The Handmaid's Tale

by scifantasy


You all know that at the end of your Arrakis mission, he and I were...let's say, we were beginning a courtship. Of course you do. Even he, as infamously private as he was, couldn't escape the rumor mill when he started taking a former Lady-in-Waiting to dinner. And when that former Lady-in-Waiting became the Queen Mother's private secretary, and was identified as the eldest daughter of a noble house, all the political pressure of Mendellia couldn't keep him out of the social pages.


Not that he had ever asked Your Majesties for any, My Lady. For such a private person, he was remarkably unconcerned with speculation about his romantic life. I never understood that about him.


At any rate, when he vanished, that...put a rather final stop to our courtship dance.


Take advantage--? Oh. Oh, grace, My Lady, no! No, we didn't...progress that far. And besides...


Besides, if we had, I don't think he would have been taking advantage.


But then...he was gone. At first I didn't know how to feel. I was angry, furious even...but I think that even in the midst of that anger some part of me understood. I cried for the better part of a month, and then I went back to my work, and my life, and I tried very hard not to think of him. And I managed, to a point. I was very grateful to all of you, then. I know you were looking for him, and I know you never so much as said his name around me. I don’t know if I wanted you to find him so he’d come back, or if I wanted you to find him so I could wring his neck, or if I never wanted to see him again. All three at once, I think.


And then, some months later--a year or so, I don't remember exactly—I was sitting in my rooms on my day off when I was told I had a visitor at the public entrance. When I arrived there, I didn't recognize him at first, but eventually I realized: he was Charles Niwrad, the owner of the Flying Finch. His favorite pub.


Not actually for the drinks, of course, as I don't think he ever drank more than the barest socially-required glass of wine. He said the Finch was effectively part of his job, with the standing bounty on stories. He also said it was "the best place to hear the word on the street, bar none. Pun intended."


I greeted Mr. Niwrad and asked him what brought him to the Palace. He presented me with a folded note.


"Who wrote this?" I asked, but he shook his head.


"I think you already know," he said. And with that he was gone. I quickly retreated to my rooms to read.


He was right, of course. I knew who had to have written it. I still have the note...


Beautiful,


I am sorry.


I don't have the skill of Miles Vorkosigan, but you deserved to hear at least that much. Even if you don't read the rest of this, or come to see me, please know that I am truly sorry for leaving you the way I did.


But I couldn't have stayed. Even as badly as I wanted to, for us, everything else was killing me. I'll tell you more, but not in a note. I'm at the Finch right now. I'll wait as long as I can, but I need to be gone before too long. If your schedule hasn't changed, you should have your day off today.


Please don't bring anybody else. This isn't for them. This isn't for the team, or the job, or any of it...this is for you. And for me.


It isn't signed, as you see. But I knew. And you all know; I can see it in your faces. The reference in the first line, his way of saying that he is sorry for not writing a better letter; his calling me "beautiful" as he always used to...it is even his hand, scrawled as ever.


I went to see him, of course, and as he requested I went alone. Thinking on it after, I was slightly surprised I wasn't recognized as I walked through the city streets...but then, I remember what he once told me: "no one really believes they're sitting next to the people in the news."


When I arrived at the Finch, Mr. Niwrad nodded me to a back booth, cordoned off with a curtain. It was early afternoon, so the place was quiet, only a few patrons having lunch. No one seemed to notice me as I crossed to the booth. I went in...and he looked up from the other side of the table. He was nursing a beer, or at least, something dark in a pint glass...so for a moment, I wasn't sure it was really he. It didn't help that I barely recognized him. He looked ten years younger. I suppose that for the first time, he looked like himself. We all know, intellectually, that he was--is--so very young, but all of us always thought of him as the mysterious commander, distant, aloof, beyond such realities as age. And he had literally carried the weight of the world on his shoulders; that made him look older. But now, all that had been wiped away.


And whatever else had happened in the meantime, he obviously had started to become more comfortable with showing how he felt, because he smiled sadly as I sat down. It was unnerving, to see emotion so plainly on that face. "Naira," he said. "You came."


"Did you think I would not?"


He shrugged. "I couldn't do more than hope. I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd ignored me. What I did to you...it was cruel. I should have at least had the courage to say goodbye."


"Yes, you should," I snapped, surprising myself. I relented. "You look...good." It was weak, but I couldn't find the words. He looked young, he looked as if a weight had been lifted from him.


He looked like a normal person.


"So do you," he said, not showing any reaction to my anger, or my poor words. I don't know if he even noticed, though I suspect he did. "You look fantastic, actually."


"How did you even get back here?" It wasn't what I'd expected to ask him, but it was what came out of my mouth.


He shrugged, and a bit of his old smirk crept onto his face and into his tone. "I flew."


"But—"


"Commercial jetliner." He held up a ticket for Air Mendellia. "After all, it's not as if Mendellian Customs and Security has reason to attach red flags to my name. Or, for that matter, the necessary knowledge."


"Why come back now? Why come back at all?"


"To apologize to you," he said simply. "Like I wrote you, I'm not worried about the team or the mission. Logistically, functionally, practically, they'll recover; none of us was ever indispensable, after all. Kristy and Josh, or whoever took over--I don't want to know, don't tell me--will do a fine job. On a personal level, well, I kept myself distant from everybody. I didn't have loose ends to tie off, there were no feelings of unfinished business that will cripple anybody. In time, they'll stop feeling the lack. Eventually they'll stop missing me at all. That's life. Sometimes, pieces break off cleanly.


"But with you...it's different. I don't doubt you got over what I did, but you deserved more than what I gave you."


"Why did you leave me?" I finally demanded. He winced, and looked down. I barely heard him when he responded.


"...I didn't want to," he said. He raised his head and continued. "I suppose I had to leave you because I had to leave here. The job was killing me, Naira. Another few months and I'd probably have had a nervous breakdown...at best."


"Why didn't you talk to me? I could have helped you."


"You did," he said. "I'd have lost it even faster without you, believe me."


"But you didn't tell me about any of this."


"I couldn't."


"But why?"


He took a deep breath. "Do you know why I went by my pseudonym, to the exclusion of my name?"


I shook my head.


"Originally, it was a sort of signal to myself. A demarcation line between 'normal life,' with my family and my friends--the part of my life that didn't feel like a fever dream--from the part that involved me dealing with secret technology and alien invaders. I didn't want to get those mixed up.


"Then it also became protective. I was still drawing the line, but I was making sure to keep the normal life completely inaccessible, because I didn't want to hurt my friends or my family. Even then, sometimes it happened." He scowled, and I knew he was thinking about his friends, who had been kidnapped because of who he was. He had told me about that, after it happened--”full disclosure,” he had said.


"But it kept that to a minimum,” he went on. “So I spent less and less time in my normal life, and it started to wither."


"And at the same time, I became mythology here. I was already being seen as this incredible leader, and what with being Force-cloaked...an unreal name, and those tricks I kept playing with the communications system, helped cement a reputation, both within the group and in general, that helped the job. Gave the group a strong center, held everything together.


"Add all that up, and I was killing the real person for the sake of the image and the job."


I shook my head. "You could have stopped. Just...dropped the masquerade and started being the 'real person,' as you called it."


"Maybe. At first, perhaps. As the whole image became stronger, it would have been harder. And there's another thing..." He trailed off.


I waited, but finally, curiosity got the better of me. "Yes?"


"Do you know how old I am?"


"You never told me specifically. Young."


"Yeah, well, I'll tell you specifically now...I'm nineteen."


I don't know if my jaw actually fell open, but it certainly felt like it. He gave me a crooked grin.


"Everyone knows I'm young, but they don't actually know how young. But think this through--I was sixteen when I took command of Terra Group. I wasn't even of legal age in most countries. So, for one, I was an idiot. Everybody is an idiot at sixteen. I'm still an idiot, truthfully, because everybody's an idiot at nineteen too, but hopefully less of one, or at least a more adult idiot. Hell, in America, I still couldn't be drinking this beer.


"I wasn't a real person yet, Naira. I didn't have a person I could have been. I was still a kid, who went from childhood straight into mythology. There was no adult behind the masquerade, and the masquerade itself wasn't sustainable. I had to leave the job, for good. I'm still not a real person, but at least now I can start becoming one."


I shook my head again. I'm sure I didn't understand all of what he told me, but it seemed to make a certain amount of sense. "But you could have stayed in the country..."


"Leaving, but staying in contact? I'm not sure which would happen sooner--my instincts would kick in or they'd talk me into taking my job back. No matter how much we all tried, they'd still look at me as the boss, and I'd still look at them as my subordinates. I couldn't stay."


"But--"


"I might have asked you to come with me," he said, "and maybe you would have, and maybe you wouldn't. But I couldn't ask. You have a life here, Naira. A family, work, a culture, responsibilities...a place. I'd never ask you to walk away from all of that.


"So, there it is. I couldn't stay, and I couldn't ask you to leave. So I did the only thing I could. And in the process, I hurt you, terribly. I'm not asking for forgiveness--"


"Miles Vorkosigan again?" I interrupted. He smiled sadly. He'd introduced me to the character, so he knew what I meant.


"Something like that. But I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry. I wavered back and forth about coming here for today--would I be twisting the knife, should I just let sleeping dogs lie. But I always felt that I’d left something unsaid, and I finally thought both of us could stand it.”


I nodded. It hurt to see him again, but it was more of a memory—I don’t know what I would have done if he’d appeared earlier, but enough time had passed now. We sat silently for a few moments.


"You could ask me to come with you now," I finally said.


"I could, but you wouldn't. We both know that. And it's too soon for me to come back--if I ever can. So, there we are."


"Yes," I said faintly. "I suppose, there we are."


He took my hand. "Farewell, beautiful Naira," he said, and kissed it, just as he had that day in Jerusalem. "Don't wait for me, don't put your life on hold. Live, and live well."


I stood, crossed to him, and kissed him. Thoroughly. When we could sustain the embrace no longer, I stepped back. "Farewell."


"Oh," he said, as I turned to leave. "One more thing."


"There always is, isn't there?" I said, smiling despite the tears in my eyes.


“I could be completely wrong,” he said. I think something showed on my face, because he chuckled, low. “It’s something I’ve had to contend within the last year, being wrong. A lesson I probably should have learned before I took command, but never mind.


“It’s possible that someday, the factors keeping us apart will shift--that you’ll leave Mendellia, or that I’ll feel able to come back. Or you may decide that I’m wrong and you’d rather throw away your life and friends and family. Or, hell, something even weirder. This is Mendellia, after all. I know how to get in touch with you, so it’s only fair. Just...not unless you have to. Here.”


He held out an envelope. I took it, and I left, and I have never seen him since.


------


"...and I never opened it. Until now." She held the envelope out to Kristy, who took it.


"'Do not open unless absolutely necessary,'" she read.


"Does this qualify?" Lenka asked. “He gave that to you, Naira, not the team. I think he intended it to be for if you wanted to join him in his--self-imposed exile.”


Naira didn’t smile, not exactly, but her face lightened. “True--but he gave it to me, to do with as I chose. I may not be doing as he intended, but it’s my choice to make.”


Becki nodded, but asked, “Will he agree with you?”


“He should,” she replied. “As well, if any part of him is as we remember...he didn’t have a martyrdom complex, but he always believed that there were issues bigger than he was. Causes worth committing to. I do not think--I cannot think--that he would believe his life to be more important than the future of the planet. And...” She hesitated, then continued. “And I think he was wrong. He thought that you--the

team--wouldn’t miss him, professionally...but he didn’t consider personally. He came back to apologize to me once enough time had passed...perhaps it’s past time for him to apologize to everybody else.”


“Damn straight,” Kristy muttered under her breath, but then stopped.


"But now that we know how he felt..."


Becki inhaled slowly, her years of royal authority and presence asserting themselves. "One hopes it has been long enough for all of us. And that he has found the adulthood he wished for--and that it is strong enough to survive...what we're about to do to it."


Kristy nodded, and all eyes went to her hands as she tore open the envelope.