Broken Flyght – Chapter 3

The sun dips over the horizon, coloring the sky in dark reds and golden rays of sunshine. I catch my breath as I stand on the train station platform and gaze out over the farmlands with Marcelo by my side. Our drop-off in Mayashu was uneventful. We unloaded our freight, including the cryocontainer that I was happy to see go, took on the new animals, and Skylar gunned it for the Eastern Continent.

Home.

This is my home, and it always will be.

“Remind me of where your family lands are?” Marcelo motions for me to lead the way around the other people who exited the train with us at Sagae, my hometown. I try to keep my calm as I walk past the underground bicycle storage. That bicycle is long gone now. Probably sold off to some kid who needs to get to and from the station, just like I did.

I point off into the distance, away from our town.

“Go three kilometers this way and turn left. We had everything for eight square kilometers.”

I sigh as I step onto the soft and springy roadway. My kimono keeps my stride shorter than usual. I’m not used to it. Kimonos were never meant for tall people like me.

“But that’s not all. We owned ten square kilometers to the south of Sakata City and two stations on the Western Continent as well.”

Marcelo whistles low as he steps next to me on the road. We both turn our faces to the setting sun and take deep breaths of fresh air. It’s a luxury after being on the Amagi for several days in a row.

“That’s a lot of land.”

I nod as I turn towards town, away from home. “A lot of land, a lot of employees, a lot of blood, sweat, and tears.” My chest constricts, like my rib cage is suddenly three sizes too small and my lungs have nowhere to go. “A lot of history. It’s the third largest landholding on Ossun. My family has owned it since planetfall.”

Marcelo rushes ahead, and I try to keep up before he realizes I have to walk slower. Between the kimono and the sandals, my pace will be glacial this evening.

“Sorry.” He flicks on his wristlet. “I don’t want us to be late, but we have time.”

Other people who disembarked from the train at the same time as us walk towards town or their homes in the opposite direction. A few glance my way and whisper behind their hands. Two young girls giggle as they peel their eyes from me and shuffle off in their kimonos. The situation grates on my nerves, and my shoulders tighten. I wish Skylar was here, but she’s off visiting her dad.

“Pay them no mind,” Marcelo whispers as I stalk off and huff under my breath. I catch him transitioning his outstretched arm to tucking his hand in his pocket. Was he offering to escort me? Maybe if I could learn to control my temper, I would see these opportunities before they’re gone.

“You’re leading me into the lion’s den, you know?”

“How so?”

I swing my small bag next to me as we walk on.

“The fall harvest festival? Everyone from this entire area will be there, including all the major landholders on Ossun. All of them,” I stress. “It’s not something to be missed. I go to the spring festival on the coast every year and the summer festival in the south.”

“Are there any festivals on the Western Continent?”

“Oh, I’m sure.” I shrug. “They’re an entirely different culture over there with their stations and livestock. Different priorities.”

“And over here?”

I smile at his questions. He’s trying to keep me occupied, and it’s nice that someone wants to hear from me. It’s been a long time since anyone let me talk for more than a few minutes at a time.

“We’re mostly Japanese-Brazilian, though there are a few landowners now from the Californikos System. The language will be Portuguese with some Japanese thrown in,” I remind him since we speak English on the ship. “How’s your Japanese?”

“Ma-ma.” He tips his hand side to side. So-so.

I laugh, and he smiles back. “Let me know if you need anything translated. The wristlet translation delay can be a headache.”

We walk in silence to the outer section of town. The festive atmosphere is already showing, even this far from the city center. Shops are lit up, and people come and go in bright kimonos and colorful dresses. White and red Japanese lanterns hang from every available doorway and building corner. The smell of grilled chicken floats down the street, and my stomach growls.

“Oh God, I’m so hungry.” I clutch at my belly under the raspberry pink obi sash. “Do we have time to eat before we meet…?”

Aw, shit. I’ve already forgotten his name.

“Sean Bargado,” Marcelo gently reminds me. “His family is mostly Brazilian, and they trace their roots back to Sao Paulo, though his family has some Irish ancestors as well.”

I think back on my Earth geography. Someday the jump ring starway will return us to Earth, but it’s still at least a hundred years off from happening. Our people left centuries ago, but so many want to go back and fix what humanity ruined.

Me? I’m fine with what we have.

“Irish, huh? Interesting.”

One of the minor landholding families here on Ossun also has roots back to that area of the world, the United Kingdom, if I remember correctly. They display a Brazilian flag along with a red, white, and blue crisscrossing flag on their property, but recognizing the flags of Earth was never my strong suit.

“He’s single and never dated, according to his family, so that gives me some pause,” Marcelo says, his eyes scanning the gathering crowd. We round a corner and approach a small café. “I’m not sure we want someone so fresh to this life, but he fits most of the profile. His family loves him, and his boss has good things to say about his work ethic. He’s been an engineer working on several ships doing the milk runs between Ossun and Rio.”

Literal milk runs. Cows get eaten by giant creatures on Rio and the floating cities are too compact to handle anything like livestock.

“His family is rather large. They live south of Sakata City. His mother owns land, a small plot, but land nonetheless, and they come from a line of settlers that invested in silk from the get-go.”

We approach the café at a sauntering pace. I’ve been to this place before and love its Old World atmosphere. The coffee bar is standing room only with tiny cups of cafezinho and some pastries. You consume and leave. It’s not a place we’ll linger.

As I examine all the individuals at the bar, I’m immediately drawn to the tallest man closest to the door, his eyes focused into the distance, a telltale sign of accessing one’s wristlet. His dark brown hair is molded into soft curls on his head, and his thick eyebrows frame delicate cheekbones and a strong chin.

“That’s him,” Marcelo says, leaning in to see my reaction. “What do you think?”

I tilt my head to the side as I watch him. “He’s handsome. Tall.” I nod as I take in my first impression. “I like that he’s wearing something sharp but casual. Good taste in clothes.”

On first glance, this guy seems polished and put together. But even though I have standards for physical beauty, I really need to get to know someone before I determine I like them. I’m not a ‘love at first sight’ person.

But hey, anything’s possible.

I can feel Marcelo’s eyes scrutinizing everything about me, so I turn to grin at him.

He slips his hands into his pockets, his shirt tight across his chest. I could say all the same things about Marcelo that I’ve just said about… What’s his name again?

Ugh. Sean. Sean.

Why am I so horrible with names?

Marcelo has good taste, and he’s the handsome sort. He’s twice my age, but now I wonder why he never married, never got a consort.

“Okay, then.” Marcelo looks between Sean inside and me. “I figured he was a handsome man, and that you probably wanted someone taller than yourself. But, I was going on instincts. Your list… it was quite short.”

Ha. An understatement. It had three line items for appearance: has good taste in shoes, body hair should be at a minimum, and must stand up straight.

I know. I’m exacting.

“He’s a good looking guy. I’m not sure about his taste in shoes, but he does stand up straight. I saw a photo of him on Laguna. Minimal body hair.”

I twist my lips to prevent the smile that wants to form. I have a feeling I know why Marcelo never married.

“Good luck, Ms. Vivian,” he says, resting a hand on my shoulder. “Hopefully, we’ll see you both back at the ship later.”

I wait while Marcelo walks off down the street, his profile melting into the crowds and the oncoming twilight.

It’s time to get down to business.