Beyond the Horizon

Chapter 5-1

The Southern Birds sat at the end of a wooded lane outside a small metropolis on the southern hemisphere of a swampish world orbiting Alpha Tuscana. Jack could never remember the names of the lane, the city, or the planet, but the name of the establishment was forever etched into his memory.

The brothel was where he"d grown up.

Abandoned as an infant, he"d been given succor if not much guidance throughout his childhood by a bevy of women (and a few men) whose constant chatter frequently veered toward the bawdy banter common to such environs, the boy often forgotten as simply a constant presence underfoot. As such, Jack"s education was weighted toward the idiosyncrasies of s****l behavior, the fleeting nature of relationships, the inevitable anxieties of aging, and the occasional invasion of Imperial law enforcement.

Not comely enough to attract customers" interests—in fact, rather the opposite—Jack had been spared indoctrination into the lifestyle and had remained an observer, getting rare glimpses into a complex and often tragic world. Not alone in this unconventional upbringing, Jack was one of half a dozen such orphans, all the others female, and all of them acquired as potential apprentices.

Misty looked quizzically toward the building as they approached. “What do they do here?”

“They"re in the entertainment business.” He"d come back on occasion since leaving at age twelve, but the last time had been nearly eight years before.

The house was quiet as they entered, almost deathly so. Midmorning was the deepest part of their night, nearly everyone asleep. Jack wondered if his childhood friend, Cherise, were still here. He rather doubted it. She"d been exceptionally beautiful and accomplished, and that even before she arrived at the Southern Birds at four years old.

The foyer was all etched glass and brass, shiny wood-grain floors, and gilt-framed portraits of nudes sprawled in somnolent leisure. The chandelier hung heavy and dark from three floors up.

“May I help you?” a girl not much older than Misty asked, appearing at their elbow.

“Uh, yes, please. I"m Jack, Jack Carson,” he said. “I"m here to see Madam Mariposa.”

“Certainly. Please have a seat. She"s not prepared for visitors, so she"ll be a few minutes.”

“Of course, and please extend my apologies for not comming ahead.”

“Certainly. And may I know the name of our other guest?”

Before he could stop her, Misty said, “I"m Princess Misty Circi, of Canis Dogma Five.”

“Thank you.” The girl nodded, evincing no surprise, and retreated soundlessly the way she had come.

Carson was the name they"d come up for him, confabulated for no other reason than he"d needed another name. Jack stepped into the reception room, where the guests chose their liaisons. A corridor blocked off by a curtain led to the “nesting rooms,” as they were known at the Southern Birds. Around the walls were couches and loveseats and chaise longues, all so overstuffed as to invite comparisons to corpulence. In the center, cordoned by velvet ropes, was the viewing area, now empty. In this area, the courtesans would parade themselves, displaying their charms and looking amongst the customers for their next assignation.

Jack remembered with a twinge seeing Cherise parade herself for the very first time at age thirteen. A year younger than she, Jack had nearly ruined her first night in the rotation as he"d watched from the second-floor balcony. Madame Mariposa had stopped him from rushing downstairs, grabbing Cherise, and carrying her off to safety. He"d left soon after.

“You probably shouldn"t introduce yourself that way,” Jack said.

Misty turned her big blue eyes on him. “Why not?”

As he pondered that, imagining the thousands of political prisoners whose only crime was to oppose Emperor Torgas, and the millions who"d been slaughtered when they"d rebelled against his rule, whose worlds had been reduced to smoking cinders when their occupants had refused to capitulate to his demands. “Well, it"s not safe,” he said, looking at her directly to impress upon her the gravity of what he was saying.

He was just getting comfortable in the corpulent chair when the woman walked in.

He knew instantly who it was and he felt flabbergasted just the same.

“Jack.”

That one word captured the entirety of his latency. The six most formative years of his life and their terrible culmination in having to watch his best friend and most loved companion prance and preen before a voracious audience all came rushing back to him in that one word.

In the six months before he had left, he and Cherise had become lovers, their liaisons quick and hurried and away from the watchful eyes of Madame Mariposa.

Cherise hadn"t been around the other three times he"d visited, and he hadn"t asked about her, afraid to open that door, afraid of what lay beyond.

Jack stood to greet her, and she stepped into his arms as though twenty years hadn"t passed. If only, he thought. He pulled back to look at her, blinking away tears, seeing the same youthful innocence and purity that had always taken his breath away, seeing the simple joy of life in her soul, that capacity to be here now, fully, without a thought for the past or the future, without a care but for the one she beheld.

He knew she loved him still, as they stared into each other"s eyes.

He also knew she wasn"t free to pursue that love, just as she hadn"t been free twenty years ago, when they"d stolen precious moments from their owners to be with each other. “You look wonderful,” he said, his voice inaudible.

She beamed with his admiration, blush creeping up her neckline. She wore a chemise robe over a silk camisole, both of them a deep burgundy. “It"s so good to see you, Jack. I"ve missed you terribly.”

He nodded. For twenty years, he"d regretted leaving. He also knew he couldn"t have stayed. “You"re so strong and brave. I"m sorry to have been such a coward. If I"d—”

She shushed him with a smile and a finger across his lips. “Regrets keep us from living our lives today. Your courage has kept me going for many years, that and the joy of your companionship. You taught me just to be myself and honored me when I was completely truthful with you. Thank you.” She took his hand and cradled it to her breast.

The empty years of his life spilled down his face. Companionship had been difficult to find, two of his three wives vulpine harpies who"d sucked his bank accounts dry. Trust had been difficult to build, even in simple transactions with other traders, a deep abiding mistrust of everyone around him undermining every exchange of goods.

“Who"s your friend?”

“Misty, her name is Misty,” Jack said hurriedly, before the girl could respond. “We"re waiting to see Madame Mariposa.”

Cherise threw him a slight smile and turned to the girl. “Misty, I"m Cherise. Jack and I grew up together.”

“You were really important to him, you know,” she said matter-of-factly. “And you still are.”

Cherise threw him another look, as if to ask, “What have you been telling her?”

Unless I"ve started talking in my sleep, Jack thought, wondering how she"d known.

“Well, Madame Mariposa died a few years ago, and now, I"m Madame Mariposa. But you can call me Cherise. Come this way.”

She led them to a door simply marked “private,” one very near the entrance. Inside, one half the room looked like the perfect sitting room, overstuffed chairs around a low table. The other half was the compound security center, multiple monitors giving glimpses of every corridor and every exit. The girl who had greeted them moved through the monitors by turn, as though physically doing rounds.

“Morning rounds,” Cherise said.

He saw the front stoop. “You saw us coming.”

“But I didn"t recognize you. You"ve changed, Jack.”

“You"re as beautiful as ever.”

She laughed lightly and bade them to sit.

Facing her, Jack found himself suddenly at a loss for words. He needed her help, but now all he wanted was to remain here with her. Sell the Salvager and settle down as her business and domestic partner, running the brothel and starting a family.

“Jack"s going to take me to the palace,” Misty said.

Cherise"s light laughter was little different. “It"s a place everyone should visit at least once, I"m told.”

“I"m not going there to visit. I"m going there to live.”

“Oh, that"s fabulous! It"s what I"d do if I had the opportunity. But that requires an invitation from the Emperor himself. I"m too far beneath his notice to get an invitation.”

“Jack"s going to get me one.”

Cherise turned to look at him.

“And I will, as soon as I can.”

“And how, might I ask, will you be doing that?” Cherise had that what-have-you-been-telling-her look again.

“Jack"s very persuasive,” Misty told her.

“Yes, he is, isn"t he?” Cherise laughed that soft, disbelieving laugh again. “And how might I help?”

“I don"t know where I"ll get the wardrobe necessary to live in the palace. Whatever will I do?” Misty didn"t put the back of her hand to her forehead, but she might have.

Jack and Cherise both laughed aloud. His heart warmed to hear genuine laugher from his childhood friend.

“Stand up,” Cherise told the girl, who did so. Then she twirled her finger, and the girl spun in a circle. “Show me a waltz.”

Misty looked bewildered. “What"s a waltz?”

Without a blink, Cherise stood and demonstrated a few steps. “Ta, da, da, ta, da, da.”

And Misty aped her perfectly.

“Well, I think I have a few outfits to start with. A young woman not much more substantial than you left us abruptly a few weeks ago. Unlikely to be returning. And you"ll be needing a bit more than a wardrobe, if you don"t know what a waltz is. The Cherise School of Charm has its first official student. Jack, will you be joining us?”

About all he could do was charm a cat out of a bath.

“He"s got half-a-hold of junk to offload.”

Jack was getting annoyed, the way Misty was answering questions directed at him. He shrugged at Cherise.

“At least stay a day, and get a little rest.”

He saw the promise in her eyes.

* * *

Jack had two stops to make in town before going back to the Southern Birds. Both were within easy walking distance of the tarmac.

The alley he approached looked the same as it had when Jack was twelve.

His heart aching, Jack had come to this alley and had approached the proprietor of the hock shop, Ignatius Argonavis. The two of them had struck up a conversation on one of the man"s visits to the Birds, and Jack had taken a liking to him.

His life-long friend, Cherise, had just taken her first turn parading herself around the Southern Birds parlor.

“Get me a berth on the next garbage scow out of here, Ig!”

“What do you be wanting to do a fool thing like that for?”

Young Jack had stared across the chipped glasma counter into the wrecked face of the former spacer. Both of them were a sight to sore any eye, and they"d become fast friends. Ig, as he"d insisted Jack call him, had lost part of his face and most of his left shoulder and arm to the blast of an attacking Imperial Patrol. The injury hadn"t stopped the Empire from convicting him of piracy and sending him to prison for ten years, but it had ended his spacefaring days.