“Remember, if anyone asks, I don’t know you, especially if the ones asking happen to be girls.”
“Thanks, Arvind, you’re a true pillar of support and fraternal love.”
The mass of students were filing out of the auditorium after the end of Professor Kubíček’s lecture on classical musical history and theory, which was in reality (at least in Edward’s own humble opinion) just an excuse for the professor to drone on incessantly for three hours straight about minutiae no one but himself cared about. A few students giggled as they passed the pair of Edward and his self-proclaimed “oppo” Arvind Dahon.
“Better bring some coffee next time, Heatherland,” a voice shouted from somewhere and Edward forced a smile and a sound that might charitably be called an affirmative grunt, all the while the tips of his ears were burning a bright pink in embarrassment. Arvind waved a hand dismissively when he noticed Edward’s discomfort.
“Don’t worry about it, Ed, you’re not the first and certainly not the last to doze off in one of Kubíček’s lectures. More importantly, have you decided on the piece for the recital next month?”
Edward shook his head.
“No, not as such just yet. I had planned on doing something safe like Chaminade’s Sonata in C Minor, but I think I’m going to swing for the fences and go with Thorburn’s Fantasia on Dusk. Professor Winton has been dropping subtle hints that my practical grade isn’t exactly going to be the envy of the cohort by the end of the semester, so I’m thinking I’ll go hard and take my chances on a more passionate piece than what I’m naturally comfortable with.”
Arvind nodded over and over as they exited the auditorium and walked out into the blood-oak panelled hallways of the Countess Montroy Conservatoire. Red bricks and marble columns decorated the outside of the magnificent example of Neo-Regency architecture, located as it was in the middle of the enormous green expanse of Queen Marie’s campus. Edward took a deep, refreshing breath of air as the pair quit a set of double doors and looked around the campus grounds. Queen Marie Metropolitan University was a bustling monstrosity of an educational institution, with eleven-thousand staff and over ninety-thousand full-time students. Like an oasis, the QMMU lay just off the centre of downtown Cordelia, surrounded by high-rises, office- and hab-towers of titanium, carboncrete, and coloured glass, as well as rows upon rows of brick Neo-Regency and Neo-Georgian buildings. Cordelia was a vast metropolis, home to some fifteen million people and by galactic standards (i.e. non-Earth), it was an old city and it showed. Architecturally it was an eclectic mess; hyper-modern buildings and complexes jarred and stuck out like sore thumbs amongst entire districts of centuries old houses and inner city courts that looked like they had been directly lifted from 18th century England or France. And the massive QMMU with its large parks and terraced faculty houses was not the only major university; on the other side of the Goneril River which split the city into two, was the King’s College of Sciences, a university complex about as big as the QMMU, though largely constructed in the slightly later Neo-Grec style (a white-washed criss-cross of columned esplanades and walled gardens).
Edward was not a local to Cordelia, but he had come around to appreciate the Auroran capital city during his stay at the QMMU; it was a bustling place and gave a clear impression of being a major interstellar hub city, but it was far from without its charm. Quaint cobblestoned side streets that led down to tucked-away terraced-house crescents with small-time shops, cafés, bars, and art galleries were everywhere, and even modern downtown was coloured a rustic crimson or cream as to not contrast with the older parts of the city, while also hosting its fair share of fashionable locales and supermalls. The titanic Cordelia Tether dominated the skyline, reaching as it did straight into and through the clouds above. Constructed on a large island in the middle of the Goneril River, the tether was the main mode of transport from the capital city up to the stations in orbit. Eight centuries ago, such a massive structure would have been a magnificent and even daunting sight, but in 2874 CE, it was as common as any of the bridges stretching across the same river.
The bell had just rang twelve in the afternoon, and hundreds of students were walking to their next lectures or to one of the many cafeterias underneath the cover of the columned terraces, while others were taking breaks by strolling through the gardens and parks, basking in the bright sunshine. The Great Mother Euryphaessa was generous with her shining rays and Edward had to open the top button of his white shirt and loosen his scarlet tie. QMMU had a formal dress code, but it went largely unenforced and instead peer pressure ensured that students adhered to it. Edward and Arvind both wore grey linen trousers and blazers over white shirts, the style and cut of which hadn’t changed all that much over the centuries. Edward was the taller of the two, by quite a few inches. The lower gravity of many new worlds compared to humanity’s cradle of Earth had over generations stretched its inhabitants, and despite being pretty exactly average height on his own homeworld of Amaranth, Edward was slightly above male average here on Aurora, easily observed when walking around in the streets of Cordelia. Tall cheekbones were set in a slightly triangular face, and his jawline was mostly hidden underneath a closely cropped dark beard. His green eyes glittered behind rounded glasses that he didn’t really need, but they made him feel more mature. Topping it off was his bronzed skin courtesy of both his Dionysian mother and the agreeable climate of Amaranth. Arvind was shorter, with an unruly mop of dark hair and seemingly unable to grow any kind of moustache at all, completing a totally forgettable physical appearance that he compensated for with a bubbly and energised personality.
“… which is why I don’t think I’ll go for Mozart or Händel, you know, just something too romantic about them. I’d really like to do some Mastronarde, but I did that two recitals ago and Dame Iris might dock me a few points for unoriginality if I do that ag… Hey, are you even listening to me, shithead?” Arvind had been talking the whole while Edward had been wool-gathering and he snapped back to his immediate surroundings.
“Aha, yeah, no, Mozart and Mastronarde is a bad idea, Dame Iris might think you don’t know any other composer, got it,” he said quickly and Arvind shook his head in faux-exasperation but his mouth formed a lopsided smile.
“I am actually amazed at your ability to be somewhere totally different mentally, but still pick up the gist of a conversation. You got to teach me that sometime.”
Edward shrugged, almost dropping the notebook he held awkwardly under one arm.
“It’s a gift really,” he said with a feigned air of haughtiness, “either you have it or you don’t. I can’t be held responsible for my superior cerebral disposition compared to yours.”
“Superior cerebral my ass,” Arvind laughed while driving an elbow playfully into his ribs, “the only thing superior about you compared to me are your nimble wrists.” His eyes glinted mischievously, “and we all know how you came about those. Hours upon hours of diligent practice in the dark of night, rapidly stroking ‘tangents’ while watching…”
Edward stopped dead in his tracks, his face dead-pan serious all of a sudden. He quickly grabbed Arvind by the arm and pulled him back behind one of the columns.
“What the fu…!” Arvind started but Edward made a slashing motion across his throat and Arvind’s mouth closed with a click. Edward ran a hand across his dark hair, seemingly making sure his hairdo was up to standards. Arvind was about to protest, but Edward made a subtle pointing gesture towards a cluster of orchid beds and a pair of females seated on a wooden bench. Squinting to make them out, his eyes suddenly widened in recognition and surprise.
“Mate, please don’t tell me you got a crush on her? No, actually, it’s a bit cute, but…” He trailed off deliberately. Dressed in the grey sweater and skirt and crimson necktie of the QMMU, the two girls were happily chatting their break away. The one on the right had skin the colour of the clouds above, while her hair was a deep black, just like the ivory and ebony piano tangents Edward and Arvind spent hours playing every day. She was noticeably much shorter than her friend, with a lithe build and high cheek bones, but the most striking were her amethyst eyes, shining brightly when she laughed, a pale hand demurely covering her mouth. Her friend was tall, not much shorter than Edward, more muscular, long red hair kept in an orderly ponytail. The redhead’s eyes were pale as ice, just as captivating as the piano-coloured girl’s, set in an attractive heart-shaped face. She was talking animatedly, and her accompanying hand gestures betrayed a fluid grace of movement that was almost more felt than seen.
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“… I think you’re punching quite a bit out of your weight class there, mate,” Arvind continued after a spell. “You do know who that is, don’t you? You’d have better chances… actually, I’m not sure there’s anything with longer odds than even making her look in your general direction. And I say that as your friend.”
Edward waved a hand dismissively. “Not her, I know perfectly well who that is, I don’t live on an asteroid after all, it’s the other one I’m referring to.” He nodded toward the redhead and Arvind gave his friend a lopsided smile.
“Your odds aren’t that much better with her either. That’s Marquess Sélincourt and Countess Darkmoor’s daughter, scion of two of the oldest noble families in existence, and her father is a decorated admiral to boot. She’s also the star and relay anchor of the QMMU’s swimming team, as well as an accomplished fencer. In short, she’s noble, beautiful, athletic, oh and she’s an honours student on an accelerated programme from upper secondary, so she’s a damn prodigy as well. Everything you aren’t, mate, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you.”
The glare Arvind received for the trouble of his short summary was withering, but Edward didn’t disagree.
“I’m cognizant of the facts, Arvind,” he said in a resigned tone, “I know it all too well. Adea is on a totally different level than me, in basically every imaginable way. I’m the son of an Amaranthine teacher and a Dionysian Gen-Two public servant,” Arvind shifted uncomfortably at the mention of Edward’s mother, “while Adea’s family were old and established dynasties when Amaranth was colonised. And furthermore…”
The “furthermore” would remain a mystery for the time being as an upbeat techno tone piped up from Edward’s blazer pocket and he fished out his warbling handcom, a frail-looking smart-glass piece of electronics, and he cursed under his breath.
“Speak of the devil, I have electives in ten minutes,” he said while abandoning the hiding place behind the column and started to walk briskly across the campus grounds, Arvind struggling to keep up with the sudden flurry of movement.
“Why is it ‘speak of the devil’? What are your electives again?” he asked as he caught up.
“‘Political History and Institutions from 2300-2600’, and of course Adea is in the same class.” The two of them glanced back to see said noblewoman say farewell to her black-haired friend and start to jog in the same general direction as them. As the other girl rose from the bench and started to make her way to the Reception Hall, Arvind could suddenly see a few men dressed in short-sleeves, who were definitely not students, start to move at the same time while keeping a comfortable distance. Figures, he thought, though I don’t think anyone would be stupid enough to try anything on one of the largest university campuses this side of Elysium. He slapped Edward on the shoulder amicably.
“Well, you have fun talking about post-exodus constitutionalism and debate the finer details of institutionalised neo-aristocracy with your beloved.” He started to walk off before Edward could form a protest; “I’m headed off to the Humanities cafeteria, come find me there later, alright. I need you to help me choose a final recital piece. And you still owe me lunch for covering your beers at Chilton’s last weekend.” His departure was accompanied by a weary headshake.
The Duke of Camlann History Building was more modest than the Countess Montroy Conservatoire, both in size and ornamentation. It was dominated by a large first floor library that contained an immense number of tomes and even original Earth documents from pre-exodus. History as a narrative subject did not require the numerous rehearsal rooms and instrument stores that music students were dependent on, and to Edward’s ear, the loud silence that greeted him when walking through the halls of the Duke of Camlann Building was a welcome change. The very air and smell felt old, ancient even, and Edward chuckled to himself as his mind produced images of history professors hunched over antediluvian scrolls with lit candles as the only source of light. His chuckle caught in his throat as Adea appeared in the auditorium doorway and he slowed to a halt. How did she manage to arrive ahead of me? The abruptly cut-off chuckle turned into a gurgle and the subsequent coughing drew the attention of the pair of ice-blue eyes. They narrowed for a moment in a thoughtful squint.
“I say, don’t I know you from somewhere?” Her delightfully husky voice was accented by the lilting sing-song drawl of the aristocracy.
“Wait,” she said, a finger absently finding smiling lips as her mind apparently raced, “was it New Forest these past Proms? Or might it have been Athelney last season?”
“I, uh, no, I don’t think…” Edward managed to stutter, but Adea was not relenting.
“Oh, you know, it might have been the Royal Opera Festival, I am sure I saw you there, but you have to forgive me, I can’t seem to remember your name…?”
She leaned slightly forward inquisitively just as Edward didn’t think it was physically possible to be more uncomfortable.
“Edward, ah, Edward Heatherland, if you please, My Lady,” he managed to produce while taking a half-step backwards and holding his notebook across his chest in a sort of defensive posture.
“Heatherland,” Adea seemed to roll the name around her mouth as if to taste it and cross-reference it with the repository of names in her head, “Heatherland of…?”
“Just Heatherland, My Lady,” Edward replied with a slightly cramped smile, “I’m not ‘of’ anything except perhaps ‘of inconsequence’…” Oh my God, did you just say that, you stupid idiot, what the fuck is wrong with you?!
His mental chastising was interrupted by a low giggle and he looked up from his feet – when had he decided his shoes needed his undivided attention? – to see Adea covering her smiling mouth with her own notebook, looking at him with an amused expression.
“I’ll make note of that, Heatherland,” she said and Edward could hear the smile in her voice, “but I hardly think anyone can truly be completely inconsequential. However, if you’re not a Season regular, where do I remember you from then?”
Before he had a chance to reply, something slapped him over the top of his head and he jumped.
“I think you half-remember him because he was at the inauguration mixer at the Royal Inns, and mind you, that was after the Humanities convents had been drinking for hours at Guildenstern Street. And you were pretty drunk at that stage.”
“Sandy!”
“Sandy?!”
Alexandra “Sandy” Barham had long hair the colour of her nickname, and cobalt eyes danced between the two, wiggling the notebook she had whacked Edward over the head with playfully back and forth. Said student gathered his wits relatively quickly though, fixing Sandy with a curious gaze.
“I didn’t know you knew Lady Adea. For that matter, I didn’t know you had this elective, you’re a psychology major after all.”
Adea nodded in agreement.
“My thoughts exactly, I know this is a big class, but I would’ve noticed you. And how do you know Heatherland here?”
The blonde shrugged.
“I have just changed elective to PolHis after coming home the other day with a burning desire to jump into the Goneril following a lecture on ‘syncretic cultural re-constructivism’ in ‘Post-Exodus Social Anthropology & -Ideology’. If I ever hear the term ‘societal heterogeneous fusionism’ again, I might vomit.”
Edward and Adea shared a quick knowing glance before Adea turned back to Sandy.
“Eh, you know, that is actually one of the major themes of this class and entire particular field of history, so you might have chosen somewhat poorly, sorry to tell you,” she said, watching as Sandy’s expression became stony.
“Huh, you don’t fricking say,” she said at length, stopping the wiggling of the notebook and letting her arms hang from her sides.
“You still didn’t explain how you know Heatherland,” Adea continued, “only that I might know him from the Inns. But that was something like nine months ago, just after autumn semester start, which means you either have the memory of an elephant, highly doubtful, or you know each other pretty well.”
“Look at Lady Adea of Detectiveton over here,” Sandy said with an accompanying snort of amusement, “putting two and two together like nobody’s business.” She tapped Edward with the notebook again, on the shoulder this time which the blonde top of her head barely reached. “I know this lanky lad because we’re in the same convent at Vermilion Hall, which means we’ve been to several mixers, dinners, and shindigs together these past almost two years of scholarly pursuit of erudition. He’s moderately funny and amicable, after about three stiff drinks or so into the night.”
Sandy’s eyes were dancing with mischievousness, smiling lopsided all the while.
“And, young Edward, I know Adea because our parents are old friends, Navy people all around you know. If memory serves me right, we first met as three year-olds when Dad was forced to drag me along to your New Devon manor while on a job-related errand because Mom was sick like a dog.”
Adea snorted.
“I remember you being such a city brat that you were scared of the tame bunnies and peacocks in our gardens.
“Those were not regular Earth bunnies, they were some Angevin mutant brutes and you know that perfectly well!”
“Hey!” a voice came from behind the trio and they turned as one. A bunch of other students were thronged together in the hallway, looking annoyed.
“It is very interesting to listen how you all know each other and all, but there are two minutes ‘til the lecture starts, and you’re kind of blocking the auditorium door, so might you continue your discussion inside?”
It was not just Edward’s ears that were burning pink as the three of them quickly found seats near the front of the half-moon shaped lecture hall.