Jackson

Jackson tapped his fingers against the solid wooden desk. It was a small thing he usually did when he was thinking and the temporary solution found was not satisfactory just yet.

"Is it essential for me to move?" he asked, after letting several seconds pass in perfect silence.

The old man sitting on the chair across from him nodded shortly. His watery blue eyes held no emotion in them.

"Frankly, I thought I was merely a straw man and nothing more."

The other remained silent, not even sparing a nod this time.

"I was just supposed to attend functions here, on Earth, looking pretty, smiling nicely, and understanding nothing of the mumbo jumbo being said around me. Wasn't this the reason you hired me in the first place?" Jackson ran his fingers through his long royal golden hair in frustration.

After all, this is what he was supposed to do and how he was supposed to be seen by everyone around. Yes, including those who had hired him to be a mindless host programmed to say only pleasant things and nothing more.

The old man pursed his dried up lips, managing to look even more like a dehydrated prune.

"Jackson, we both know your aesthetically pleasing appearance serves a purpose. No need to rub it in, really," his guest finally decided to chide him.

"What exactly I am supposed to do on this planet ... what's it called? Murario? I only know how to make pleasant conversation and play golf."

"Two very important assets, if I may say."

"You may," Jackson stared at his guest through his long eyelashes, carefully curled with the help of special irons. A routine he patiently endured every morning. As he had to suffer through having his eyes cleaned thoroughly until they had the bluest color possible, and his complexion treated with diamond dust to make it luscious and looking like out of their world.

"It is settled, then," the man stood up stiffly, mostly due to his bad joints, rather than the need to grate Jackson's nerves.

"Pa, why do you hate me?" Jackson made the best puppy eyes he could, as he placed both palms on the desk in a gesture of surrender.

"I don't hate you, Jackie," the man spoke almost tenderly. "I know that you are used to this easy life and you know nothing else, but I think this mission comes at the right moment. You are soon to turn 21 years of age. It is time to grow up and prove everyone you're more than just a pretty face. And, please consider some more conservative attire for this mission. I doubt people on Murario would much appreciate golden glitter on clothes. They’re miners."

Jackson stretched one arm and looked at the see-through garment wrapped around his lean muscles. Yes, he agreed the use of glitter was simply outrageous. He looked like a clown, but this clown was capable of bringing in the dough. The old man knew that very well. What was he to do on a planet light years away fashion wise? He was just going to stick out like a sore thumb. And what was all that talk about having an easy life? He woke up each morning at 5, had to jog for an hour, have mixed martial arts training for other two, and eat no carbs at all for the rest of his waking hours.

"And what do you suggest I wear?" he stood up, too, and danced across the room to hold the door for the old man.

"Something," the old man watched him warily, "... black."

"Black?" Jackson asked, now alarmed for real. "I'm not sure any of the stores that cater to me," he pressed one hand on his chest as theatrically as he could, "would even have anything in this terrible color."

"That is why you are going to shop somewhere else," the man shrugged.

"Shop? But they always come to me," Jackson complained.

"If you want to make a fool of yourself on Murario, you are too old for anyone, including me, to stop you."

"Understood," Jackson nodded, realizing that he could not take the joke further.

That meant the situation was much more complicated than he was let to know. What was that the old man wasn't telling him?

"You're worried," he spoke again. "Why?"

"Don't bother yourself," the old man said with a sigh. "We need someone on the ground in Murario, and it has to be you. Your face is always all over the news. Those people there must understand that we care about them enough to send our fairest poster boy to negotiate a trade agreement."

"A trade agreement? That should be a piece of cake," Jackson squared his shoulders. "What do you want me to get from these people? Are they too boorish to understand common sense? And, above everything else, what aren't you telling me?"

There was a fraction of a second, right there, when the old man lost his composure. Jackson wasn't stupid. Everyone liked to think that about him, even the old man. But he knew something was wrong. He swallowed nervously.

"How will I know not to breech etiquette once I get there?" he asked.

"All you need to know is already in your com. Just read everything carefully."

***

"What is this?" Jackson mumbled as he flicked through the information.

He unplugged the com from his temple and threw it on the table. Now all that stupid data was in his brain, thank you very much. So, Murario was like a mining colony or something? Yeah, he got it, the planet had vast deposits of clementium and that mattered because anywhere else in the colonies, it was sparse, at best. But to send him on such a low-key mission to convince some miners that Earth was making a damn good offer? Plus, the inhabitants were Earthians, too, or, at least descendants of Earthians. They should have been easy to deal with.

He took a look in the full size mirror. He looked like someone ready to attend a funeral. The black suit in three pieces was barely brightened up by a grey tie. And he looked so out of fashion. He had even tied up his hair in a small ponytail, using a small leather band. The only thing missing were some dark circles under his eyes. He had been almost tempted to draw some, just for the fun of it.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Actually, if he looked better, he thought, as he pulled his sleeves to adjust them, the clothes were not that bad. There were no pink strands to make him look interesting, no glitter on his  clothes to make everyone enjoy the circus act he was putting on. He looked... proper. Dignified even. He wondered what kind of people those on Murario were. He took the com again, and pressed it into the plug in his temple once more.

"Murario," he commanded.

Damn, but the place looked depressing. Nothing but mountains, every now and then a small valley where grey tall buildings rose, most probably belonging to mining companies. Very efficient. Yet, terribly depressing. Now, what about the people? The images available showed men and women mostly in grey and black attire, rugged, with unwelcoming eyes. They were built of sterner stuff than Earthians, obviously.

Why was a parakeet like him to do there, anyway? The old man had said something about not insulting them by refusing to send the main negotiator specialized in trade agreements. Maybe it was the truth. But no, that was not it. The old man had been too worried for that to be it. And everyone with half a brain knew very well Jackson was paraded at these functions just to draw attention and make press conferences more interesting. He had nothing to do with how the trade agreements were brought into existence. Yet somehow his colorful presence made people sign those damn papers.

The whole thing was giving him the chills. He had no actual interest in politics. What he did was to attend official get-togethers, let everyone bask in his flamboyant presence, and dazzle them with the glory that was Earth. It usually worked, and the pay was good.

But he knew he was not the only one. Charming business partners was heavy work, and there were other beautiful men and women, selected, just like him, to do the same. Only that he was the best.

He sighed. All right, he was ready to meet these people who could care less about glitter. Funny thing, he felt good without all that spread all over him. It was a pain to remove each night, when soaking in the bathtub. And black did become him, it seemed. Go figure.

***

He had slept fitfully through the entire interplanetary flight, and, although he had to admit that he had looked better when he boarded, he was pretty sure the people on Murario were not going to mind him having some real black circles under his eyes now. He stood on the moving platform, one hand casually resting on the metal bar, the other playing with the small cane delivered with his attire. It was a good thing he was wearing leather gloves. The last thing he wanted was to get dirty.

He stood stiff as a rod as the platform eventually landed on ground level and stopped with a small screeching sound. This was how they always met their guests? No wonder nobody wanted to come here, Jackson thought.

And, on top of everything, it was raining. He doubted the tall hat he had been forced to wear after much deliberations with his stylist, could withstand too much of that. Maybe the rain was acid, too?

Tentatively, he stretched his palm, forgetting he was wearing gloves.

"Jackson Marmy?" a voice startled him.

A man in his 50s measured him up and down, as he waited for a reply. He was wearing work boots with metal caps, and clothes of a difficult to define color. Some sort of navy blue? Or maybe it had been black, and now it was losing itself into some sort of bluish dark grey? He could not tell. The man's hair was a mess, a matted ginger color, long and probably unwashed for days. His dark eyes were a bit wild, and his mustache, the same color as the hair, was making him look like a villain from some random cartoon series.

Jackson put on his most affable smile.

"Yes, pleased to meet you," he offered his hand and hurried to meet the man half way.

The man threw him a strange look but took his hand and shook it firmly. Jackson carefully kept smiling, maintaining eye contact, although he could bet his hand was going to have bruises when the giant was going to be done with him.

"Hadrian Drake," the man recommended himself. "This is Dana Drake, your bodyguard."

Only then did Jackson noticed there was someone else present, another man, a much younger one, sitting next to something that looked like a transportation device from a different era. Hadrian Drake had pronounced his son’s name Da-nah, and with a hint of pride, if Jackson was reading the signs well.

The young man cared not an ounce about the rain wetting his short black hair. Jackson examined him from afar. The boy wore black jeans that showed strong thighs and long legs stuffed into the same type of boots as Hadrian wore. The black leather jacket the youth wore was well protecting his upper body, and it was large enough to make the guy almost lose himself in it. He wore some sort of protective eye gear, and it was not like Jackson could tell the color of his eyes from where he stood, either.

"A bodyguard?" He barely registered. "Do I need one?"

"We had no choice. Since you were sent alone," Hadrian replied, showing surprise.

Jackson felt the same chill he had experienced when he had noticed the hesitation in the old man while sending him on this mission.

"You can trust Dana," the man added. "Dana, come here," he barked.

The youth moved, hurrying towards them. Jackson pursed his lips. What was he getting himself into? This was mockery, to be allotted as bodyguard a boy who barely looked a day over 16, and seemed like he could not care less about playing babysitter for an Earthian.

Jackson had thought himself important. That clearly showed he was not.

"Show Mr. Marmy," Hadrian gestured for Dana to do something.

"Holy freaking ..." Jackson lost it when Dana Drake opened his leather jacket and showed a vulgar display of weaponry that he was pretty sure he had no idea how it would function. The young man smirked and stood like that, as if he were some sort of exhibitionist. His entire front was covered in what looked like ammunition, and the interior of his jacket was packed with steel mesh that held contraptions big and small.

Hadrian laughed wholeheartedly.

"I terribly apologize," Jackson hurried to repair his outburst from earlier.

"No need to be sorry," Hadrian patted his back, a bit too powerfully.

"Am I in danger?" Jackson eyed Dana's weapons warily.

Hadrian laughed, and Dana joined him. The younger male seemed very carefree for the type of situation they were in.

"I think I will contact Earth and ask right away for an escort," he snapped, and made a turn for the transportation ship, only to witness the damn thing lifting off the ground.

He was pretty much seething with anger when he turned to face the duo. The two men were looking at him like he had just dropped from the sky. Which, of course, he had.

"I will need your communication channels," he addressed Hadrian.

"To contact Earth? Of course. Only that I don't think you should be without an escort until they send someone," the man replied. "Dana will take care of you, don't worry."

The younger man zippered up his jacket and looked straight at Jackson. If he was to read the body language right, there was interest there. He could not exactly see Dana’s eyes, as they were carefully covered by that horrendous eyewear piece. But Jackson had a trained eye when it came to beauty.

The guy was a looker, his face smooth, despite somewhat angular. His lips were soft and quirked into a smile. Jackson knew well what that meant.

The guy was interested in Jackson. Only that Jackson was not into guys. He had a moral conduct to abide by, and he was not going to cross the line now. Despite being flamboyant and overtly flirty when interacting with business partners, he had never tipped the balance in Earth’s favor by going further than that.

And, of course, that had still managed to make him a little jaded. After all, he had been forbidden to engage in any kind of relationships until now and that meant he was a pretty frustrated young man at the age of almost 21. Well, at least when he thought of it. The way Dana Drake seemed to look at him wasn’t particularly helpful in that respect, either.

He needed no complications. Maybe that was why the old man had told him to wear plain clothes. If many Murarios were like this one, soon he was going to fend them off with a stick. The last thing he needed was to seem available for whatever they had in mind. He tried to remember if he had learned something about this sort of interactions on Murario. There had to be a way for letting one down gently, if it came to that. Until then, he had to make do with what was available.

So, he frowned when he looked at Dana, mustering all the outrage he could to send across the message. The guy seemed totally unfazed and continued to stare Jackson up and down, like he could see through clothes. Jackson could bet that without the tactical glasses, or what those were, the guy’s eyes were pretty, too, like the rest of him. He gave himself a hypothetical slap upside the head. What was wrong with him? Never before had he felt attracted to a guy. And at such an inopportune time. The guy was not what could be called handsome.

At least not by Earth standards. His features were even a tad too effeminate, something unusual for a mining colony where even women seemed to be cut from the same stone they were mining through. At least that had been his impression after watching the feed delivered to his brain by the materials made available via his com.

No, Dana Drake wasn't handsome. But he was pretty, and not as rugged as an Earthian would have expected to see. Jackson huffed, and Dana stiffened, like suddenly slapped.

"I'll let you kids now, since I have work to do down at the mine. Dana, play nice," the old man wagged his finger at his son.

"What? You know I will," the youngster spoke, and his coarse, yet sexy voice felt like music to Jackson's ears. "Come," Dana gestured for him to follow.

He waited patiently, as Dana climbed in the front. The door to his side was pushed forcefully, almost hitting him over his knees. He jumped, startled more by the rudeness of the gesture, than being actually hurt.

"Are you coming or what?" Dana directed the question at him.

He took a look at the so called seat, but he chose to avoid commenting further. His so called diplomatic mission was getting stranger by the minute. He took his seat, carefully gathering the jacket around him and placing the cane, which was supposed to be nothing but a fashionable accessory, on his knees.

"What's that?" Dana gestured for the cane, while igniting the contraption's engine that gave in with huffs and puffs. "Is it some sort of weapon?" he asked, his voice filled with excitement.

"Weapon?" he asked, mesmerized at the lack of any knowledge on the youth's part about what weapons meant on Earth. Certainly, not fashionable canes. "I supposed that it could be used only in the event of trying to fend someone off with a stick ..."

Dana laughed. Jackson stared at his profile. His raven strands of hair were unruly and the shaved undercut made Dana look every bit like the bad boy he tried to be. Jackson scrunched up his nose. Undercuts were so last century. No wonder no one wanted to come down here. There was nothing to see and the people were rude. And out of fashion.

"Have you ever tried to hit somebody with that stick, then?" Dana asked, as his leather clad hands manipulated the wheel with practice ease, making the transportation device sigh from all its hinges.

"Me? No, of course not," Jackson spoke, yet he grabbed the cane like it was a means to defend himself against the boisterous youth next to him.

"Why?" the other young man asked.

"Hmm, maybe because ... it's not done?" Jackson chose to thread carefully.

"Really? Why do you carry it with you, then?"

"It's just an accessory," Jackson explained.

"For what?"

"For carrying around."

"No purpose whatsoever?"

"I suppose," Jackson chose to show his annoyance a bit.

***

Dana

Dana shook her head upon hearing the guy’s answer.

"Earthians," she said, mostly to herself.

Yeah, Earthians were strange all right. But damn handsome, she thought as she stole another quick glance at her passenger.        

TBC