Traejan
Traejan was worried about Kyso’s transformation. The sleepy, nostalgia-soaked layabout had become infused with a vitality that was shocking. For the first time in years, Kyso was a fury of activity, actually pushing him around. The old man had had energetic periods before, but they were nothing compared to the way he’d responded to this Althea Ram.
While the woman slept off the effort of healing her injuries, Kyso had them both cleaning and straightening the whole ancient resort up and down, getting their workable tech in order. He had never had to do this for anybody before, not even Kaelin. Streck, Kyso had even trimmed his tangled hair and beard.
“She’s going to be up and about in mere days,” Kyso had warned him, bullied him. “We have to look Legionary: Responsible, capable – trustworthy.”
And the way that he’d looked over her frail, thin body, tenderly touched her dark skin as they examined her for injuries, had been disturbing to say the least. The old man had of tales of passionate life back in the old days, but had not made many friends in this world, in this time, preferring his smoke and his memory. As much as Traejan hated the world as it was, he enjoyed the company of at least some of its people.
And yet… and yet… he was not energized in any satisfying way.
They’d saved the Consortian woman’s life, and in return, she nearly broke his wrist and offered them only tidbits of information. It was driving him crazy with frustration. Why had she come now? What was she going to do once she was healthy? What did she want from them? How could she believe that she could destroy all the mechs by herself? Even if she could, what could they do to help her, when they’d failed almost every time?
His impatience boiled over as they were cleaning out the observation dome, in anticipation of Kyso’s welcome dinner; a welcome for the return of the Consortia to Makan. Kyso was in a frenzy about removing the lingering odor of his Nostalgia.
“You aren’t finished yet! I can still smell it,” the old man complained again, seeing him looking over the stained image of a dancer. Every time Kyso entered the hall, he stopped to berate Traejan on the years and year’s worth of debris that needed to be cleared out.
“I don’t understand what’s happening with you.” Traejan turned away from the musty pile of crockery he’d been packing. “The woman’s been here for days, and done nothing but go through half out food stock. We should be demanding answers from her!”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“We should show Sa Ram some respect,” Kyso retorted, using the old, formal Consortian address. “She almost died coming to our world, coming here to bring some light back into it, some hope, and all you want to do is interrogate her? What happened to your, ‘the Consortia is back’? What happened to your, ‘I’ve got to go down there’, and damn the risk?!”
Traejan dropped the plate he’d been holding. It shattered on the pile. He turned a burning glare on Kyso, who stood there, broom in hand, as though it was a weapon.
“I went down there looking for answers!” he countered. “She’s told us nothing we couldn’t have guessed ourselves.”
“She told us why she came,” Kyso replied harshly. “She was critically injured boy. We’re lucky she’s survived at all!
“Have some patience Trae. The less we demand from her, the less she is going to demand to know what we have – what we’ve accomplished,” he pleaded in a softer tone. “We can wait a few more days for the whole story – Oneness knows it’s nothing, aftertwenty – after twohundred and fifty years. We’ll have time to put together something to show – and this place will look clean for once.”
Traejan was unsatisfied. What difference was a day or two going to make?
“So you tell me then, why is she here now?” he wanted to know. “Not five, or fifty years ago?”
“How do you expect me to answer that?” Kyso replied angrily, then offered him a sad, apologetic look. He looked old and tired once again. “I am sure she’ll tell us. Just give her the time she needs, give me the time I need. Please, could you do that? For me?”
Thankfully, she didn’t need much more time.
Just a day later, Kyso was fussing over the waste of food he’d put together for the ‘dinner of honor’ for their Consortia guest. The old man put so much seasoning and flavoring into the meal, Traejan wasn’t sure any of them were going to be able to eat it; had even insisted on cooking far more than they could realistically spare. Streck, Althea Ram had already eaten through as much in seven days as they had in the last month.
“All right,” the old man said, removing his food-spattered apron, revealing the nearly pristine formal multi-layered clothing, the ancient get-up he had dug up. “We’re ready.”
He gave Traejan a stern look.
“Now remember, this is a social dinner, not a license for interrogation,” the old man had a sharp gleam in his eye. “I expect you to be civil. Now, do you think you could go let her know that dinner is ready?”
Traejan turned to the exit, in time to see Althea climbing up the steps to the deck. Looking back to Kyso, he could see the old man staring, eyes wide.