Wedding Bells For Dale

Special note: This is something completely new. As you may know, I write gfd/rr fiction set in the far future. But, for the first time ever, I have worked with another writer, Victor Storiguard, to produce a story. He's an old friend of mine and one of the things he does is write comic science fiction, which is harder to do than you might think. You can see one of his books here: The Pride And The Glory of Peter T. Sheeple.

We decided to try a combination of his version of science fiction and mine.  Here it is, "Wedding Bells For Dale."

I will be very interested in knowing what you think of this

Thanks in advance!

Wedding Bells For Dale

by Bradford ("Cherri") Brand and Victor Storiguard

He had this little thing he’d do with his tongue…

Wait. I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I? Best start from the beginning and work forward. That’s the ticket. 

Anyway, I’m Alana Cavalière. I am also, as of a few months ago, the CFO of the Family. I’m of the Cavalière Clan, you see. And being a CFO was for me a considerable step up in the old Great Chain of Being, as they say, and it all happened because of Dale.

Who’s Dale? Ah, well, he’s a fellow I know. A demimonde-boy, of course. I’d used him several times. As I say, there was this thing he did with his tongue. Ah, memories.

But, anyway, one bright morning I ran into Salee at the Boytoy Club down on New London Road in the Centrality. She’s sort of a cousin of mine, part of the Clan, as well as a friend. Besides, we went to New Vassar together, so we’re old school chums and all that. Anyway, I ran into her. She was on her way in as I was on my way out. But, very sportingly, she offered to stand me a drink and so we trotted on in.

Boytoy is that place where they have all the lads dressed like rabbits — you know, tight little one piece jump suits, fishnet stockings, bunny ears on their heads. They’re quite appealing little creatures. Though, truth be told, I’m normally not into that sort of thing. Now, the Jockey Club, well, that’s another matter entirely.

Anyway, after the second soothing scotch and soda, Salee started in. “It’s like this, Alana,” she said, hungrily eying the little bunny-fellow who’d just delivered our drinks. “I’m positively burning up. Not had a boy for weeks.” 

“What? Really?” I said, alarmed. “How is that possible? You’re usually such a scamp with the laddies. Always dropping by the back door of the musical theaters and Revues and such. And palling around with the actors at the 3D studios. You’re always busy.”

“Well, yes. I like to think so,” she admitted. “But there’s a complication.”

“Which is?”

She shuddered a bit. “Cousin Radnicki,” she said, finally.

Alana

I understood at once. Cousin Radnicki was the Acting President Pro Tem of the Clan right then, I’m afraid, and very much a stickler for propriety. “Business before pleasure,” is her favorite phrase. Except, of course, with her it is always business. Which wouldn’t be so bad if her def of biz didn’t usually mean whatever was tedious, meaningless, and pointless. I wouldn’t say that she genuinely spent her mornings counting paperclips to make sure she got the right number in the box, but I wouldn’t put it past her, either.

But, anyway, she’s very much against the lasses in the family having a bit of fun now and then. She says it gets in the way of profits. Which would make more sense if the Clan had made much in the way of profits since she took the helm. But that’s a story for later. Also, she says We Must Maintain Our Reputation and Display Our Moral Rectitude. I must confess, I don’t quite know what a Rectitude is, but it sounds like a piece of anatomy that would be most unappealing and probably best left Un-Displayed.

All of which besides, I have never been able to convince myself that a big chunk of her motivation is just being a killjoy of the first computation. You know that saying…some brainy writer type of a few centuries back said it. We studied her in school. Mini…Meni…Mencken. That was it. Anyway, the quote goes that some religion or another “is the haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be having a good time.” Or roughly that. Never was good at remembering those sort of details.

Anyway, I always thought that was Cousin Radnicki to the nines.

“She is on some sort of kick that I, particularly, of all the nieces in the family, need to show a bit of decorum,” Salee said, sadly. “Says she’ll cut off my allowance if I don’t.”

“Oh, how dreadful!” And once again I thanked my lucky stars that I’d made a few Standard Monetary Units on my own and so didn’t have to worry about our Dear Cousin and her even Dearer Dictates.

“So,” she went on, “no more visits after the performance to the lads of the chorus line at the musical theaters, no more trips to Luna Landing with the boys from Revues. I’ve been in the desert, as it were. Positively dying of thirst.”

“Ah,” I said. “I have just the thing. You need to set up a session with Dale.”

“Dale?”

“A friend of mine. He’s got this little thing he does with his tongue…”

“Oh,” she interrupted. “He’s a …a…”

“A prostitute, yes. He’s quite good. I was talking about that thing he does with his…”

“Yes, yes, I suppose. I’ve never used one. How much does he cost?”

I mentioned the going price. 

“Ooof. Stiff.”

“Worth every penny, my dear. He’s a Revive. And he knows all the secrets of the Mysterious Past. Like this thing he does with his tongue…”

“Never mind his tongue. Is he …well…you know, discrete?”

“Perfectly. Definitely knows how to keep it undercover. No pun intended. So long as you don’t, er, blab about it, Cousin Radnicki will never know.”

“Excellent. Just what the Doctor-bot ordered. Give me his contact info.”

I did, even if it was a bit brusk of her not to let me go into detail about that thing he did with his tongue. Kind of a curving up sort of affair, you see, with some wiggling at the end. But, I suppose that’s a story for another day.

Anyway, Salee went off. I had another restorative with ice and admired the bunnies for a bit more. Funny thing. It dawned on me that it was at that very club, and maybe at that very table, that I last saw old Thora Cavalière, who is technically the real President of the Family. Like I say, Cousin Radnicki is only Pro Tem. Thora should be running things, but a couple of years back, around 2199, there was a bit of a crisis with the family’s holdings in atmosphere mining out Jupiter-way. Thora figured that she needed to handle things personally and headed off to Callisto, leaving Cousin Radnicki to run things in her absence. She’s not been back since, actually. Thora, I mean.

But, I was saying about seeing her the last time. She was sitting at this table, watching the Bunny-Boys, and looking perfectly miserable, the poor old girl. 

She had reason, I’m afraid. And, actually, it is a rather sad story. Seems that when she was a youngster just starting out, she fell in love with a sweet young thing who worked at this very club. Well, needless to say, the Clan found out about it and put the breaks down hard. Thora got read the riot act, while the aforesaid bunny-boy received a few hundred SMUs and a one way ticket to Centauri Station. Four light years is usually enough to part even the most ardent Julios and Romettes. So, no wedding bells and all that.

As I say, a sad story. Full of poignancy. 

I ran into Salee again about a week later. This time she was coming out of the Epitome Club and was looking positively radiant. “I really must thank you,” she said, cheerfully. “That Dale was fantastic. There was this thing he did with his tongue…”

I nodded. “Amazing isn’t it?” 

She nodded. “Do you know, I’m seriously thinking of becoming one of his regular customers. Setting up a subscription.”

“An excellent idea, old girl,” I said, which was true enough, but I should have seen trouble coming. I mean, Salee is a good egg and a jolly friend and all that, but she has a mouth that does tend to flap at both ends and the middle. She wouldn’t, that is, be able to keep quiet about Dale. She’d brag a bit to the Girls at the Club or wherever. And that meant that Cousin Radnicki would find out about it all eventually, and when that happened, well, rather a volcanic situation. I mean, if she objected to Salee seeing a few boys from the theater, I couldn’t imagine what she’d say if she found out that she was seeing a professional on a regular basis. 

Or, rather, I jolly well could, and that was the whole problem. 

However, I didn’t think about that at the time, and so, instead, we chatted a bit more about Dale and his charms, and then Salee said she needed to meet a couple of friends for lunch, and then, I must confess, the encounter got me to thinking about Dale, and I felt the old urge coming on. So I whipped out my com and gave him a quick holo.

His features shimmered into existence before me. He is, of course, quite lovely — enormous blue eyes, firm red lips, a charming little pear-shaped body, a little chubby, which I prefer. I like them built for comfort, not speed. 

“Oh, Ms. Cavalière,” he said, in his musical little voice, “how delightful to see you again.”

“Morning, Dale,” I replied. “Say, I was wondering if you had any openings today.”

He looked to one side and I heard his personal robot, Sassy, moving about. Then, I heard the machine whisper, “Cancelation at sixteen hundred.”

He looked back at me. “It seems I do have an opening, Ms. Cavalière. Would four o’clock do?”

“Superb.” 

So, that afternoon, I hailed an air-cab to his place and then there was the usual cuddling and huddling, followed by some of this and a bit of that, then the tongue thing happened, and then I pushed him onto his back in the bed, mounted up, and, with a Tally-Ho, we rode off, as it were, into the sunset. 

Afterwards I rolled off, we chatted a bit. I’m always sort of interested in people like Dale. He was a Revive, after all. He’d died all those centuries ago, been frozen, and then, brought back. Or, more precisely, they extracted his memories from his preserved brain and then grew a whole body for him, one more in keeping with modern tastes in men. 

I asked him, “Was it difficult coming back to life?”

“What? Oh. Why, how direct you are, Ms. Cavalière. But, yes, there was some adjustment.”

“In particular?”

“Well, of course, the social changes were dramatic. Though, even then, during my first life, we more or less saw them coming. You saw women in more and more positions of authority, as it were. So, no surprises when I woke and found things had changed in terms of power and relationships. Though,” he looked thoughtful, “the biological changes were a bit startling. Your big, masterful women and small, delicate men… I didn’t expect those.”

“Yes, indeed, I’m sure,” I said. “And what, that is, did it feel like? To wake up in the new body and everything?”

“As I say, dear Ms. Cavalière, you are most direct. But, as you have asked, my new face took quite a bit of getting used to.” He touched his cheek with his right hand. “The features being so much smaller and prettified. Not what I was like before. I was rather homely in the first life, I’m afraid.”

“That doesn’t seem possible.”

“It was true enough. Though the new body was less trouble. I was, alas, always a little overweight. ‘Pleasingly plump,’ was the term, I think. And I was never very big, so it wasn’t a stretch…" -- a quick smile -- "…to be somewhat smaller. My first body was, let me see, about five foot six.” He glanced at me. “Just over 167 centimeters. Now I’m just over 150 centimeters. An, five foot two, old style.” He smiled suddenly, and then said, “Five foot two. Eyes of blue.”

“Pardon?”

“Very old, very silly song. Has anyone seen my gal.”

“Uh, no. I haven’t seen anyone around but you.” 

He laughed his lovely little, tinkling laugh. “Oh, no, Ms. Cavalière, it wasn’t really a question. Just a quote from the song.”

“Ah, I see,” I said. “But, what did you do?”

“You mean for a living?”

“Exactly.”

“Why, my dear Ms. Cavalière, I was PR.”

“Pee-what?”

“I was a public relations person. You see, in those days, large organizations, and sometimes small, would hire people who were trained to bring their message to various audiences. The public. The government. Their customers. That sort of thing.”

“Yes? We have those too. We call them Mediates these days. I think of them as the diplomats of the age.”

“How insightful you are, Ms. Cavalière. Yes. I did sometimes feel that I was a diplomat. For good and, I’m afraid, for ill.”

“For ill?”

“Well, sometimes, in our line…I mean, in my old profession…there was a bit of manipulating you had to manage. You had to convince people to do things that they might not otherwise do.”

I changed the subject. “By the way, I ran into Salee this morning. She tells me she’s thinking of taking out a subscription with you.”

His eyebrows went up. “Really? That would be most welcome, Ms. Cavalière. If I had a full slate, as it were, of customers, I might be able to cut back a bit. There are some clients I’d rather like to see less of. Or, rather, not at all.”

“Really?”

“Oh, I don’t mean you, Ms. Cavalière. You are always delightful. Though you are somewhat eccentric about ponies. But, yes, it would be most welcome if I could work it down to six or seven regulars.” For just a moment, he looked unhappy. “It is not always comfortable, you know. There isn’t much room for dignity in this brave new world of yours. Not for either men or women. And particularly not for me.”

I nodded. I suppose I should have thought more about Dale and his situation, but I never had. I mean, in terms of the morality of the thing. Dale was a…well…a prostitute. I don’t suppose he really wanted to be one, but there aren’t many jobs open for males in this day and age.

And Dale really needed a job. He wasn’t like a normal Boy, born into a good family and married off at an appropriate age.  Like most Revives, he left himself money and expected it to grow with good old compound interest. Only, the World Council had long ago decreed that was a waste of funds and seized the, er, frozen assets involved. 

So, no funds in his bank account. And, of course, without skills and connections and whatnot, there wasn’t much he could do, except offer the old joystick for general consumption.

Yes, I suppose it isn’t moral really. Still, if it hadn’t happened, I’d have never experienced Dale. And I wouldn’t be the CFO now. 

Silver lining and all that…

"Not much room for dignity."

Anyway, I nodded and said yes, I suppose having a regular clientele would be a good thing. Though, I did have a worried feeling about what would happen if Cousin Radnicki found out. But, I repressed that, and said, “Say, in the meanwhile, I seem to be feeling a bit on the stimulated side. I think I’d like to go for another cantor about the old ring, if you know what I mean.”

“Ah, yes, I see. Well, I’m sure that would be fine.” Then he seemed thoughtful and added, “Though, one thing.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t mind the hunting pinks and the riding boots, per se,” he said, quietly. “But must you wear the spurs?”

“It adds to the verisimilitude,” I replied.

He sighed. “Oh, very well. But it will cost you extra.”

“Yippee ki yay,” I responded, displaying my classical education.

About a week later, the old com vibrated like a rattlesnake and when I answered  it was, sadly enough, Cousin Radnicki. Her image appeared before me and the next I knew she was doing everything but snapping at me. Maybe she’d have done that too, if anyone had ever figured out how to send teeth over the air waves.

“Uh,” I said…and quite cleverly, I thought…”hello.”

“Hello my ass,” she snapped. “Oh, I should simply say, hello, you perfect ass.”

Lovely girl, is Cousin Radnicki. Always with the civil remark.

“What seems to be the matter?” I asked, as innocently as I could, though I had a rather good idea what was coming.

“It’s all over the Clan! Everyone’s talking about her!”

“Who?”

“It’s that idiot Salee!”

“Yes?”

“Yes! She’s taken up with a…a…a whore!”

“A what?”

“A prostitute…a slut…a g-gi-gigolo.”

“Oh, a demimonde-boy, you mean?” 

“And of course it is all your fault!”

“Mine?”

“Yes! Absolutely! I’m told you introduced her to that…that…person.”

“Oh, Dale you mean?”

“Is that his name? Well, it doesn’t matter. He’s a horrible creature and he must be stopped.”

“Stopped from what?”

“From occupying Salee’s time, of course! And spoiling her reputation! Do you know what she’s talking about? She’s talking about taking on a contract with him!”

“Well, what of it? She’s of age and all that. Do what she wants, you know.”

Cousin Radnicki stared at me the way you might regard a particularly nasty stain on the carpet. “Do what she wants! I should say not. She is going to do what is Best For The Family!”

It’s funny how when some people talk you can actually hear the capital letters. Cousin Radnicki is one of those. “I see,” I said. “And what is Best For The Family?”

“Well, obviously, she is going to marry into the Dresan Clan.”

I shuddered. The idea of anyone marrying a Dresan was fairly sick-making. Not that they’re bad people, of course. But, come, let us confess, no one in the family fails to be duller than three rocks in a burlap bag. Compared to marriage to one of them, watching concrete cure would be one mad merry whirl.

“But,” I said, finally, “why?”

“Even you can’t be so dense as to not understand.”

“‘Fraid I am, old thing. You’ll have to explain.”

“Oxland, obviously.”

And then, with another chilled shudder, I understood.

The Dresan family, you see, owns 32% of Namakura-Welds Ltd., which, in turn, holds 44% of all outstanding shares of Lampuda & Cape Town Enterprises, which, also in turn, just happens to have a controlling interest in Oxland Outer System Shipping.

And, of course, a large chunk of our family’s investments is in Helium 3 atmospheric mining in the general vicinity of the gas giants. That’s what old Thora was doing off Earth in the first place. 

So, if we had an in with the Dresan crowd, we might be able to get a cut rate price on our shipments back to dear old Earth. 

Which is why Cousin Radnicki was so dead set against poor Dale — other, that is, than her usual distaste for pleasure in general. Salee was to be sacrificed on the alter of a possible 3% discount.

“Oh, dear heaven,” I said, aghast.

“It only makes sense,” Cousin Radnicki replied with a sniff and a cold stare. “And if either you or Salee had a functioning brain in your heads, you’d know it.”

I shrugged. It is impossible to argue with Cousin Radnicki. Might as well have a jolly chat with a Gila monster for all the good it will do you.

“Now,” she continued, “I want you to contact this…this…Dale person, and tell him that the relationship with Salee is definitely off. He is not to see her again. Do you understand?”

“Don’t see how I can manage that,” I replied. “If Salee wants to meet him, I don’t think it will make much Dif what I say about it.”

“I shall handle Salee,” she said, with a chill deadliness that put shivers down my spine. “You just speak to the…the…the whore.”

And with that, she rang off.

The first thing I did was call Salee. “I…um…may have mentioned that I was seeing someone. I mean, to the Girls,” she admitted, first thing. 

“Idiot,” I said. It seemed the only fitting remark at the time.

“I know,” she agreed, sadly. “I just, well, you know, it just seemed remarkable. I mean, there’s that thing he does…”

“With his tongue, I know. But what now?”

“I have to go see Dale and let him know…about, you know, everything.”

“Just phone him,” I told her. “Then I will go and talk to him. He should hear it from a friend.”

“Really?”

“No. But it is the best I can do at short notice.”

On Short Notice

I went to see Dale the next day. We agreed to meet at the park near my apartment. It was quite a grim occasion, really. We strolled about the grasses and flowers and bushes and such, while we contemplated the workings of the bad old world.

He was looking ravishing—long gloves, stockings, a slightly transparent dress-shirt that came down to his knees, and charming little pseudo-leather nipplets that you could just see now and then through the shirt. 

I tried to start off gently. “Uh, I say, Dale, about Salee and that contract…”

He looked at me with those enormous eyes. “Dear Ms. Cavalière, you needn’t continue. I have heard from both her and your cousin…Radnicki, I think her name is.”

“Oh, hell.”

“Yes, I fear so. Salee was quite nice. Contacted me by com and explained that unless we broke it off, Ms. Radnicki Cavalière would do fairly dreadful things to her income.”

“Yes,” I sighed. “She would have done that.”

“And then Ms. Radnicki talked to me herself. In fact, she dropped by my apartment for a little heart to heart, in person.”

Which surprised me. I had thought that I was the one who was supposed to handle the negotiations. She must have changed her mind at the last minute. All too likely, I’m afraid. She wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to have an unpleasant scene. “How did it, uh, go?”

“The discussion with Ms. Radnicki? It was quite vigorous. And very loud. It also involved some rather colorful language. I don’t believe I’ve ever been called an ‘anal abscess’ before.”

“Oh, my…”

“And then, of course, there was the spitting. Rather like a camel, I thought. Or perhaps an alpaca. In any case, something with four feet and a nasty disposition.”

“Er…”

He sighed. “Well, I suppose it can’t be helped. Though I had been looking forward to cutting back my business. As I said, it would be less stressful if I only had six or seven customers.” 

He looked at me. “By the way, dear Ms. Cavalière, I was wondering if you could explain something.”

“I’ll try.”

“Well, I am still learning about your rather complicated social structure here. I think I comprehend the role of your Clans. But I’m at a loss to understand how Ms. Radnicki came to exercise such power in your family.”

“Ah, that…” 

I didn’t blame him. It is all very confusing, indeed. I’ve lived here all my life, and I’m still mixed up.

I suppose we ought to start from the bare bones basics, just in case you’re a visitor from Pluto or something. So, anyway, we’ve got a good old fashioned free enterprise economy like mother used to make. But, in it, we have three major sets of actors. At the bottom, I suppose, you have sole proprietor enterprises, like my own. I buy and sell precious metals. I discovered I’m rather good at that. Quite a surprise. To everyone. Including me.

At the top are the big corporations. Those are the organizations that handle the most money most of the time.

But, in the middle, are the Families, which also hold property and do business, but usually as LLCs or Partnerships. They came into being a long, long time ago, chiefly because women stopped carrying children in their bodies. Instead, we use artificial wombs and all that. It was about that time, too, that women started getting bigger and stronger, and men smaller and sweeter. I suppose it was a kind of evolution in action. But, anyway, as that was going on, we needed new ways of defining families. And the result was the Clans.

Now, it gets more complicated still. At the bottom of the Clans are children and males, who don’t have a vote on economic matters, of course. Once a woman comes of age, she becomes officially a Niece. If she gets some authority in things, she turns into an Aunt. And at the very top, we have the Madam President, who heads up the family.

"Could you explain something?"

“Yes, I see,” Dale interrupted me at this point. “I understand all that. But how did Ms. Radnicki end up as the CEO of the family when she isn’t an Aunt yet?”

“Ah, that.” I told him all about Thora and the bunny-boy and how very sad it was.

“I see. And then?”

“Well, Thora never quite got over it, and I don’t think she ever really forgave the Clan for doing what it did, even after she’d become President. So, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone that a few years back, when there was a little crisis in the family’s atmospheric mining interests out Jupiter-way, Thora said she’d handle the problem herself. So, she got a ticket on the first ship out and off she popped.”

“And then Cousin Radnicki…?” he prodded, gently.

“Well, naturally, the Aunts came winging in like crows on a …what was it? The thing in the dirt with the food sticking out of it? Before we had food synthesizers and all that?”

“Like crows on a cornfield?”

“That was it. Anyway, they came winging in. But there was Cousin Radnicki, seated big as life and twice as nasty in the front office. And she’d had this letter from Thora saying that she was empowered to handle things while she was gone. And she announced that she had no intention of anyone getting in the way. And all the Aunts went winging away again. And if you knew Cousin Radnicki, you’d know why.”

“I see. But this letter she had from President Thora? Was it, um, legitimate.”

“No one knows for sure. There are folks in the Clan who say that Cousin Radnicki penned it herself, you know. And there are others who say that Thora only wanted Cousin Radnicki to look after her personal property and not Clan business.”

“Why didn’t anyone send a message to Ms. Thora and ask?”

“Well, people did send messages. But we never got a clear answer. Sometimes Old Thora seems to say one thing. Sometimes another. Sometimes I think she’s using Cousin Radnicki to punish the Clan for that bunny-boy business all those years ago. Other times, I think she’s just not interested in us anymore.”

“As you say, a very sad story.”

“It is.”

“But, Ms. Cavalière, if you don’t mind one last question…” he began.

“Not at all, my dear. What do you want to know?”

“Has your Clan prospered under Cousin Radnicki’s direction.”

I laughed, doing my best to make it sound hollow and sad. “Not really. Quite the alternative. She’s made some rather unwise investments, I’m afraid. There was that big stock purchase of Mid-Atlantic Submarine Mining stock…which flopped. I told her it would. But she wouldn’t listen. And then there was that restaurant chain on the moon. Lunatic Burgers And Fries. Heaven. What a fiasco that was.”

“Remarkable,” he said, quietly.

“I did some profit and loss projections a while ago. Have them on the old system back at the ‘partment. Showed it to Cousin Radnicki. She wouldn’t read it. Anyway, if things continue as they’re going, we’ll be facing really serious problems in two years.”

“How very clever you are, Ms. Cavalière,” he said, in his breathy little voice. Quite made the old heart skip a beat. 

It was then, of course, that I felt the familiar stirrings, and thought about that thing he did with his tongue, and about trots, canters, and saddles, and I said, “Ah, I say…?”

He nodded. “Of course, Ms. Cavalière. I do have an opening at the moment. But would you mind if we went to your place rather than mine?”

“Not at all,” I said, cheerfully, considering now bridles and stirrups.

It was three months later when it all hit the proverbial turbo fan. I was just coming out of The New Cirque after the much needed scotch and soda required to restore me following a taxing morning of getting up late and having brunch when the com once more growled into life. 

I answered without thinking. One should never do that. And there before me, glowing like ye old phosphorescent Hound of the Basket Valves, or whatever the name was, was Cousin Radnicki.

“You!” She began.

“Hello,” I said, tentatively. “Lovely day.”

“You!”

“Me…what?”

“It’s all your fault.”

“What is?”

“The fact that Thora is on her way to Earth right now!”

“She is?”

“Of course she is, you idiot. And it’s because of you.”

“Me? How…?”

“Somehow she got a copy of that idiotic projection of yours. You must have sent it to her.”

“But…I…that is…”

“Don’t bother denying it. I swear, you are such an idiot. Sometimes I think you’ll make my head explode from sheer frustration.”

Actually, I thought, that might be a rather pleasant turn of events. But what I said was, “I didn’t sent it to her. Really. I swear.”

“Well, someone did!” she thundered.  “And Thora will be here in a week. And you’re going to fix it.”

“Fix what? And, whatever it is, how?”

“You,” she said icily, “are going to be on the next car up the Tsiolkovsky Tower. I’ve got tickets for you for tomorrow. You’ll then catch a ship to the moon and intercept Thora at Peary Crater City. I’ve got it on good authority that she’ll be spending a few days there at the Casinos. You’ll meet her there, explain that your projections were nothing but garbage, and then make sure she heads back to the Outer System ASAP. Is that clear?”

“But, they weren’t garbage…”

“I said, Is That Clear?”

“Well, I…” And I would have said considerably more but she’d already rung off by that time.

I considered my options. I could call her back and tell her to do something biologically difficult and decidedly unpleasant. But, if you knew Cousin Radnicki, you’d know that wasn’t an attractive alternative. She’d make my life hell from then on out. And believe me, nobody can make a life hell like she can. A genius at it, I’d say. With considerable natural born talent.

So, that left option two. To wit, go to the Moon and chat up Aunt Thora. That, too, wasn’t particularly appealing.

Which left option number three… the dishonorable way out, and the cowardly way out. That is, head for the Moon all right, but give Auntie Thora a wide miss and not head Earthward until she and Cousin Radnicki had battled it out and the Fall Out and Fireballs had more or less settled down to normal.

Which meant, of course, that I took the coward’s way out straight away, and pausing only long enough to pack a bag, I was up the good old Tsiolkovsky in a flash.

"The Casinos At Peary"

Cousin Radnicki was quite right. The Casinos at Peary are rather nice. I’ve been there oodles of times. But, frankly, I headed for Clavius instead. I just didn’t want to take the risk of turning around and coming nose to nostril with Aunt Thora. 

Still, Clavius does lack something in the recreation facilities department. No gambling there, and nothing like a decent theater. So, after I figured that enough time had past for the coast to be clear, I took the maglev to Peary. Then, one evening after supper, I was bouncing my way through the crowd and the low-G at the good old Fei Junlong’s Bar and Grill in hopes of finding a game of Baccarat where the dealer-bots where honest, at least 30% of the time, when I heard my name called out. “Oh, Ms. Cavalière!”

I turned around and imagine my utter amazement when I saw none other than Dale, looking absolutely fetching in a thigh-length mini-shirt and stockings. “I say,” I said, “whatever are you doing here?”

“A break from things,” he replied, with a pretty little smile (somewhat mischievous) on his face. “And something else as well. But, Ms. Cavalière, if I may be so bold, may I reverse the question? Why aren’t you on Earth?”

“Self-preservation,” I told him, and explained all about Cousin Radnicki and Aunt Thora and the fact that the former was probably out to get me with a chain saw.

“Dear Ms. Cavalière, you needn’t worry about that. Ms. Radnicki is even now on her way to Callisto to watch after our family’s atmospheric mining operation.”

“Really? But, what about Thora?”

“Oh, she’s staying on Earth. She has decided to take on the role of Madam President full time. She is concerned about the current state of our family finances. She is, by the way, quite impressed with your forecasts. I think she will be asking you to be the Clan CFO soon.”

“You don’t say?” 

“By the way, I hope you don’t mind, but I was the one who sent her a copy of your profit and loss projections. I found them on your system while you were sleeping after our last, um, exercise in dressage.”

“Oh,” I said, a bit startled. But I guessed I couldn’t complain. After all, it had improved my position a bit.

And then something odd struck me. “Wait. You said ‘Our family.’”

“Yes, didn’t I tell you, dear Ms. Cavalière? I am married. I am now Dale Cavalière.”

And then it all came clear! Of course! With Radnicki out of the way, he must have hooked Salee. Not just a contract. “Why, that’s amazing,” I said. “Very best wishes and all that.”

“Thank you so very much, Ms. Cavalière.”

“Please. We’re relatives now. Call me Alana.”

“As you wish…Alana. We are here on our honeymoon.” Oh, that flash of mischief in his blue eyes. “But you must join us for dinner sometime. Perhaps tonight, if you have not already dined.”

I was concerned. “Are you sure Salee wouldn’t mind? I wouldn’t want to intrude and all that.”

“Salee?”

“Yes, your spouse…”

“Oh, no. How funny you are, my dear Alana. I’m not married to Salee. My spouse is there, at the Baccarat table.”

I looked. 

I gasped.

It was Thora.

And for the first time in all the years I’ve known her, she looked happy.

So, that’s how I got to be CFO. 

I heard later that when Thora was on her way back to Earth and got to the hotel at Peary, Dale just happened to be in the lobby. Something about a brief vacation. And, anyway, they met, and by some remarkable coincidence, Dale just happened to be wearing bunny ears and fishnet stockings at the time. And, well, after that, one thing led to another. They got hitched in the Casino Wedding Chapel and then it was off to Earth to introduce Dale to the family. They say Cousin Radnicki nearly had a brain aneurysm. Wish I’d been there.

 Anyway, Aunt Thora took over the Clan and I got the new position and a seat on the board and things have been pretty good ever since. Profit and loss position much improved.

Still, sometimes…

I do miss that little thing he did with his tongue.

#

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Credits for Makehuman Assets

Evening gloves by Punkduck

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French Lingerie (stockings) by Punkduck

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Leather Corset by Punkduck

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Camisole by Elvaerwyn 

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Elvs Cut Outs Dress 1 by Elvaerwyn

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Ballet Flats with Bows by MargaretToigo

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