6.
Hetu'u Hahati—Rising Star
May 25, 2217
Magna Cum Summa. The words felt strange to Atiranhyi still, as she rolled them through her mind; as strange as seeing the abbreviation 'D.M.A.'—Doctor of the Musical Arts—after her name.
She had taken off her graduation gown—the last one she would wear—and was with Derek and Nova Wildstar and their children at her small Manhattan apartment. Boxes and packing debris were strewn about; she was moving from New York to a climate more suited to her taste—the Sonora Desert near Tucson, Arizona.
The past seventeen years had been a whirl of study, performance and the writing of multiple theses and compositions. She had long since ceased to need financial backing from Derek; she had begun to get highly-paid performance and composition commissions from many sources in the media. Now, with the pinnacle of qualifications and honors from the venerable Juilliard, she could literally set her own price. The running joke was that, like a highly-sought author that is paid by the word, Atiranhyi was paid by the note.
Those who promulgated this anecdote would be shocked, however, to hear some of the items that 'Aunt Ati' wrote for Derek's children. Fourteen year old Alex and twelve-year-old Sasha were forever clamoring for such prizes as Look Into My Nose, Pelican Poop and I Wish I Had a Prehensile Butt. Nova spent a great deal of time pretending to be outraged—and Derek, as bad as his children, spent just as much time laughing.
Just as Derek had been a source of enthusiastic encouragement, Nova had become Atiranhyi's confidante, a sounding-board for the problems and uncertainties of a strange adolescence indeed. From Nova came compassion, patience and a very strong system of ethics. Had she not taken a gentle but firm hand in Atiranhyi's guardianship, she would never have had the temperament or the internal discipline to excel as she had. Nova had done much to repair the parts of Atiranhyi's psyche that were jagged and broken.
Tonight was to be an epic evening of celebration and amusement; this would be the first time the children would be allowed to stay up all night with the 'grownups'. They were looking forward to seeing a new holovid for which Atiranhyi had written the musical score, and also to seeing their aunt perform. It was an endless source of boastful delight to them that they had a famous relative—one that they saw and spoke to on a regular basis.
Despite the closeness she enjoyed with the Wildstar family, one topic remained verboten: the fact that there was also continuing contact with the Star Force's uncertain ally—Desslok of Gamilon, and those that followed him. The issue had been raised only once; the resultant fight had ended with so much anger and hurt feelings on all sides that Atiranhyi had not spoken to Derek for weeks. It had taken the patient intercession of Nova to get them to reach accord. Though the falling-out had taken place years before, it was just recently that the last of the strain had fallen away from the relationship, and all were at ease once again.
They were leaving the holocinema and heading to dinner when the comm panel in Derek's skycar chirped. He landed at once when he saw the insignia of EDF's Central Command come onscreen, frowning with concern.
"Ati, can you find Nova and the kids a restaurant or something nearby? I'll meet you all there; this is eyes-only and it can't wait," he said.
"All right; hope there isn't any trouble," Atiranhyi answered.
"So do I. I'll be back with you soon."
Atiranhyi took the group of them to a favorite spot of her own; a hole-in-the-wall pizzeria called Fioretti's. The pizza had just arrived when Derek walked in, looking vaguely annoyed. He sat down, and with no explanation of the situation at all, grabbed a plate and a slice of pizza.
"Derek?" Nova asked softly. "Is everything all right?"
"Yes, everything is fine. It was just information someone felt I needed immediately, despite having absolutely nothing to do with me." His irritation was evident.
"Can you tell us even what it was about?" Atiranhyi asked. She hadn't seen this type of reaction in Derek at any other time he had received an official communiqué.
"It's not something you need to hear about, and what's more, you wouldn't want to, Ati." His tone was a little more short than he intended, and Atiranhyi bristled a bit.
"My, thank you so much for protecting my delicate sensibilities," she growled, folding her arms.
"Look, the message was from Galmania, and it's kind of common knowledge how you feel about that. Add to that, the individual that contacted me said some things that weren't exactly welcome. Can we please move on? I don't want to talk about it any more; besides, if we do, we'll just end up having another argument." Derek moderated his tone a little and hoped that his explanation sufficed.
"Fine; consider it dropped." She didn't want another argument, either; she snagged a second slice of pizza, and lightened the mood by peering at it. "Oooh, is that an anchovy?"
"Ewww!" Nova and Alex shouted in unison; neither one were fans of the salty fish, though Atiranhyi and Sasha loved it.
"Don't panic, I got 'em on the side," Atiranyhi laughed. "I was kidding!"
"Yeah, well, don't throw any of them this time," Derek grinned.
"Hey, I like this place; I don't want to get thrown out of here!"
"You got thrown out of a restaurant?" Alex looked very interested.
"We sort of started a food fight in a place just outside the EDF's base one time, when I came to visit your dad. This was a long time ago, before you guys were born. They were pretty mad, and we had to clean up the mess! And then they told us it would be 'appreciated if we took our business elsewhere in the future'."
"I told you the two of you were worse than the kids!" Nova pretended offense, but her eyes were dancing.
"Yeah, well, if we started a food fight in here, Mama Gia would come out with her rolling pin… so you don't need to worry!"
The rest of the evening had unwound without incident; when Atiranhyi returned to the boxes and chaos of her apartment, she kicked off her shoes and then shoved some packing supplies off a chair and messily onto the floor. She settled artlessly, shoving back heavy locks of raven hair and sat regarding the middle distance.
The Gamilons. What could they possibly want? Why does Terra still have to deal with them at all? Everything I've read and seen has them continuing to be militaristic and aggressive. But… Derek almost acts as though there is some importance attached to maintaining close ties with them.
Restless, she rose from her chair and walked to the window. The lights of Manhattan glinted and winked, drowning out the stars above. She continued to ponder, this time weighing her own reaction.
Why do I still have such a knee-jerk negative reaction to the mention of them, though? Did my mother really program me that deeply? Either way… my mother and the conditions of my birth are something I have to put behind me. I certainly have plenty of other matters to occupy me.
She walked over and picked up the small lap harp that she had not yet packed. She settled back in her chair and made a light glissando run down its strings, smiling a little at its pure tone. She began playing a very sweet-sounding nothing-in-particular. As always, the music untangled her nerves and enabled her to relax. She retired that night, feeling a bit more at peace.
The sun, an unfamiliar orb of vicious blue-white, beat down upon her head and arms. She was running, running through thick vegetation with the knowledge that she was fleeing some dire pursuer, a fate to which death would be preferable. Her feet were bare, and despite the pain of the stones and uneven ground upon which she fled, she dared not slacken her pace. She ran like a hunted animal, too afraid to so much as look over her shoulder at whatever was in pursuit. Her bruised and battered body told her that to stand and fight, even with the martial-arts training she possessed, was not an option. She had attempted it, and been forced into this headlong flight across a span of stony beach, heading for the treeline of an alien jungle. She crashed into the underbrush—and realized she had made a terrible mistake. As though they were snares, the vines entangled her limbs, and she fell hard, striking her shoulder on a rock, and tearing her flesh on daggerlike thorns. A pair of hands, steel-strong and blue-skinned, seized her by the wrists…
… and Atiranhyi woke up, bathed in night-terror sweat, breathing as though her panicked flight had been all too real. She shook her head in confusion and got up to shower; she had perspired so heavily that she was soaked to the skin.
Great. My mother's baggage has my head so fucked up that I'm now having nightmares about the damn Gamilons, she thought. She shoved the shower lever on with an irritated slap, and let the nearly-scalding water soothe away the disturbing traces of the dream, both physical and mental. I need to lighten the hell up.
The following day brought the final stages of her move. After directing the packers through their tasks, she left early for the shuttleport. She wanted to bid Deema Rashid, her dear friend and sensei, farewell. As she walked along the streets of Manhattan, enjoying the warm evening, she recalled the night on Heroes Hill, and the series of events that had led her to this moment. Undeniably, her mother's engineering and indoctrination had contributed to her rise to eminence in her chosen field, but she still resented the fact that her formative years had lacked anything resembling normalcy.
It was many blocks to Deema's house, but Atiranhyi preferred to make the journey on foot, rather than by tube. She wanted to relish the time she had to be able to walk familiar streets without having to fend off overly-enthusiastic fans; her holovid scores alone were gaining her a following. Even without the pitfalls of social prominence, she attracted more than her share of attention: an imposingly-tall woman with nearly knee-length, wavy black hair and brilliant blue eyes, shocking against darkly-exotic features. She paid no regard to the occasional wolf-whistle or catcall; it took more than simple masculine high spirits to offend a woman who had spent several years as an assistant teacher to undergraduates at a school for the performing arts.
Despite her physical attractiveness and compelling personality, Atiranhyi had never had a romantic connection of any kind. Part of the reason was a sheer lack of time for such things; the schedule she had kept at Juilliard had been grueling and competitive, and required hours of rehearsal, study and performance. Another contributing factor was Nova's encouragement to do as she had done and wait for the right man—especially considering the burden imposed by her origins. The final contributing factor was her almost-unrealistically high standards. Short men were a turn-off to her—and few were taller. Add in Atiranhyi's tendency toward intellectual elitism and the very morals encouraged in her by her adoptive family, and it led to a woman alone, at least for the foreseeable future.
Her stiletto heels clicked as she walked up to the doors of Deema's building and buzzed in; she had had the door code for years, and the denizens of the complex knew her. By the time the elevator had reached Deema's floor, he was there to meet her, grinning broadly.
"Well, hello, Dr. Riroroko!"
"Ugh… don't call me that." The memory of her mother rose, unbidden, within her; she suddenly realized she didn't want to be called by the same honorific.
"But… well, all right." Deema looked a little confused.
"My… mother was almost invariably called that. I don't think I'm going to use it," she said softly.
"I see… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
"You didn't; I'm already on edge." She smiled at him and patted his arm. "Let's go sit down. I only have a little while before the shuttle, but I wanted to say goodbye."
They wandered into Deema's apartment; as always, it was almost neurotically tidy. The smell of incense hung warmly in the air. She chose her favorite chair—a large papasan style chair in the corner, and he settled on its ottoman.
"So, this is it, huh? What has you on edge—just the move?"
"Pretty much. That, and I almost had another fight with Derek last night. I still have… issues… whenever I find out he's been talking to certain offworld entities."
"The Gamilons again, huh?" He knew the situation that had led to the previous rift; other than the immediate family, he was the only one who did.
"Yes. And they said something that irritated him, on top of… well, just being who they are." She sighed. "This is going to keep coming up, I'm sure, and I've got to get over it."
"Well… have you ever considered trying to befriend a Gamilon? That might break through the animosity."
"I vacillate between thinking that's a great idea to being afraid I'd become abrasive and make things worse, somehow. Either way… there aren't any Gamilons onworld at the moment, at least not that I know of."
"And we'd know; there's always huge fanfare about it when they send an envoy. Strange; they almost seem to give them a hero's welcome," he mused.
"And that gets on my nerves. Which brings me right back to what I said before: I've got to get over it. Anyway, let's change the subject; I'm sure we can find better things to talk about than my personal angst."
After a warm farewell with her dear friend, Atiranhyi made her way to the shuttle. Gazing out the window, she once again watched a city skyline fall away, and made plans for her future.
First among them would be a return to the place in which she had spilled her mother's blood. A farewell was to be said there, as well.