The first time I met Gene Starwind, I had just turned thirteen the day before.
The space vessel Excelsior VI docked into one of the galaxy's most luxurious hotel satellites, a small and semi-private place known as Red Rush. After all the proper procedures had been completed – pay arranged, at a steep price that the ship's owner had no problem covering, and maintenance orders dictated – the three most important passengers of Excelsior VI departed, stepping aboard the posh satellite station with a similar stately grace characterizing all of them. Ladies first dictated that the petite, well-dressed brunette with her glittering smile disembark first, clutching her designer handbag to her shoulder and gazing around at the décor. Following her was the owner of the ship, a towering man in a white business suit with odd, blue-violet hair that was cropped short to diminish his incurrent balding. He stepped off and clapped a broad hand to the woman's shoulder, shaking her a bit roughly but smiling nonetheless.
The third was a small, slender boy that only left the ship at his father's command of "Fred, come."
Exuding less of the polite manner than his parents, the boy walked stiffly from Excelsior VI's passenger hatch and into the high-class docking bay of Red Rush. His hair was cut short but shaggy, with longer strands around his ears, and had blended the tones of his mother and father almost perfectly to reach a deep, midnight blue. His build was less evenly mixed; for a boy on his thirteenth birthday, he was remarkably scrawny, as though he still had some definite growing to do, and his white suit that matched his father's hung in an uncomfortable-looking fashion on his slim form, like it had been tailor-made but for the wrong person. Even for all the mannerisms he adopted to please his parents in public, he couldn't resist at least one tug at his shirt collar as they made their way inside to the hotel room, scurrying along after his mother while his father spoke to the numerous other hotel patrons that stopped and begged for his attention.
Their room was on the eighteenth floor, and as soon as all three of them reached the relative privacy of the elevator, Fred let loose with the tirade he'd been composing in his head the entire flight over.
"DAad, this is preposterous! I'm going to be the first child in my class this year who hasn't thrown a birthday party!"
"Fred – " his mother began.
"Ryo Norton's family let him turn eight of his friends loose to take anything they wanted out of their department store chain! Alicia Zeng took the entire seventh grade to Planet Tenrei!"
"Listen here, Fred – "
"I'm turning thirteen, Dad! I'm becoming a teenager, for crying out loud! I can't believe I'm going to have to be with you and Mom on this useless business trip!"
"Frederick Anderson Luo!" his father barked, and he quickly shut his mouth. "We've been through this three times already! There is no way you are going to be a suitable business heir for me unless you accompany me on my economic ventures and observe family tradition and business policy. I would think, Fred, that especially as a thirteen-year-old, you would realize the importance of your education in this regard! You are growing closer and closer to becoming the next head of Luo Intergalactic Trades! Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Dad," Fred sighed dismally, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his slacks.
"The Luos haven't always had money. Your grandfather and your great-grandfather had to work hard to get us to where we are today."
"I know, Dad."
"Besides, I didn't see Ryo Norton inviting you to his party."
Silence permeated the elevator for about two seconds more until it reached the eighteenth storey with a mechanical ding. The Luo family stepped off and Fred's father led the way to their suite, number 1804, at the end of the hallway to their left. Fred scuffed his feet against the thick beige carpeting, slightly amused by how deeply into it his shoes sank, but already feeling the first twinge of the insufferable boredom that overcame him whenever he was dragged along on his father's business endeavors.
His mother leaned down to whisper in his ear as his father was swiping the key-card and unlocking their rooms. "You know he only means well, sweetie."
"I know, I know," Fred replied, sighing. "Sometimes I just want to be normal, though."
"Normal – like everyone else?" She gave Fred a teasing smirk, half a mockery of shock, and he laughed a little.
"No, no, that's silly. Not poor normal. Just normal for us."
---
I had merely glimpsed him the night before, but that did make him easier to find.
The grand business meeting that Mr. Luo was attending had been marked on the schedule for the following afternoon. This would be the experience Fred had to sit through in the name of "the family business." Until then, Mr. Luo was mingling with the hotel's other patrons, socializing and brownnosing and in general jumping through corporate hoops. His wife trailed along after him for appearance's sake, joining in the circle of rich ladies that only went to those sorts of things to keep each other company, but she did sneak him in a slice of a decadent red velvet cake as an apology for their absence. Fred picked at it halfheartedly, staring out the window of his room in the suite to the artificial climate of the station's "outside" – though really, there wasn't much to see, for the station was filled with conference centers and high-rise hotels for the well-to-do. There were even a couple more reasonably priced places to stay for those who might dare to grub for jobs in such an upper-crust place, and Fred had the misfortune of staring straight at one of these drab-looking developments as he chewed at his cake (which hadn't even had a candle in it, for crying out loud).
As he lifted the first real bite to his mouth, figuring that he might as well eat the cake and get it over with rather than feel sorry for himself, something of a remarkably similar color appeared in the window directly across from his. Upon swallowing and inspecting closer, Fred determined it to be the hair of a boy, close to his age from the looks of it, leaning against his window as well. Though he felt oddly like he was spying, Fred scooted closer to the window of his own room to get a better look.
The most Fred could see of the other boy was his deep red hair, tanned skin, and wide blue-black eyes. Rather than the astonishing boredom that usually came to Fred in places such as Red Rush, the boy across the way wore an expression of intense excitement, peering out the window as though he was attempting to take it all in at once and failing. As Fred watched, a brown-haired man with a similar complexion and smile came to the window and ruffled the other boy's hair; Fred assumed this man was his father. They swapped a few words and then left the window, curtains swishing back into place.
As they turned, however, the red-haired boy looked up at Fred's hotel rather than down into the sidewalks and details of the ground level. Fred gasped as they made eye contact.
Well, he thought, it could almost be interesting with someone else my own age.
Fred vowed to seek the other boy out the following morning.
---
For all my professions of disbelief in love at first sight, I'm almost afraid that it happened.
When Fred awoke the next morning, his mother and father were still in bed and his suitcase was still in the suite's common room. Tiptoeing past his father's side of the bed to get at his clothes, he could smell a faint whiff of alcohol, but he had no reason to believe it was anything more than social boozing. His father just socially boozed a lot.
He flat-out refused to crawl back into a coat and tie until it was absolutely necessary. Instead, he jerked on a light-green polo shirt with a stripe of darker green down the right breast and a pair of nicely-cut dark-gray slacks – the closest to casual he could muster – and combed his unruly hair as best he could before scribbling some note to his parents about revisiting the candy shop they had been to last time and slipping one of the suite's key-cards into his wallet next to his cash card. He'd slept awfully late in relation to the station's time-synch – lag from their space flight, of course – and so it didn't seem at all unusual for a boy his age to be darting around the station, outside of the fact that boys his age weren't usually around for anything other than janitorial staff.
Rather than head to the store he had mentioned, however, Fred crossed the broad walkway to the cheaper hotel and peered straight up at its glassy face. Did he dare go in? How would he find the red-haired boy if he did? He supposed it was still the eighteenth floor no matter how he cut it – but how would he be received, if the other boy were there?
Oh well. Fred had never been the type to fuss over first impressions; he usually made good ones. He'd just have to hope for the best.
Fortunately for Fred, the hotel lobby was nearly devoid of other people, and no one really noticed his entrance. It was a nice place, Fred allowed, but it was hardly his own hotel; the carpet wasn't nearly as thick, the works of art hanging from the walls were clearly reproductions, and the elevator indicated that there were only twenty storeys rather than forty-five. Still, had he been guaranteed prompt room service with an excellent menu, he reckoned this place would have served the purpose just as well as any.
He didn't share his elevator ride with anyone; apparently, no one was particularly interested in journeying to the eighteenth floor in the middle of the day. Floor eighteen had eleven rooms, only five of which were on the wall facing his hotel, and by process of elimination he ruled out three of them as not lining up properly. Knocking on one of the remaining two earned him no response: the room was either entirely unoccupied or its inhabitants were out somewhere.
Knocking on the second door brought him a rude and decidedly teenaged "Do not disturb!"
Fred drew a deep breath. "Hello. You wouldn't happen to be the red-haired guy I saw from my room across the way last night, would you?" He didn't really see how any other response would have worked, so the direct approach was pretty much his only route.
And it was evidently a successful one. In a few brief seconds more, the door to room 1809 was swinging open to reveal the redhead, standing a good two and a half inches taller than Fred and with a hand-held game system dangling from his fingers. "Who're you?" he asked.
"I'm Fred Luo, and I'm insufferably bored," Fred answered frankly. "I was wondering if you were losing it stuck here as much as I was. I don't…well, there are never any other kids here when I'm here, so I thought – "
"I ain't a kid," the redhead shot back, turning to retreat into his room and sliding the door shut as he went. Fred quickly jammed the toe of his white boots into the crack of the door and forced his hand and half his face inside.
"I didn't mean it like that, honest, I just meant someone else close to my own age. Unless you're much older or younger than you look, I'd venture to say we've at least got that much in common. Come now, humor me, let me at least talk at you for a couple of minutes. This'll be the most decent human contact I get all day."
The redhead raised one thick eyebrow and relented, allowing Fred to squeeze his way into the room completely. "You here by yourself or somethin'?"
"No, of course not. It's just that my father is dragging me along on this wretched business trip of his, so all the people I see for the rest of today will really be bloodsucking leeches in disguise." Watching as the other boy flopped belly-first onto the bed that took up most of the room, Fred decided it was okay to seat himself, and landed similarly in the large armchair by the window, where the redhead had presumably been sitting the night before. "It's all right though, I guess. I ought to be used to it by now, you'd think." Below the sound of his own voice, Fred could hear the faint beep-click of the game being played again. "Are you even paying attention to a thing I've said?"
"Shut up real quick, will ya? I'm trying to beat this boss I've been workin' at since we got here. It's really freakin' hard."
"My father won't let me play video games," Fred answered. "He says they rot the brain."
A tune of digital defeat emanated from the game and the red-haired boy smacked it down into the mattress and groaned. "Gee whiz, Fred, that was my last life! What the hell are you doing, anyway?"
"I'm trying," Fred said finally, "to make a friend. I've been told I'm not very good at it, so you'll have to help me out a bit."
"Yeah, I'd say you kind of suck." The other boy sat up and looked Fred in the eye. "For one, you sound like a stuck-up rich bastard, but I guess I can forgive that a little because you probably are. Two, you never freakin' shut up, so it's really hard for anyone else to get a word in edgewise. And three – " Here he got up off the bed, trudged over to where Fred was sitting, and took a small lump of Fred's messy hair in his hand, giving it a rougher-than-necessary tug. "Three, your hair is all in your face and I can't even see you to talk to you when I can talk. Get yourself a freakin' headband, or shave yourself bald, or something."
"Bald? What a preposterous suggestion – " Fred stopped. The other boy hadn't even offered up his name yet.
He seemed to realize that, though, and answered reluctantly. "Gene. Starwind." A video-game calloused hand was extended, practically thrust in Fred's face, and he took it gingerly, returning the gesture more vigorously when Gene was found to have a reasonably good handshake. Gene sank down onto the corner of the bed. "Friends, huh?"
"If you wouldn't at all mind."
"So whaddya do for fun on Red Rush?"
"Well, down where the shops are, they've got this place that sells remarkably good chocolate."
Gene's expression perked up a little. "You've bought stuff from there? We walked past it and it smelled so good, but the prices were insane."
A smirk played across Fred's face, and he reached into his back pocket to tug out his wallet. "It's hardly a problem, Gene." Hoisting himself up using the arms of the chair, Fred stood, and as Gene followed suit he began to lead the way to the door. "Let's go now – I told my parents I'd be there anyway, and they have the best chocolate-covered cherries I've ever found anywhere."
---
Even then, the first time I ever said his name, the lilt was creeping slowly into my voice.
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AN: Forgive me Father, for I have sinned, I don't even know if I've ever confessed before, but…I'm writing a chaptered fic. Oh, help me now.
Butbutbut…Frene is so cute…and I was thinking today (while watching episodes 10-19 of Outlaw Star) how we never really find out how Fred met Gene…andandand…lookat'em…kyaa. So yes, this may get updated about once a millennium, but DEAL WITH IT. That is all.