1st Hope, in the 5th year of the reign of House Redwater, Near Noon
Salamah, Duke of the House of Laurent, sat behind his desk, his face arranged into pleasant blankness, and seethed. The room was warm, pleasantly so compared to the planet he had decided to live. He wondered why now, even though the blueprints and the ledgers laid out on his small, functional desk told the story.
His features were vaguely angular, long, flowing black hair kept up in knots. It was a court style he was sure was, by now, after only a few months away, obsolete. His skin was deeply bronzed, burnished and dark, contrasting with his clear green eyes, the color of spring. He had a small mouth and thin, pale lips curled up into a smile that looked genuine. He was widely considered to be a handsome man, and he did not look his forty-eight years, not really.
He was dressed in a tightly cut red silk vest, and long black slacks, hidden beneath the desk. There was a moment's pause before he determined that his will had been gathered again, and he returned to the ledger, manipulating virtual numbers, and coming up with solutions to a variety of small problems. There were those who had less cautious optimism than he did about the future of the House. The shattered vase lying on the floor behind him was proof enough.
The new mines would take several weeks to build, and to buy the land, and make them, especially at this speed was not cheap. Of course they were losing money now, but that wasn't a sign of a deeper problem, and if the House held its course, rather than veering wildly less than two months into its real existance, it would profit.
He was glancing at the projected five-year mine outlays when the buzzer to his door rang, loud and shrill. For a moment the temptation sat upon his desk, smiling, to refuse to be interrupted. But if he started revealing the truth, why, he'd never stop, and then where would he be?
"You may enter," Salamah said, his face shifting into his third-warmest smile, eyes filled with interest and respect for whoever came through the door. It was his cousin, Vincent, who slouched in, his clothing as disordered as ever, his marked with acne as if he was sixteen, rather than thirty-six.
"Good day cousin," he said warmly, "It is good to see you." The cousin's eyes lit with gratitude, making them look a little less harsh. He was a smart man, but none of his family could particularly stand it, and only Salamah was wise enough to hide it, since he respected the mind, if not the person. And so Vincent was under the illusion that they were friends, allies even.
It was a useful illusion.
"It is good to see you as well. I have much to speak of. I have seen the future," Vincent declaimed, and stopped to scratch his whiskers and rub at his eyes, "And it is in the stars themselves, their blackness, their energy, their life, which have given birth to all of humanity."
For a terrifying moment, Salamah thought Vincent was speaking of branching out into transportation. No doubt Vincet would have some clever plan, maybe even one Salamah would like, but they couldn't afford to split their money at the moment. He'd have to marshal arguments about the strength of the market, their Galactic position, spin out of whole cloth something convincing enough for a man about as smart, if much more blunt, than him.
Then Vincent continued, "I have found religion, and though I respect your right to disagree, I believe it is the most true one. I have meditated many hours on it, and I am ready to declare that I am a Sathraist."
If Vincent had stripped right before Salamah and declared his intention to go out into that frigid tundra of a planet and live a life as a polar bear, he would have been less concerned, confused, and worried.
Of all the questions he could have asked, the first to come out, in a tone of rather startled inquiry, "When, precisely, did you find the time to convert to a religion?"
"Well, it's a very interesting," he paused, and let out a loud, long belch before saying, "Damn, the food here gives me indigestion. Too heavy," which was only expected of a winter world like Alshain Magna. He didn't really say sorry, not that Salamah expected it.
"You see, I was in the Capital, looking for all of the bars."
"Ah," Salamah said, understanding at once, "You wanted to warn them about my brother?" That showed a remarkable and hithero absent understanding of the feelings of other people.
"Yeah, you'd told me weeks ago that if he went on another one of his drunken rampages, it'd ruin our reputation."
"Thank you," Salamah did, and meant it. Sure, it wasn't anything big, but, well, it was more than he expected. "So you met someone?"
"Yes, and he was quite interested when I revealed I was your cousin. And so now I'm a Cadet..." he blinked, and saw the Vase, "Is that a vase?"
"Yes, it is," Salamah said drily.
"Wasn't it supposed to be over there?" he asked, pointing at the empty stand.
"Audrey threw it at me."
"Wait...what, why?!"
"My niece," he said slowly, "Believes that the House is going down, and thinks me a fool for not seeing it. I am tempted to marry her off to the first swain who'd have her, but, well..." Salamah knew that, beneath the masks, he possessed few enough virtues, and one of them was loyalty to family. "It is no matter. She is wrong, as always, and nothing is lost except a vase worth eight thousand dollars given to me by a dear friend." Vincent missed the sarcasm completely.
"That seems like a lot. Um...well, at least you weren't hit."
Remembering her shrill screams was bringing his headache, and his rage, back, and so he asked, pleasantly, "What have you come here for?"
"I could advance myself in the hierarchy, from Cadet to Pilot, if I made a donation of $5000," he said, "And so I was..."
"I'm sorry," he said, not sorry at all, but sounding it, "But I don't have that kind of money."
"But, don't you still have fifteen thousand dollars?"
"Yes, for now, but expenses will occur, and I'm not yet ready to take any loans, or make any promises," Salamah concluded, leaning back in his hover-chair.
"Wait, maybe you can't give me five-thousand," none of the family had any money Salamah didn't personally give to them, "But you should give me some! There's good reasons!"
"Do tell," he said, drily.
"Well, Audrey thinks you're in a death spiral, but you think you're on top. If your own brother couldn't scrape up five-hundred dollars to donate to his religion, there would be those who would talk, or something."
Blackmail, of a sorts, and not of the sort that Vincent would engage in. It had the hands of Salamah's wife all over it. Had she converted too? Or maybe she was just attempting to keep the peace. It was hard to tell, sometimes, though he doubted she'd turned against him...
Still, it was a good argument.
"Very well," he conceded, manipulating the ledgers, "I have transferred five-hundred dollars into your account. Spend them on Sathraism if you wish. But don't try to convert me."
"Thank you! Thank you, Your Grace. I wish you a good and prosperous day, Duke Salamah!" Vincent walked backwards out, bowing, and just before he left, Salamah gave him his second-best smile.
His Grace, Duke Salamah of House Laurent...that had a nice ring, and he felt unusually pleased by the title in the mouth of his cousin.
His smile was, almost, real.
Cast:
Duke Salamah Laurent, Head of House, age 48: A dynamic, enchanting genius. He is an average duelist and an accomplished administrator. Head of Geological. Two months ago, his house became a Noble House.
Vincent Laurent, Salamah's Cousin, age 36: A diligent, repellent genius. He is an average duelist and a mediocre Administrator.
Marcus Laurent, Salamah's Brother, age 37. An idle, ordinary genius prone to alcoholism. He is an average duelist and administrator.
Audrey Laurent, Salamah's Niece, Marcus' daughter, age 18. A diligent, repellent dullard. A mediocre duelist and administrator.
Jamila Laurent, Samalah's Wife, age 55. An idle, charismatic genius. She is an average duelist and a mediocre administrator. Married for her money. Salamah--who has not spent much, if any, time faithful to her, quite dislikes her, despite her virtues.
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