’re not even going to ask what it’s for?”

“Nooope.”

“Why?” He sounded suspicious now.

“Consider it a down payment on your education.”

“That’s… kind of a weird thing to call it.”

“I’ll keep the money if you want.”

“No, no! It’s fine! I’ll take it!”

Once Tarim had what he wanted, he excused himself and left inside a few minutes, grinning like an idiot.

“They grow up so fast,” Becca said with a fond sigh as she took a seat next to him.

“Sure. We’ll see.”

“What do you think he needs the money for?”

“Something stupid.” She looked like he was about to say something else about it, but he cut her off. “I’ve got a job lined up with the baron. Work for Bob and Johnny, too.”

“Ooh, what kind?”

Jacob sighed. “The stupid kind. But, well, five million flora is five million flora.”

That had her seeing dollar signs. He filled her in on the details, and she shared his misgivings, but agreed that speaking to Grim might be a good idea. She said that there was no point in trying to contact him, and that he would show up on his own eventually.

Jacob spent a few hours idling about with Becca, then they headed out to have clothes fitted for them. The tailor tried to force some daft, long-sleeved tunic onto Jacob, but through some feat of perseverance he managed to talk himself down to a regular black suit. Becca got a pretty sky-blue dress with white birds embroidered into it. The outfits ended up costing nearly 1 000 flora put together, but in the grand scheme of things that was starting to feel like pocket change. He could get used to that feeling.

The event at the palace was dull. The food mostly consisted of delicacies that ranged from simply baffling to downright repugnant. There was Martian ballroom dancing, but neither of them knew even regular ballroom dancing, so they ended up just sitting at a table for most of the evening while people came up to Jacob to take pictures with him or talk at him about how sorry they were about Earth or about how ‘they weren’t one of those people who hate Earthers’. He was asked to recount the Battle of Earth about twenty times, along with countless questions of ‘is it true that you did this?’ and ‘did that really happen?’.

By the end of the evening, he was queasy from the food and exhausted from the conversation. Once they got back to Becca’s apartment, they went to bed almost immediately after walking Fenris.

But he couldn’t sleep. At this point, not sleeping had become the new normal for him, so he didn’t mind it terribly. At least he was with Becca again. Just having her close was good enough.

Then, barely audible over the muffled rumbling of machinery, he could hear her quietly sobbing. That instantly froze his blood.

No doubt she thought he was already asleep. She let out such sad little noises, whimpering into her pillow.

Jacob screwed his eyes shut tight. He didn’t dare try to comfort her, because he already knew why she was upset.

I don’t know what I did. Am I acting differently? Is it something I said? I thought I was doing well…

She went on crying for maybe half an hour before she finally fell asleep and put an end to his torture. He didn’t sleep at all that night.

In the morning, Becca was her normal, chirpy self. She fussed with Fenris, she made unfunny jokes, she kissed him and hugged him and laughed.

They’d only just made it through breakfast when Jacob couldn’t handle it anymore.

“What did I do wrong?” he asked while they were sitting on the couch, and she was in the middle of recounting some stupid thing Bob had done. He immediately realized that that was the wrong way of wording it, but that was how it came out.

“What do you mean?” Becca asked.

“You were crying last night. What did I do?”

Her bright smile slowly faded. “I was just happy to have you back, that’s all.”

“Becca, you think I can’t tell the difference between your happy crying and your sad crying? Even without half my memories, I have a simple size of about a thousand to pull on.”

“It’s really nothing, Jacob. Seriously.”

“I don’t believe you.”

She was quiet for a while, watching Fenris tear into an old oven mitt. “I don’t want to tell you about it because I know how you’ll react.”

“How will I react?”

“You’ll think it’s your fault. But it’s not.”

“Tell me what you were crying about, and I’ll judge that for myself.”

“It’s really not a big deal.”

“Tell me now.” His tone came out harsher than he’d intended. “Something I said? Something I did? Just tell me.”

“It’s the flowers, Jacob.”

“What about them? You like different flowers?”

“I hate flowers. They remind me of funerals.”

“Oh.”

She reached for his hand. “But that’s not your fault, Jacob. It’s on me to help you with the things you don’t remember. I should have said something, and I was going to, but—”

Jacob stood up. “I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t be.”

He went to the door and got his shoes on. He didn’t know where he was going, he just knew that he needed to go somewhere. He couldn’t handle seeing that hurt look on her face, and knowing that he was the one who put it there.

She hates flowers. She hates flowers. She hates flowers.

Don’t forget.

Never forget.

“Don’t leave,” Becca said from the couch, a quiver in her voice. She hugged herself tightly, and fresh tears sparkled in her eyelashes.

“I’ll be back soon.”

“If you leave, I won’t forgive you.”

Jacob paused, holding the door handle. “Why?”

“Because this can’t be us, Jacob. We’re not these people. We help each other, don’t we? We tell each other everything, don’t we?”

“I don’t know,” Jacob said with a sad smile. “I really don’t. That’s the problem.”

“Then I’ll show you. Just don’t leave.”

Jacob rubbed at his face. “Listen, Becca. You’re right. I agree with you. I just need a minute to gather my thoughts. I’m just going to go for a quick walk, then I’ll be right back and we can talk all about this. Okay?”

“Pinky promise?”

“Sure.”

They pinky promised, and she let him go.

Jacob wandered around for a while in the Works, breathing in the bitter fumes and watching the greasy workers go about their business. Then, after a short moment of deliberation, he went into a corner store. He bought a greeting card that said ‘Happy 60th birthday!’ on it and a sharpie. Using the shop counter as a backing, he wrote ‘WE NEED TO MEET’ and promptly threw the sharpie in the trash in front of the confused cashier.

Ender had said that he could leave the message anywhere, so he wedged it into a section of loose brickwork in the wall of a random building and left it there.

Becca would be angry with him if she knew what he was doing. It was probably the wrong thing to do. But Jacob just couldn’t stand seeing that hurt on her face. He would carry all the burdens in the world if it meant that she could be happy.