Good Girl

Although my tripod German Shepherd, Sunny, and I spent our first canine academy class in time out, I learned a lot more than resentment.  

I seem to be reprogramming my own brain. 

The secret that the instructor told us we would all forget about is this:

Controlled

Frequent

Positive

Exposure

It's a formula I latched onto immediately because it's one I've always wished people would use on ME.

I don't learn or perform well when I'm stressed.  When I'm anxious my brain shuts off.  When I'm sad and defeated I go completely numb.

Of course I can shake that stuff off, but it takes valuable time and energy.  It costs me. 

I always wondered why we don't teach people using more Yeses than Nos.  Affirmatives work better.  I WANT to do the thing right, so why are you slapping me when I do it wrong?  Then I have to recover from the slap.  I would learn faster if you just told me when I'm doing it RIGHT.

But here's a thing I learned a long time ago-most people don't really know what they're doing.  And then they take it out on the people they are teaching.  Teaching is just abuse clinic a lot of the time.  Just torturing people for fun and profit.  It's not about learning at all.

Despite decades of that shit, I'm starting to treat myself the way I'm training the dog-with rewards.  She likes praise.  I like praise.  I can praise myself when I do something well.  This was one of the cardinal sins when I was growing up in rural New England (the saying was, "Don't start thinking you're somebody,") but it works.  If it works on Sunny, it will work on me.

I'm my own dog.  And it's making me happier.

Goals For Season 5

1.  Restore Anna by telling of her recovery, while at the same time allowing her to advance in character, to grow as that lion-hearted, spunky girl we loved, to allow her to be realized in strength and bravery and spirit and the character flaws of impulsiveness (NOT related to anything in Season 4) stubbornness and complete indifference to other people's opinions (this is also a strength).

2.  Restore Bates as that great guy that we loved in the first three seasons by restoring his honor and his standing as a social being and even further him by deepening his background and his range of emotion.

3.  Restore the romance for Bates and Anna.

4.  Set up the spin off, Bates and Bates.

5.  Allow Robert to grow by hitting a core value of his character that inspires him to get past his fatalism and his narrow-mindedness.

6.  Allow Violet to become vulnerable in a new way that brings her closer to the family.

7.  Allow Edith to become a "modern",  successful woman and also to be truly accepted by the family.

8.  Allow Thomas a new lease on life and a new purpose as a grey character, who will also be a recurring character on Bates and Bates.

9.  Allow Tom to move on but also stay at the estate.

10.  Give Daisy a new life.

11.  Give Patmore a boyfriend and some respect.

12.  Give Carson a new purpose and Hughes and Carson the romance they're finally ready for.

13.  Complete Mary's character curve while allowing her to give Anna and Edith each their due.

14.  Allow Isobel to move on and do more good works while marrying into the upper class.

15.  Use Cora as a likable device, and that's all.  Because she's used that way already.

16.  Dispose of Rose, but have a little fun with it. I detest Rose and all of her dresses, too.

17.  Bring the estate into the "present" day with hopes of survival.

My season 5 will get the family all home together on the estate, Thomas living a glamorous new life in London generating plots for Bates and Bates, Daisy off to the farm with a prospect, Isobel traveling the world doing good works and Bates and Anna starting a new life as hotel-owning investigators.

Scripts will be in script format following the guidelines for a 60-minute drama; this may mean I post them in PDF format.

Why Post Fanfic Here?

This is a project born of shrieking rage, devastating, heart-shredding pain and the hunger for bloody vengeance.  But I won't get to indulge any of those feelings for real, so my revenge will be on the pages.

Like a lot of people, I got drawn into Downton Abbey, particularly by the story of Bates and Anna and by the mastery of Brendan Coyle and Joanna Frogatt.   I got drawn so far in that the "controversial" plot turn of Anna's rape gave me PTSD, sleeplessness and depression.  It also left me with a knowledge of my lifelong commitment to speaking out against the crime no matter how unpopular it makes me.  You'd think it would be OK to not like rape, but just try that some time.

I needed to right a slew of wrongs that offended me in Downton Season 4 including story turns, changes in characterization and the ultimate offense of insulting an audience by promising them the rape was for the purpose of "exploring the damage" and then not exploring the damage, but turning "the damage" into a murder mystery. 

In the next posting I will list the goals I have for writing a season that will never get made or seen, and why it was important enough to me to spend months of my life writing it.

A Teaser- From A Novel Called "Faster"

The old kit fox stopped still under the sage, her tall ears shivering, her fur standing on end as a voice bigger than thunder smacked gravel loose from the sandstone cliffs. Her sides pumped, her flanks ached.

The arrow that sliced her brain stem from her spine gave her an instant of sweet euphoria as all pain and fear fell away.

The girl ran in a crouch, threading through the sage as the voice pounded down the canyon again, much bigger than thunder now and close, coming closer. The girl laid the vixen's body on the ground belly up and stroked the last tremors away as she said the prayer of thanks. She unsheathed a hunting knife longer than her own foot, gutted the fox with a few elegant lightening strokes and tossed guts and carcass to the edge of the mesa.

The next grunt was unbearably loud, rattling the girl's ribs; the sand shifted under her, the stiff branches of the black sage trembled. It was almost above them now. The girl scuttled back under the thicket of sage branches she had constructed, threw a few handfuls of the red sand over herself and waited.

The smell hit first. It was like a battlefield in summer after three days. The girl gagged and swallowed hard.

Then she felt the sudden cool of the shadow thrown over the mesa and the overhead throb of the Flying Head grinding its teeth. It grunted again; the contents of her stomach spewed from her, her feet and hands struck numb from the shock.

The girl spit away vomit, craned her neck and looked up through the thorny branches.

It was bigger than a ring of tipis. Its tongue lolled out, the size of a creek, and lapped up the fox with a strange delicacy. Then it glanced around, trailing shreds of rotting skin that danced in the air like water weeds. Its yellowed, crusted eyes tracked the mesa, making a wet shifting sound. The girl had recovered enough to reach for her axe.  She curled her fingers around the handle.

The Flying Head was off, faster than anything she had ever seen. Within three breaths it was so far away that it was the size of her hand. She stumbled up on shaking legs.

She sighed, drinking in fresh air and blowing it out hard.

How was she going to kill that thing?

CAT FIGHT

(AN AUDIO PLAY by Robbie Knight)

Scene: 1

SOUND: (FOOTSTEPS ON A DIRT ROAD, NEARING EACH OTHER.  ONE SET IS QUICKER, WITH A SHORTER STEP.  THE STEPS STOP AS THEY REACH EACH OTHER. THE WIND WHISTLES IN THE BACKGROUND THROUGHOUT THE PLAY.)

ANNABELLE:   THAT YOUR HUSBAND'S REMINGTON?

MERCY JANE:  YUP.

ANNABELLE:   WHERE'D YOU FIND IT?

MERCY JANE:  MY HUSBAND GAVE IT TO ME.  COUPLE WEEKS AGO.

ANNABELLE:   (LAUGHS) WHAT DO THEY CALL THAT? EYE-RONIC?

MERCY JANE:  I'M GONNA SHOOT YOU FULL OF HOLES, YOU LOUSY WHORE.

ANNABELLE:   YOU THINK YOU WILL.

MERCY JANE:  WHY?

ANNABELLE:   WHY WHAT?

MERCY JANE:  WHY THE WHOLE THING?  WHY MY CHILDREN?  MY CHILDREN?

ANNABELLE:   YOU WANNA CALM DOWN, MERCY JANE.  YOU LEFT 'EM.  REMEMBER THAT?

MERCY JANE:  YOU MURDERED 'EM.  EVERYTHING I HAD-

ANNABELLE:   YOU DIDN'T HAVE 'EM NO MORE.  YOU LEFT 'EM ALL FOR THE FIRST PRETTY MAN TO MOVE UP THE ROAD. HOW'D THAT ALL END UP, MERCY JANE?  THEN HE TOSSES YOU OUT FOR THE NEXT THING - A LITTLE PRETTIER, A LITTLE YOUNGER.  IT'S LIKE A GODDAMN GREEK...TRAD-EGY, AIN'T IT?  NEVER WOULDA SEEN THAT COMIN'.

MERCY JANE:  IN THEIR BEDS?  HOW - HOW -

ANNABELLE:   LAUDANUM.  THEY DIED FROM THE SMOKE, SAME AS HIM, SAME AS THE DAMNED DOG. NOBODY BURNED UP ALIVE, SO GET THAT OFF YOUR CONSCIENCE.

MERCY JANE:  YOU AIN'T HUMAN.

ANNABELLE:   I WAS YOUR BEST FRIEND.

MERCY JANE:   WAS IT FOR HATE OF ME? IT WAS THAT. IT WAS 'CUZ I WON HIM.

ANNABELLE:   WON?  YOU CALL IT WINNING?  YOU GOT A PRETTIER FACE AND A TINIER WAIST.  AND YOU DIDN'T WIN THAT, YOU DIDN'T EARN THAT.  THAT'S AN ACCIDENT OF NATURE.  YOU HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THAT.  YOU GOT LUCKY, IS ALL.  AND THEN YOU LOST HIM ANYWAY, TO ANOTHER ACCIDENT OF NATURE.  WAS IT WORTH IT, MERCY JANE? DID HE GIVE IT TO YOU THAT GOOD?

MERCY JANE:  I LOVED HIM.

ANNABELLE:   WELL, YOU ALWAYS WERE WEAK.

MERCY JANE:  LOVE AIN'T A WEAKNESS.

ANNABELLE:   JUST IN YOUR CASE.

MERCY JANE:  WHY ANNABELLE?  WHY'D YOU KILL MY FAMILY?

ANNABELLE:   I GUESS 'CUZ...I DIDN'T LIKE 'EM MUCH.  SAME AS YOU.  THE MAN WAS A DULLARD, THE CHILDREN NOT TOO BRIGHT, NOT TOO FULL OF JOY.  EVEN THE DOG WAS NOTHIN' MUCH.  I SEE WHY YOU LEFT, ESPECIALLY FOR HIM.  THAT'S WHAT A FAMILY COMES DOWN TO, SO MUCH OF THE TIME, IN'T IT?  HOW MUCH BOREDOM CAN A WOMAN TAKE?

MERCY JANE:   MY HUSBAND KNEW.

ANNABELLE:    WHAT DID HE KNOW?

MERCY JANE:   HE KNEW YOU WERE A MONSTER.

ANNABELLE:    HE DIDN'T KNOW ONE END OF A WOMAN FROM ANOTHER.  I FOUND THAT OUT.  NO WONDER YOU RAN.

MERCY JANE:   IT'S WHY HE GAVE ME THE GUN.  HE DIDN'T WANT IT AROUND WHERE YOU COULD GET A HOLD OF IT.  HE KNEW SOMETHING WAS GONNA HAPPEN.

ANNABELLE:  YOU FEELIN' GUILTY RIGHT NOW?  'CUZ COME DOWN TO IT, IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT, AIN'T IT?

MERCY JANE:   THIS PISTOL FIRES NICE AND STRAIGHT.  I FIRED IT MANY TIMES.  MY DULLARD OF A HUSBAND MADE ME LEARN IT.

ANNABELLE:  WELL, AIN'T THAT THE SORT OF THING A DULLARD-

MERCY JANE:   THERE'S GONNA BE DAYLIGHT POURING OUT OF YOU.

ANNABELLE:  (LAUGHS)  LET'S GET TO IT, THEN, GIRL!  I BEEN HUNTIN' WITH THIS COLT SINCE I WAS NINE YEARS OLD.

MERCY JANE:  YOU'RE GONNA PAY FOR ALL OF IT.  MY HUSBAND, MY CHILDREN -

ANNABELLE:   WE BEEN THROUGH THIS PART ALREADY, MERCY JANE.

MERCY JANE:  TEN PACES.

ANNABELLE:   YOU SURE YOU WANNA TURN YOUR BACK ON ME?

MERCY JANE:  SHUT UP AND GET READY!  TEN!

ANNABELLE:   BYE, BYE, MERCY JANE.  AT LEAST THERE WON'T BE NOBODY AROUND TO MISS YOU.

MERCY JANE:  NINE!

THEY STEP AWAY FROM EACH OTHER IN UNISON.

MERCY JANE: (HER VOICE IS A BIT MORE DISTANT) EIGHT.

(SHE STOPS COUNTING.  THEY EACH TAKE THREE MORE STEPS, MORE OR LESS IN UNISON.  THEN ONE SET OF STEPS STOPS, PIVOTS, AND A SHOT RINGS OUT.  THERE IS A CRY, CUT OFF, AND THE SOUND OF A BODY HITTING THE GROUND.  THE OTHER SET OF STEPS IS RUNNING, THERE IS PANTING. THE STEPS STOP.  A LONG PAUSE.  ANOTHER SHOT RINGS OUT, ANOTHER BODY HITS THE GROUND.)

THE END.

Jewel's Gift - A Retelling of The Book of Judith

Lady Jewel sobbed on her balcony overlooking the palace garden; the morning wind rippled the reflecting pond, tossing the plums and pomegranates and buffeting the train of her white mothsilk gown across the laser carved red sandstone tiles.  Anma waited a while longer with the tray, then said,

“M'Lady?' 

Jewel turned to look at Anma, dabbing her eyes.

“You must think I'm weak,” then Lady Jewel's eyes met hers.  “I'm sorry, Anma.  I know better,”
 
She lifted the tray a little higher, to urge her mistress to take the glass of tea.  “All of us grieve Lord Koinet.  Y'know s'truth,”

“Yes,” Lady Jewel took the tea.  She gave a shuddering breath, then looked down at the tray which gave off a slow, pulsing blue glow.

“This will be the one,”

Anma choked on her excitement.  “Hated t'tell you, M'Lady,”

Lady Jewel fixed her eyes on the tray and dragged her glance to a spot on the sandstone wall where the message opened with zooming images of the dominated colonies, booming orchestras and the meticulously bearded face of the man himself, Holov, the New Unifier.

“It is with great sadness and compassion that we reveal the the next necessary phase.  The CAP will be disabled in three days.  There is no reason for you to subject your loved ones to more needless suffering.  Surrender and we will open the gates.  You will be freed-”

Lady Jewel and Anma both made involuntary sounds of disgust and the message paused automatically.  They breathed out together, and the message continued.

“-by those of us who will care for your welfare.  Surrender and join the rest of Mars in the New Uni-Colonies.  You have 3 days,”

The music thundered again and the images rushed into the UniColonies logo, which faded slowly.

“Could b'sick,” hissed Anma, her pulse pounding.

Lady Jewel sat on the sheepskin cushioned bench. The wind pulled the tendrils of her black curls and made the glowing gems in her swinging earrings blink like milky fireflies.  Her thin and tender ebony Earth skin had raised in anger at the laser scar on her cheek.  Anma bore the same scar, as all Adapteds were forced to, though it made just a small dent in her much thicker skin. On The Lady, Holov's mark of denigration was a fresh sign of nobility. To bear the mark had earned her even more loyalty from Adapteds, from Makes, from Bloodlines, from all the people of the Bowl.
 
“The time is long past for grieving," said the Lady,  "I've been horribly selfish,”

“Respectfully-”

“Speak plain to me, please, Anma,”

“Don't think you have b'n wrong, m'Lady.  Don't think the time has b'n 'pon us-”

They looked at each other.

“Until now.” said Lady Jewel, and her black eyes grew blacker and harder, “It's time, Anma.  There is no one else to do this,”

Anma's heart jumped, but she stayed somber. 

“I know,”

The two women, one in flowing white and the other in tidy black, locked fingers as the wind jabbed through the garden.


Anma's boots sent clouds of powder-dust into swirling shapes of rust blooming above her head.  She plunged down into the alley in the face of the exchange winds, colder than frost and bitterly dry and full of tiny sandstone pebbles that pelted her leathers and her eye shield.  To Anma this wind was a wild hug of home; she loved coming out to the Rim where she had spent so much of her early life.  She waded through the dust and the trash with a sure stride.

Out here, on the edge of filtered radiation and CAP, controlled atmosphere production, the sky ended.  Above Anma a shimmering edge cut the the mild blue away from the grey, ruthless horizon of true Mars.  The Rim colony sat in a neat circle facing outward; the guard glass surrounding and protecting the Rim communities was deeply scarred from decades of the wind.  As Anma descended into the tunnel-streets the air warmed and was moistened, although the stink of Adapted cooking met her nose with a sour note.  Anma had gotten used to Palace life where delicate spices and precise cooking times made every dish tender and fresh.  Here on the Rim people loved their stew pots and left them over low fires for days to cook down the tough adapted mutton.  Anma liked fresh meat better now.

She nodded toward a group of towering Kham sentries, Tibetan Bloodlines, on break from the battlements sipping their butter tea. They grinned and winked under their broad black felt hats, their long black braids swaying with the weight of silicone gems.  Anma, herself a Made, wore the skin of an Adapted although she was too small.  All the others of her Make had been eliminated for the safety of the Bowl. But the Khams had no fear of her.  Out here she was family.

She ducked into a doorway and only glanced up at two Adapted guards who leaned down to grin at her.

“Hey, a visit from down the Palace!” 

“Shoulda dressed up,”

Anma smiled but didn't pause.  She made her way through winding carved hallways lit with glow lamps and hung with thick wool tapestries; even here, deep inside the Rim dwellings, the wind never entirely stopped its faint howling and there was a thin layer of red sand on the floor.  She took off her eye shield and unwrapped her head scarf, spitting the grit from between her teeth. 

Hank's seven foot frame engulfed her.  She hugged him back, hard, then gazed up at his classic Adapted face, the wide nose, twice as wide as the non-Adapteds, at the scar in his smooth, thick copper skin, his shock of coarse black hair and his silver eyes, only pale grey here inside where they had no radiation to reflect. 

“What will the Lady do?” he said, in his formal accent. Hank had worn the Rim worker disguise well since the last occupation but he looked equally at home in fancy blacks; even in his coveralls he had the bearing of a Representative. 

“Must be sure the message s'perfectly clear,” said Anma, “Must look like betrayal.  Holov'll believe it and that will buy us the time,”

“When?”

“Tonight at 08:00.  And can'ya have Plan 7/4 ready within 30 sidereal hours?”

“We will multi-confirm.  But we need to send it out now.  We have consensus on this one, especially after Holov's latest threat,"

“The Lady,” said Anma, “Will bring a gift back to the Bowl the day after tomorrow dawn.  We must be ready to go live so everyone will see the gift, and so the act can be confirmed.  Need a live session for presentation of the gift at the plaza just inside the front gates, but won't know exactly when until we're almost back.  You'll need to track me.  We go live, then we send out the first troupes to retake the CAP.  Once the signature of the gift s'confirmed we can strike.  Must be quick,”

“The gift...will have a signature?”

“The gift'll leave no doubt that the UniColonies r'leaderless,”

Hank laughed down at her. 

“Tonight is the first of the two sessions.  Tonight we go live with Holov and all Representatives must resist what the Lady says.  Must make us look divided,”

He sat and pointed his lips to the bench across from him.  Anma shook her head. 

“I mean it, An.  You sit and talk to me now,”

Anma sighed, plopping down. 

“You'll be joining us, when the fighting starts,”

“I can't, I'm-”

“You're not bound,”

“My Make can keep promises,”

“'Service is a cage, for you.  After this your time with her is done.  Don't forget what you are,”

“Think I ever can?”  This came out louder than Anma intended. 

“'It's time.  It's time for you to be as you were meant, and to be with me, Anma.  Come back out to the Rim. I have waited,”

“Told you not to wait,”

He stretched an enormous arm between them, grabbed her by her coat and pulled her into his lap in one clean motion.  Anma submitted, heat blossoming under her skin as his mouth closed over hers. 

“Fight with me,”  he shook her gently in his lap,  “Be what you are and fight with me, be with me.  Together we can make it through this, we can have a new life,”

“Who'll keep her safe?”

“The entire Bowl will  keep her safe, when that gift is given! No one will be safer than that Lady when Holov is taken down.  What is it?  Do you love her?”

Anma laughed.  “No.  Not the way you mean,”

“And what about me, Anma?  Am I just a part of your past?  Under that skin you are still a Made,” he rubbed his nose on hers, “I remember you before modification, you know.  Little blonde thing with no business on this world, but could you kill!  I knew you before both invasions, before you went into secret, An, and I'm one of the only people who will ever-”

“Understand?”  Anma stood and glared at him.  They had had this fight a thousand times. “Y'think I need understanding!  Piss on it!”  she charged for the door and turned.  “7/4. Within 30 sidereal hours.  Everyone must resist the Lady when we go live the first time tonight.  Holov won't believe anything else,”

“They will,”  Hank crossed one rangy leg over another as his lazy smile lifted his cheeks into boyish curves, “Are you off to the labs?”

“Want me to take a message?”

“No, I'll see them later.  And I'll see you in 2 days, An,”

 
Scott was draped in his work apron when Anma entered the glossy, bright lab; his sister Tassy was sprawled in a break chair with a reading glass, her thick shock of Make 10 chestnut hair glued into a tall peak and shimmering with agate powder.  Anma saw the colorful pages gliding across the glass and recognized the old comic stories.  She smiled.  Tassy grinned back at her and tossed her a silver case the size of a thumb.

“Custom zord," said Scott as she slid it open, "Doesn't store.  'S'a one-make.  But that means s' no charge upload.  When 's'dead 's'dead, but there is one thing you need to know,”

“What?” Anma shut the case and slid it deep in a hidden pocket.

“You can't use it,” said Tassy.

“It's not for me,”  But Anma needed to know. '”S' there a block?

“No, but leaves a retinal scar,” said Scott, “Too tiny to mess with your sight, but scans'll pick 't'up.  Template was designed to mark the wrong Makes and I can't modify that,”

“Just a guess...” Anma grinned, “M'I one of the wrong Makes?”

Tassy laughed.

“F'course you are,” Scott snapped.  “Y'don't give a weapon to a weapon,” 

“Anma,” said Tassi,  “F'you use this you'll get marked for kill-on-sight.  Y'won't get scanned as an Adapted anymore.  The grids will know what y'are,”

“Just want it for my wall,” said Anma.  “Look nice next to my UniColonies flag,”

“Well, at least to remove the temptation,”  Scott looked her over, “What's't been like for you?  To keep all your drives tamped down like that all the time?  Y'must feel like murdering all day,”

“It's not as bad as you'd imagine,”

“Anma's different,” said Tassy.  “You're the One Who Wept.  It's in issue 112.  When Lord Koinet was killed.  You're a deviation, Anma,”

“My ducts don't work. That was a lie for the sessions,”

“You're the only Make 3 left," said Scott.  "All the rest who got executed, Alizon, Adom, all of them, they were the ones with the great stories. Don't suppose you'd do an interview I could post after the-”

“Scott!  You asshole!'  said Tassi.

“Don't jinx me!” Anma slapped his forehead lightly with the back of her fingers, but she might have left a small bruise.  His eyes watered as he waved goodbye.



“Anma, let us not pretend today,” said Lady Jewel, taking the wand from her hand and glaring with good humor into the mirror, “You never will be any good at this,” Lady Jewel passed the wand over her hair, causing it to spring into strategic curls. 

Anma smiled.  “Sorry for it, M'Lady,”  She unrolled the spun opal gown and set the case with the smoke diamonds on the vanity.

“Have the frequencies been checked again?”

“Yes, and will be again one minute before w'go live,”

“Is everyone cooperating?  Need I speak to anyone?” The Lady held up her arms and the gown slithered down, sliding tight around every curve.

“All will go as planned, M'Lady,”

Lady Jewel turned to look at Anma.  “Your loyalty has never faltered,”

Anma stopped arranging cosmetics on the tray.  “You are Bloodline.  I'm bound-”

“This again,” Lady Jewel swung her long legs over the vanity stool and faced Anma.

“Are you afraid of me now?  I would understand,” but the thought didn't sit easy; she would have hated to frighten her mistress.  Anma lifted the net of smoke diamonds and flicked it gently; it settled over the Lady as lightly as spider silk.

“No.  I know you, Anma.  We have become friends, you and me.  I don't believe in signatures and Bloodlines.  We are more than just sets of neurons.  And I am not afraid.  I would be afraid without you.  I would be fair helpless without you,”

“Not so,”

Lady Jewel sighed, turning before the mirror.  “He loved this gown on me at the last summit, but that was years ago.  Let us see if I still have any power with him,”

Anma looked at her mistress, so tall and curving within the fiery opal silk, the smoke diamonds blinking like constellations on her midnight skin as she moved, her features gleaming with a touch of opal powder. 

“You have power with every man on Mars and Earth,” she said.

The scroll glass lowered as they entered the chamber.  Lady Jewel took her position on the central mark and the lights adjusted to her. 

The scroll glass lit with windows that chased each other in various order.  In each window a representative was readying for the live session, taking a sip of water, fussing about appearance or reading innernotes with rapidly shifting eyes. 

Finally the fanfare sounded and the scroll glass was dominated by the UniColonies logo.  Lady Jewel looked sideways at Anma, who nodded, gazing at her with confidence.

Holov was live.  He smiled benignly and then took in the sight of Lady Jewel.  He was silent for a little longer than was seemly.

“Welcome all to this meeting of the Bowl colonies and most welcome, Lady Jewel of the Isikirari Ascended Bloodline and widow of the right honorable Brend Koinet, Steward of the Bowl,”

“Our New Unifier needs no further introduction,” said Lady Jewel, “I have come to request a private meeting to discuss the terms of our surrender,”

Frames swarmed over the glass as representatives shouted.  The frames glided left to right, giving each representative 10 seconds to voice reaction.  The outrage was well played.

“She is not qualified to surrender us!”

“Stop her!”

“We are prepared to fight-”

The windows froze and faded; Holov appeared again, with the same blinding fanfare.

“We require silence at this time or we will be forced to disable the CAP.  I can do this immediately and although I have great compassion for your trials and do not wish to make this choice, the choice will be made if I do not have consensus.  And may I say, honored representatives, you surprise me.  We all know that Lady Jewel is the only true leader among you, the only pure Ascended of Conqueror Bloodline,”

“Honored representatives, if I may,” said Lady Jewel, “The terms of surrender will be negotiated only with my people in mind.  I only ask that my people may live without fear, poverty or-”

“Well said,” Holov interrupted her.  “We will send escort for you at 18:00 hours.  And if you would,” Holov smiled, “Wear that dress, My Lady,”

The shock at his lack of respect and propriety registered only briefly in the various windows before the session was closed. 

Back in the Lady's chambers, Anma slid open the small silver case.

“Here it is,”  the round, concave object the size of a fingertip floated in viscous fluid; it was transparent and speckled with tiny blinking lights.  “Called a zord.  Old-fashioned make.  No implant.  Fits over your eye,”

“Does it store?”

“No. And there's no upload, so it can't be charged.  It's only powered for 3 more days,”

“I am ready, Anma,”

“Y'must be, M'Lady,”

“I am.  Don't fear,”

“The innerprompt is current standard.  Just lock and drag like a regular innerprompt,”

“Except, the tool I will be dragging is a laser,”

“There will be very little pain.  S'so fast,”

“That's what they always say, Anma.  But dying must be painful no matter how quickly it happens,”

“For the people of the Bowl who have given their lives-”

“I know,” The Lady put her hand gently on Anma's wrist.  “I will do this thing,”

“Only worry is the exit,” said Anma, “Y'must wear the zord back through the gate, but not use it on the way back.  I'll get what I can from Holov's tent.  He packs vintage weaponry,”

“Will you know how to wield such weapons?”

Anma gave her a significant look.

“All weapons belong to you, don't they?”

“Well spoke, M'Lady,”


“You Bowlers and your agreement councils,” Holov said as he lazed on his sheepskin under the  ornate, star-stitched silk ceiling of his enormous traveling tent; he was swallowing the finest grapes and berries without tasting them.  “Beyond the waste of time they must be so tedious,”

“Because we have consensus, our laws and policies proceed more effectively,” The Lady lay beside him, sharing the grapes and looking not at all repulsed.

“Because people are tired of waiting for a decision,”

“The people know they will be heard.  Our populace stays small enough to guarantee that,”  the Lady even caressed his hair.

“Were your men heard, when that generation idea was passed-”

“Why would men have gone unheard?” she purred.

“The block is unmanly.  It gives women too much control of the population,”

“Why would any man oppose families of considered size?”  The Lady poured, filling Holov's glass for the third time.  He threw down the liquor and held the glass for her again to serve him; the gesture gave Anma a jolt of nausea.  Still she continued to bustle with the delicacies they had brought, wonderful foods which only grew in the Bowl.  She laid out more bright, perfect fruits and clinking bottles while she sneaked glances at Holov's weapons mounted on the rare wood panels.  It was known he kept the weapons charged and believed himself a master shot with them all.  Anma almost loved him for his arrogance, setting up so close to the Bowl gates, readying for his victorious entrance.  And alone with only two women who were about to be conquered, why bother with an inside guard?

“It denies a man his right to add to his line,” Holov's voice was beginning to slur.  He put his hand on the Lady's breast.  Anma kept her eyes on her tray.  “That should be a man's say, not a woman's,"

“He has the say,” The Lady was as sensual and calm as a cat. “When a man disables his block because he is ready to make a child it is a sacred decision and cause for much celebration,” she was smiling, acting as if his violation honored her.

“And the grid knows.  All the women know.  It should be a man's private business,”

The Lady's tone was taking on more edge.  “Each man of the Bowl has the choice to sign the agreement of responsibility and to assume his block with full knowledge when he comes of age,”

“And if he hasn't signed it and taken the block, the grid knows,”

“Women can make informed decisions then about engaging with him.  The Bowl observes transparency for all, because transparency is crucial for a free pop-”

“M'Lady,” Anma interrupted, “Perhaps the New Unifier would like to sample your fig spirits? And these apricots, M'Lord, have been infused with spiced pomegranate liqueur, most rare...”

While they continued Anma had time to profile all the weapons on the panels.  The laser pistol and laser rifle would do, as well as that nice rapier for up-close if needed.   She was rearranging dishes when she heard the soft thump and the Lady's whisper.

Anma stood over Holov and blew on his eyelids.  She pushed a knuckle between his ribs and ground down.  There was no response.

“Now,” she said. 

The Lady rose and backed away from him, standing next to Anma.

“It's time,” said Anma.

The Lady swallowed several times.

“It's the green icon-”

The Lady was breathing rapidly.  She stumbled away from Anma, hanging on to the ornately carved central post and sliding into a crouch. 

“I-I don't think I can do it, Anma,”

Anma had expected this; she knelt at the Lady's side and kept her voice soft.

“It's the thing that will save the Bowl, save our people from his next solution.  It's the only way.  You've prepared.  We protect the Bowl and the principals we live by, which no one else on this world-”

The Lady was vomiting.  Anma took a handful of freshening cloths and tended her.

“Don't worry about this.  S'just a reaction,”

The Lady put out a hand, pushing Anma away.

“Anma, I can't!” she stared at Holov.  “I can't do it!”

“You must do it,”

“No!  I am not made for this, this is not in me!  I can't kill, I won't!”

Time was rushing away like sand in a storm.  Anma looked hard into the Lady's eyes.

“You're sure that you can't?”

“Yes,” the Lady was sobbing.

Anma took the Lady by her shoulders and threw her on her back on the bed.  She crawled over her,  splaying the fingers of one hand down on her face to hold her eyelid open.  With her other hand she quickly pinched the zord from the Lady's eye and dropped it into her own. 

Anma stood over Holov.  “The blood first, then.  On your dress,”

Anma jumped over him, took the rapier from the wall and thrust it into his neck, nicking the artery.  He moaned and started to rouse; Anma kicked him once in the temple, feeling the delicious crunch on the tip of her boot, and he was still.  She dropped the rapier and stepped back over Holov to the bed where the Lady was weeping.  Anma pulled her to her feet and then pushed her gently down onto the floor, in the path of the jetting artery.  The spilling blood, the brightness and silkiness and scent of it filled Anma with longing for more.  The Lady started to protest.  Anma dragged her in the blood enough to create the right effect, then pulled the Lady to her feet and pushed her just hard enough to seat her on the bed again.  That would work for the live session. 

Anma turned and closed her eyes, finding the innerprompt on the zord.  She put her attention on the green icon, opened her eyes and dragged it across Holov's neck, severing his head directly across the cut; the head dropped from the cauterized wound with a scent of seared meat and rolled across the sheepskin.   It was not the most satisfying way to kill, but it still gave her a comforting rush.  The head was mouthing something and Anma hoped the Lady wasn't watching; they were only half done. 

The Lady was vomiting again but Anma couldn't tend her now.  She took the head, which was still murmuring silently, and slipped it into the bag.  She turned to the Lady.

“Lay back, gotta put the zord back in your eye,”

The Lady began to blubber, so Anma pushed her down again.  Crouched over her, she gave the Lady a light but stinging slap and looked down at her.  She kept her tone gentle.

“We're leaving.  We're taking the gift to the people of the Bowl.  You'll do this for your people and you'll do it now,”  Anma leaned her palm on the Lady's face, pried open her eye and dropped the zord back in.  The Lady was rallying, trying to gather herself.

“Oh, Anma.  You had to do it.  Oh, no, Anma!  I've failed!”

“Stop it now,” Anma pulled the Lady to her feet.  “You did this.  Y'must never, not in a dream, remember anything else.  You killed Holov.  We're leaving now,”

“Anma, I'm so sorry for my weakness.”

Anma smiled at her. “You're a noble,” she said. 

Anma looked the Lady over.  The blood spray was good enough.  She snatched the cloak and threw it over the Lady's shoulders and stopped to hold her hands.

“You're about to save the Bowl.  Y'must remember,” Anma was gripping her hands just hard enough to give slight pain, “You. Killed. Holov.  Y'did it for your people,”

Anma rolled Holov's body over and took his gun belt; she had to cut an extra notch to make it fit her own hips.  She took the lazer pistol and rifle from the wall, checked them for charge and fit them into the belt, took the rapier in hand and slung the bag over her shoulder. 

It was time to tell her.

“Lady, I'm marked for kill-on-sight now,” she said. “If I go down, do whatever it takes to get through the gate. Don't try to save me.  Keep moving.  Remember we've people ready for the live session on the plaza inside the front gates.  Go directly to the central dais in the plaza and our people will start the session for you.  They're waiting now and tracking us.  If I fall, don't forget the bag,”

“You can't be kill-on-sight,” but the Lady's eyes widened.  “Anma!  Is it because-” 

“Wait until I signal you,”  Anma crept out of the tent, staying low; she sited the first guards and hit them each in the middle of the chest or back with the laser rifle, which severed aortal arteries and sent them all to the ground within seconds of each other; Anma's heart began to sing, she began to feel giddy. She ran over their bodies, crouched again and listened for voices.  Hearing no one, she motioned to Lady Jewel. 

The Lady moved low and quickly to join her.  “Why must I not use the zord now?”

“Don't want you to hurt yourself,”

“I won't,”

“Too dangerous, if I'm not helping you,”

“It's this green icon on the left?”

Anma pushed the Lady to the ground and stood, rapid-firing at an incoming battalion.  She took down seven men before she was hit in the shoulder and then in the thigh from behind.  She sprawled on her back, scrambling to get up as the pain seared.  Lady Jewel crawled over Anma and looked up.  The last three men fell; Anma could tell by the sounds they were making that the deaths weren't clean.  But then she heard them silenced and knew the Lady had finished the job. 

The Lady had crawled away.  Anma shout-whispered at her to take the bag.  But she returned with one of the guards' laser shields, a large, very light piece of shimmering deflecting glass.  The Lady was stronger than Anma knew, hauling her to her feet and dragging her down the walkway under one arm; the bag with Holov's head bumped along the ground.  They were too exposed.  The risk was too great.  Anma tried to disengage herself.

“Stop it!” The Lady hissed, “We are almost home!” As Anma fired at Holov's men with her good hand and pushed along with her good leg, she had time to consider that although being a noble meant having important traits she would never have, like conscience, there was still more to the Lady.  Anma had always suspected it.

The Lady dropped Anma, threw herself down and slid the shield over them both in time to deflect several shots.  Anma began to grind her teeth; the mark must be on the grid by now and her kill-on-site status was making this too dangerous.  She was a liability.

“Take the bag and go!” she huffed.  “Go!”

“Shut up, Anma!”  They were in sight of the gates now.  The Lady again pulled her up and scuffled backwards under the glass as shots pelted the shield and the sand around them.  Then they fell, and The Lady was still.

Anma rolled over in a nightmare, breathless, but The Lady was gone.  Hank's face loomed above; Anma was carried. 

“What happened?  Why did your status change?” he seethed.

“Don't know,” said Anma.  “Drop me here.  Do it!”

“We're inside,”  Hank was cursing as he checked her wounds, but Anma could feel that they were not critical.

Anma was able to watch the Lady step onto the dais in her blood-soaked gown.  She lifted Holov's head from the bag by his hair and held it up with an elegant sweep, as if she had rehearsed it a thousand times.

“The New Unifer has been stopped.  We will now retake the CAP and return control of all sustaining systems to the colonies who use them.  This is our day of independence.  Verify this gift,”  she commanded.  Several people in the front rows raised scanners and the verdict circled like wind.

“It's him.  It's his head,”

“The Lady has done it!”

“The Lady!”

“We fight!  Now!”

The crowd dispersed as quickly as blowing sand and the plaza stood empty.  Lady Jewel sat, rolling Holov's head away.  A guard grabbed it and climbed a ladder to set it high on the gate.

Hank deposited Anma at the Lady's feet.  He waited a few steps away.

Anma was sick suddenly.  It was a strange sickness, a sucking kind.  Her heart seemed to have dropped away, her eyes were streaming, spilling. She could not take a breath.  She stared at the Lady through her confusion.

“You will miss me,” said Lady Jewel.

“Yes,” Anma choked.

“We are friends,”

“Yes,”

“I will never stop defending what we fought for.  I promise you, Anma,”

Anma's signature did not allow her to feel sorrow for long.  Now she would go out to the Rim with Hank for her final battle.  The very thought made her soar again, made her crave the cold exchange winds and the hard, ecstatic freedom ahead.

Anma linked eyes with the Lady and bowed her head one last time.