FIREBIRD FLIES

When we returned to my house, Priam went into the kitchen to cook, I, to my personal messenger.

“Get Rid of Him. He came here to kill us,” my father had written.

I sent the message back, deleted it.

How could I be so stupid?

Priam never asked my name. He knew who I was. He knew my parents the ones who captured
his father.

Perhaps he would of killed me if I hadn’t given the right answers, hadn’t been his guide to my
parents. There was no time to reflect, I had to get Priam off the planet.

I looked over contracts, took a job. Pretending calm, I entered the kitchen, for one long
golden moment I savoured his shirtless torso, then;

“Priam, I’ve a big job, on Smudge, we have to go now.”

“Can we eat first?” he asks with that ineffable innocence.

“Yes, we can eat first.”

I ate the meal, relishing it. When it was over, he went to his room, I to the flyer. I had a few
seconds of scare, maybe he’d kill me, take this car, go back to my parent’s house….I deleted
the program, the past trip log. Deleted everything.

When Priam entered the car, I drove fast, focused on getting him off Newfrance. We reached
the pier where one of my better yachts was berthed.

I babbled about how I’d turned the yacht we’d flown from Smudge over to the Insurance
Company for a fee and how my robots had moved personal effects into this one.

I babbled to keep a link with him.

I took us out the nanosecond we were cleared, and speaking to him as if he were my partner,
described our quarry.

I couldn’t stop talking but they were just words. Words running from my mouth; I was dead
inside.

He had never asked my name. Never taken money. Been with me day in and day out. Maybe
he would have killed my father as we entered, if my mother hadn’t an attack of dramatics.
If my father hadn’t sent his avatar, if I hadn’t diverted Priam with the lie of a breach of
etiquette, adding that we could return.

If I were going to assassinate someone who never left his world, I would have to get on that
world. But it’s not easy to get onto a world like Newfrance.

Maybe Priam had tried to land legally.
Maybe he’d been turned down.
So he would go for the next best.
He would get me to take him.
How would he get me?
A job.
He would steal something from the Dalmar,
they would hire me.
How did he know…how could he be sure
I wouldn’t turn him in?

That’s the bump. How could he know for a fact
I wouldn’t turn him in?

I’m missing something, something that could kill me. Still, how many weeks had I enjoyed
with Priam? I can’t count. But they were intense. If he didn’t kill me, I’d get another week.

Could I stay alive for another week?
Why not?
I never killed his father.
My mother hadn’t.
My father had been the one to capture him.
Priam thought I would bring him back to my father.
He had to keep me alive.
Unless he thought he could, alone, arrive on Newfrance.

“What is occupying your thoughts?” he asks.

“I’m sorry, I’m puzzling over this case. I have a feeling it won’t be at Pier One. I have
a feeling I should dock on the other side of the island…on Smudge I mean. You know?”

I brought up a map of Smudge.

It was a planet about the size of Earth, but the placement of continents was different.
The only habitable place was an island in the middle of the ocean.

Pier One was on the East, the other piers in the West, located in  jungley areas which were
very hot with very little ‘amenities’, pretending there were amenities on Smudge.

“We usually land here…” I pointed to Pier One, “but there are other Ports.  And I have a feeling
Port Four would be a wiser starting point.”

His beautiful face was fixed on the map. I doubt he knew what I was indicating. Or why.

Some believed the jungle villages were ’safer’ in that the trees cleaned the air, the water was
underground.

These areas were torrid and every so often a dust storm would travel how many miles from
one of the polluted continents and blanket the area.

No one lived on Smudge except refuse. Merchants came and went, spending ‘We’re Closed’
on their yachts, in space.

“I admit, I do not know much of Smudge,” he said in that enticing soft voice, a voice
that pulls you out, that gets answers, that gets compassion and desire.

“Well, not much to know,” I say, becoming the historian.

I describe the exploitation of resources, the rampant disregard of the environment on the
continents, the very early days of black markets.

I explain how a planet could simply cease to exist in decent conversations, but be a
Universe’s redlight district.

When I finished, Priam was back in the galley. I think, out of every twenty four hours, he
slept nine, divided the remainder into five hours exercise, five hours grooming, five hours
cooking and eating.

I couldn’t look at him without feeling I would burst into tears, so busied myself with work.
Pretending to work. I felt my heart had turned into a stone and was lying on my liver which
was bleeding.

I told myself, I will get as many weeks of your love as I can. I will get it and hold it, and
remember it all my life.

Soon I will be somewhere else, doing something else, and I will not think of you.
I will push you deep into my subconscious so that when I go to bed, I will meet you.

It was another wonderful meal which ended with a wonderful sexual escapade. I held him
in my arms while he slept, and my body so loved his, so clung to his, it was as if we were
one person.

So innocently he slept in my arms. Perhaps he was innocent in his way. Perhaps there was
no anger or evil intent. Perhaps it just was a setting of balance.

The tears started then, I turned my head so they wouldn’t fall on his perfect body, so he
wouldn’t know that I knew.

I wanted to return to the first moments aboard this ship. When he offered himself to me.
When I thought myself the great saviour, and he, impressed.

I remembered thinking, oh, how wonderful is Annie Firebird, to impress a Superboy…!

Stop it!
I tell myself. And return to the jingle,
“One week of a Superboy is worth it,“
And how many will Firebird get!

But I loved him. I loved him so much it hurt. But did I love him or the facet he’d shown me?
This facet….?

Maybe I was over reacting. Maybe he had wanted to see my mother because she had shown
his father compassion…maybe he had wanted to thank her.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.  Maybe I should go to sleep.