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Neptune - Part 8

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Part 8 – Avarice

From Neptune's Green Sunshine

Act 1 Scene 4
(The scene opens with Connor walking onto the stage carefully while the lights brighten. He hides behind bushes, scampering between hiding places and occasionally peering off to the side and towards the audience. Nate and Merle are still wearing the same outfits from the three previous scenes.)
Connor: "Look like coast clear."
Merle: "Thank you, Connor. How will we ever pay you in return?"
Connor: "No pay. Money is not mean."
Merle: "What? I don't understand you, Connor."
Connor: "It not have mean?"
Merle: "I guess you're right about that... but we could give you food? Maybe we can even take you with us."
Connor: "Even with food I starve. Even if you take we die. Pay mean nothing."
Merle: "You're smarter than you let on... but we have to keep hope. We aren't dead yet, and there are still ways to escape. We could go to the lunar colonies, make lives for ourselves."
Connor: "And money still not have mean. No pay."

***

The Blake household has such a feeling of hominess, the colour tones used in their paint and furniture all warm, neutral rustic looking beige and a more attention grabbing burgundy being the most prominent themes in decor. His children must have been in their respective rooms when Cleveland came to the door to greet me, likely only a few minutes after their dinner was finished. Even as I stand in the doorway now, I can hear clanking in the kitchen. I doubt that Abigail Blake, Cleveland's wife, is doing anything more than loading the dishwasher, though. She tends not to actually use the kitchen, much like Cheryl, instead opting to order in or eat out. It is fortunate that I had come on a day when the Blakes chose to do the former.
"Errol, to what to I owe the pleasure?" says the vulpine recom, smiling, "I thought you were Tash from a distance, there. You two look so alike. And there's not much height difference."
I do not respond to the jab at my height and only answer: "I'd say I have a more professional looking haircut." I glance around and say, "I need to talk to you in your study."
My furtive motions tip Cleveland off that I need to mention something to him urgently, but he does not bat an eye. He only gestures me towards the room, which I have familiarized myself with in the past, and calls, "Abby, I'm going to have a chat with Errol for a bit!"
From the kitchen comes the reply: "Okay!" I can only imagine the story she is already crafting in her mind. Abigail Blake is a little bit of gossip monger and therefore someone that men such as me must tiptoe around.
I sit down in the study, not bothering to turn on a light, instead letting the sunlight creeping through the curtain veiled window provide me with all of the dim lighting that I require for conversations.
Cleveland just turns on the light, not having much care for the more dramatic lighting scheme. This, I think, is a pity. I sometimes revel in the secrecy and drama that has crept into my life, and I occasionally imagine my experiences as being more cinematic than they actually are. Usually, though, I am more focused than that. "I was talking to one of my contacts earlier today. Do you remember the name Tarence Ural?"
"It came up in some of your intelligence reports. I haven't got a memory like yours, though. Martian, right? One of the Designer Genes guys before Chevalier took reigns."
"That's pretty much all you knew about him, so don't sell your memory too short. Occasionally, they'd send messages to him which I intercepted and decrypted. I didn't think much of him, so I reported the name and little else. But this guy is the owner of Advanced Intelligence. I'm going to sort through my old messages, but I need to let you know this before I delve too deep. If something should happen to me... I need to know that you'd be prepared."
"Errol... you shouldn't do whatever it is you don't talk about doing in your youth." That is a pretty good summation of how I've broached the subject with Cleveland (and to a lesser degree Suller) in the past. I've done some field work in intelligence gathering for Lunarian government before taking my position in the lunar council, but I prefer not to delve into the specifics of it. It is safer that way. "You're older now, not as fresh. And you have children to care for! A wife who loves you."
"This is really not up for argument. It is my responsibility to the people of Luna to investigate this case, and I am short on men right now." Because the planet has a fairly small population, Luna has no intelligence agency. At the moment, I am all that we have left for 'Lunar intelligence'. "But if something happens to me... I need to know my children will be well taken care of."
"Absolutely, Errol. Yes. Absolutely, they would be."
I nod and say, "Nanotechnology, though... I didn't think anyone would be so greedy to take advantage of that development. A world ended over this kind of weapon. Even with all of our colonization efforts, we've only found a few habitable planets. We cannot afford to lose that, not for any cost. It is jarring that this Ural would think so little of recom history to allow this to happen." I shake my head disappointedly and push my chair back. I am aware that greed is a driving force in human, and therefore recom, psychology, but to overlook a genocide and then end of an entire planet seems to be a step beyond mere materialism.
I get up from the seat I was in so briefly and open the door to the study. Muffled by distance, I hear the sound of the doorbell.
Cleveland comes out behind me and calls for Abigail to hear, "I'll get it," before passing me by in his hurry to get to the door in a timely manner. I'm surprised that he has other company coming, but I continue my slow path down the hall as I contemplate the situation, not thinking too much of it. It is well known that Cleveland and I are friends, so no matter who is visiting, it will not seem suspicious.
Distantly, the fox recom's voice carried from the doorway, an amused, jovial quality to it, "Tash, m'boy! I take it that you're here to see Kari?"
I freeze in place, stopping short from entering the living room, rethinking entering a situation that has the potential to be so very uncomfortable. Lingering in the hall, however, may grow even more uncomfortable than confronting my child in this of all places. It only occurs to me now that Natasha would want to divert her attention to other things. I take a deep breath, and walk out after Cleveland.
My first thought is that it is no wonder that Cleveland mistakes Natasha for a boy so readily. The baseball cap and purposefully unkempt hair along with the sarcastic catchphrase written across the t-shirt covering her flat chest almost seem a parody of childhood masculinity. She does not notice my figure, passing behind Cleveland's figure in the relative darkness of the interior of his house as I examine her choice in attire. "Well, come on in, make yourself at home," says Cleveland, stepping aside, allowing my child into his abode. Once Natasha steps through and lets her eyes adjust to the natural lighting, they open wide. There is a moment of silent tension where neither one of us wants to say anything, her agitation becoming pronounced. I can almost feel her heart pounding in her chest from here. "Ah," adds Cleveland for Tash's benefit, still smiling, "I was just talking to your dad about work. I'll get Kari."
He takes a few steps away and I interrupt, saying to Cleveland, "Actually, Tash missed classes today." To Tash I say, trying not to squirm as much as I am internally, "We should probably figure out a homework plan for you, now that you're feeling better."
"Oh," says Natasha, purposefully deepening her voice just a touch to sound a bit more masculine (which I think is odd, because apparel is the only way I manage to tell the difference between male and female children), "Um, a'right, um, dun worry 'bout it Mr. Blake. I'll jus' head home with m'dad..." She looks up at me, almost pleadingly for a response, not wanting me to strip her cover for this bizarre game she's playing.
I take a deep breath, and almost hiss as a whisper, "Enunciate, boy. Enunciate." I will play along now to spare my child immediate humiliation, though I cannot say that I am impressed at witnessing this particular action first hand. My tone makes Blake blink with surprise, looking between myself and Tash for a moment before he shrugs. He must figure that Tash feigned illness today and I'm displeased with 'him'.
Cleveland hesitates for a few moments and then nods, stopping his trek from going to get his own daughter and says, his tone still friendly, as if he ignored the awkward interaction between myself and my 'son'. "I take it I should bid you two a good evening, then?"
I nod at Cleveland and says, "Yes. I will see you tomorrow at council, Cleveland. I'm sure we'll be treated to a nice filibuster attempt by a two-year councillor tomorrow." I offer him a wave and guide Natasha out the front door. She moves with my guidance quite easily, not resisting my gentle push out the door.
She does add, "Bye, Mr. Blake. Maybe I'll come by t'morrow?" A pretty bold statement, I suppose, but she is clearly trying to downplay the significance of her encounter with me.
I close the door behind me and continue guiding Tash down the street. The Blakes don't live very far from our own abode, and everything in our general residential area is pretty easily navigable. We proceed in silence for much of the walk before I speak, trying to broach the subject more delicately than this accidental reveal, "So, Tash, is there anything troubling you? Anything on your mind?"
"Um. Dad?"
"Yes?" I look down at my child, dressed in her ridiculous boyish garb. She looks like a rapper from two hundred years ago or something. I would have thought she would choose something more subtle at least, but then, subtlety has never been Tash's strongest point.
Very quietly, in her more relaxed tone of voice, she repeats the same question she asked the previous night: "Do you love me?"
I shake my head and sigh, "You don't even need to ask that question. You're my precious child. I love you and your sister more than anyone in the worlds." I pause for a few moments and say, rubbing my forehead lightly. I feel like I'm being manipulated, but her fear and anxiety at the inevitable conversation seems genuine. "We're going to go get ice cream, and then we're going to have a long, much-needed talk."
She looks down and doesn't say anything for now. While the prospect of ice cream usually gets her attention, it does not bring the same reaction as it usually does. Hopefully, at least, it puts her at ease for what's to come.
Part 8 of Neptune. Right here. Yeah.
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