Labor's Love Lost 12

A few years later, while Drambol was working in his own silent way on some piece of equipment that had been kicked by a Steed in transit, Finbor came to his side and nudged him with her shoulder. Drambol nodded, but as usual didn't bother to speak. His throat and vocal chords had been investigated numerous times, they were all intact. All the nerves should work perfectly. But he simply did not speak. When it came to his sister, he didn't need to.

They spoke through the machinery around them, apparently. Nlaldes had watched them at times, amazed that while not a sound was shared, Finbor would go in to his chambers for something he'd asked about, and come out a moment later with exactly the right thing. It almost looked like the siblings didn't even exchange a glance, half the time. But this time they did, because Finbor was asking something personal.

{{Make me something, I know what I want.}} She sent to him, through the electric patterns of the machine nearby.

[[What is it you want, sister?]] He replied. There was no voice, no equivalent – only she knew that his voice ‘sounded' this way.

{{A microphone, something that I can have near me. When I am near the comm units, and someone speaks, I can understand them. I want that with me.}}

Drambol nodded once, and scavenged around in the mess of his work table. He'd been given every scrap piece from Nlaldes' Holds after a while, since something interesting was always on the way out when he was done with it. Within minutes, he'd assembled a tiny pick-up microphone and a small button battery for her. She held it in her hands, glanced back at him and nodded. Exiting, she was going to try finding out if it worked.

She ran into her Lord, and looked up at him. She was twenty, he nearing one-hundred eighty, yet the love in both their eyes was clear. It was almost as though he'd sired her himself, they were so close now.

“I have this, could you speak to me? I want to see if it works.” She told him, holding up the little contraption to him. His eyes were ailing a bit, so he peered closely at it.

“What is it you'd like me to say, Finbor?” He asked, and she almost dropped the device. Excited, she bolted back to her brother, hugged him, and then ran back to her Lord.

“I heard you, through my power! I heard you!” She jumped up and down.

“That's a very novel thing,” Nlaldes said, glancing around the glass-walled corner into the workshop. “Thank you,” he said to the boy Slave, who nodded back to him. “Normally if someone has no powers this could be implanted into their jaw,” Nlaldes said, “but that has a terrible side effect.”

Finbor was still so excited she hardly knew what he was saying – even though she could feel quite clearly what he said.

“I didn't dare put one of those inside your body, Finbor, you'd have lost all your powers. Then where would we be?”

“Lost? Lost my powers? Why?” She asked, realizing what had been said.

He explained that in Breeders terms, Zekiran's powers were purely genetic. But there was some power, some mental energy they could expend beyond themselves – their auras could be seen by those with the right senses, people like she and her brother could feel electric and electronic energies, everything in between. Those who had the ability to see it, claimed, or so Nlaldes said, that when someone with a stronger power used it, their energies flowed into it. Electric powers were the rarity – so valuable were they that this was why Nlaldes had specialized in finding and Breeding those who had them. Electric powers were rare, he said, because machinery and genetics rarely ‘got along' with one another.

“But wouldn't I be able to fix that, if you had put it in?” She asked.

“Perhaps, but … I didn't want to take that chance. I would not deny you the very power that has kept you important all this time, after all. It was too great a risk.” He put his hand on her shoulder and began to walk, she followed near him.

“You don't bet very often, either,” Finbor added with a nod. “It was a gamble that would not be healthy. I understand. Where are we going?”

Though she had of course been inside the Breed Lord's personal chambers many times, mostly to fix that old vid unit, this was something different. He continued walking past the main room, through his reading study, and past there into a more private sleeping den. It smelled of old days, it had a feeling of ancient privacy to it. Into an ornate wooden dresser, the Breed Lord reached his large hands. Out from it, came a box.

He sat down on his large bed, and patted next to him for Finbor to sit. She obliged, and looked closely at the box.

Opening it was a complicated affair, two little latches and a hook, and then he set it between them. Inside was a loose collection of chains, cameos, jewlery. Finbor tilted her head, and looked at each of the things he pulled out.

There were gold and silver chains, slightly tarnished from having been in the box for so very long. Finbor could guess that they were all much older than he was, and that said a lot. They were not men's chains, certainly not fit for a man of his size or girth – they would be swallowed up by his very size. So clearly they had once belonged to a woman.

Finbor realized with a start, she knew whose they were – she'd passed the portrait every day! She'd seen the neck chain and the earrings, and one of the shirt clips… His mother's!

Finally Nlaldes located the thing he'd been searching for. Cupped in one hand was a slender gold chain. While the other held what looked like a ball of finely carved ivory.

“Open it,” Nlaldes said, “go ahead. The ball opens.”

True, there was a slight line where the two halves joined. She looked at it, then realized it twisted apart. Gently, she had no idea how fragile it might be. It was empty inside, which was a faint disappointment to the Slave.

But then Nlaldes took the little microphone device from her hand, and put it inside the ivory ball. “Wear this, perhaps you'll need to put some cotton inside, cushion it a little.” He fiddled with one old box which had equally old cotton – pressing it into the ball around the battery it made the microphone more steady.

When he put the necklace around his Slave's head he had to be careful of draping it over her ears. Privately he smiled, and noticed of course that she was crying freely. Settling the chain around her narrow neck, he smoothed out her shoulders, patted her hair and pulled her close to kiss her forehead.

“I'll be retiring, soon,” he told her. “And you know that I myself have no heirs.”

“Why haven't you ever married, my Lord?” She asked, wiping the tears from her eyes.

“All the women I've courted have turned out to merely want a piece of my Breeding house, not me. Not me,” he said again, sadly.

“Well then they're all silly women, indeed!” Finbor said, gently closing the wooden jewlery box and standing. Though she was an adult, she hardly stood higher than her Lord did when he was seated. She threw her arms around his heavy neck and whispered in her way (which was hardly a whisper) that she loved him, thanked him, and wanted him to know she'd always be loyal even without the fine gifts he gave her.

Breed Lord Nlaldes retired officially a few years after Bormim's final sibling was born, Halmor was his name and he was not sold off. At last, the Breeder gathered his favorite Slave family into his office. Mormo, growing past middle age, Slaves had such notoriously short lives, and though she started her life out as an Animal Master they too often sported stunted ages. So Mormo, Bormim, Finbor and Drambol, and young Halmor all sat in the large comfortable seats across a huge table from their Lord.

The pink color on his skin had begun to fade, from a once-vivid salmon to a more sedate rose. His hair, once thickly covering his head, was now an antique gold sheen combed fitfully over a mostly-bare pate. Those merry golden-yellow eyes were more sulfur-colored, whited over a bit with age. He was the image of a once-strong, once-handsome man… But he was fading into his last days, and everyone including himself, knew it.

He summoned his voice, and said, “Mormo, you came from Status outside of this, and it is to that Status you may return, if you wish, when I die. That will be your choice to make. I am planning on leaving the Women's House to you, I know that your care is exactly what it requires.”

Before she could speak, he continued. The others knew that their turn to speak would be later.

“I've come to learn that your son Kosmi has lapsed into Bayaran,” he added, “but you will not be held responsible for his debts – I plan on making that eminently clear.”

What an interesting way to learn of that, Mormo thought to herself. She would discover later, from the envelope of information he handed her, that Kosmi and several of his friends went to Astan investing in apple trees and the like. Their bakery idea fizzled when ingredient prices skyrocketed – there had been a huge fire on the plains nearby that wiped out all but two fields – and even the Beast Lady Dez who was the founder of the venture lost everything she had for that time.

“Bormim, you and Halmor will share the main house's Lands specifically. I know that you are very familiar with its workings, and your little brother will have nothing to worry about growing up.” Since Bendill's death had taken them all by surprise several years back, and he Owned very few male Slaves at all, it was clear that Nlaldes really did want to have everything in working order when he passed.

He turned to the other pair at the table, “Finbor, Drambol, my clinics will not run without you. Though the business itself will be passed along to another Breeder friend of mine, you will be left in charge of not only the machinery and records, but the Holds. If you do not agree with the policies of Breed Mistress Kelma, you may see fit to ask her to leave and bring in someone of your own choosing. It could be quite lucrative for you, actually…” He gave a chuckle. “There are other Holds, those will be split up among the other Slaves. All of my Slaves will be Raised to Land Holders, when I pass on.” He added a moment later, “you've been noticing that all the Bayaran are gone, haven't you?”

Choked up, no one really knew what to say. Finally, Mormo stood and said, “I will enjoy serving the same purpose, my Lord, I enjoy caring for children immensely. But, how would I go about… making myself available for nanny work? Don't I need to be a Breeder to actually do it myself?”

“For yourself, perhaps… Perhaps something else can be worked out.” He tapped his finger against the table. “I will find out from one of my Membayar associates. You know they do all that paperwork.”

She nodded, and though the feeling at the table was a bit grave, it had seemingly sparked something inside all of them. There were three other smallish Holds, which the fourteen other women that Nlaldes Owned would be able to split. Two of them actually had multiple houses on them, and one was so large that it could easily be split up into half a dozen Holds.

Mormo nodded again, and said, “Lord, should we pass this information along to the others? They will need to be trained for Status exams, if I remember correctly.”

“That's correct, Mormo,” Nlaldes nodded. “Again,” he sighed, “I am going to have to have my Membayar work on mock tests for them. It won't be much different from their current duties, but you're right, their money and Holds will have to be attended to properly, and they've never had to do that before.”

Only Mormo looked at this with a little fear or dread. The others were beginning to warm up to the idea. Drambol, drawing himself up off his chair, gave a formal bow.

“Thank you, my Lord,” he said in a faint but clear voice. “You are extremely kind, I will do my best for you.”

Everyone including Lord Nlaldes erupted into a surprised cheer – the first thing he'd ever said, after sixteen years!

Though it had taken some work, as many of the Slaves weren't sure that they could survive on their own after their whole lives of service, Mormo convinced them they could in fact do what they were used to doing. They didn't have to jump into politics, they were not going to require too much outside handling. Master Vye, who had assisted Mormo's divesting, was there to help them in Nlaldes' twilight. He was quite kind, and very sharp. He provided the women with testing that they would need to go over, and all but one of them really knew their stuff by the time Nlaldes did pass away.

Everyone was familiar with the Holds, of course, they didn't need to worry about being put into a new place. There were Steeds with carriages, lots of old equipment and lovely furnishings, posessions that with few exceptions were simply split among the women and their last children. Nlaldes specifically willed his mother's things to Finbor, and she enjoyed that attention greatly. That and his video unit, she cherished. Otherwise the group of women sorted everything out by who had used it most or more often, who needed it, or in the case of things that no one really ever thought about, who thought it would look nicer in their room.

Only two children were born to Inherit thus – Halmor and little Ednen. The other women's children had been born and sold off before Nlaldes retired. He purposefully wanted to keep things more simple for himself and everyone involved. It was a good thing, too, because several people came forward claiming to be relatives, and Finbor knew better than that. Mormo did too, and two of the other women. They lodged quick and formal complaints, and when things were settled it turned out that those people were relatives of women he'd courted and dropped. For good reason, it looked like.

Finbor commented at his funeral that he was a very good man, let alone an exceptional Breeder and Owner. And it was a shame that no women outside his Slaves really ever knew him that way. She detected the few spots of regret or ire in the assembled folk, during his memorial service. There was one, Nlaldes had told her about a woman he'd courted years before her birth, and there was another who slunk in and away from the service just long enough to be made painfully aware of her mistake to deny Nlaldes her hand.

A good number of the older Slaves – now Land Mistresses – who got up to speak were eloquent and able speakers. It became clear to Nlaldes' contemporaries in the audience that there was a reason he kept his Slaves in comfort and training. They would go far – they had to, every one of them worked harder than a paid Worker, and knew their subjects better than most Membayar.

Shortly after the memorial, teary-eyed farwells ensued. The new Holders of the lands that had been split up gathered their few personal things, and jetted off to those faroff Lands. Mormo had been given a special meeting with a pair of Membayar, one a Breeder as well, to discuss how her services at the Women's House would be continuing. Happily, she discovered that not only did her long service in that regard give her a strong boost in the community, there were half a dozen Breeders in this gathering who wished to see about hiring her.

She'd be getting paid for her work, for the first time in over sixty years. And paid handsomely she noticed with a smile. She retained the Membayar's services to keep her books up and make sure all the right forms were filled out. Though always, she checked each and every client before hand. One such Breed Lady was turned down outright, when she expected her Slave's child to be regularly disciplined (because, she said, that's what he'll have to learn to expect as an adult). Another, died while his Slave was in transit to the Women's House.

Mormo called Vye immediately. There was one more easy solution now, after a dozen years at this being paid. She returned to Animal Master status, and bought the Slave for herself.

The Teklel clinic on the other hand was a masterful mess. Kelma was a lovely woman, very friendly and fun to be around. She put energy into her work, which Finbor and Drambol appreciated. She also wanted to have parties on the site, which they didn't. After all, they did live there – in the lush apartment attached to the inner courtyard of the clinic grounds. After two parties, they did have to lay down the law. No more, since there would be delicate instruments damaged or in danger of such… Quietly, Kelma sulked, but agreed anyway. In order to make up for that, however, Kelma offered her own Breeding services to Finbor.

“I'm half tempted to have her sent to grandmother, to have her take care while we're busy here,” Finbor said of her daughter. Nilpa was a dark skinned girl, violet with brightly yellow-green stripes mixing her mother and father's colors. Only half joking, Finbor had to devise a way of communicating with her own daughter – since she was not completely deaf but could not really make out what Finbor needed as a young child.

“It's too bad Nurr is no longer alive,” Mormo said, cradling her great-granddaughter lovingly, “she did have a way with you as well.” She returned to her House, coming back several times a month just to make sure everyone was safe and happy.

There was no doubt that everyone who had been involved with the old Breed Lord was going to make out just fine. The expansive Hold in Tana, it would seem, was perfect for Steed grazing, and all the women there loved attending the parties which were hosted at the huge Mansion there. The others, broken down into more minor Holdings and kept as simple homesteads, the women found work quickly enough doing their old jobs – cleaning and cooking, one went into a more successful pastry business than Mormo's son had.

Only when one of the women wanted to find out the whereabouts of her Bred children, did anyone become agitated. She claimed she did have the right to find out, the problem was that by now, her children had been sold and scattered. Finbor gave her what little information she still had – it was old, Hard Stock records from almost a century before. But at least that gave her some hope, something to do while she herself grew older.

The others didn't want to know. Perhaps it would bring back memories, or create new strife where none had really been before. With Mormo caring for their children to begin with, they knew that short of being sold off to a truly horrifying Owner, they all were going to be well-adjusted Slaves.

“Aren't you curious?” Asked Drambol, then laughed at himself and re-thought through a word-processor, [[Aren't you curious about their children? Where they've gone, if any of them have been Raised like us?]]

{{Hardly,}} Finbor said. {{It does come down to this, it's a business. It was, and will always be. That part of our lives is over, but it's not like we can retroactively pursue it in our new Status.}}

[[Good point, but I'm sure they would want to…]]

{{And if they ask, I'll try and hunt up their records. But you know there won't be much now. Some of those children were born a century before us, they're aunties and uncles to us.}}

They dropped the subject, when a new client came into the Breeding Center, and Kelma needed a bit of fine tuning on one of the devices in the back…