Disclaimer: Usual applies.
Thanks to all who've read and reviewed - I hope you enjoy this chapter! (Here goes...)
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
Rachael woke her up, her grip soft as she shook Relena's arm. Relena turned her face into the pillow but muttered, in a clear voice, that she was awake. Their joined suite, roomy, open, smelled like shoe polish and hair in heating-curlers. Blinking grains of sleep-dried tears from her eyes Relena shuffled into the bathroom - Rachael, while waiting for her hair to dry in the curlers, sat at the television, engrossed in the weather report. It resembled something from Pleasantville, mentioning yesterday's "...beautiful, rare rain!..." and the new day's warm, dry conditions.
The bathroom was still warm and the mirror fogged over from Rachael's shower. Relena stripped, ran her hands through her hair, turned the faucet on. The water came out lukewarm at first but she stepped in rather than wait for it to adjust. With water pouring down on her she stretched, yawned, tasting her breath and wanting for a toothbrush. The shower curtain was clear and she could watch the clock stationed across from her, over the sink, beside the mirror - 5:53 in the AM.
It felt earlier.
After the shower she dressed and otherwise readied herself; Rachael and she left the suite at 6:54 AM, arriving six minutes early for breakfast. The other members of their party were to arrive later that morning; for the time being, Relena cleared her mind with the local paper over a bowl of fruit, grown on a moonfarm a few kilometers from the colony. Due to jetlag she cared little for eating but the likelihood of a late lunch was great. The first sponsored party was that evening; she would have to still be able to stand on her feet by then.
She asked the waiter for her stationary and a good pen: mail left at 8 AM and she had a few things to take care of. With regret she started a letter to Pagan - the letter was added to the rest of the outgoing mail, brought to the northern end of the colony and transported by bulk shuttle to Earth. The letter went through South Africa, Neo-Egypt and New Turkey before reaching Cinq's border: it took two more days before it finally rested in the worn hand of her butler, chauffeur, guardian, confidante and friend, the embodiment of what her father could not be, a constant companion.
Inbetween 'talks', a lunch 'date', a mid-afternoon rendezvous, and early-evening conference, Relena found the colony a pleasant surprise: people smiled, the layout of the streets was organized, patterned like a grid, and great efforts were made to keep the entirety of it sanitary. Everything was new in comparison to the rest of the colonies - the oldest building couldn't have been much more than five years old. At one point, she could see the moonfarm from which her breakfast had come - a thin, silver bow of metal, the half-sphere of its protective glass shell glinting from time to time but otherwise invisible. A thin layer of bumpy green ran over the surface of the silver; crops.
At six o'clock, after the early-evening conference with Schmiffon, Heero appeared. He materialized at her elbow once everyone's backs were turned: flinching at his touch when he prodded her arm, she glanced over her shoulder and grinned.
"Heero." He nodded a greeting. Dressed as the natives were he sported a laptop at the hip, hung from around his shoulders on a wide strap, a hat creating a belt of shadow over his eyes. The party continued to move on, towards the hotel again to change for the evening's activity. Relena and Heero formed the last of the line.
"Were you working, Heero?" She tilted her head, looking up at him.
"Yeah." She turned her eyes to the back of the head of Schmiffon, a few feet in front of her, his bald spot glaring with the sunlight it attracted.
"This colony is so friendly. We weren't even required to have two guard watches with us." She glanced up a towering building in pink mekamarble, craning her head back to see the top. "And attractive. There is open space to be used up, too - and more to be added on!"
"Do you plan to put refugees here?"
"I hope so." They walked on in silence for a few minutes, Heero's sneakers making a 'lap-lap' type of noise alongside the sharp Clicks of Relena's heels. They passed a small plot of land - to be made into a park, as the sign said - in which several people were laying down grass. The hotel was close by, just ahead, really, as they could already see it.
Heero paused, his gaze traveling across the street. Their steps slowed and they became further separated from Relena's group.
"I think I should go now."
Relena's steps slowed.
"Why?"
"You don't need me right now." Relena pulled back, faltering. The party flit through her and she groped for the nearest thing that came to mind.
"But - you could come." She blurted. Heero was at the curb and had almost stepped off: he now raised an eyebrow at her, skeptical.
"No." Relena glanced down, her eyebrows pulling together.
"Well. Alright. I'm sorry, that wasn't necessary. I shouldn't have asked." She inhaled, looked up and nodded. Heero turned away again.
"Have a good night, Heero." She called after him.
"Yeah." He stepped off the curb then faltered before adding, "You, too..." Heero crossed the street and she hurried to catch up with the group. Rachael, originally at the head of the procession, had fallen back, a portable vidlink in one hand. She gestured to Relena, clamoring for her attention. Shoulder-to-shoulder they opened the message and a bellman appeared on the screen, reminding them of the time, place and dress code for the upcoming event. Rachael was glowing when Relena cut the call.
"Are you excited for this evening?" Relena asked, mildly suprised but glad. Rachael shrugged.
"I've never been to a formal before." Relena grasped her hand and squeezed it quickly before they fell in step with everyone else at the entrance to the hotel.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
The next day, after a continuous course of events and one charity luncheon held at the aforementioned-moonfarm, the small ballroom that Relena had visited was filled with her associates. A bartender was busy with drinks in the left wing, orders mainly consisting of martinis and flutes of champagne. A saxophone player and a man at a small piano formed the background music to the party. No one danced. People traveled from one tightly-bunched group to the next; this was an occation in which not to discuss things of relative importance to any descriptive degree yet neither to turn to anything considered less than modern, up-to-date and aristocratic.
To a less contradicting crowd this was a 'Fishbowl of hypocrites.'
And they offered no chairs for anyone below the age of fifty-five with a sound heart. Therefore, Relena and Rachael stood shoulder to shoulder through most of it - they encountered, one by one, each of the guests, naturally; Luivani came by several times, the third with Chea on her arm, and Schmiffon seemed to be innerly flailing at the effort of socializing with people and found his way to them at least twice.
Rachael prodded Relena in the side, gently, and pointed with a small thrust of her chin at someone.
"Who's she?" Relena craned her neck - discretely.
"Mayor of Ginesburg, I believe."
"Oh." A moment passed and it was Relena's turn to jab the other in the side.
"The bald one over there - no, the other - yes, he's the Chief of the Brazilian navel forces. Although, I'm not sure why he's made an appearance.."
"Hm. Handsome."
"Not very fluent in English - see, that's his translator." Rachael giggled.
"They look buddy-buddy." Relena glanced around once more.
"And that woman, in the blue formal? She's an advocate for the French propaganda - formerly an orderly of Oz, as much of France was until last year."
"Pretty."
"Mmh-hm...oh, and those men? With Luivani? President Buchenheimer, Vice-President Lauer, Marianne Funkels (author of "Ich sterbe Niemals" or, "I never die") and Head of Treasury Lars Adlerheim." Rachael nodded and they stared at the group, engrossed in a rapidly-exchanged conversation. Nudging Relena with her palm Rachael pointed her chin over to them.
"Who's the lady with Ms. Luivani?" Relena ran her tongue over her teeth before responding.
"Her companion, I believe."
"Oh." Relena continued.
"Chea Giole, if I remember correctly. She's really very sweet."
"Oh. Hm." Relena turned to Rachael; she was drinking the last of the champagne but her eyes remained on the pair. After a moment, Chea looked up, her mass of neat curls bouncing at the action; smiling, she winked at Relena. Relena gave her a wave in welcome, smiling just as widely.
She gave a start when someone tapped her, hard, on the shoulder. Turning around, she faced the offender with as much as wonder as surprise at finding who it was.
"Ambassador Buckler!" Her gasp neatly collided with a cough resulting over a large gulp of champagne, causing her to hack lightly into the palm of cupped hand while Rachael waited for introductions to be made, the creased, heavy-jowled face a familiar one from photos but otherwise unknown to her. Patting her employer on the back she assured herself that Relena did not need to excuse herself: the coughing subsided and Relena straightened once more. Without offering her hand, she greeted the Ambassador.
Rachael, on the other hand, took the opportunity to extend a hand - as she had done, repeatedly, the entire evening like a well-trained puppy - in an offer to shake, already forming a plan of action in which she could semi-dazzle the heavy man with her well-informed conversational skills.
The Ambassador flinched, pulling both hands - neither one having been extended - at his back when he saw the one lonely palm advancing towards him and, lunging backwards, caused the upset of a tray of empty glasses a waiter had been bringing to the kitchens. Grasping for something at his side, the Ambassador seemed both exasperated and desperate: a leathery little man standing behind him held up open pack of handwipes of which he took several and began using on his hands, neck, and forehead. Little droplets of perspiration had gathered in the seconds Rachael had reached for his hand.
In puzzled embarrassment Rachael hid her hands in the pockets of her blazer, hooking her thumbs on the outer flap in a self-conscious manner she never would have attempted among such company otherwise. Glancing at Relena she let her hair fall forward, eyes wide and bright. She was now distraught, much of her former eagerness sapped from her at the Ambassador's reaction to her greeting.
Relena took her by the elbow as though to steady the rocky feelings bounding in her assistant and smiled, a bit faintly but on the whole pleasantly enough.
"Ambassador Buckler, this is my assistant, Rachael Telapen. She's with me on the Colony Reconstruction campaign." He snorted, yet wiping his hands a third time over with the 'wipes.
"Ha, campaign - charade, I'm sure is the term there." Relena tilted her head in feigned amusement, her hands still encircling Rachael's forearm.
"We can only hope for your support, Ambassador."
"We'll see." He handed the rest of the handwipes to the leathery man before continuing, "By the way, Ms. Dorlian, Ms. Telapen, this is Phillips Reynold, my American righthand." Reynolds bowed from the waist, muttering a quick, clear "Charmed." Apparently, his service with the Ambassador had taught against the usual handshake in a greeting; he talked little but seemed busy with his keen little eyes dissecting the conversation as it followed.
"I hope you're enjoying your stay on the colony, Ambassador?" Relena offered.
"Harrumph." Grunt, grunt. "Business remains business under the most..pleasant of circumstances."
"True. What drives you to attendance, Ambassador, if I may ask?"
"Your little project, Vice Minister." The expression he then took on was a mixture of smug knowing and irritation. "What you're proposing is radical enough to act as a smokescreen but I am here to find if the cause is really worth the trouble. And the money." Rachael licked her lips tentatively.
"Actually, the idea is not so radical, but mainly - "
"Finances." He finished, not looking in her direction.
"Er..yes." Rachael clamped her mouth shut. The ambassador's head bent forward, nearly tucking his chin in the flaps of skin escaping his collar.
"Your idealism and views are charming, Ms. Dorlian, but how do you propose we come up with the amount needed to not only reconstruct and rebuild aged space colonies, but transfer their masses to temporary holds while the action takes place? No such funding exists anywhere! I'm certainly not going to empty my pockets for it - and I can't see even the vast Peacecraft fortune capable of handling all the demands of such a project." He curled his hands in each other, palm to palm. "What shall you suggest? Raised taxes? Sponsorships? A new currency?"
"All of your questions will be answered tomorrow, if you are to attend the Staffing Conference."
"I will be present, if only to see your little project - fail - in its infancy." Relena's smile was light and fixed.
"I shall be grateful for your presence, Ambassador Buckler." He regarded her, eyes twinkling but expressionless, his jowles, mouth and nose seeming too heavy for his face and drooping.
"Always landing on your feet, aren't you, Vice Minister?"
"I have little choice on such uneven ground, Ambassador." He gave a coughing sputter that seemed a laugh before turning slitted eyes to Rachael.
"Inform her well, Vice Minister."
"Of course. I already count on her abilities more than I can say."
"Harrumph. Tomorrow, then?" Relena nodded. He turned away and rode the waves of disapproving glances to the next group, one already stiffening body of four people, one of which was Luivani. Relena, though, turned her back to them and half-dragged Rachael to a window with a little more privacy near the curtains.
"What do you know of Ambassador Ferdinand Buckler, Rachael?" She asked hurriedly.
"Australian citizen, Head of Australian Government Finance, introduced the Bagel-LaVon Act eight years ago."
"Good. Keep in mind he's obsessive-compulsive and a critique of any and everyone's workmanship, including his own. Brusque but well-serving - he's like that all the time." She nodded.
"I can't remember his aquiring an American assistant into his office, though." She sounded subdued but her mien was of one not as disheartened as before.
"He must be new. Could you find some information on him?"
"Of course."
"Thank you." They turned back to the room. "Back to the party..."
Thanks to all who've read and reviewed - I hope you enjoy this chapter! (Here goes...)
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
Rachael woke her up, her grip soft as she shook Relena's arm. Relena turned her face into the pillow but muttered, in a clear voice, that she was awake. Their joined suite, roomy, open, smelled like shoe polish and hair in heating-curlers. Blinking grains of sleep-dried tears from her eyes Relena shuffled into the bathroom - Rachael, while waiting for her hair to dry in the curlers, sat at the television, engrossed in the weather report. It resembled something from Pleasantville, mentioning yesterday's "...beautiful, rare rain!..." and the new day's warm, dry conditions.
The bathroom was still warm and the mirror fogged over from Rachael's shower. Relena stripped, ran her hands through her hair, turned the faucet on. The water came out lukewarm at first but she stepped in rather than wait for it to adjust. With water pouring down on her she stretched, yawned, tasting her breath and wanting for a toothbrush. The shower curtain was clear and she could watch the clock stationed across from her, over the sink, beside the mirror - 5:53 in the AM.
It felt earlier.
After the shower she dressed and otherwise readied herself; Rachael and she left the suite at 6:54 AM, arriving six minutes early for breakfast. The other members of their party were to arrive later that morning; for the time being, Relena cleared her mind with the local paper over a bowl of fruit, grown on a moonfarm a few kilometers from the colony. Due to jetlag she cared little for eating but the likelihood of a late lunch was great. The first sponsored party was that evening; she would have to still be able to stand on her feet by then.
She asked the waiter for her stationary and a good pen: mail left at 8 AM and she had a few things to take care of. With regret she started a letter to Pagan - the letter was added to the rest of the outgoing mail, brought to the northern end of the colony and transported by bulk shuttle to Earth. The letter went through South Africa, Neo-Egypt and New Turkey before reaching Cinq's border: it took two more days before it finally rested in the worn hand of her butler, chauffeur, guardian, confidante and friend, the embodiment of what her father could not be, a constant companion.
Inbetween 'talks', a lunch 'date', a mid-afternoon rendezvous, and early-evening conference, Relena found the colony a pleasant surprise: people smiled, the layout of the streets was organized, patterned like a grid, and great efforts were made to keep the entirety of it sanitary. Everything was new in comparison to the rest of the colonies - the oldest building couldn't have been much more than five years old. At one point, she could see the moonfarm from which her breakfast had come - a thin, silver bow of metal, the half-sphere of its protective glass shell glinting from time to time but otherwise invisible. A thin layer of bumpy green ran over the surface of the silver; crops.
At six o'clock, after the early-evening conference with Schmiffon, Heero appeared. He materialized at her elbow once everyone's backs were turned: flinching at his touch when he prodded her arm, she glanced over her shoulder and grinned.
"Heero." He nodded a greeting. Dressed as the natives were he sported a laptop at the hip, hung from around his shoulders on a wide strap, a hat creating a belt of shadow over his eyes. The party continued to move on, towards the hotel again to change for the evening's activity. Relena and Heero formed the last of the line.
"Were you working, Heero?" She tilted her head, looking up at him.
"Yeah." She turned her eyes to the back of the head of Schmiffon, a few feet in front of her, his bald spot glaring with the sunlight it attracted.
"This colony is so friendly. We weren't even required to have two guard watches with us." She glanced up a towering building in pink mekamarble, craning her head back to see the top. "And attractive. There is open space to be used up, too - and more to be added on!"
"Do you plan to put refugees here?"
"I hope so." They walked on in silence for a few minutes, Heero's sneakers making a 'lap-lap' type of noise alongside the sharp Clicks of Relena's heels. They passed a small plot of land - to be made into a park, as the sign said - in which several people were laying down grass. The hotel was close by, just ahead, really, as they could already see it.
Heero paused, his gaze traveling across the street. Their steps slowed and they became further separated from Relena's group.
"I think I should go now."
Relena's steps slowed.
"Why?"
"You don't need me right now." Relena pulled back, faltering. The party flit through her and she groped for the nearest thing that came to mind.
"But - you could come." She blurted. Heero was at the curb and had almost stepped off: he now raised an eyebrow at her, skeptical.
"No." Relena glanced down, her eyebrows pulling together.
"Well. Alright. I'm sorry, that wasn't necessary. I shouldn't have asked." She inhaled, looked up and nodded. Heero turned away again.
"Have a good night, Heero." She called after him.
"Yeah." He stepped off the curb then faltered before adding, "You, too..." Heero crossed the street and she hurried to catch up with the group. Rachael, originally at the head of the procession, had fallen back, a portable vidlink in one hand. She gestured to Relena, clamoring for her attention. Shoulder-to-shoulder they opened the message and a bellman appeared on the screen, reminding them of the time, place and dress code for the upcoming event. Rachael was glowing when Relena cut the call.
"Are you excited for this evening?" Relena asked, mildly suprised but glad. Rachael shrugged.
"I've never been to a formal before." Relena grasped her hand and squeezed it quickly before they fell in step with everyone else at the entrance to the hotel.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
The next day, after a continuous course of events and one charity luncheon held at the aforementioned-moonfarm, the small ballroom that Relena had visited was filled with her associates. A bartender was busy with drinks in the left wing, orders mainly consisting of martinis and flutes of champagne. A saxophone player and a man at a small piano formed the background music to the party. No one danced. People traveled from one tightly-bunched group to the next; this was an occation in which not to discuss things of relative importance to any descriptive degree yet neither to turn to anything considered less than modern, up-to-date and aristocratic.
To a less contradicting crowd this was a 'Fishbowl of hypocrites.'
And they offered no chairs for anyone below the age of fifty-five with a sound heart. Therefore, Relena and Rachael stood shoulder to shoulder through most of it - they encountered, one by one, each of the guests, naturally; Luivani came by several times, the third with Chea on her arm, and Schmiffon seemed to be innerly flailing at the effort of socializing with people and found his way to them at least twice.
Rachael prodded Relena in the side, gently, and pointed with a small thrust of her chin at someone.
"Who's she?" Relena craned her neck - discretely.
"Mayor of Ginesburg, I believe."
"Oh." A moment passed and it was Relena's turn to jab the other in the side.
"The bald one over there - no, the other - yes, he's the Chief of the Brazilian navel forces. Although, I'm not sure why he's made an appearance.."
"Hm. Handsome."
"Not very fluent in English - see, that's his translator." Rachael giggled.
"They look buddy-buddy." Relena glanced around once more.
"And that woman, in the blue formal? She's an advocate for the French propaganda - formerly an orderly of Oz, as much of France was until last year."
"Pretty."
"Mmh-hm...oh, and those men? With Luivani? President Buchenheimer, Vice-President Lauer, Marianne Funkels (author of "Ich sterbe Niemals" or, "I never die") and Head of Treasury Lars Adlerheim." Rachael nodded and they stared at the group, engrossed in a rapidly-exchanged conversation. Nudging Relena with her palm Rachael pointed her chin over to them.
"Who's the lady with Ms. Luivani?" Relena ran her tongue over her teeth before responding.
"Her companion, I believe."
"Oh." Relena continued.
"Chea Giole, if I remember correctly. She's really very sweet."
"Oh. Hm." Relena turned to Rachael; she was drinking the last of the champagne but her eyes remained on the pair. After a moment, Chea looked up, her mass of neat curls bouncing at the action; smiling, she winked at Relena. Relena gave her a wave in welcome, smiling just as widely.
She gave a start when someone tapped her, hard, on the shoulder. Turning around, she faced the offender with as much as wonder as surprise at finding who it was.
"Ambassador Buckler!" Her gasp neatly collided with a cough resulting over a large gulp of champagne, causing her to hack lightly into the palm of cupped hand while Rachael waited for introductions to be made, the creased, heavy-jowled face a familiar one from photos but otherwise unknown to her. Patting her employer on the back she assured herself that Relena did not need to excuse herself: the coughing subsided and Relena straightened once more. Without offering her hand, she greeted the Ambassador.
Rachael, on the other hand, took the opportunity to extend a hand - as she had done, repeatedly, the entire evening like a well-trained puppy - in an offer to shake, already forming a plan of action in which she could semi-dazzle the heavy man with her well-informed conversational skills.
The Ambassador flinched, pulling both hands - neither one having been extended - at his back when he saw the one lonely palm advancing towards him and, lunging backwards, caused the upset of a tray of empty glasses a waiter had been bringing to the kitchens. Grasping for something at his side, the Ambassador seemed both exasperated and desperate: a leathery little man standing behind him held up open pack of handwipes of which he took several and began using on his hands, neck, and forehead. Little droplets of perspiration had gathered in the seconds Rachael had reached for his hand.
In puzzled embarrassment Rachael hid her hands in the pockets of her blazer, hooking her thumbs on the outer flap in a self-conscious manner she never would have attempted among such company otherwise. Glancing at Relena she let her hair fall forward, eyes wide and bright. She was now distraught, much of her former eagerness sapped from her at the Ambassador's reaction to her greeting.
Relena took her by the elbow as though to steady the rocky feelings bounding in her assistant and smiled, a bit faintly but on the whole pleasantly enough.
"Ambassador Buckler, this is my assistant, Rachael Telapen. She's with me on the Colony Reconstruction campaign." He snorted, yet wiping his hands a third time over with the 'wipes.
"Ha, campaign - charade, I'm sure is the term there." Relena tilted her head in feigned amusement, her hands still encircling Rachael's forearm.
"We can only hope for your support, Ambassador."
"We'll see." He handed the rest of the handwipes to the leathery man before continuing, "By the way, Ms. Dorlian, Ms. Telapen, this is Phillips Reynold, my American righthand." Reynolds bowed from the waist, muttering a quick, clear "Charmed." Apparently, his service with the Ambassador had taught against the usual handshake in a greeting; he talked little but seemed busy with his keen little eyes dissecting the conversation as it followed.
"I hope you're enjoying your stay on the colony, Ambassador?" Relena offered.
"Harrumph." Grunt, grunt. "Business remains business under the most..pleasant of circumstances."
"True. What drives you to attendance, Ambassador, if I may ask?"
"Your little project, Vice Minister." The expression he then took on was a mixture of smug knowing and irritation. "What you're proposing is radical enough to act as a smokescreen but I am here to find if the cause is really worth the trouble. And the money." Rachael licked her lips tentatively.
"Actually, the idea is not so radical, but mainly - "
"Finances." He finished, not looking in her direction.
"Er..yes." Rachael clamped her mouth shut. The ambassador's head bent forward, nearly tucking his chin in the flaps of skin escaping his collar.
"Your idealism and views are charming, Ms. Dorlian, but how do you propose we come up with the amount needed to not only reconstruct and rebuild aged space colonies, but transfer their masses to temporary holds while the action takes place? No such funding exists anywhere! I'm certainly not going to empty my pockets for it - and I can't see even the vast Peacecraft fortune capable of handling all the demands of such a project." He curled his hands in each other, palm to palm. "What shall you suggest? Raised taxes? Sponsorships? A new currency?"
"All of your questions will be answered tomorrow, if you are to attend the Staffing Conference."
"I will be present, if only to see your little project - fail - in its infancy." Relena's smile was light and fixed.
"I shall be grateful for your presence, Ambassador Buckler." He regarded her, eyes twinkling but expressionless, his jowles, mouth and nose seeming too heavy for his face and drooping.
"Always landing on your feet, aren't you, Vice Minister?"
"I have little choice on such uneven ground, Ambassador." He gave a coughing sputter that seemed a laugh before turning slitted eyes to Rachael.
"Inform her well, Vice Minister."
"Of course. I already count on her abilities more than I can say."
"Harrumph. Tomorrow, then?" Relena nodded. He turned away and rode the waves of disapproving glances to the next group, one already stiffening body of four people, one of which was Luivani. Relena, though, turned her back to them and half-dragged Rachael to a window with a little more privacy near the curtains.
"What do you know of Ambassador Ferdinand Buckler, Rachael?" She asked hurriedly.
"Australian citizen, Head of Australian Government Finance, introduced the Bagel-LaVon Act eight years ago."
"Good. Keep in mind he's obsessive-compulsive and a critique of any and everyone's workmanship, including his own. Brusque but well-serving - he's like that all the time." She nodded.
"I can't remember his aquiring an American assistant into his office, though." She sounded subdued but her mien was of one not as disheartened as before.
"He must be new. Could you find some information on him?"
"Of course."
"Thank you." They turned back to the room. "Back to the party..."