Excerpt from Bedina's War - As Needed Chapter Four

Excerpt from

Bedina’s War

© Evelyn Rainey

Comfort Publishing

ISBN 9781936695881

Excerpt from Bedina's War - Orchidea Chapter Four

Excerpt from

Bedina’s War

© Evelyn Rainey

Comfort Publishing

ISBN 9781936695881

Excerpt from Bedina's War - Tinker's Damn Chapter Four

Excerpt from

Bedina’s War

© Evelyn Rainey

Comfort Publishing

ISBN 9781936695881

Excerpt from Bedina's War - As Needed Chapter Three

My Childhood

From The Memoirs of Dyshena Tupelo

I suppose the best place to begin my autobiography is with my

birth and continue from there. This chapter shouldn’t take long.

I was born one-hundred-forty years ago. As this is now 60 New

Alliance Era, I hope you can figure out the year of my birth.

I was born into a large clan on GandhiLab; seven brothers, twelve

sisters from multiple parents. My mother had two husbands; each of

my fathers had had previous wives. I was blessed with a contented

childhood. I took the Exam at age six and survived. I never realized

until much later how many of us did not survive the Exam. Their

names expunged from DataLab; their faces forgotten by their friends.

The Exam was a great wrong. I’m glad it has been eradicated.

I grew up in a time of peace. As I developed, I became a voracious

lover of political intrigue. I learned languages and customs as easily as

I learned to free-fall or type.

I loved GandhiLab. Perhaps all men love their homeland as

passionately. There is an emptiness within me where she used to

exist. No matter what I do, nor what I’ve done, I can never again walk

GandhiLab’s corridors, rest in her fall spaces, work in her gardens. I

have never loved anything as deeply as I loved my home. No, not even

my wife; and I was a fool in love for her.

You might ponder how a man could love a place more than he could

a woman. It is a different kind of love, and yet, the loss of GandhiLab

is greater and more terrible than the loss of my wife or the loss of my

one true friend.

But I get ahead of myself.

Birth, the Exam, childhood, adolescence. Yes, here we are. Puberty

 

 

 

 

 

 

hit me late but hard. I grew much taller than anyone else in my clan.

Hard to believe it now, shrunken with age as I’ve become, but by my

twenty-first birthday, I was 1.75 meters, a good head taller than anyone

else I knew.

I remember the first time I met the woman who later became my

wife. “You lying son of a whore, you’re much too tall to be a sp’lab!”

She called me a sp’lab to my face. I think that was the first time

in my life I’d heard that label applied to me personally. As the years

passed, she called me Space Lab National or Spa’Lab to my face, but I

have always believed that nothing I could say or do would ever change

her opinion of my people.

I began training for the Diplomatic Corp at puberty. My first off-

Lab assignments went well.

As I mentioned, I was taller than most Spa’Labs, and I discovered

I could infiltrate where others could only intimidate. Dye my hair, pop

in colored contacts, and I could pass as any Commonwealth Native the

Corp needed me to be.

I learned a lot in my travels, but what baffled me most were the

prejudices that kept us apart. Sayings have grown up as if to excuse the

prejudices:

Sp’lab kept secrets.

Blind as a Coustevean.

Awkward as an Andovean’s handshake.

Harmless as an Erinyes’ Child.

The first seven generations born on Cousteau were blind, due to

too pure a ratio of oxygen in the underwater biospheres.

Andoveans have two sets of palms with four fingers on each

hand.

Erinyes’ Child.

The old man looked away from his keypad and studied his companion’s

face. Ageless, she looked no more than seventeen. Harmless. She looked

meek and mild and naïve and angelic.

He shook his head and turned back to his keypad.

I wonder, as you read this, if you have ever heard of Erinyes. The

first scripture an Erinyes child is taught is To learn how to live, one must

 

 

 

 

 

first learn to die. And like the Exam Space Lab Nationals forced upon

their children, Erinyes natives subject their children to the Death. At

age five, they are placed in suspended animation while centuries of

knowledge are imprinted on their brains. The process takes thirty years,

but their bodies do not age. Only their souls. The next thirty years are

spent in physical training. By the end of the Dance, as the second thirty

years is called, their bodies have seemingly aged only a decade.

“What are you staring at?” Acacia had put down her weaving and

was smiling at her master.

“An angel. I’m smiling at my angel.”

“Save what you have written and come to bed.” She stood up and

stretched.

“You look like your grandfather when you smile. Have I told you

that?” He pressed the proper sequence of keys and the keypad was

camouflaged by the desks’ marble surface.

“Many times.” She stroked his cheek. “But it pleases me to hear it.”

Excerpt from

Bedina’s War

© Evelyn Rainey

Comfort Publishing

ISBN 9781936695881

Excerpt from Bedina's War - Lazy Eight Ladies Chapter Three

Livia

Livia walked into Ray’s Café and trembled. A sea of Orchideans

peered up at her.

“Good morning, Miss Livia!” Cornelius shouted, startling Gaia,

who began to cry.

A bear burst out of the kitchen; a bear in a blue apron. “Who’s

frightening the tiny baby?”

Gaia wailed.

“I didn’t mean to!” Cornie pleaded.

Livia stared at them, blinking away tears.

“Stop it, the both of you,” Jones Fredark growled. “You’re making

Livia cry.”

“Are you crying?” Ray peered down, his voice a horrified whisper.

“No, no! I’m not,” the tears streamed. “I’m not crying.”

“You made her cry.” Cornelius accused Ray.

“I did not!” Ray yelled. Gaia howled. “I did not,” he whispered.

“Are we going to get something to eat this morning?” grumped a

voice from the rear.

“Get out!” Ray bellowed. “Out! All of you. Crying babies and crying

ladies and you’re thinking about your stomachs.”

“At a time like this,” admonished Cornelius.

“Don’t go!” Livia sobbed. “How can I wait on you if you go

away?”

The men who were leaving froze.

“She’s right,” Cornelius said to Ray.

“Yep. She’s right. Can’t do no waitressing if there’s no one to wait

on,” Fredark agreed.

“No,” Livia shook her head and wiped at her wet cheeks.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ray scowled, “Alright, sit down.”

The men hesitated, looking at each other.

“Sit down, I said!”

Gaia hiccupped and wailed again.

“Shush, shu-shu. Hushaby, Gaia-baby. I’ll be quiet.” Ray held his

fingers to his lips. “We’ll all be quiet.”

“Sit down and shush up,” Cornelius hissed.

Gaia giggled.

“Oh!” Ray beamed. “She likes that. Say it again, Cornie.”

“Sit down and shush up.”

Gaia pealed with laughter.

“How can we order breakfast if we have to be quiet?” asked a voice

from the back.

Livia and Cornie looked at Ray. He held up his hands. “I know.

One at a time, very quietly, you tell Miss Livia here what you want to

eat and she’ll come tell me.”

“Seems simple enough.” Cornie led the nodded assents.

“We’ll start with you, Lefkin. What do you want for breakfast?”

Livia smiled at the man.

“Three eggs, over easy, a side of bacon, biscuits, grits, coffee and a

honey comb.”

Livia looked at him, trying not to panic. She walked back to Ray.

“Lefkin wants —“

“No, don’t tell me here. Tell me in the kitchen.” He took her arm.

“Come on.”

They walked through the hall and into the kitchen, past the sinks,

beyond the pots of bubbling grits and the oven filled with baking

biscuits to the grill which lined the back wall.

“Now, Miss Livia.”

“Good morning, Mr. Ray.” She grinned. Gaia cooed. Ray’s eyes

shone. “Lefkin wants eggs.”

“How many?”

“Four?”

“And how did he want them?”

“On the side.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ray tilted his head. “On the side?”

“And bark gum.”

“Bark gum? You mean tree sap?”

“Um. Yes?”

“Anything else?”

“Yes.” She drew a deep breath, trying to remember.

Ray smiled patiently. “Did he want pancakes to go with his tree

sap?”

“Pancakes? What are pancakes?”

“Tain’t never had pancakes before? They’re fluffy flour and milk

fried on a skillet. I sprinkle them with cinnamon and powdered

sugar.”

“That sounds good.”

“Sometimes I drizzle berries on top.”

“Oh!”

“Would you like some?”

Her stomach growled. Then her nose wrinkled as Gaia made

grunting noises. “Oh. I have to take Gaia outside to change her.”

Ray took a step backward. “Reckon.”

When she returned, there were five platters of food ready to be

delivered. Livia tucked Gaia into the crook of her left arm and picked

up one platter. It took her a moment to figure out how to back through

the door.

The men cheered her.

“Here you go, Lefkin.”

“Oh,” Lefkin looked at the men seated with him. “Pancakes.”

“And bark gum,” Livia beamed.

It took her quite a while to deliver each platter, but eventually,

every man at Lefkin’s table had a plate. She smiled at them and they

sheepishly grinned back. Then the sound of soft grumbling drew her

attention to the other forty-five tables filled with hungry men.

Ray came into the hall balancing four platters and deposited them

at the next table.

“I didn’t order this,” a smallish man complained.

“Yes, you did.” Ray assured him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“But, I don’t like pancakes.”

“I do,” Fredark piped up. “I’ll trade you my sausages for your pancakes.”

Ray touched her elbow. “There’s more plates to be delivered.”

“Oh! I liked how you carried more than one plate at a time. Can

you show me how to do that?”

“Reckon. But you’d do a might better using both hands.”

“I’ll help. I hate pancakes. I mean,” Cornie reached for Gaia. “I’ll

hold Gaia.”

As she was pulled away, a slimy trail of syrup continued to connect

her to Livia’s shirt.

“Why aren’t you wearing an apron?” Ray asked in a disapproving tone.

“I don’t have an apron.” Livia’s voice trembled.

“No worries, Livia. We’ll fix you up.” Ray reached behind the door

and presented her with a maroon piece of fabric with strings.

“How does it go?”

“This goes here.” He pressed the fabric against her chest and then

realized where his beefy fingers were. “Um. Here. You hold it up. And I’ll,”

he pulled two strings away from the top and tied them behind her head.

“Ow!”

“Sorry. Caught your hair. It’s beautiful — your hair.” He took a step

closer, his hands still behind her head.

“Thank you.”

“Oh Ray, you beast! Thank you!” a voice catcalled from the onlookers.

“And you tie these behind you.” He reached behind her back.

“There.”

They both released the apron and it fell to the floor.

“It’s huge.” Livia bent to pick it up.

“It fits me just fine.”

“She’s a dainty thing, Ray-boyo. It won’t fit!” someone shouted.

“It’ll fit just fine,” Ray growled.

The crowd cackled, nudging and winking at each other.

“What if we wrapped it around me?” Livia pulled the sides behind

and around to the front and tied it. The string still streamed to the floor.

“Here.” Ray pulled the strings behind her and with her in his arms,

fumbled awkwardly.

Livia liked the way she felt in his arms. He wasn’t much taller than

her, so when she tilted her head up, they were nose to nose. “I like the

way you smell.”

His hands stilled and he looked at her mouth.

“Am I all done up now?

“Hmmm.” He liked the way her lips moved when she spoke.

“That’s it; I’m going to Nuffers to eat!” a voice groused.

Others agreed.

“Wait!” Livia turned to them. “Wait. I can do this. Don’t go. Just

give me a chance. Just sit down. Lefkin, can you ring up their bills

since you’ve finished eating? Fredark, you put a carafe of coffee on each

table. Ray, you go start cooking and I’ll bring out the plates.”

Most of the men got their breakfasts by the time the lunch crowd

began to enter Ray’s.

Cornie came into the kitchen and had to shout over Gaia’s squalling.

“She won’t stop crying!”

“Did you try singing?” Ray asked.

“Reckon.

“Nursery rhymes?”

“Just so.”

“Nappies?”

“Dry as whiskers.”

Livia sighed. She knew exactly what was wrong. Her nipples had

begun to leak as soon as Gaia started crying. “She’s hungry.”

“Well,” Cornelius handed the infant to her mother. “Great place to

be hungry. Café and all.”

Gaia clutched at Livia’s apron.

“Oh.” Cornie paled.

“How do I — where do I?”

Ray blushed. “Oh.”

She was yanking at the strings behind her. “I can’t untie this.”

“I’ll help.” Ray embraced mother and child.

“Ow!”

“Sorry.” Ray squirmed. “I can’t see. You hair is in the way.”

“Let me help.” Cornie stood behind her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Ow!!”

“Don’t hurt her!”

“I wasn’t hurting her, Ray.”

Sally walked into the kitchen to find Livia sandwiched between the

two men. “I don’t mean to interrupt anything.”

The men sprang away from Livia like magnetized poles. Her apron

had two streams of wet running down the front. Gaia was sucking

madly on the greasy maroon fabric. The Earther looked at the Spa’Lab

and burst into tears.

Excerpt from

Bedina’s War

© Evelyn Rainey

Comfort Publishing

ISBN 9781936695881

Excerpt from Bedina's War - Tinker's Damn Chapter Three

Songs and Singing

“There’s a hole in my foodbot, Salt Yarrow, Salt Yarrow,” Julian’s

tenor belted out from the center of the mess hall. “There’s a hole in my

foodbot, Salt Yarrow, a hole!”

Yeoman Yarrow removed the front panel of the foodbot and sang,

“Well fix it, First Chief, First Chief, First Chief. Well fix it, First Chief,

First Chief, fix it!”

Lonicera walked into the cafeteria and moved in step to the song

across the floor.

“With what shall I fix it, Salt Yarrow, Salt Yarrow? With what shall

I fix it, Salt Yarrow, with what?”

The older man handed the implement to Julian with a grin, “With

a tyndale, First Chief, First Chief, First Chief. With a tyndale, First

Chief, First Chief, a tyndale.”

By now, the other crew in the mess joined in with the song as

Lonicera waltzed around the hall. The verses progressed from one

problem’s solution to another: the tyndale was too weak to do the job, so

it needed a battery, which was in the storeroom but the storeroom was

locked and the captain had the key. But the captain was on shore leave,

and on and on. As Julian finished the repair and replaced the panel, he

watched as the beautiful woman soared gracefully across the hall. Her

face was filled with joy. He looked at Yarrow, who nodded encouragingly

at him. As Lonicera waltzed past, Julian took her hand and the waltz

became a polka and the crowded mess hall launched into rowdier and

rowdier verses. Others joined the impromptu promenade, jostling and

twirling each other as the rhythm rushed and the volume swelled.

The bells tolled for the next shift and the salts fell to good-natured

grumbling, leaving for work or home.

In the softened din, Lonicera laughed. She beamed at Julian and

threw her head back and laughed. It took his breath away.

Three days later, Julian was belly-deep inside the engines of a

fighter, trying to replace a blasted fuel line. The ratchet he needed

slipped from his greasy fingers and clattered to the floor of the bay. He

blew out a breath rather than a curse and a slender, dirty hand lifted

the ratchet up to him. He took it, trying to see her face, but knowing it

was her. “Thank you!”

“With a tyndale, dear man, dear man, dear man,” she sang, and

then she was gone.

That evening, as he strolled the isolated passageways, checking the

various gages and lines that kept his ship vital and alive, he heard a

mournful tune echoing down from one of the side passages which ran

alongside the Tinker’s hearth. For being the center of what kept the

Tinker’s Damn alive, traffic along the corridors surrounding the engine

room were usually sparse. It was a man singing, in a bass voice which

made Julian shiver with sorrow. He’d never heard the song before,

which was rare on a ship full of Orchideans who loved ballads and

stories more than most anything else.

He followed the voice and came upon Lan-chi Yarrow, Petrosk

Sylva and his mate Benny who were seated in front of a thin Spa’Lab.

The singer was standing by the hearth-side of the corridor leaning

against the wall; his head tilted back, his eyes closed. But the song he

sang made Julian remember each person he’d ever loved who died. He

wasn’t singing words, just sounds: various vowels and hmmms and

occasional pocking noises. As Julian sat beside Yarrow, he noted the

engcorder in his hands. The salt put the wooden reed to his lips and

blew softly, harmonizing with the song of the thin Spa’Lab.

Sylva wiped his eyes and cleared his throat. “Missus Gidlasken

would have loved this.”

“Ayup,” his mate replied, wrapping his beefy arm around Sylva’s

shoulders.

A subtle shift in the engines meant the Tinker’s Damn was changing

course. Julian noticed it because he was attuned to his ship’s engines.

The Spa’Lab stopped mid-note. The silence startled the men. They

 

 

 

 

 

 

waited for him to continue; he did not. They glanced at each other and

shrugged. The Spa’Lab straightened, standing away from the wall, and

walked away.

The next night, as Julian happened to be passing by the same

corridor, he nodded at Yarrow, Sylva and Benny who also just happened

to be passing. Sebastiana and her husband Alessandro wandered past

him and smiled. A voice, much higher than the one from the night

before, began a plaintive melody. The deep bass of last night’s singer

joined it. The salts grinned at each other and went into the corridor and

sat before the two men. The thin man leaned one hand against the wall

and rested the other on the shoulder of the youngest of the Spa’Labs.

Again, no words were used, only syllables and mouth-percussion, but

the eloquence of the music stirred the listeners to tears. There was no

break where one song ended and another began, they dovetailed into a

livelier one, and then receded into a slower one.

Yarrow joined them with his Engcorder, and another salt brought

a mouth organ. Other Tinkers hummed along as best they could.

Sebastiana sat between her husband and Julian and held their hands.

From behind them, a soprano began to weave her harmony into

the strain. Julian turned and smiled at the Spa’Lab woman. She didn’t

see him. She was moving her way slowly up the passage, trailing her

fingers along the walls as if she were plucking unseen harp strings

along its side. She came alongside the young tenor and he reached out

his hand to her. When they joined, the three solidified into one note:

strong, vibrant, beckoning. Sebastiana gasped beside Julian and he

realized he was having trouble breathing himself. Slowly the woman

climbed step by step as the bass lowered, matching her at thirds and

fifths and octaves. The tenor held his note, balancing the three.

The Tinkers Damn shifted gears and seemingly in response, the

three singers launched into a lively aria.

More and more of the crew crowded into the corridor but were

silent in awe. The singers held sway for an entire Movietime, barely

breaking for breath; never out of harmony; blending and banking and

weaving their song until Julian thought he could bare it no more and

might simply dissolve.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The ship shifted gears again and they suddenly fell silent. They

blinked slowly. Their hands fell from each other’s grasps.

“They can’t stop now!” Sebastiana hissed.

But they simply walked away.

The following night, the corridor was jammed full of salts and their

mates and children. Even the captain and the doctor were seated beside

their children, expectantly waiting while being told from everyone

around them about the singers.

“Her name’s Lonicera.” Sebastiana sat beside Julian while her son

and two daughters fought over being able to sit in Julian’s lap.

Julian reddened.

“See that pretty young woman sitting next to Claire?” His secondchief

pointed. “She’s the eldest, come back to the Tinker after serving

four years at the Academy on Lucidea. She’s received a commission as

the new comtech on the Tinker. She helped her mother trace all the

Spa’Labs’ identities.”

“I remember Poplaris Lobelia when she was a child. Couldn’t keep

her out of the comroom. Always questioning Yarrow. Near drove her

uncle crazy.”

“Lobelia says your Spa’Lab’s full name’s Chirate Lonicera. She’s

unmarried. And she’s famous.”

“And absent tonight.”

Sebastiana’s husband Alessandro sat beside her and took one of the

three children out of Julian’s lap. “Who’s absent tonight?”

“The singers.” Julian nodded at Alessandro.

“I wonder why,” Alessandro mused.

Their son Democritus piped very calmly, “Because we’re still on

course to Hweng.”

“Yes, Democritus, we’re still on course to Hweng. What does that

have to do with the singers?” Julian turned the boy so he could see his

face.

“Last night, they sang until we changed course to Hweng, then

they stopped singing.”

“Well, those are two separate things,” Alessandro stated.

Democritus frowned. “Maybe.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“So, you think if we change course again, the Spa’Labs will sing

again?” his mother asked.

“Yes.” The boy nodded.

Julian grinned at Sebastiana, who leaned over and kissed her son.

They waited with some degree of patience, while salts played

impromptu duets and solos and eventually dancing broke out and

everyone had a great time, despite the worrying fact that the Spa’Labs

never made an appearance.

Excerpt from

Bedina’s War

© Evelyn Rainey

Comfort Publishing

ISBN 9781936695881

Exceprt from Bedina's War - As Needed Chapter Two

The Slave’s Smile

Acacia put down the marble mortar and pestle as the door opened.

The First-Defender walked in and was quickly followed by four other

soldiers. Without a word from the First, the soldiers began opening

and shutting drawers, lifting lids, drawing back cabinet curtains.

“As per Civil Law number 5792.4 clause Beta Zed, every shop and

business is to avail itself to regular searches.” The Defender spoke to the

old man snoozing by the fireplace. The slave moved silently between

the Defender and the old man and sat on the floor beside her master.

The soldiers weren’t thorough, but there was no contraband to find,

and with the Defender in attendance, nothing could be stolen. Casually,

as if to pass the time, Hamm asked, “What kind of shop is this?”

Acacia stood, her back to her master, facing the man who had

saved her life less than a week ago. “An apothecary shop.”

He looked puzzled.

“I don’t know how to say it in Alliang. A shop of healing herbs and

elixirs.”

“Medical?” he snarled.

“No.” She bowed her head and wiggled her toes. Silver rings

encircled three toes on each foot. An anklet sparkled and drew his gaze

higher, to the embroidered hem of her robe. “My master is a Wisdom.

He studies the art of healing. It has nothing to do with Medical

Harvesters.”

“Hmm.” He wished she would look at him.

“Naught.” A grizzled soldier beat her chest with her right fist while

addressing her First.

“Go ni’shop. I b’soon.” He kept his eyes on the slave and demanded,

“Translate.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Go on to the next shop. I’ll be there shortly.” She stopped wiggling

her toes and began fluttering her fingers at her side.

“Where were you born, Slave?”

She softened her voice in response to his harshness. “On the table.”

“Table? What planet is Table?”

“The table was on my home world.”

“I don’t like repeating questions.”

She was staring at his boots as she lifted first one heel of her bare

feet and then the other.

“I was born on a table between my mother’s legs.” She glanced at

him and smiled.

He repaid her smile with a snarl. She dropped her eyes to the floor

again.

“I can find out where you are from. There are records of everyone

and everything that come into this region.”

She shrugged slightly as if in agreement.

“I’ve never seen anyone like you.”

“We are individuals, each one. Alone in the universe, but one with

the Song.”

The Defender stepped back as if the scripture she quoted had

physically slapped him.

“How long have your teeth hurt?” She tilted her head.

“My teeth?” He ground them.

“Yes, First-Defender. Your teeth. They hurt. I can see it in your face

and in the way you square your shoulders.”

His nostrils flared and his cheeks turned red. “A slave who practices

medicine.”

“Slavery is a state of being, not a limitation of the mind.”

“You certainly know your scriptures, Slave.”

“So that honor may be served, my name is not Slave. It is Acacia.”

“Honor is given, received, and returned. My name is Hamm.” He

inclined his head as she bowed.

The old man snorted in his sleep.

“Three weeks.” Hamm turned to leave. “My teeth have ached for

three weeks.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

With Hamm nearing the door, Acacia left her master’s side and

crossed to a cabinet filled with bottles. “Mix one part of this liquid with

two parts of water. Gargle with it two times a day.” She poured brown

liquid from a jug into a glass bottle and corked it.

Hamm hesitated, and then took the bottle from her. “How much?”

“One part to two parts water.”

“No.” Hamm shook his head and took out a payment chip.

“Your presence prevented the usual amount of loss from your

soldiers. A fair trade.”

The Defender ground his teeth again, but put away his credit

chip. “A safe journey, First-Defender Hamm.” She bowed as he left.

ttttt

Hamm peeled off his goggles and beat the fine dust from his cloak

as he stepped onto the apothecary’s porch. He made the mistake of

licking his lips, and the grit from this morning’s windstorm set his

teeth on edge. The door slid open at his touch and he eagerly breathed

in the shops’ aroma. His nostrils were assaulted by garlic and pepper,

and enthralled by vanilla and green tea. Scents swirled around him and

he wished he knew the names of each one.

Several customers chatted amicably while waiting. The old man

glanced at Hamm, but continued pouring water into a small simmering

cauldron. Hamm nodded at the old man and purposefully began

examining the eaves of the store. Vines, leaves, roots, twigs, strange

fruit hung in bundles from each support beam. He couldn’t begin to

put a name on any of them.

“Dom-che. Quay niniy.”

“Ty.” Acacia entered from the shop’s rear in response to the old

man’s words.

“The first ingredient I will need is Serenoa repens, Acacia.”

“Yes, Wisdom.” Acacia reached into a cabinet and drew out a

basket. She took out several small reddish-brown wrinkled seeds, each

one half the size of her thumb.

The Wisdom examined each one individually, and then began to

juggle them. Acacia drew a short knife from her sleeves. As he juggled

the seeds, she snatched one back and sliced it down the middle and

plopped the halves into the cauldron. They continued until there were

no seeds left.

The customers murmured appreciatively.

“Next, I will need Echinacea.”

Acacia looked up into the rafters of the shop. She wove her way

through the customers and pointed, beaming proudly, at a something

dangling above their heads. From the ground to almost three meters

above her, she leapt and unhooked a floret and gracefully returned

to the floor with only a slight bend at her knees. The floret had deep

purple flowers surrounding a cone. She danced her way back behind

the counter, waving the aromatic dried herb as she moved. She handed

it to the Wisdom with a bow. He tsked and yanked the flowers and cone

away from the rhizome. The purple flowers cascaded around them as

the Wisdom quickly hammered the root into a pulp. Majestically, he

scooped the mash off the counter and tossed it into the cauldron.

“Assistant, we will need Urtica dioica.”

“Oh Wisdom, must I? I still have an itch, and the blisters!”

He picked up a wooden spoon and frowned at her.

She shrieked and ran toward the window. She plucked one hairy

leaf from a plant growing there. “Ow!”

“More than that, Assistant.”

“Oh, Wisdom,” she pouted beautifully. “Ow!” She plucked another

and turned to look imploringly at him.

He shook his head. “More.”

Acacia howled dramatically with each of the six leaves she picked

from the bush.

“Enough.” He watched as she dropped them into the cauldron. She

showed him her blistered fingers, imploringly. He tsked. “If you will

pluck them from the top of the stem, the nettles will not sting you.

Foolish child.” His hands reached beneath his counter and pulled out

a jar of light green salve. She grinned in relief as he rubbed her fingers

with the ointment. “Better?”

“Oh, yes, Wisdom! Your fern salve works to cure any blister, bruise,

or cut.”

The customers murmured speculatively now.

 

Excerpt from

Bedina’s War

© Evelyn Rainey

Comfort Publishing

ISBN 9781936695881

Excerpt from Bedina's War - Lazy Eight Ladies Chapter Two

A Wedding Ring

Orchidea City was buried beneath the forest floor. Great gaping

holes peered between gigantic roots. The doorways led to taverns,

inns, businesses, and private homes. A few bungalows were visible

beyond the city’s center. Further away, tree houses filled the branches

of sycamores and banyans. Sally thought it was strange to see such

dissimilar trees sharing the same ecosystem. It was even stranger

to realize that most of the dwellings were uninhabited. The site of

abandoned tree houses saddened her. As a Spa’Lab child, tree houses

were the most enchanting concept she could imagine. The difference

between sleeping in a hammock attached to metal walls and sleeping in

a hammock tied to living, breathing, growing trees was the difference

between mundane and magic. Of course, the probable reason why

there were so many abandoned houses was part of the reason she had

come to Orchidea, and that thought saddened her further.

Adelaide stopped in the middle of these underground dwellings

and sank to her belly as the women crawled off.

“Thank you, Geoffrey. How much do I owe you?” Sally reached

into her pack.

“I’d be a gentleman if I told you Mr. Haskell’s done paid it in full,

but the scoundrel in me wants to charge you a kiss.” He grinned. “One

from each of you.”

“Seems to me Adelaide did all the work. She’s the one should get

the kiss.” Sally grinned back and slapped his palm. “Thank you.”

“Inn’s through that hole. See you around, if you change your mind.”

He touched Gaia’s cheek, then jumped back onto his croc and rode away.

“Sally,” Livia touched her arm. “I don’t have any money. Sejanus

was supposed to meet me here. What should I do?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Let’s go to the inn and get cleaned up. You don’t want Sejanus to

see you like this.” Sally pulled her arm through hers. “My treat.”

“Oh, I couldn’t take charity. I’ll work it off …”

“The Field of Honor has no room for charity given or received. That’s

an old NewPhee scripture.”

“What’s it mean?”

“It means I’m not offering you charity.”

Livia stopped and her face reddened. “I don’t understand.”

Sally stopped, too. “Livia, I trust that you will not slit my throat

during the night, or sell me to the nearest Harvester.”

“I couldn’t do that.” Livia scowled. “If I sold you to a Harvester,

you’d turn into a Walking Dead.”

Sally tilted her head, glaring at the Earther’s rudeness, and fingered

the cube-shaped sterling pendant hanging at her neck. The fact that

Spa’Labs had altered themselves so that they could not be harvested or

sold as slaves was not a topic discussed in polite society. The fact that

the Songbox, as the pendant was called, healed this alteration was a

sp’lab kept secret. It wasn’t discussed at all.

“Or so I’ve heard.” Livia blushed.

“Is that the only reason you wouldn’t do that?” She crossed her

arms.

“Of course not. I couldn’t.” She swallowed. “I wouldn’t sell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because it wouldn’t be right.” She bowed her head and whispered,

“You’ve been nice to me.”

“I’ve yelled at you and made you cry.”

Livia grinned. “My mother used to do the same things.”

Sally grinned too. “I’m lonely, Livia. I miss my family. I’m used to

being surrounded by my children and grandchildren and staff. I’m not

offering you charity. I’m offering you friendship. I would be honored

to be your friend.”

Livia beamed in surprise.

The door had to be pushed open manually. It led into a darkened

tunnel which declined steeply. Tiny track lighting ran at ankle-height

and above their heads. The tunnel smelled of moldy cabbage and

 

 

 

 

 

 

peppermint. Sally used her walking stick and Livia held her elbow with

cold fingers.

The dimness didn’t change, but the air freshened and the tunnel

leveled into a round room. A beautiful oval wooden table filled the

center of the room, and its highly polished surface reflected the ceiling

lights. The sound of a stringed instrument, played poorly, came from a

doorway to the women’s left.

“Hello?” Livia called.

The music hesitated and then began again.

“Hello!” she called louder. “We’ve come for a room.”

A frizzy-haired and bearded head stuck out of the opening.

Livia and Sally smiled.

The head disappeared. The women waited.

After a while, Sally opened her mouth to call out again when a

huge man waddled out of the opening. His hair had been slicked down

since she had first seen him, but hadn’t been combed in years. Sticks

and leaves stuck in his beard. The scent of cedar and sweat permeated

the air around him. He came closer, scowling fiercely.

“Geoffrey told us this was an inn.” Livia took a step backwards and

moved behind Sally.

The man squinted between them, silently appraising their

appearance. Sally stood still and stared patiently at his bare dirty feet.

The man took a deep breath. “Women.”

Sally looked up at him. “Yes, we’re women.”

“No.” He turned away. “No rooms. No rooms for women.”

“You would turn away a child?” She pulled Livia from her safe

place behind her. “Her name is Gaia.”

The innkeeper kept his face averted, but glanced at the baby.

“We’ve been on shuttles for months now. And we’re very tired. We

need a shelter for the child. Haskell sent Geoffrey and Adelaide to pick

us up at the port and Geoffrey said this was a safe place.”

The innkeeper’s eyes rolled and he breathed in gasps. “Mr. Haskell?”

“Yes. Haskell Benjamin,” Sally nodded.

“And Adelaide?” He turned toward the women, his eyes fastened

on Gaia.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Yes,” she confirmed.

He snorted and nodded fiercely. “Through there. Choose any room

you want.”

They turned to look at an opening to their right.

“Thank you,” Sally turned back, but he was gone.

Livia bathed Gaia first, then Livia bathed while Sally unpacked.

Then it was Sally’s turn. There are certain times in one’s life when

bathing becomes a spiritual experience. Sally remembered her first

bath ever. She was eight years old and had left OrionLab to visit some

friends on Talmedia III. Then there was the first time she and Jacob

bathed together. And now, the first bath on Orchidea. Each time, the

water felt thick — not hard, but thick — like oil. Soft, caressing. So

clean. These were the times Sally truly believed in silkies and halfwaited

to see herself turn into a seal and swim forever in this water.

They decided to save money and eat what they had, sleep the rest

of the day, and begin tomorrow fresh. Gaia woke them every now and

then, but she never cried.

Excerpt from

Bedina’s War

© Evelyn Rainey

Comfort Publishing

ISBN 9781936695881

Excerpt from Bedina's War - Tinker's Damn Chapter Two

The Spa’Lab Walking Dead

First-Chief Engineer Quartz Julian surveyed the bay. “Don’t open

anything unless you check it for booby traps!” he growled at his crew.

“Hey Chief, maybe we should scratch away some of her paint —

see if it’s gold underneath!”

“Yarrow, keep your mind on survival, not salvage.” Julian shook his

head. Turn his back long enough and Yarrow and his crew would have

the planking unscrewed, searching for hidden treasure. Salvagers were

straight out of romantic legends to these salts. More like bloody pirates,

Julian thought.

“Chief, over here.” Second-Chief Elliot Joaquin Sebastiana waved

at him and drew a mask over her face. She stood a head shorter and

weighed a good deal more than Julian. She had a pear shaped body,

with ample hips. She was strong and logical and his equal when it came

to engineering skills. She was also Julian’s friend.

He drew on his own mask and peered into the darkened alcove

behind Sebastiana. “What is that stench?”

“The door was marked Trash and the bay door was timed to open

in another three movietimes. Everything in here would have been

spaced.”

Julian cocked his head and stooped to enter the small alcove. He

switched on his light stick. Six people squatted in the debris. They were

the size of children from his home planet, Orchidea. They had their

arms crossed over their bent knees. Their naked skin was smeared with

filth. Their eyes blinked instinctively in the light, but they registered no

other response.

“They all have red hair and blue eyes, Chief,” Sebastiana whispered

in a hushed awe.

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

“Looks that way.” Julian knelt in front of a woman about his age.

She did not flinch when he brought the light close to her face. She

hummed vacantly.

“What’s wrong with them?”

“You mean besides sitting in their own filth for two days?” Julian

stomped out of the alcove and returned with a hose. He turned a nozzle

and water gushed out. He drenched the six bodies, but they barely

responded. Rather than trying to protect themselves from the biting

spray, they opened their mouths and swallowed in gulps.

When the stench had been washed away sufficiently to remove his

mask, he turned off the flow. “Sebastiana, go get the medic. Tell her to

bring six togas. And Sebastiana, keep this quiet. The last thing I need is

for my crew to get spooked about having Spa’Labs aboard.”

“My grand-fa was a Spa’Lab, Chief.” Sebastiana swallowed and

squared her shoulders.

“Then you know some of the rumors aren’t true.” Julian planted his

fists on his slender hips and glared into the dripping trash bay.

“They’re tranked, aren’t they? They’re Spa’Lab Walking Dead.”

“If you’re planning to gab the day away, I’ll put you on report and

find someone who will follow orders,” Julian said evenly.

ttttt

Lonicera was walking. She was walking and walking and walking.

She felt the ship humming against the soles of her feet. The ship was

healthy. She was a stubborn ship, too. Lonicera could feel this through

and through, from the hum of her engines and the vibration of her

hull spaces and the sway of her bulkheads and the way she breasted the

fabric of space as she sailed. Lonicera walked the ship’s corridors and

hummed along with her engines.

ttttt

“This is beyond what I can heal, Captain.” The Tinker’s Damn’s

Chief Medical Officer Poplaris Lan-Chi Claire shook her head.

“Is it permanent?”

“Do you mean will they ever recover?”

The captain pursed his lips at his wife. He hated when she restated

his questions without answering him.

 


 

She noticed his expression and sighed, softening somewhat. “I

haven’t read anything to suggest they will. But I haven’t read much

about this condition. All I really know about this is based on rumors

and legends. You know the old saying, Sp’lab-kept secrets. I don’t

know if they are the way they are due to an allergic reaction to the

Harusophynite or if they really were genetically altered, like the legends

say. It may just be a self-induced trance.”

“But how do we wake them out of it?”

“Do we need to? They seem content. They can feed and take care of

themselves. They are just in their own private worlds.”

Captain Poplaris Enoch sighed. “I’ll try to find a Spa’Lab somewhere

in the fleet that can help. Until then —“

“Until then — narn’t! You’ve heard the same stories that I have.

Creeping eruption, Enoch! Your granmom told us both about the

Sp’lab Walking Dead around the campfire the first round-up we went

on. You won’t find a Spa’Lab that will talk about them or take care

of them or even acknowledge they exist. They are dead to any other

Spa’Lab.” Claire shivered. “Get them out of my sick bay! I have real

wounded that need the hammocks. We are at war.”

“What am I supposed to do with them, Claire? Throw them out

into the corridors with the rest of the refugees?”

“It’s better than being spaced. They are taking up six hammocks

that I need for salts with physical injuries. The Spa’Labs will survive or

they won’t. The Tinker’s Damn is a battleship, not a nursery.”

Enoch growled in frustration. His Tinker’s Damn used to be a

trading ship, traveling the Commonwealth, bartering for treasures,

meeting new peoples, taking on or putting off salts to maintain the

hundred or so crew the Tinker’s Damn needed to sail. Now, hardly a

battleship, she ferried fighter pilots to skirmishes and tried to keep her

hull intact. Well, you can’t get oolongs from cracked eggs as his granmom

used to say. They were at war. He walked to the comdesk and depressed

a key. “First-Chief Engineer!”

“Julian here, sir.”

“I need you in sick bay.”

“Are you ill?” Concern flowed through Julian’s warm tenor voice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“No, I just need your help with our special guests.”

Excerpt from

Bedina’s War

© Evelyn Rainey

Comfort Publishing

ISBN 9781936695881

Excerpt from Bedina's War - As Needed Chapter One

The Slave’s Hand

The woman screamed in fear as her young boy bit the arm of the

soldier holding her. The soldier kicked the child into the street and

shook the woman’s arm. “Thief! You, thief!” the soldier growled.

There were civilians on the street, eyes cast down, shoulders

slumped, paces quickened. But no one interfered. These Alliance

monsters weren’t the first to conquer this world, nor would they be

the last. It wasn’t a rich world by New Alliance or Commonwealth

standards. It just happened to orbit an area in the middle of any

named conflict for the last millennium. The people who survived each

generation were the ones, like these on the street today, who turned

their faces away, who stepped aside, who bore their captivity like a

filthy cloak and never rose above what the universe had dealt them.

The child continued to scream from where he had landed in the

middle of the street, distracting the soldier from wrestling his purse

back from the woman’s grasp.

“Shush, Dooley, stop crying. It’s alright.” The mother did well to

try to quiet her child. Whatever had possessed her to bring her child

into town? This most recent occupation force was a band of Alliance

monsters from planets where most females were barren. But it did not

stop them from punishing pick-pockets, even if she was a breeding

woman. It was natural. It was the way things worked. She should have

shut her mouth and returned the soldier’s purse without bringing

attention to her child. But she had to spit in his face. “Stupid monster.

This money is mine, not yours.”

The soldiers spoke Alliang along with their own native languages,

but they had picked up enough of this world’s Commonwealth

language to understand what the woman had said. They laughed and

 

 

 

 

 

one shouted a phrase in Alliang which loosely translated to “Been

robbed by a girl!”

Enraged and embarrassed, the man slapped the woman and then

whistled, pointed to the child, and grunted a one-word command.

From beside the soldiers’ hover transport burst four beasts. They were

all shaggy hair, snarling teeth, and barbed collars. They attacked the

child as they had been commanded. They circled him first and the

woman beat at the man, screaming incoherently in her language. He

hit her again and heard something snap. She lay dead beneath him, as

the dogs closed in for the kill.

Acacia, who had been sweeping the porch of the apothecary shop,

had been watching. Her eyes and ears focused on the scene, but her

head was bowed and her hands were busy with her task. When the

soldier grabbed the woman, the slave had done nothing. When the

soldier kicked the child, Acacia had paused, but not interfered. This

was the way the world worked, and the boy child would learn how man

treats man. But the dogs were something else entirely. She snatched

the broom in both hands and dashed into the street. Her first blow

came down across one cur’s back, snapping its spine. It yelped more

in surprise than pain and collapsed. Her second blow swept the feet

out from under another dog and then she stabbed the tip of the broom

handle into its ribs, crushing its heart.

Battle-trained, the two remaining dogs tried to flank her. She kept

the bloody broomstick balanced at shoulder height, her fists gripped

firmly as she waited on the beasts.

The boy crawled backward toward the crowd. A man dressed in

livery picked him up and spirited him away. The boy clung to the man’s

neck, sobbing, but he kept his eyes on the slave for as long as he could.

The beta dog lunged for her right arm as the alpha dog watched.

She swung the broomstick with her left, forcing the massive body

up and over her head, the wooden stick connecting with the tender

undersides between the dog’s legs. Like any male attacked in that area,

the dog collapsed and lay in agony, unable to defend himself as the

broomstick crushed his skull.

Acacia ignored the cheers and jeers of the crowd. She faced the

 

 

 

 

 

 

alpha dog now, her weight on the balls of her bare feet. The next move

belonged to the dog. They both knew it. He began to circle her, drawing

her to the right.

Her right arm was on fire where she’d been racked by claws. Her

breath came in gasps; sweat rolled down her face, stinging her eyes and

making her shift cling to her breasts and thighs.

The dog had circled her twice now, observing her. A rock thrown

from someone in the crowd struck her chest, knocking her backward,

and the dog lunged. He knew her now. She was not one to play with. He

must kill her quickly. He went straight for her throat. She brought the

rod up, catching the beast under his chin. Bone cracked; saliva exploded.

The dog, thwarted, fell to the ground but would not surrender.

“Call him off!” an Alliang voice shouted above the crowd’s ruckus.

“Call him off Dog-Sarg, or by Satan herself, I’ll feed that dog your balls!”

A shrill whistle split the air. The dog growled low in his throat, and

then sat down. His eyes remained on the slave. Acacia held the dog’s

gaze for three beats, and then dropped her gaze to her feet.

First-Defender Myrthyr Hamm looked at the woman he had just

saved. She seemed to have adopted the submissive stance of her people.

But she had single-handedly dispatched three battle-dogs with only a

stick. The First-Defender did not turn his back to her as he spoke in

Alliang, “What is this, Dog-Sergeant? Have you taken to using civilians

to pit-fight your dogs?” He kept his voice soft, inquisitive, almost jovial;

a good-natured barb between comrades in arms.

“This woman stole my purse. As is my right, I took time to punish

this woman.” Dog-Sarg pointed at the limp form draped across the

hovercraft’s loading platform, and then remembered with a start that

she was dead. He had killed a breeding woman; an act punishable by

slow death on his home world. “That girl,” he gestured at Acacia. “Took

offense to what the law allows and attacked me. I called my dogs and

she killed them.” Dog-Sarg wiped the spittle from his face, hoping the

First-Defender wouldn’t notice and blustered, “I’ll have her life for the

death of my dogs. It’s my right!”

The First-Defender didn’t have to look directly at the other soldiers

to see their reactions. Dog-Sarg was lying, or at least expanding the

truth. He also knew the soldier was within his rights as a Dog-Sarg to

slay the young woman. Despite the dead dogs at her feet, she looked

more child than woman.

“There was a child.” Acacia spoke softly but without fear. Her

Commonwealth words were strongly accented, but Hamm understood

them. Her face was bowed, her broom still grasped in her hands, but

down across her thighs. Blood dripped from her right arm onto the

dusty street.

“I see no child.” He replied, matching her language and her gentle

tone.

“There was a child. He kept crying and your soldier could not

concentrate,” she caught her breath, “on his legal right to recompense.”

Hamm silently watched her, so she continued. “Your soldier set his

dogs on the child.”

The First-Defender waited silently for more; Acacia was quiet. He

glanced at the faces of his men and knew she was telling the truth. He

settled his gaze on Dog-Sarg. Returning to Alliang, he stated, “Dog-

Sergeant, your thief is not moving.”

Dog-Sarg gulped; sweat popping out on his pasty skin.

The First-Defender spat with disgust. “Ta-pikes base.” He repeated

it in Commonwealth. “Take your men back to base.”

Dog-Sarg beat his right fist against his chest and whistled. His

dog led the rest of the soldiers onto the transport. Dust swirled for a

comtime and then the transport hovered away.

The dead woman’s body was held in the embrace of the liverydressed,

sobbing man. Skittish youths grabbed the legs of two of the

dog carcasses and began to drag them away.

“Stop! Leave them alone!” Hamm shouted in Commonwealth. The

youths dropped their loads and ran into the crowd.

“Why were they doing that? What did they want with the dogs?”

he asked Acacia.

“They were hungry. Each dog weighs more than those boys do.”

“Meat? They would eat the dogs?”

“They were hungry.” Acacia risked looking the First-Defender

directly in the eyes, but he was staring down at the dogs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

In Alliang, Hamm asked, “Why did you interfere?” He glanced at the

girl and realized she had been staring at him with brilliantly blue eyes.

“How could I not?” She asked in perfect Alliang.

He nodded, his assumption confirmed. “How did you come to

learn Alliang? It is taught only in New Alliance Military Academies.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. I listen. I learn words. I

have always been able to do so.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?” She looked at him.

“You just killed three battle-dogs with a stick.” He stared back.

“Aye-yah! You wicked girl!” A spindly old man wobbled into the

street, shrieking in Commonwealth at the top of his lungs. “Wicked!

Wicked! I will beat her, General! I will beat her until she begs to be

killed!” The old man grabbed Acacia’s elbow, his hands trembling so

much the broom shook. “I will beat her severely, General. You can be

sure of it! She will never cause problems for the Alliance again. Never!

This I swear!”

The First-Defender grinned down at the tiny ancient man. In

Alliang, he asked, “Would you, a woman who can kill battle-dogs,

allow him to beat you?”

She patted the Wisdom’s papery hand and bowed. She answered in

Alliang, “If it will keep your men from returning and taking revenge

on my master, I would have him do exactly as he has said.”

“You used the word ‘master’. Is he your teacher?”

“I use the word ‘master.’ He owns me.” She patted the old man’s hand

again and smiled down into his worried face. “But he has taught me many

things. He is a good man.” She looked back up at the First-Defender, still

smiling. “He has never beaten me, nor treated me unkindly.”

“Treat your slaves with kindness and justice by day so that the

knife in the slave’s hand will not strike you by night.” Hamm’s eyes were

unfocussed as he repeated words he knew by heart.

“Wise words.” The slave bowed. “They sound like scripture.”

Anger sparked from Hamm’s eyes as his words bore into her, “Do

I look like a priest?”

She pointed at the dead dogs and softly asked, “Do I look like a slave?”

Excerpt from

Bedina’s War

© Evelyn Rainey

Comfort Publishing

ISBN 9781936695881