Chapter 2
If Founder's Park had been paved over, Vanessa knew she would have wept. It would have been the last straw, after the loss of Monument's unique identity, and the erasure of the giant Zentraedi from its story. But the park still stood, nestled between the new commercial district and a cluster of expensive high rise apartment buildings, and Vanessa's thoughts were no longer turned toward grief. She and Bron walked arm in arm along familiar trails, her body humming with delight, from the power of the music that had flowed through her, the cheerful greetings of the many people who recognized her and Bron, the energy of the dances they had shared, stretching muscles long disused for that purpose, and most especially, Bron's warmth and touch, and the smile on his face.
The evening breeze susurrated in the leaves of old growth trees carefully transplanted by giant hands from isolated valleys and dells that had been miraculously sheltered from Dolza's unrestrained bombardment of the Northern Hemisphere. The couple lingered a moment by the memorial pool, its still water reflecting the underside of the spiked orb suspended above it, an acknowledgement by the Zentraedi of the shared grief and suffering resulting from the Rain of Death. Eventually they found their favorite clearing, where they had shared their first picnic. The sun was setting in a magnificent display of purples, reds, and golds, and the air was still warm and sultry from the heat of the day. The air was thick with the fragrance of the wildflowers growing around them, and Vanessa breathed deep as she stepped through the tall grass, smelling first, milkweed, and then, a heady mixture of Black-eyed Susans, Anise Hyssop, and mint.
She and Bron reached the center of the clearing and laid back side by side in the grass, a rich, green aroma joining the perfume of the wildflowers. They held hands and stared up at the heavens, watching the evening sky as it turned from red to lavender to dark blue, the pink tinged clouds darkening to a wine red and eventually fading against the descending twilight. They spent long moments in silence, letting the warmth passing between their interlaced fingers renew a connection that needed no words.
"I saw that sky I dreamed of," Vanessa finally said. Bron shifted next to her.
"'Standing on a distant shore'?" he asked softly.
"That's right."
"Was it beautiful?"
"Maybe the most beautiful place I've ever seen. The shades of green, above the amethyst fields of flowers, going on forever, and the bright silver starlight at dusk… that's not even adequate, I can't really describe it. I can show you images later, but they won't do it justice either." She turned her head toward him, and found him already watching her, his face close enough for his breath to tickle her cheek. His eyes were bright in the dying light.
"It sounds perfect. So was it everything you dreamed of?"
He had remembered that conversation, of course, all of those years ago, right in this very place. She hesitated.
"It was almost perfect. It was missing one thing."
"What was that?"
"You."
"Ah." The word came out in a sigh, and she squeezed his hand.
"Are you ok?" she asked. They tried not to dwell on the distance placed between them by their responsibilities, but they also didn't pretend it had no affect on them.
"Yeah, I've just been thinking about our choices, and about what we've been doing."
She could hear the change in his tone. "I'm sorry. I didn't say it to make you feel bad."
"No, you didn't do anything wrong, I've just been waiting for the right time to tell you about a decision I've made. And now that you're back from space, I shouldn't put it off any longer."
"Bron?" She suddenly felt worry and doubt as a pressure around her chest.
"I'm not sure how to say it. You've been faithful to your mission, and faithful to me, through all these years. You've given me nothing but patience and support and love, and I know how hard it's been for you. I just don't want you to second guess yourself, or feel like I did it because you were away."
Vanessa swallowed against a tightening in her throat, thinking of all of the things she had said to Kaden, and wondering if she had been terribly mistaken. "Please, Bron, just say it."
"Right, sorry." He pushed his fingers through his hair, and went on. "I've decided I'm not going to stand for reelection this year. I'm leaving the Assembly."
Vanessa didn't understand what he has said at first. It was too unexpected. Since the SDF-1 and Macross were destroyed, they had organized their entire lives around their sense of obligation to the causes they believed in, and accepted their separation because they had no choice. Bron had become an internationally recognized figure in the causes of peace, equality, and justice. He was a pioneer who had opened the way for other Zentraedi to assume high offices in the government, and an influential political bloc had formed around him. If he left the Assembly…
"Why?" Vanessa asked, rolling over and propping herself up on her elbow. Bron shuffled around into a sitting position, arms resting across his knees.
"I've been thinking about it for a while. Almost since I was reelected the first time. What happened with Cantor kind of decided it for me."
"But we need you in the Assembly! Yes, I understand that not everything turned out how we would have liked, but there's still so much to do. People believe in you! Why would you walk away?"
Bron looked morose. "Earth has changed more than you realize, since you left. Monument is just part of it. I'm not quite sure how to explain it. The Zentraedi communities are splitting up, and they're joining the government sponsored resettlement and education programs, which was the idea, but it means Zentraedi identity is fading. People are turning inward. The momentum behind exploration and expansion is slowing."
"But how could that be? People like General Leonard were always against the Gloval Initiative, but it seemed like everyone else was uniting behind the Pioneer Mission."
Bron frowned, struggling to express what he meant. He glanced toward the sky again, then looked back at Vanessa and patted the ground. "Look up there."
They both settled back in the grass, facing upward. "What do you see?" he asked.
Vanessa made herself relax, and drank in the view. "A beautiful night. Dark purples and blues. A bright crescent moon. A few clouds, silver where the moonlight touches them."
"Yeah," Bron murmured. "What else?"
Vanessa reached up with her cybernetic arm, which shone pale and ghostly in the darkness. "Orion's Belt," she said, pointing to the distinctive trio of stars. "Venus… and Mars," she added, finding the bright planets without too much difficulty. "Mmm, and there's the Factory Satellite." The artificial moon was scudding along just above the edge of the tree line, like a cluster of soap bubbles blown in the wind.
"Right. Anything else?"
"Not much. A couple of veritechs. I can see their running lights. A few other stars."
"Anything missing?"
Vanessa had spent so many years in space by now that the answer seemed obvious to her.
"The rest of the stars, of course. Because of the city." She had grown up in major cities, where light pollution was a fact of life. Skies like this one had been normal for her. After the worst of the dust clouds kicked up by the Rain of Death had cleared, it had been startling to look up at the sky and see thousands upon thousands of stars, the Aurora Borealis, and far away galaxies and nebulae. But Monument, while nowhere near the size of any of the great metropolises of Old Earth, had grown large and affluent enough to challenge the heavens with its own beacons of light, not the least of which were the scores of platform mounted spot lights illuminating the ivory towers of the UEG capitol building, off to the southwest.
"Yes. And that's part of it, I think. The people with the biggest influence and the most resources don't even really see the stars anymore. " Bron answered. "Life is getting better, easier. The stars seem farther away, and less threatening. Zentraedi are settling in, hoping to be accepted as belonging to Earth just as much as those born here. The urgency to get out into the galaxy and make a safe home away from Earth is declining, because it's more comfortable here."
"I heard there was a push from the Army of the Southern Cross to terminate the entire Pioneer Mission. Did something similar happen in the Assembly?"
Bron nodded. "The motion was tabled in committee before it got to the floor for debate. There were enough moderates who at least want any potential war with the Masters to happen far away from Earth. But the old squabbles between states are resurfacing, conflicts I can't even begin to understand as an outsider. The other senators I work with have started moving on to other priorities. And my own support-" He stopped.
"What?"
He scooted himself back into a sitting position, and looked at her gravely. "The polls show my numbers slipping. I still have a core of Zentraedi voters, but I'm losing among Terrans more interested in infrastructure and the economy than space exploration, peace efforts, and cultural development. Mary said I'd probably be able to get reelected if I changed my platform, but I don't want to."
Alarmed, Vanessa raised herself on one elbow. "But maybe if you-"
"No. I compromised what I believe in too much without even knowing what I was doing. I'm not going to do it knowingly, just to hold on to political power."
Vanessa regarded him steadily, and finally nodded. "I can't fault you for that. During the Manhattan Crisis, I was ready to resign over the UEG's handling of the conflict."
"I was worried… worried that you'd be angry. That you'd think I was betraying the promises we made to each other, about you serving in the REF, and me working for the Zentraedi on Earth."
"I'm not angry about that. I do understand," Vanessa said slowly. She was angry, but not about his decision. She was angry that he'd been struggling deeply with his beliefs and his grief, and hadn't told her openly before now. She opened her mouth to say as much, but the words died on her lips.
I hate the Masters. Finish them.
Sudden shame and disgust with herself washed over her. The intensity of her feelings, long suppressed, surprised and overwhelmed her. She was afraid of who she might have become, and she hadn't said a word to Bron. She owed him the same honesty she wanted to demand from him. But her throat closed against her own confession. She had shared her conflicted feelings with Allison. Why couldn't she do so with Bron? Yet the words would not come. At last, just as the shadow of worry deepened on Bron's face, she made a small, inarticulate cry in her throat, and wrapped her arms around him.
"Hey, what's wrong?" He held her tight, resting his chin on her head.
"I'm just- I-" She took a breath and steadied herself. "I don't know what the future has for either of us anymore," she said, her voice low and ragged. She didn't know how to let go of the pain and shame she was holding inside, so she looked for comfort instead. She placed her hand against Bron's chest, surprising him as she pushed him onto his back, then straddled him, hands on his shoulders, and looked down at the moonlit face she loved so much.
"I'm sorry, I can't say any more, Bron."
"Vee, are you-?"
Her lips silenced all of his questions.
When Vanessa woke up the next morning, in Bron's bedroom, she told herself that all was well again. Bron had been confused at first, but had quickly given way before her clear need, his own sense of guilt, and the shared longing and desire from three years of separation. Her moment of self-loathing the previous night seemed distant now, with the sun shining through the blinds, and the bed was soft and comfortable, even if Bron's taste in sheets still ran towards a shocking color not far from traffic department yellow.
Vanessa looked around the room fondly, noting the details that had been invisible in the darkness and passion of the previous night. Minmei's face was everywhere of course, smiling from framed glamor shots and dressed in every type of outfit imaginable. There were concert posters dating back twelve years, ranging everywhere from the Far East to the Southlands, to Minmei adrift in space, wearing the distinctive black spacesuit and oversized transparent helmet of her Orbit tour. In one corner was a rare original print from the Miss Macross Pageant. Nearly all of them were autographed. There were also personal photos of Minmei with Bron, Rico and Konda, in greater number as their friendship had deepened. And then there was the sea of merchandise covering every shelf and dresser top. Minmei statuettes, Minmei waving from commemorative cups and cans of Petite Cola. Minmei on shirts and jackets and ball caps and a score of other types of memorabilia.
Of course, Minmei had to share the space with someone else. Bron had hung as many photos of Vanessa around the room as she could remember appearing in, and her face still colored every time she looked at the REF recruitment posters Minmei had convinced her to pose for. Somewhere Bron had gotten hold of a large, glossy print from when Straza, Vanessa, and Minmei enjoyed a meal from Minmei's aunt and uncle's restaurant. Even Vanessa had to admit that she had looked good in the traditional Chinese dress Minmei had made her wear, with the subtle blush of makeup, and her hair put up with long golden pins. Rico and Mary had ribbed Vanessa and Bron mercilessly about her being 'the other woman,' until Minmei herself had overheard them. Somehow she had turned the teasing on its head, and began using the title like a private joke between her and Vanessa. It was one of the many reasons that Vanessa never felt jealous of Bron's unshakeable devotion to the darling of stage and screen.
Vanessa sniffed the air and smiled, realizing what had woken her up. Bron was not much of a cook, but he had learned to make a decent breakfast. She swept the sheets aside, resisting the ingrained urge to carefully make the bed, hurried into the ensuite bathroom, and showered as quickly as she could, a simple task for a career navy officer used to rationed water supplies. The narrow linen closet supplied enough towels of the thick and fuzzy type Bron favored to clean up the sopping mess her cybernetics made expelling water in every direction. She quickly ran her fingers through her hair to tease out the worst of the tangles, and settled her eyepatch back into place. The sight of her ruined eye socket and the thick white scars covering it no longer repulsed her, but she only took off her eye patch when she bathed. Bron's extra bathrobe would have dragged the floor if she tried to wear it, so instead she padded back across the room to the closet and borrowed a soft white shirt which hung nearly to her knees once she pulled it over her head. She left the bedroom and made her way to the kitchen, shaking out her hair one last time and pushing it behind her shoulders.
Bron's home was not especially large, unlike the extravagant homes of most of his peers in the Assembly, but it was considerably larger than the old apartment he had shared with Rico and Konda. He had chosen a home with all the rooms on one level, since Zentraedi were unused to stairs. She could see Mary's and Minmei's influence on the house. There were decorative flourishes and furniture that just would not have occurred to Bron. The furniture was expensive, but not opulent. His work office was meant to put Zentraedi at ease, but in his home, he preferred sturdy natural materials - warm, polished wood and smooth stone. The walls and shelves were dedicated to an eclectic mix of photos with his brothers, vintage movie posters, and paintings of cities and natural landscapes that had disappeared with the Rain of Death.
She arrived right on time. A stack of hot, juicy sausage links was resting on a paper towel lined plate on the granite-topped kitchen island, and Bron, dressed in a faded SDF-1 tee shirt and striped pajama shorts, was just scooping scrambled eggs from a cast iron skillet into a chipped ceramic bowl. Next to the stove, the toaster clunked, and up sprang four slices of toast, crispy and golden brown. The coffee pot was burbling, and the water kettle was steaming on its heating pad. Vanessa breathed deep, enjoying the smells of the breakfast, and smiled again.
"Can I help?"
"Oh, Vee!" he said, turning toward her and looking happy and a little frazzled at the same time. "Yeah, I just need to grab the butter, and do you want blackberry jam, or marmalade? Shoot! I forgot to set out the tea bags, unless you want orange juice, and-"
Vanessa's smile widened into a grin. Bron always got flustered right when it was time to serve the food. On the rare occasions he hosted a meal, he felt as if letting any of the food get cold was sacrilege, and he would rush around, grabbing silverware, hunting for the cream, and trying to attend to all the other minor details he had forgotten and left to the last second.
"Let me give you a hand," she said. "I'll get the things from the fridge. If you have any of that English Breakfast Tea Mary serves, I'll take that."
"Sure, thanks!"
Moments later, they were seated across from each other at the breakfast table, Bron with his heavily sweetened coffee, and Vanessa waiting for her tea to finish steeping. The company, the comfortable space in the kitchen, and the fresh, fluffy scrambled eggs, gooey with the cheese Bron had folded into them, suited Vanessa better than a hundred meals at an admiral's table.
"Is it good? Enough salt?" Bron asked anxiously.
"It's…" Vanessa stopped to finish chewing and swallowing her bite. She reached across the table and took his hand, feeling so happy at this simple, private moment between them that she almost cried. "I think it's the best breakfast you've ever made."
Bron wiped his brow and smiled beatifically. "Really?"
"Yes. In fact, it's the best breakfast I've had in years."
"I'm glad. I really wanted to do this for you. Mary and Rico have been giving me a few pointers with my cooking."
"And how did that go?" Vanessa wondered, remembering Mary's iron fist in the kitchen. Rico, Konda, and Bron had always been shameless about sneaking tastes of treats being prepared. Mary had once literally beaten them back with a wooden spoon to protect her precious cookie batter.
"Well… Rico said he'll miss the stew that I used to make when we were spies aboard the SDF-1, but not the indigestion, and Mary told me she hasn't found any pieces of eggshell in the coffee for at least a month."
"Eggshells in the-?" Vanessa caught the twinkle in his eye and snorted. "Really, Bron, it is very good."
"As good as the eggs you ate aboard your ship?"
"Hmph. Let me just point out that there are no chickens on the Jeanne d'Arc, and leave the rest to your imagination."
"Surely a captain eats well?"
"Admiral Mbande's food was excellent, it's just when she invited you it felt like it was your last meal before going in front of a firing squad. For the normal food service, I think most days I'd have been happier if we'd moved over the food preparation systems from a Zentraedi ship. I still miss that broth that tastes like miso soup."
"Mm. Hard to find it anymore, especially after they tore down the old food court at Adoclas Center."
Vanessa sighed. "I suppose it would be. That's a shame."
For a moment, there was only the sound of their forks scraping up the last morsels of eggs. Bron's appetite had always been ravenous, and Vanessa had become a hasty eater, given how likely it was for a starship captain to be interrupted by a supposed emergency.
"Um, Vee," Bron began hesitantly, after wiping his mouth and tossing his napkin onto his empty plate, "about last night. I really am sorry about not being more honest about-"
"Don't worry about it." Vanessa quickly cut him off. "It's not something we need to talk about."
"Oh. Are you sure?" Bron looked puzzled, because it was exactly the situation that Vanessa would normally have wanted for them to talk through. But she didn't want to talk about it. She felt so much better this morning, and didn't want to spoil it thinking about the things she had left unsaid.
"Yes. What's important now is that we're together again. Let's focus on making the most of it."
"Ok. That makes sense." He still looked troubled, and she gave him her best smile.
"There's so much to do, and so many old friends to see. I don't want to miss any of it."
He returned her smile, and the moment passed. "Yeah. Well, Mary and Rico are hosting a cookout today. They've invited us, Konda, and Allison and Jose too."
"That sounds perfect."
"So then Rico says to this full-sized Zentraedi warlord, surrounded by armed guerillas and battlepods, 'No, I've never killed anyone with my bare hands, but then I bet you've never baked a blueberry pie, so which of us is really the one who needs to rethink their life choices?'" Mary Brennan's imitation of her husband's incongruously gravelly and charming voice was uncanny, and Allison's eyebrows almost rose to her hairline.
"Rico, are you crazy? What'd she say to that?"
Rico set aside his beer bottle and adopted a hulking stance, his expression turning into a confused scowl. "'What- is a pie?'" he growled.
The whole group of friends dissolved in laughter, Vanessa almost dropping her heavily laden plate of hotdogs and potato salad.
"It took so long to explain to her what a pie was, she forgot that she'd just threatened to kill me!" Rico went on. "By the end of the day, the whole band had laid down their weapons."
"Rather interesting negotiating technique,"
Jose commented.
"Eh, when someone's being hostile, you just have to figure out a way to get their attention," Rico said, and went back to flipping the hamburger patties on the grill.
The day was hot and clear again, blue skies only broken by criss-crossing aircraft contrails, but Mary and Rico's patio had a bright green canopy over it, and there were plenty of cold drinks in the ice chest by the back door. Their house was a beautiful red brick two-story, with a well watered lawn and tall privacy fence, so that Vanessa could almost imagine that the Rain of Death had never happened. She was still lost in nostalgic memories when Mary elbowed her, almost causing her to lose her plate again.
"So, Captain Leeds," Mary said with mock grandeur, "when are you coming on Rico's show? You can't have forgotten you have a standing invitation."
"Only on a direct order!" Vanessa answered with a scoff. "You know how much I hate being in the media."
"Hey, my show is friendly ground!" Rico protested, putting on an aggrieved air. "Besides, you've done all kinds of stuff with Minmei, you should come on my show. Fair is fair."
"Minmei has reality warping powers, don't you remember? Even I can't fight her. Otherwise, the answer is no."
"Hmm, maybe a dual appearance," Mary said, tapping her chin speculatively. "You'd just need a good hook. I could ask Minmei for ideas."
"Don't you dare! I'm on my first proper leave in years, and I intend to enjoy it, and stay out of the limelight."
"Bah, you're no fun!"
"It's not so bad," Bron put in. "I've been on the show several times, and it's fun." Vanessa raised an eyebrow, sending him a warning look. "On the other hand, you're probably right, Vee. You've just gotten back, and why would you want to go back in public right away?"
"Hey, what happened to Zentraedi solidarity? You and Konda should be backing me up," Rico complained.
Konda, who had been near silent as always, smiled faintly. "How could I insist, after never having appeared as a guest myself?" He asked dryly.
"Argh! Betrayed on all sides!" Rico clutched his chest dramatically.
"No, simply unavoidable scheduling conflicts, I assure you." Konda said smoothly. "Besides, you might want to focus your attention on the cooking. Should the flames be quite that high?"
"What? Gah!" Rico grabbed a pitcher of water off the gingham covered picnic table.
"No Rico, use the salt!" Mary yelped. "Water will just-!"
By the time the excitement died down, Rico's eyebrows had taken on a decidedly crispy texture, a mixture of water and partially dissolved coarse salt was dripping out of the grill's overflowing grease trap, the hamburgers were thoroughly ruined, and no one was bugging Vanessa about appearing in the media, much to her relief.
"I've dishonored my obligations as host," Rico groaned, looking like a general standing amid the wreckage of his defeated army.
"It's fine, Rico," Allison said. "There's plenty of hot dogs and side dishes."
"True," he agreed philosophically. "Who wants Five Bean Salad?"
As the evening wore
on, and the clinking of empty bottles dropping into the recycling bin continued, the talk inevitably turned to politics.
"Look, it's not that he hasn't kept his promises to the Zentraedi, I'm just saying I don't completely trust Speaker Moran," Mary was saying.
"Well then what is your problem with the guy?" Jose wondered. "He's fully backed the REF mission, which isn't popular with everybody."
"He reeks of realpolitik. And I don't like his positions on individual freedoms versus security, or how he deals with his opponents. I don't think he cares about the REF's goal at all. Big military contracts mean big campaign contributions. Outside threats are a useful excuse to increase executive powers, and an open-ended interstellar mission is a good way to get senior officers who aren't pliable safely off Earth."
"You're just being paranoid again," Rico grumbled, talking around a mouthful of bean salad. "Oh, the Speaker is about as interesting as cardboard- when he was a guest on my show it was the most awkward ten minutes of my life, but it doesn't mean he's some kind of villain. So far, almost everything he's done has worked in our favor."
Mary rolled her eyes heavenward. "Have you ever met anyone you didn't like, Rico? I just don't think he stands for much of anything - he's like a chameleon, and he's a very good manipulator. Given my degree, I would hope I recognized one when I saw it."
"Yes, Professor," Rico said in sing-song, raising his cup in salute and taking another gulp.
"I'll 'professor ' you, ya silly langer!" A moment later, Mary had her squawking husband in a headlock, and both of them were laughing helplessly.
"Geeze, they bicker more than Jose and me," Allison, who was sitting next to Vanessa, said under her breath.
"Is that a challenge, my dulce?" Jose whispered from his wife's other side.
"Don't you start!" Allison hissed back, slugging him lightly on the arm and trying to conceal her grin. Through it all, Konda did nothing but placidly add more forkfuls of relish to his next hot dog. Bron and Vanessa watched the tableau in bemusement and smiled at each other. Vanessa leaned her head against his shoulder. "Some things don't change," she murmured happily. The talking, joking, and laughter continued long into the night.
"But I've got clothes in storage," Vanessa complained. "I can just have them dry-cleaned."
May, who was driving the sporty little red rental car, glanced over at her like she was crazy to suggest such a thing.
"Those rags? You've had some of those outfits since before we went into training together. Uh uh. Bron's has a vote at the Assembly today and so we're shopping for new clothes. This is an executive decision by your XO. Besides, it's a good reason to go see Larry and Arryanna."
Vanessa considered. Why was she resisting the idea? With her friends, Sammie and Kim, she had stormed the clothing stores of Macross city as soon as they had been rebuilt aboard the SDF-1. Shopping trips had been regular fixtures of their lives, before the ship's tragic destruction. Perhaps that was why. She knew by now that grief could resurface at the most unexpected times. Shrugging, she decided to let it go.
"Well, maybe you're right. It would be good to see Larry and Arry."
Larry Patel and Aryanna's store, still operating under the name "Uniform Fashion", was on the outskirts of the city, in a far less prominent location than its notoriety should have warranted. Vanessa knew that could only be because Larry had refused to break up his partnership with Arriana when the decision had been made to not accommodate giant citizens in Monument's downtown core. The front of Uniform Fashion had a sleek, bright facade in the new style, but behind the sizable showroom and studio, there was a titanic structure of unadorned ferrocement, no doubt built at great expense, for Arryanna's own studio and macro scaled customers.
Vanessa wasn't sure if May had called ahead, but Larry certainly acted as if he knew they were coming, materializing out of the back as soon as they entered the coolness of the well-lit micronian sized showroom, and looked immensely pleased to see them.
"Ah, the esteemed Captain Vanessa, and her lovely subordinate, Commander Allison, have returned to Earth and my humble shop, at last!" he said, rubbing his hands with glee. Vanessa couldn't help but smile back. The olive-toned man's neatly trimmed beard had turned from salt and pepper to snowy white, and he had more pronounced crow's feet behind his shiny round wire-framed spectacles, but otherwise the renowned fashion designer hadn't changed a bit. He continued to address his military customers by rank and first name, a habit which Vanessa had eventually learned came from Zentraedi forms of address, an important gesture of respect towards the people who had made up a large number of his first customers during the Reconstruction.
"Hi, Larry. We're back on Earth for a while, and thought we might look at a few new outfits."
"Wonderful! Come, come!" He took her by the arm and started to lead her back toward his private studio.
"Oh, but we don't need to interrupt your work. We can just take a look around."
The spacious showroom, well appointed with plush upholstery and smooth, curving, almost organic looking fixtures, had dozens of stands for dressed mannequins, and Vanessa was sure she could find something that would suit her and satisfy May's demands. There were a goodly number of other shoppers being served by sales staff all wearing stylish maroon or green uniforms. But Larry looked aggrieved by her suggestion.
"No, no, no!" the diminutive man insisted, making dismissive gestures with his hands. "These poor offerings will not do for friends and heroes such as you! You must come with me to the studio. There will be talk, there will be refreshments, measurements, presentations, and you will be fitted for new clothing, precisely to your liking!"
"I don't want to cause a fuss…" Vanessa said, and glanced over at May. Her subordinate was reddening with outrage and speechless at her refusal, but Larry took Vanessa's forearm with his gentle, nimble fingers and spoke to her in a subdued voice.
"Please, my dear. Many friends have passed from my life. Admiral Lisa has been in orbit for months, and you have been in space for years. Can you indulge an old man for one morning?"
For the second time that day, Vanessa felt the same strange feeling of reluctance. Why? Why am I so resistant to letting a friend do something fun and kind for me? She shook off the feeling, and mustered a smile for Larry. "Of course."
After that, the morning passed in a kaleidoscope of color and sensation. The fabrics were soft, light, and cool. The shades of blues, greens, and reds May nudged Vanessa into considering looked especially vivid after so long seeing nothing but the same monotonous range of daily and dress uniforms. To keep their strength up, Larry favored honey-soaked pastries served with strong coffee and warm, steamed towels for sticky fingers. Through it all he kept up a continuous commentary on life, the state of fashion, and hilarious stories about some of his celebrity customers.
"You are holding back again!" he admonished, wagging his finger. "Isn't she, Commander Allison?" May nodded and raised an eyebrow in agreement. "If you like it, just tell me. If it isn't quite right, we change it, yes?"
Vanessa huffed and smiled in defeat. "All right, all right, I like the pleated blue skirt and the red tank top. But do you really think I can pull off the skirt?"
"Hmm." Larry stroked his beard. "You have the legs for it, you know. It isn't your prosthetic you're worried about?" She blushed at the comment about her legs and shook her head.
"Mmm, it might be just a little-" she held her thumb and forefinger a couple of inches apart. Larry gave her a suffering look.
"Fine, if I must, I will let down a bit."
"Thank you."
"Let us see, what else? Formalwear?"
"That's probably not necessary. I have a dress uniform for that."
May choked on the pastry she was munching, then came out of her chair, swallowing with a grimace and wiping at her mouth with her napkin.
"Are you out of your mind, Tang?" she asked indignantly, seizing Vanessa by the shoulders and shaking her. "Larry Patel is offering you a private consultation and formalwear!" She turned to Larry, who was looking on bemusedly, and smiled at him sweetly. "You'll have to excuse my captain. She's clearly been on deployment too long and has gone a little bit space crazy. What she meant to say was that she would be very pleased and grateful to talk to you about formalwear."
"Okay, okay, if it means that much to you," Vanessa murmured, brushing May's hands away. "It's not like he isn't doing clothes for you too."
May stayed nose to nose with her. "No, it should mean that much to you!" she hissed so that Larry couldn't hear them. "He's offering because he likes you! And when we go back into space, when will you get to do something like this again? Plus, Bron just might appreciate taking you somewhere special sometime!"
Vanessa opened her mouth and shut it. There was more to unpack in May's words than she could even begin to sort out. Bron was leaving the Assembly, and wasn't clear on what he planned to do next. And should she just assume she was going back into space? Did Bron want more than just for them to revisit friends and familiar places? What did she want? What would the future bring for their relationship? She had no clear answers to any of those questions, but what was clear to her was that she had been thoughtless and rude to both of her friends.
"You're- you're right. I'm sorry," she said softly. May subsided, releasing her, and taking a step back. "Please forgive me, Larry," Vanessa said, turning back to him. "Maybe I'm not acclimated to being back on Earth yet."
"Do not be troubled, it is fine. Now let us talk about dinner dresses first. You might like something that comes with a jacket? And after that, we'll look at something for the ball room."
Vanessa nodded, and did her best to pay attention, instead of focusing on her growing uneasiness.
Vanessa and May had spent hours at the studio already, but they couldn't leave until they had passed through the connecting double doors and checked on Arryanna. It had been years since Vanessa had been in any place scaled for giant Zentraedi other than the Factory Satellite. The feel of Arryanna's work space could hardly be more different from that cold, cyclopean military/industrial construct. Much longer than it was wide, and with a very tall, vaulted ceiling to accommodate its titanic owner and her customers, it had more the feel of a castle's grand receiving hall, or perhaps more aptly, a cathedral's nave. Dozens of skylight windows illuminated the colorful giant clothing that hung from parallel racks on either side, like great banners, emphasizing the impression. At the same time, the acres of fabric deadened the echoes she would have expected in the immense chamber, giving it an oddly intimate feel.
"This place is amazing!" Vanessa told Arryanna, after the world's only Zentraedi fashion designer finished the last few stitches of her current work. Vanessa and May sat in comfortable lounge chairs on the sewing table, not far from Arryanna's elbow. "So you were finally able to build a sewing machine scaled to your size."
The hand assembled machine was a baroque marvel that had taken Arryanna years to complete. It had no housing, leaving its complex structure open for all to see. There were great gears and sprockets, overbuilt drive shafts, and an industrial flywheel twice as tall as a micronian. A meter long spike served as a needle to push colored nylon cord through the thick, tough fabric Arry had taken from Zentraedi uniforms and re-dyed a vibrant shade of orange. Arryanna smiled, her great gold eyes glittering, and freed her six meter long curtain of glossy black hair from the loose ponytail she tied it in when she was working.
"I never would have believed I would need to practically become a mechanical engineer just so I could sew my own clothes," Arryanna said, her voice deep and melodic. "Agar salvaged most of the parts from a clock tower in the ruins of Milwaukee, and a lot of the rest from train engines. It took him months to find the balance wheel in an old mill that had been abandoned since before the Global War."
Her husband, Agar, owned and managed one of the most successful of the Zentraedi scavenging and trade caravans that still plied the vast wastelands between North America's settlements and military outposts.
"Then I had to figure out how to get all these mismatched pieces to mesh together," Arry went on, "and adapt a power supply that wouldn't flip all of the studio's breakers every time I started sewing."
"Well you've always been good with machines since you came to Earth. Arry helped set up the equipment from the Qel'Vatal so that Monument city could be founded," Vanessa said, turning to Allison. "And she's the one who introduced me to Zentraedi food."
"I'm afraid I can't offer to take you to lunch," Arry said with a sigh. "There isn't anywhere left in Monument that offers mixed dining."
"That's ok. But how's business? I can hardly believe what you're making now," Vanessa said, gesturing around the room. For the first time, giant Zentraedi could obtain civilian work clothes, professional attire, or casual and formal garments. Arryanna's designs were timeless and elegant, with just a hint of the martial in their cut and embellishments.
"Not… as good as I would have hoped. My customer base is shrinking - literally. And the economics of manufactured goods for full-sized Zentraedi have always been chaotic. Everything just gets more and more expensive as the supply of salvaged materials dries up. And the cost of using micronian materials for macro-sized use is astronomical. There aren't that many people who can afford the prices I have to charge."
"Your pardon, milady," a voice suddenly boomed from the open doorway at the other end of the studio. It was a giant Zentraedi, dark-haired, dark-eyed, with a scruff of beard that didn't conceal the gauntness of his features. He wore the drab gray jumpsuit, flashed with a garish yellow stripe across the chest, that was all that most giants had to wear, but the garment was worn out and ripped, with one sleeve nearly hanging loose from the man's left shoulder. He carried in front of him a cargo container piled high with other jumpsuits, all dirty and falling to pieces.
"Obed!" Arry hastily stood from her work table, her chair scooting across the concrete floor with a screech that had Vanessa and May covering their ears. She hastened over to her visitor and took his burden from him. "How many times have I told you, I was never an officer even when there was still an Armada? You should call me Arry."
Obed nodded stiffly. "Apologies."
When it was clear he had nothing further to add, Arry smiled helplessly and took the container over to a corner, exchanging it for another, this one full of neatly pressed and folded jumpsuits. She took it back to Obed and handed it over to him.
"Take one for yourself, now. You can use the changing room on your way out."
"You have my thanks. All of our thanks."
"You haven't been eating. Go see my husband at the caravanserai. He returned with a convoy this morning, and will have work for you unloading. You'll get a few days' ration credits for the UEG Commissary."
"There are others who are hungrier than me. I will let them know."
"But Obed-"
"Again, I thank you." He gave a shallow bow, holding the container of fresh clothing level, and left the room. Arry watched him go, a pained expression marring her lovely face. Then she remembered her guests and came back to sit at the table again.
"Our stiff-necked pride will be the end of the remaining giants, I think," she said, with a mix of affection and bitterness. "The Z-Battalions destroyed millions of uniforms over the years while they were demolishing the crashed warships. They said that the uniforms frightened micronians and 'encouraged insurrectionist sentiments.' I clean and mend clothing for free for any who bring it to me, because so few can afford anything new."
"What do you think will happen?"
Arry picked up a needle big enough to harpoon a whale and toyed with it, absently pricking her thumb, not quite hard enough to break the skin of her heavily calloused finger.
"If I have to shut down, we'll be alright. Agar is very successful. He's consolidated a lot of the remaining scavenging convoys as more of the ruins and ships have been emptied out, and he's officially sanctioned by the UEG. I've told Larry that I should close up shop, or move out, but he won't hear of ending our partnership. He says that regardless of my sales, my work draws international attention to our studio and benefits us overall, which is true, I suppose. And I don't want to stop. I love what I'm doing. I just wish more people could benefit from my work. I know there are giants out there who are practically in rags, in spite of my offer to mend existing work jumpsuits for free. I can only help Zentraedi within walking distance of Monument. For those who can't find work that will qualify them for ration credits at the giant-sized commissaries the UEG runs, the choice is to micronize, or starve."
Vanessa exchanged a frustrated, helpless look with May. "I'm sorry, Arryanna. This isn't the future I was hoping we would build back when we first met."
"Don't blame yourself. Back then, I thought my dreams were impossible, and that your good intentions would amount to nothing. I was sure that one day I'd wake up to be forced to micronize at gunpoint. But we're still here, still trying."
Vanessa shook her head. "That might be, but Zentraedi are being forced to micronize anyway, without the need for guns, because they don't see how they can continue as giants."
"There's no organized push for reforms. There are too few giants left to form a major political movement. If we try to protest more directly, we're just going to get ourselves in worse trouble. I think you'll recall that people aren't very tolerant of giants making trouble in the streets." She reached up and touched the faintly scarred flesh under her right eye, where it had been peppered by shards of her shattered visor during the protest in Monument seven years ago. It had been a miracle she had not lost sight in the eye that day. "And Zentraedi who have already been micronized don't see it as their problem anymore."
"There's got to be a better, more fair way. Konda should be doing something about this. Let me talk to him."
"Our backs are to the wall. If you really think you can make a difference, then do it."
Next chapter… 'SCANDAL?', depths beneath, and broken dreams...