“And my family didn’t just buy for ourselves. In the under, everyone shares so nobody starves. You have to. If you don’t, those who are hungry will turn you in for the rewards and bounties. I once saw a man executed because he refused to share a handful of muskies with a neighbor. The neighbor was hungry, of course, but it was not just hunger that drove him to report.”
She fell silent, sure Renall would never understand. He did though, as his words showed clearly. “It was the muskies themselves then? They were not something the neighbor could walk away from.”
“Exactly. We lived on protein discs and carb-wafers. Anything fresh was rare and precious and getting that stuff risky and dangerous—and expensive. So when we could get it, we shared. Not just because it made us better neighbors, but to make sure we didn’t go to serio-max for having them. And because,” she paused. “Because everyone should have had that stuff in the first place, not just the very rich who could afford to live above.”
Renall said, “Your government mostly lives above?”
Resentment kicked in as it always did when she thought of those things. “Of course. There was an old man who lived below who had found a stash of forbidden history books. He read them to us sometimes. Once upon a time, the government was in charge because people put them in charge, and they worked for the people. But then the government stopped caring about the people and only cared about themselves. They always put themselves first, and the people last.”
“I will not do that when I buy that planet.”
The words jolted her brain into the present. “Oh?”
Renall said, “We, my siblings and I, intend to live in a simple way. To protect our resources by not using them up.”
She groaned. “You’re building a new Orbitary?”
Renall laughed. His chest vibrated below her cheek, and she lifted her head again. His mirth changed his whole face again, and once more she found herself staring at the lightened visage so close to hers. Who was he, really? He was stern and businesslike, but he was also very passionate and kind, when he was not masking those things.
His fingers stroked along her arm. “No, nothing like this. Orbitary’s a planet run by a committee made up of too many beings who have been raised on planets plundered for their resources. Or heard of that. Or saw the after effects of it. I realize that there are too few resources left in the galaxy. I want a home, and I want one I can pass down to my offspring, but I don’t want to so tightly regulate the whole thing that nobody can find any real enjoyment in the place.”
“I see. That makes sense. Orbitary is beautiful, but it is hard to relax and enjoy the beauty of it when everything incurs a credit charge. Do you know that the other day I was caught on a surv-cam walking in the park and breathing too deeply and they sent a credit-bot to demand a hundred credits from me?”
Renall burst into more laughter. “You sound outraged.”
Her lips pursed. “I am.”
Renall said, “You should be. They built the parks and put it out that they have such beauty and natural setting so people will come. Then they charge for it. In a way it makes sense; it keeps beings from trying to take too much I suppose, but I think it also keeps out those who would enjoy it but cannot afford it.”
He was going to be a good ruler on his planet. A new thought came to her. “How many people are going to be on your planet?”
He said, “It’s very small. A quarter of the size of Orbitary and very primitive. We have decided to not populate heavily. Just take those we trust and who will help us to build but not on a large scale way. So not many.”
“That’s going to leave you open to plunder.”
The words had come out of her mouth before she could stop them. His body tensed. His face changed, went grim. He said, “Yes, and that is why I have to wed Laria.”
He spoke as if he were talking to himself but she saw the change, felt him withdrawing from her in a way she could not hope to reel him back from.
That point was driven home when Renall suddenly stood, his long and powerful body flexing. He began to dress. Clara sat up, the coverings of the bed tangling around her limbs. He said, “Clara…”
Tears came but did not fall. “I won’t speak of this.” The wooden words fell from her lips, which had gone numb. “I understand you can’t afford this.”
How many other females had he slept with just to tell that female that he was not available, that they were just a momentary distraction from his future and his wedding—the wedding that was the alliance that would help protect the one thing in the entire world that mattered more to him than anything else.
Of course it did. He had been homeless and for so long. He had spent centuries of his long lifetime building his fortune and the fortunes of his siblings so that they could have that planet, that home that they all longed for. A new question came. “Why do you not just return to your home planet?”
His eyes were bleak. “Because it was destroyed in the Crater Wars. My people took up homes in other systems but none really ever thrived there. My father and others were ship dwellers because there were so few planets on which we could live due to our anatomy. In most aspects, we are like you humans. We can live on other systems but only with gear and equipment and so forth. Our bodies change in those systems, however. Most of my race is dead. Only a handful remains, and the children born on other systems do not thrive. They usually die.”
Oh no. It hit her then. He had to have that planet not just because he needed a home; he had to have that planet in order for his entire race to continue. She knew the rest of it, even if she did not want to. “Your betrothed is from your race?”
“Yes. She is one of the few pure-blooded females of my kind in the entire galaxy.”
And he wanted a pureblooded offspring. He wanted his race to continue, to have their own planet. She looked away. “I see.”
Renall spoke softly. “I am glad that you do.”
How could she tell him that regardless of what he had agreed to, she wanted him, and how could she burden him with that?
