Maysie's Galaxy ONC 2023

Boss

The Musée Jacquemart-André hurt Maysie's eyes. There was opulence in rich homes and then there was Mansion Opulence in Paris, France. And this was the manson of all mansions, built to showcase art, and once left to humanity before the fall of man.

Ethan quickly cut through the tour-guide's monologue. "We're here for your resident, not a tour."

The guide snapped her mouth shut in a grimace and pulled one of the servant's closets open to reveal a modern  custom elevator. "He said you would be in today, but one this young?"

" Shut it, Meg."

Maysie almost shook her head, but followed Ethan as he took the elevator down below the surface of the museum.

"One thing, Maysie..."

"Yes?"

"Don't ask him about how he came to live here. He's from an illegitimate bloodline that couldn't inherit the property and the only reason it was restored after the fall was because of its ties to him--a very upsetting subject, ok?"

"Mmmh..." Maysie gave a noncommittal grunt, not knowing what else to say to that. First, she'd have to look up the concept of illegitimate bloodline in that era of French history because Alder fiercely believed in all children being equal in inheritance and refused to spend much time on "old foolishness that needs to die".

He leaned over and held the door close button on the elevator while staring at her. It made her feel like her stomach flipped over, in soute of his being gentle about it. "I'm serious Maysie."

"Alright, jeez." Maysie stifled the urge to stomp in a tantrum.

He let go of the door and lead her into a casual den of an older man at a desk, writing madly, whom she guessed was a decade or so younger than Alder.

"Go soft on her, boss."

The man shook his head and spoke as he pleased. "Well, did you keep the contents of the letter from her?"

"As you ordered."

The other man set aside his writing to lean back in his chair. "It's time to let the girl read it."

Maysie was finally handed the paper that allowed her to cross several old nations. It was a betrothal--no surprise there, given everything that had been thrown at her--but the man on the other end? Warlord Édouard André, Supreme Ruler of Fallen Europe.

No wonder she was asked to not bring it up. He had to hear it daily, as people figured out who he was named after.

"This isn't a surprise that I came here under...well, this. My father did warn me that whatever the situation was down here, I might not have many choices in a partner..."

Édouard smirked at Ethan who refused to glare back--which showed a bit more of how he looked as a young man. "That paper is a formality, a protection for someone who has no rights. You have no citizenship, and honestly, individual citizens' rights don't save anyone. That betrothal contract is a bit like the old green cards of my youth.  Those petty monsters out there will take your ID, check its date, and keep tabs on you until it expires, and then they will fight over you as they see fit. That paper? I'll not see you or look for you once you walk out that door. Some who think they are my equal will take women early and then my people have to go in and end them..."

Maysie chose a seat during this small lecture. It went on for far longer than this, painting a world where the only safe woman was an armed one or a kept one--preferably both.

But what he didn't address was actual marriage to him and what that entailed. Not that she wanted a husband--let alone one this old--but just one round of sour grapes made her realize that she wasn't fit for the dark society that came out of the hatching. Europe sounded more like the America Alder knew. He had painted such fond memories about the time he traveled through Europe as a young man. It would break his heart to see how far it had fallen.

Honestly, it sounded worse than the US of the Encyclopedia. At least on paper, women had rights. It didn't sound like they bothered with that anymore.

"Any questions, miss?"

"None on what you discussed, sir."  She thought for a moment, trying to decide what was most important. "How many women on this visa are killed a year, and how many do you rescue, how long does it take to do that?"

"First, we put out a good 10,000 of these a year, and have for a decade. Roughly 100 die within that year, or 1%? The turf altercations are now around 30 a year and dropping, taking most about 2 weeks to recover. If they take much longer than that, they're a part of the dead, usually. Oh, and if you want out of this contract, you can willingly release it for a contract with another citizen. I have no interest in keeping a harem."

"So, how many wives do you have?"

Maysie expected a wince, a confession of how this at least appeared to be a lie from him. But he just stared at her with that deadly grin. "4032? I see them when they make reports on their work. I only take on those that benefit the nation to protect. But as far as women that I truly have a married life with? 2--one before the Turtle hatched who died in that fallout, and a woman far scarier than me, who had as much to do with making me a Warlord as I did myself."

"May her ladyship ever reign." Ethan genuflected as he poured himself a scotch from what looked like a Uranium glass decanter.

"Yes, yes, Sylvia is this nation's treasure.  Now, I assume you're asking about this because you want stronger protection?"

"No sir, just making sure I'm thorough."

"Alright, what can you do that makes you worthy? "

That startled Maysie. The idea that she might not be valuable has never crossed her mind. She felt very sheepish in admitting that. "Uh, I don't know."

"Well, what have you done with your life, beyond the report they called in when you made it to Gibraltar?"

"Uh, my father Alder taught me how to survive, things like reconditioning car batteries, hunting by snares, bows, and guns, building greenhouses, repairing simple machines."

"So you'd make a decent mechanic with training and a better scout out past our borders. How is that special? Anything else?"

Maysie felt uncomfortable with admitting to Talon's existence, but who knew when she'd get a chance like this again?  Worse that would happen, they would doubt her and kick her out for the year, to fend for herself. She breathed out and leaned her elbows on her knees--a position she learned from her father, just a step before you put your head between your knees, to not pass out. She knew she was going to sound completely bonkers. "While traveling down the neck, I was heavily hallucinating about a man from a different bird...ah, turtle. And I get it, it sounds crazy, but he left me full schematics for building working suspended-animation chambers. I think he's real, but what do I know? I had a father and this one dream person before I met your people. I want a chance to test this thing in my head."

Ethan let out a slow whistle, "Well, Maysie, you might well out-crazy them zebra-riding bastards."

"Ethan, lay off for a second," Édouard contemplated this news, as he leaned forward like Maysie had, then steepled his hands in front of his face as his eyebrows twitched. Finally, he had a decision. "Are you willing to work on this idea for the next year under the betrothal contract and risk not building connections to survive out there, only to earn your permanent position by results?"

Was she certain of Talon's existence? Absolutely--even had faith in the schematics rattling around in her head. But there was no guarantee that she would have everything ready within a year. "What if it's all is promising at the end of that year, but not complete?"

"We evaluate it then."

"How soon before I'm legally allowed to use my guns?"

Édouard tilted his head to the side for that one. "You can be certified on the way out to Spitsbergen."

At least then she'd be able to fend for herself within the constraints of society, with that bit of paperwork in her favor. "I think I can work with that."

"Ethan, transfer her to Björn.  She goes out on this regular trip. Emphasize her papers and needed training/testing."

Ethan nodded and Maysie thought this went a little too well for a ridiculous claim.