A Duel to the Death

“Marriage is a duel to the death, which no man of honor should decline.”

Archaic, pre-diasporan quote.

The next morning Illoia awoke, rather slowly, and stared at the wall inches in front of her face, trying to remember how it got there. Then she heard a hum from behind her and remembered, all of yesterday evening… and night, coming back to her in a wave. All it took was that hum. Her husband seemed to hum whenever he wasn’t actively talking, or, well, kissing or the like. They had done a lot of kissing, but he had still had a lot of time for humming. And she was very, very, tired.

And rather confused. She had expected something different from last night. Not from the physical aspect, she was far too well taught by her mother and cousines to be surprised there; but by the… emotional aspect. She had tried to get a read on why he was, why he had, done this? Despite what she had said to Aleshia, it was difficult to imagine a winner of the Dictator’s own as a foolish glory hound. He was more famous than she was.

And in some ways he probably had more power, at least within the military context. The only thing she could think of was that he was a plebe with an anti-aristo complex. That he  had married her literally to punish her father for being a member of the former aristocracy. But nothing of last night seemed to support that. He was the first lad she had ever bedded, and it had seemed obvious that she was his first as well, but nothing about last night’s activities had seemed outside of what she expected, as if he was mad or trying to punish her. He had seemed… distant at times; the times when he wasn’t as physically occupied. But he hadn’t seemed angry…

Illoia came awake enough to realize that she wanted to use the fresher. She looked around and, pulling back the sheet carefully, she began inching toward the closet. As soon as she moved she heard his humming change and, turning her head, saw him roll over and watch her. “I… I need to use the fresher,” she said and he nodded, merely changing his hum fractionally. He watched her as she scooshed over to the closet, took out a robe, and covered herself. 

She paused but he didn’t say anything, so she went to the door, opened it, and stepped out into the hallway, hearing it close behind her.

The hallway was emptier than she had ever seen it and she reached the fresher after only passing one lad, a crewmember on his way to some duty. In the fresher was another lass, older than herself, standing under a stream on the far side of the room. That lass spared her a glance and went back to freshing as Illoia hung her robe up and got under the water herself, relaxing in the heat and steam and the lack of lad eyes… and hands. And tried, again, to wrap her mind around what had happened

 She had heard the story of the hero that was aboard. Three tours, three Dictator’s Own. Absolutely unheard of. Not that she really knew the details of exactly how he had earned those medals, but even the mildest of the rumours and newsys told incredible stories. And, of course, all of the lasses had been twittering about him the whole voyage, desperate to catch glimpses of him. She had even caught herself doing so, once, and had been appalled at what her father would think of her trailing after a mere Army leader!

The ‘mere’ Army leader who was now her husband. Now everyone would be talking about her. She would probably make the empire wide news: “Hero takes a bride” or “Hero dances his way into her heart” or some such drivel. Everyone in the entire Empire would be looking at her picture and admiring her for having gotten herself such a wonderful husband.

She absolutely had to pull herself together. Her rudeness last night was very poorly done. She should have seen, she should have read him and realised her fate earlier and began working toward her new life. 

She could do this. Her mother had trained her well, hadn’t even made much of a protest at her unusual desire for a husband close to her own age and had given her long and, she hoped, profitable lectures on how to manage and please a husband…

A husband, she suddenly realised, that was a military man and no doubt all concerned about efficiency and time management. He probably had a lecture all ready about spending ‘all morning’ in the fresher.

She turned off the water and went over into the dryer just as two other lasses came in chatting busily. 

“Oh, the poor Greenie! You would have thought she had never seen a lad before, the way she was blushing and clinging on to his arm!”

“And the look on her face when she saw the dorm. The littlies had gotten a bit wild with the long evening, none of them wanting to go to bed before the lads got back with their new lasses, or so we all hoped. So they were right in the middle of a very loud game of dare base when the door chimed and the two walked in… and they all shut it tight and went crowding round her, staring.”

The other lass giggled.

“Poor Richie! And then he drug her off to bed, I suppose…”

Illoia blushed and turned back to drying, doing her best to block out the coversation. No doubt dozens of other conversations were going on about her!

But, at least, she thought, looking at the still almost empty fresher, she must have gotten up before most of the others, so would still win some points with her husband for efficiency or whatever.

(Images courtesy of Playground. They are NOT very accurate)

“Shall we eat in the dining or in my room?” she asked, as she nervously came back into their room, dropped her robe and dressed in the casual, almost working, dress she had gotten from her room last night. Having just married a leader, and one from an extremely plebe background did not seem like the time to be wearing her fanciest dresses. He must have freshened himself, his hair was still a bit wet; and he was already in his uniform, his stripes looking a bit less startling in the privacy of their room then they had in the party.

“I’m not sure my pay is sufficient for room service,” he said, and she blinked, then realised what he was worried about.

“Oh, that isn’t an issue,” she said. “It is all paid for.”

“Even a… guest?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. The liner takes payment for all of that on boarding. I am allowed whoever I want in my room for meals, with no extra charge.”

“Very well then. I would not want to put your father to an extra charge.”

That ruined another theory for why he might have married her. Her father, compared to most people, was rich. One wandering thought that she had had, amongst the long hours, was that this lad had wanted access to money. He was from a plebe background, and money would seem to be an issue. But if he was unwilling to even put her father to such a trivial extra charge as room service, then that could hardly be the issue, could it?

She finished the last fastening on her dress and turned toward him. He had put the bed into its ‘couch’ mode and had been sitting staring at her but, at her move, he rose and  held out his hand for her in the correct manner, “Shall we go?”

They walked out into the corridor and she saw she had reached the fresher just in time, as several lasses were wandering sleepily down the halls in their robes one way, and several men the other, toward lines that were forming. They made the walk in silence, however. Most people didn’t feel greetings to be necessary or even polite in the morning before freshing.

She palmed her room open… she would have to remember to re-key her room to allow her husband to do so, and they sat down, across from each other, at the table. She quickly typed in her order and, as her husband scrolled down the menu with a few raised eyebrows plunged into the question she had been wanting to ask since… since last night. “Why me?”

He looked up, “I’m sorry?”

“Why did you Article 17 me, in particular?”

“Ah. I wondered when you would ask. He turned back to the menu, made his choice, and then looked back up. “Why not you!? You don’t deny you were very eligible? You are very pretty, with all of the… or most of the indicators for breeding. Your mother has bred well, with only the one single… yourself, unfortunately.”

“I was not a single!” she protested. “My twin had genetic abnormalities and aborted at three months!” [Note: This is a spontaneous abortion: what we might call a ‘miscarriage’.]

“Oh, I didn’t know. That detail wasn’t in the public records.”

“But, seriously, I am a governor’s daughter. What made you think it was appropriate to…”

“It was perfectly legal,” he said.

“Of course it was legal!” she said. “It isn’t like the dictator would make a distinction of rank! But you won’t get anything out of it! My father will be furious!”

“What do you think he will do?”

“I don’t know!” she said. “I spent half of last night worrying about it. But he is going to be mad!”

“Well, I didn’t plan on getting anything from him,” he said.

“What did you plan on getting out of this?”

“You.” At her look of shock he continued, “It is time for me to take a wife, and you are very pleasant to look at, and attractive in many other ways. As I said, you seem like you will be a good breeder. You are the one of twelve siblings, and your mother is still healthy and breeding. All twins or triplets… although I had thought you were a single.”

“And your public record shows you to be highly intelligent and adaptable. Your writing shows you to not only be passionate about causes, but they show, unlike many of your peers, an actual understanding of underlying issues.”

“You seem comfortable leading your peer group. I have been watching you this whole voyage and you don’t just have an entourage, but you lead them. Subtly, actively, you show leadership. Much of that leadership is in the vain and foolish activities of your sort, but I am convinced that, as you adapt to your new role, you will adapt your leadership style.”

“These are all things I will need in my career.”

“So… you are planning career, then?” she asked. That had been her greatest nightmare, that he would be taking his retirement after this tour. Three years as a leader's wife and then what? At least soldiers were high in the dictators estimation, if not hers. But his family were shopkeepers! She couldn’t imagine herself stocking shoes on shelves the rest of her life. And soldiers did die. A few months bedding a leader, then to be a widow, perhaps even with grey children…there were worse fates. Her father would make much of such, if it came to that. She would be a real asset, politically speaking. Widows were cherries on the political cake, even if they had remarried.

“I am planning on making general within the next few years. With you at my side, I think it is even more likely.”

“General?!”  She looked at the slashes on his blouse. General. That was a whole different thought. A general was more than just respectable. A general competed well, in his own way, with a governor, and was far above a mere governor’s daughter. He was a mere leader now… well, a mere leader with three incredible medals. But if he became a general, she would be a general’s wife. Daddy would appreciate that!

 The waiter came in; a young ranker or some such with his eyes wide as he looked at her and her new husband. She wondered which of them interested him more: a governor’s daughter or a three time D.O. medal winner?

“Plover eggs and sliced fruit?” The waiter asked, and Illoia, realising he hadn’t bothered to memorize who had ordered what, half raised her hand and they both watched the waiter put down her plates, covered with transparent bi-metallic silicon, along with a small bowl of sauce for the eggs. Illoia removed the cover ladled the sauce on her eggs and watched the waiter put down Tom’s plates.

“What did you get?” she asked. Not that she cared, really, but a bit of small talk would be good right now. She needed to get a feel for this new husband of hers.

“Grilled Octan lizard and toast,” he said, lifting his own covers, and she wrinkled her nose. He laughed, “It’s the only fresh meat one can really get on shipboard,” he said. “And I grew up eating fresh meat. All this time in the army and I can’t really stomach canned meat.”

 They ate in silence for another few minutes… broken only by Tom’s humming, when she finally managed to say,

“But he will be mad!”

“What? Oh, your father? Yes, I suppose so. I can’t be who he wanted for son in-law. But hopefully by the time we meet you will be pregnant with triplets and that will mollify him. No father is ever all that upset when his daughter is breeding well for her husband, no matter who she is.”

“But… we’ve only shared a bed once! It is hardly likely I will be increasing. We dock this evening.”

He lifted his eyes from his plate, seeming surprised, “But we won’t be going down planet. We only have a half an hour layover before we board our next transport for our assignment.”

Her mind whirled. She hadn’t dreamed… she hadn’t thought it through… not to even see her family before going off to the front? “Where are you… we assigned?”

“Taltus IV,” he said. She struggled to remember it. And then it came to her: Taltus IV was a small colony, definitely on the front, her father’s planet was the jump-off for that part of the front. She also]knew that most of the soldiers on this ship were headed there, or more than any other planet. It needed more soldiers than most. She had read something about it’s geography…

“I want you to understand something,” he said, “Although you were getting old, I know that this marriage was not your desire. Many of the lasses at the Article 17 party were, no doubt, trolling for husbands. The war is taking a huge number of men away and lasses are getting desperate. From that standpoint I think that Article 17 has been a brilliant success.”

“But I understand that you weren’t trolling. I can’t be what you, or your father, wanted in your husband. I am from a plebe background… you needn’t be shocked at the word, we are covered here by Articles II and IV… and you are from an aristo background. I have none of the social graces you expected in a husband. I will be relying on you to cover me for that.

“I imagine that, even if you don’t actually hate me, and you haven’t shown that; you nonetheless are very angry and disappointed. I understand that. I want to let you know that you don’t need to fake any sort of emotional bond between us. Ours is a working marriage. Breeding, managing my schedule, and helping advance my career: these things will be good for both of us. I will expect politeness, even affection, I think that is important; but you don’t have to fake eagerness. Any reasonable desires that you have will be met; except I will expect you to be pretty continuously present, especially at first, as we learn to work together as a team. Is that understood?”

“Yes, my husband,” Illoia said, shocked. Did he think she was some gutter scum expecting a love match? His terms sounded gentler than she would have gotten from many a boy of her class. Although, of course, there was the matter of learning to adapt to his class, which he hadn’t mentioned.

“Very good then. I am sorry you will not get to say goodbye to your parents. We will only have that brief layover. At that time we will have time to send a vid to your parents giving them the news, but not much else. Indeed, we have things we need to be doing today, so hurry up and finish eating.”

“How long will the trip be?”

“Six months your local. But don’t worry, it will pass quickly. We will have a lot to do…”

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Thanks again, God Bless, Soli Deo gloria,

Von

Links

Article 17

Article 17 is a military science fiction story with aliens and romance. It is set in a future reminiscent of Napoleon era Britain. The war was going very poorly until the military installed a dictator. This story follows one of the dictator’s great men: Cladin Tomirosh, Leader, and thrice decorated hero.

Intro // Podcast Version

She was pretty, popular, snobby, and a planetary governor’s daughter. He was the son of shopkeepers, a social misfit, and a decorated hero. She thought she was there to dance. He had other ideas.

A Dance // Podcast Version

As a governor’s daughter, Illoia usually avoided such events, but when the captain made the announcement that there was to be an Article 17 dance, she, too, was forced to attend. If only the scum hadn’t been there too.

The Unbridgeable Chasm // Podcast Version

Eukles and Meriones, brave military leaders, quail at the idea of crossing the gulf between themselves and asking a lass to dance.

There He Is // Podcast Version

The young hero comes in, and Aleshia and Illoyia gossip about him.

Look at the Young Hero // Podcast Version

The young hero comes in, and greets Eukles and Meriones… and announces his intentions.

Target // Podcast Version

Tom, Leader Cladin Tomirosh, sets his sights on the governors daughter. She isn’t impressed.

Fuming // Podcast Version

Tom and Illoia dance, while she desperately tries to get him to go away!

Now’s Our Chance! // Podcast Version

Eukles and Meriones use Tom and Illoia as a distraction and stalk their own girls.

To Slap or Not to Slap // Podcast Version

Meriones introduces himself to his new wife with a slap on the backside.

No Sane Man // Podcast Version

Illoia insults the young hero, and he proposes.

Never You, Darling // Podcast Version

Illoia finds herself unable to turn down his proposal.

A Wild Dance // Podcast Version

Illoia finds being Tom’s Consented Wife hard… with wild New Irish dances and immodest ones.