Chapter 12 - well i worry about my present situation,
my bookie says my odds are next to none,
but i'd worry if my chances were improving,
i got ulcers from the worrying I've done
The Oligarchia emerged from the transtellar worm-hole in a burst of greeny-yellow sparkles and glided into the pale orange atmosphere of a distant planet. It hovered in the sky over Ropfopeeoliop, Bopthopiomiop's capital city, the seat of the Galactic Council of Ruling Families.
Pluckie rested her forehead against the space yacht's window and looked down on the city landscape below. Normally she would have been fascinated by the sturdy domes and shiny obelisks rising out of the fetid swamp, but at that moment she was too consumed with heartache to notice the impressive, alien engineering.
Less than an hour ago, her future brother-in-law had yelled terrible things at her. Duke had said she was manipulative and cruel and that no one liked her pie. How was that possible? If no one liked her Christmas Cream Pie then it wouldn't have won the Moon Camp talent show all those years ago.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the good, wholesome, recycled air of the Oligarchia.
The issue with Duke could not be ignored, but at that moment she had to focus on winning approval from a council of judgmental aliens. She dug down deep into her heart to find the strength she needed. It took the form of a red-hot ball of energy, pulsating with kindness. She let it grow, metaphorically expanding through her body, until she was ready to face the day in front of her.
Pluckie opened her eyes and stood up straight. She would win over the Ruling Families and by the end of the day she would be married to the man she loved. It was Christmas Day, after all, and nothing bad ever happened on Christmas.
"Are you ready?"
Drak walked down the corridor toward her. He was a vision of princely beauty. The light glinted off his black and chrome armor. His dress cape, with its gold embroidery and ermine collar, billowed out behind him. He stopped at her side and held out his elbow.
She took his arm, resting her hand on top of his. With her other hand, she touched the gemstone on her mother's necklace. "I'm ready."
They would disembark from the Oligarchia in a regal parade. For that reason, everyone crowded into the passenger gangplank elevator. They rode down in silence, Pluckie and Drak holding hands the whole way.
When the doors opened they all emerged onto the soggy, mossy ground. Prince Drak was first with Pluckie at his side, followed by Nova and Bubby, then Patrick Smythe. Next came H.C. Darcy, whom everyone assumed was Duke Revin. He peered longingly over his shoulder at the emotionless face of Vori Gadalov.
Behind the stoic bodyguard marched Gasha Kovacevic, Yan and Diego Browne, Cookbot, Kiko Chiru, and in the very back the real Count Duke. No one recognized him because he wore sunglasses and a floppy hat.
He raised up on his tiptoes and tired to see over the procession. "I gotta get to the front," he said, his voice low enough so only Kiko could hear him. "I gotta get to Drak and recite a poem."
Kiko studied the back of the man she mistook for the Count. "That bodyguard will stop us as soon as I make a move."
She was right, Duke knew it. Gadalov hadn't hesitated when he thought there was a Ralfie assassin onboard. He'd never let anyone get past him to the Royal Family. That didn't mean the situation was hopeless. Duke would wait for an opportunity to present itself. It was Christmas Day, after all. Opportunities always presented themselves on Christmas.
Onlookers and well-wishers lined the processional path. The crowd was mostly made up of Bopthopiomiops, it was their home planet after all. But Duke also saw the turquoise faces of Kardibeeans, the webbed ears of Sinatrans, and the double nostrils of humans. He even spotted the hooded figures of the Paladins of Quar. The ancient and mysterious warrior monks rarely left their dojo temple, so clearly this wedding was a big deal.
It was obvious from the crowd's cheers that the vast majority loved the Revins. In the past, he would have taken credit for that love. He was the one member of the family who made sure he was constantly in the media's eye. Yet, at that moment, he didn't care about any of that. All he wanted was to get to the front and reconnect with his brother.
The procession came to an abrupt stop when a woman cried out, "Oh My Goodness!"
Duke leaned to his right until he could peer around the side of the royal column. He saw Pluckie Smythe dash out into the onlookers and embrace a triple eyed Nebtrebkan.
"Xhia!" Pluckie held her dear friend close. "You came. I can't believe you came."
"Of course, Dahling." The popular music singer dislodged herself from Pluckie's grasp and held her at arm's length. "How could I not give you the gift of me." Xhia motioned to three human women behind her. "You remember my backup singers, Whiskey, Vermouth, and my new one, Triple Sec."
"Does this mean you'll sing at my wedding?" Pluckie asked. Her face was practically beaming with happiness.
"That or your funeral," Xhia replied. "Whichever the situation calls for."
"Thank you." Pluckie was near tears. "I can't tell you how much that means to me."
Their joyful reunion was interrupted by a loud cough. Pluckie looked up to see a majestic being standing in the middle of the processional path.
With his moist, puce skin; wide, flat mouth; and seven hundred small tentacles emerging from his torso, Pluckie knew right away he was a Bopthopiomiop. Judging by the ermine cloak draped over his back, he was a member of the Galactic Council, and not just a regular member. He was the Head of the Galactic Council of Ruling Families.
Behind him stood the rest of the Ruling Council; Faasnos the Prim of Zeemle, Empress Grinda of Li'l Jep, Theodophilia Amaneusese of Mydaho, Cow, and the Seven Sterks of Ickyplicky. Each one had its own distinct color and weird body part, but they all wore identical ermine cloaks and identical expressions of disapproval.
"A commoner, Drak?" the Bopthopiomiop croaked. "You want approval to marry a commoner?"
Out of the corner of her eye, Pluckie saw Nova grab a decorative satchel tied around her waist.
Bubby rested a hand on his sister's elbow and whispered, "Not yet."
Drak stretched out his arm to Pluckie, inviting her to rejoin him at his side. "I think, Bob," he said, "that if you took the time to get to know Pluckie before the official ceremony, you would see she's anything but common." He turned his head so his mask was pointing at her. Presumably there was a look of adoration in his eyes. "I have fallen in love with the most extraordinary woman in the universe."
A heartfelt, "Awww," rose up among the crowd of onlookers.
"They make a cute couple," Empress Grinda said.
While the sixth Sterk muttered, "They're no Brandalee."
Bob of Bopthopiomiop stroked his chin with one of his upper tentacles. "The strife between Bopthopiomiops and Humans goes back many generations, but I will not let that cloud my decision," he said, a thoughtful cadence to his speech. "Sure, humans are a petty, violent species with nasty opposable thumbs and strange keratin proteins growing out of their bodies, but I will not prejudge this Pluckie Smythe, no matter how much the sight of her hurts my eyes." He turned and slithered toward an ornate set of double doors. "Come, human presenting as female, walk with me so that I may learn the sort of creature you are at your core."
With a reassuring nod from Drak, Pluckie left the procession to join the Head of the Council of Ruling Families.
H.C. watched her go and wondered which one of her emotional tricks she would use to manipulate the defenseless alien. His eyes drifted away from his nemesis to the royal twins. He was close enough to them to hear what they were saying.
"You should have let me do it." Nova clutched her decorative satchel to her chest. "The hydroponic device won't reach him from here."
"There's still a chance she can win him over." Bubby didn't sound confident. "As long as she doesn't trip or anything."
"Let's be honest." Tears spilled from the young princess' eyes. "She's going to trip and at the worst possible moment."
"She is," Bubby agreed, his voice thick with emotion, "because she's always been clumsy."
"So very, very clumsy."
"They're going to throw her to the Firegators. She's going to die."
Duke Revin had managed to sneak his way up to the middle of the processional column. Now he stood silently, waiting for an opening to slip past Gadalov. He wasn't close enough to the Royal Family to get his brother's attention, but he was close enough to hear the lamentations of his niece and nephew.
"We will never have a mother," Nova sobbed. "We will be miserable for the rest of our lives."
"My only consolation," Bubby cried, "is that I didn't waste my time finishing the wedding dress."
Now, more than ever, Duke had to get back to his place in the Royal Family, not because he wanted to be Count Revin, but because he needed to be Uncle Duke. If today was going to be the worst day of Nova and Bubby's life, then he would be there for them, to help them get through it.
He glanced up to see Pluckie and Bob of Bopthopiomiop slip through the ornate double doors. In his heart he prayed she would not end the day in a Firegator pit. But it was Christmas Day, and Firegators always feasted on Christmas.
"--except no one really notices," Pluckie was saying as the ornate doors closed behind her and Bob, "because I have a special shampoo that treats it."
"Well, that is..." Bob paused to roll his eyes, all nine and a half of them. "...Something."
Pluckie stopped short and gazed at the somber room around them. "We're in the Hall of Destiny."
Bob clasped half his tentacles behind his back. "Yes, we are. It has been an honor to host the Hall for this short time. We will miss it when it moves to its next home."
"Bopthopiomiop isn't its permanent home?"
"To make sure no one civilization is afforded too much power, the Hall of Destiny is moved every galactic year."
She started to count it out on her fingers. "That's how many Earth years?"
"250 million." Bob answered. "Hardly seems like any time at all."
Pluckie's eyes ran along the narrow, red carpet that stretched across the floor and ended at a raised dais on the far side of the room. On top of the dais was a gigantic, stone chair, and on the chair rested a golden, jewel encrusted stick."
"The Throne of Fate." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "The Scepter of Kismet."
"I will hold the Scepter when I pronounce judgement on you."
"Will you be sitting on the throne too?" Pluckie asked.
Bob shook his head. "Only the Heir to the Galaxy may sit upon the Throne of Fate."
"Will the Heir be here today?"
"Do they teach nothing in your human schools?" He rolled his eyes in the opposite direction. "The Heir to the Galaxy is lost, but one day they will return to take their place on the throne and peace will descend over all of us and everlasting love will reign throughout the universe."
"That sounds really nice," Pluckie said. "How will you know who the lost Heir is?"
"They will have a key to unlock their birthright," Bob explained. "One small problem: No one ever wrote down what that key would be, so we're kind of relying on the Heir to know what they have."
"Oh my goodness!" Her hand shot up to touch her necklace. "My mother always said this gemstone was the key to unlocking my birthright, but she died before she could tell me what that meant."
"That's..." He took a halting step backwards. "That's incredible."
"So I totally get," she continued, "why you're frustrated no one wrote it down. You don't know what your key is. I don't know what my key unlocks."
"Yes," he agreed. "It is unreasonable to give us part of the story and just assume we're going to figure it out on our own."
"It could be right in front of us," she said. "How crazy is that?"
"Totally crazy!" Bob stopped and studied her for a moment. "I like you Pluckie Smythe. Unless you do something disastrous during the Cérémonie de Demande, you don't need to worry about being thrown to the Firegators."
"Thanks Bob."
He reached two tentacles behind him and grabbed the handles of the heavy, ornate doors. With a quick yank, he threw open the doors and called to the crowd gathered outside, "Come on in. Let's get this Cérémonie started."
END CHAPTER TWELVE