Are You Judged by the Mistakes for Which You Atone? - Part 2

Jacy did not turn to face Dorian so he could not see the hard set of her blue eyes when she relayed the next portion of her account. “I was born and cultivated in the Core. All Companions are. Did you know that? I believe in what the Alliance stands for, at least what it’s supposed to stand far. But that doesn’t mean I condone all of their tactics, especially during the war. I didn’t see the war up close, that’s one of the benefits of my profession. But I heard stories. I saw wounded. Would I be wrong to assume you’d support the Independents if it came to it? If the Unification War had never come to an end?”

Dorian tilted his head. “As yah’ve likely conjured, Ah prefer tah spend time in saloons and brothels. Prob’ly brothels more,” he offered a wistful smile. “The girls are all good company who love a decent laugh without ties that bind. But saloons,” he said, “are where Ah make a bit of a livin’...playing poker. Ah’ve played against browncoats and Ah’ve played against….what did they call ‘em? Purple bellies?” He shook his head. “In the end, Ah seen more than one pair of old soldiers realize they both did naught but suffer.” Dorian paused again, lowering his head. “There are causes out there worth fighting for...and an awful lot of politicos who want folk tah die for their cause. Except fah one sister Ah haven’t seen, Ah lost mah whole family not during the war...but in the peace. The causes Ah fight for now are right here, in front of me.” He swallowed, then took a sanguine expression. “You ask me if Ah’d wear a brown coat? Perhaps...if it matched mah shoes.”

“Harmonized apparel? That’s my domain Mr. Dorian. If I thought for one moment you put that much effort into matching the color to your shoes I’d have no choice but to discount all you’ve said before as lies. I do believe you though, and I’m sorry about your family. Sometimes I feel guilty; that I’m the only one in the ‘verse who didn’t lose someone to the war. Of course that’s only true because I have no one. Would you care to guess why I pursued this vocation?”

It was difficult to tell if she truly did. Jacy’s line of questioning had come uncomfortably close on a couple of occasions, leading him to believe that either he was not as buttoned down in his methodologies as he thought, or that she was even more keenly observant than the average companion, if such a creature existed. “If memory serves,” he responded slowly, “yah’d foregone dancing with a fracture...and Ah do recall some enmity toward yah mother?” It was true, even in this day and age that not everyone understood the implicit value of time spent with a companion. People tended to focus on the sexual component alone. Not that Dorian minded, sex being one of his favorite “*components*.” But until one had the complete experience, it was difficult to comprehend. “Am Ah even close?” he asked.

Jacy walked the perimeter of the infirmary peering into the closed cabinets and equipment along the counters. She didn’t open any of them, just looked. “People are not complicated, so we’re never far from the truth. But I’ll tell you. When my days as a young dancer through injury came to an end, my mother tossed me aside. This was a woman who only had one child; a child conceived through casual eugenics, though not technically speaking. I could no longer offer her what she expected of me. She grew tired of hearing my voice while I recovered in bed and took it upon herself, quite carelessly, to suggest that I take up whoring as I’d have no need for ankles at all when my legs were in the air. I was eleven. There was an insult to be sure, but I decided then and there to be the best whore in the ‘verse. What does an eleven year old know of such things? I thought a whore was a kind woman who gave of her time and body to bring peace to violent men and in so doing spare other women their assault. I thought a whore was the beautiful shield that protected innocent women from the vulgarity of men. I’ve learned these can be true, but rarely are. I learned that men who punished women did so out of some desire to be punished for their own transgressions. This is generic insite that any fallen woman could tell you. What I learned that changed my life at eleven years old? The one lesson you should never learn is how to lose. You can never unlearn that teaching. Once your mind knows it to be an option you will fight it at every decision you make. So. What’s this to do with you and this ship and her crew? The Alliance rests after the War confident they’ve taught the outer planets how to lose. If they’re right, they’ve won forever. But if the Independents are simply incapable of learning that lesson, there’s still hope. Right now they’re lying on their backs wondering that their dancing days are over. And the Alliance has suggested that they take up whoring, accept the proverbial shaft that the Core will give them along with the few coins tossed their way. But just as I would not be the woman I am today if I’d accepted that offer, I have a difficult time encouraging others to accept their lot in life. That goes for Dillon, you, all of us. I believe there is no difference between war and peace so long as there are two opposing sides. I don’t think the Unification War ever ended.”

“Those who paid heed of the Miranda Broadwave would agree,” Dorian said carefully. She wove a good analogy. *“Then again,”* he thought, *“this isn’t the first time she’s tried to seduce my mind. Best to tiptoe through this minefield.”* He took to his feet, tugging at his vest with both hands to straighten it. “I must admit to some curiosity,” he said quietly, “How does this correlate to the corruption of yah order?”

“The Companion Guild’s original purpose was to train women into suitable brides for powerful men. We have strayed a bit from the weddings, but the rest of our tenets are surprisingly intact. But what are the Companions taught? Whose agenda are we immersed in from the first moments of our indoctrination? It’s all for the Alliance. We learn what the Alliance wants us to teach and that’s the civility of the Alliance. But it’s all a lie when viewed alone; the civility is only one side of the Alliance. The Companions are the largest propaganda piece in the arsenal of the Union of Allied Planets. Only the rich can afford the Companion. Only the Alliance can show you prosperity. And when that all fails, the Companion herself refuses to acknowledge the legitimacy of the border planet baron or whomever it may be. In very real ways I’ve been perpetuating the lies of the Alliance. They claim prosperity will come to the outer rim when its accepted Alliance rule. We can’t all be Companions and we can’t all be a success and the Alliance cannot exist without the the resources of the border and outer rim worlds. The Core needs the rest of the system to accept that they’ve lost, but there will never be a unification. The Companion guild would survive all this. We provide enough services and entertainments that we would survive until the end. But I can’t push two agendas. I can’t advocate each client to do their best to help their fellow man and pursue individual enlightenment while I’m only offering it to those who believe the Alliance is the only way. I don’t know why I tell you this except that I’m incapable of being alone with these thoughts any longer. We all have an achilles heel, mine is that I cannot stand being alone. It’s terrible, my reasons for feeling that way and I won’t smudge my image by telling them to you.”

Jacy absently tapped the counter where sat that overpriced oven and clammed up on the previous subject. “Tell me about this. It is the Denta-Kiln-Twenty-Five-Hundred? I wondered what it would look like. I imagine a piece of DME like this will help you expand your line of services when we make port. The timing could get tricky if we don’t linger in any one place for long. I’ll be glad of its use on my own crowns if nothing else.”

*“So that was it,”* he thought. *“A deeper probe into my sympathies, but no revelation of her physical plan. So be it,”* Dorian let it go, assisting Jacy by smoothing out an otherwise awkward transition into small talk. “Ah haven’t read tha manual yet,” he admitted, “but tha concept is simple. Set time and set temperature. Your crowns need tah fire at twenty-two hundred degrees fah two hours,” he said. “Once complete, they should gleam like yah natural teeth.” A movement caught his eye. Dillon was waiting patiently outside. He waved a hand drill, signalling a successful burglary of the mechanic’s tool box. “We’re bout tah get this thing installed,” Dorian said as he threw the doors open to his assistant. “Yah welcome tah stay and watch us act like a couple pyromaniacs...all under the header of “testing,” of course,” he smiled.

“No I don’t think I will. I know I benefit from the kiln more than anyone else, just now at least. But consider it gift or a tool or a bribe. I enjoy your company and your open ears. Young Dillon here is in good hands.” Jacy looked deep in thought as she left the infirmary. She had not wanted to tell Dorian about the Alliance. It wasn’t a secret to anyone who spent half a bottle drinking and thinking about it, but in many ways it was a blatant betrayal to her order. Whereas taking down the Cassalantar family was just a way of cleaning house. She’d have to watch herself around him moving forward. He had a way of letting her talk more than she should and still managed to never quite tell one another what they each wanted to hear.

“Ah am much obliged,” Dorian said to Jacy’s retreating back. “Well, Mister Dillon,” he said brightly, “Shall we disturb the ship with the roar of power tools? As they bored out the necessary holes and bolted the kiln down firmly, Dorian couldn’t shake the messages....or the promise of...messages Jacy wished to convey. It was clear that whatever had begun between them, it smacked of conspiracy...a term which was invariably linked to risk here under the thumb of the Alliance. *“Perhaps on Ezra,”* he thought.