TICEES (6 page)

Dredon smiled at her confusion and took the objects from her. “Here,” he said, walking over to the chairs and setting the board on the table.

Chelan watched him for a moment and then realized that he was not going to sit in her presence, another deference associated with her title, she assumed. She moved to the table and sat and, confirming her assumption, he then sat beside her.

“It’s a laser,” he began. “When you activate it against the board, it forces a chemical reaction that rearranges the board’s molecules.” He took the pen in his hand and showed her a pressure point. Then he moved the pen over the board, and Chelan watched a faint red glow dissipate, leaving behind a fine black line. He turned the pen upside down and pointed to the other end. “This area contains a chemical that reverses the reaction.”

He made a gentle sweep over his previous line, and Chelan watched it fade from sight. Her eyes grew wide as he passed her the instrument, and her long, tapered fingers held it gingerly. She looked up at him. “Can it hurt me in any way?”

Dredon’s eyes sparkled. “No, my Lady. But you will notice that it is pressure sensitive. The harder you apply it to the board, the more the molecules will disperse, and the thicker the line.”

Chelan looked down at the pen and made a couple of experimental sweeps. Then she smiled. “Wow,” she breathed, her awe amplifying.

Dredon nodded to her, and she began to sketch. But his breath caught as he observed her incredible artistic talents unfolding. He watched in wonder as she systematically sketched out a flawless torso of her approximate dimensions and then sketched over it with her well-rehearsed gown.

When she was satisfied with her rendition, she turned it to him and watched his eyes light. “Do your women wear anything like that?” she asked.

Dredon shook his head slowly. “No, my Lady. It is so …” His voice trailed off. “It’s so elegant, so feminine.”

Chelan squirmed with delight. “Can it be done?”

Dredon looked deep into her brown eyes, temporarily rendered speechless by her beauty. He finally exhaled the breath he had been holding. “Yes.”

“Good!” Chelan clapped. “Now, I’ll tell you what I want for material, and you tell me if you have it.”

Dredon turned in his chair to face her directly and nodded.

“The material must be fine, with the shine and drape of satin.”

Chelan saw a faint twitch ripple over Dredon’s features, and she stopped. “Problems already?” she asked despondently.

“Oh, no, my Lady. Probably not with the material, but there is one with the language. What is satin?”

Chelan beamed. She had not thought of the problem of comparing fabrics between two worlds. “You just find a fabric with the hand and sheen I require and I will tell you if it is satin-like.”

He nodded to her, and she continued. “The fine folds you see here we call ruching, and they will run diagonally across the bodice to my hip. The gown must hug me perfectly. From my hips down, it will radiate fully, the back trailing.”

“And may I ask what is the color of the gown?”

“Pink,” she replied cautiously.

Dredon straightened. “I don’t think you’ll find pink material within the Empire, my Lady.”

Chelan’s face fell. “Is there something wrong with that color?”

“No,” he replied. “I’ve just never seen it. Most of our women’s apparel is white, some cream, some black, and occasionally blue.” Dredon shrugged. “In a military society, it is the uniform that speaks for itself. Fashion on Iceanea makes no statements, so there is really no need for diversity, either in style or color.”

“But don’t your men like to see your women in dress other than the uniforms? Wouldn’t they find gowns and other clothing apparel interesting and possibly seductive?”

Dredon grinned. “In our society, women don’t have to seduce men to get their attention. And besides, nothing much you could wear would be much more revealing of the feminine form than our uniforms.”

Chelan saw his point. The skintight, near-living skin of the Iceanean uniform left little to the imagination whether donned by man or woman. She looked at him closely. “You say you have never seen pink within the Empire. What about the dress of women on other worlds?”

Dredon shrugged. “By the Empire, I mean Iceanea. Our men would probably be captivated on the odd occasion by the exotic dress of alien women, but we never see it.” He could tell instantly that Korba’s chosen was confounded. “My Lady, we are warriors. The men and women on this ship destroy worlds. We do not go down and attend their social events or ogle their women. We afford ourselves no such luxury or leisure, nor do we desire it.”

Chelan was struck by the obvious brutal truth behind his words, and she sighed. “But the men of your world still appreciate beauty, don’t they?”

Dredon nodded. “Possibly more than the males of any other society. But we have our own women, and just because I said that we did not take the time to appreciate the women of other worlds does not mean that we would deny ourselves the pleasure if it was afforded to us, or if we cared to. You are a prime example, my Lady.”

Chelan looked down, and her skin pinked. She was not sure how to respond to his obvious compliment, his unfamiliarity making her temporarily uneasy, so she changed the subject. “Okay, how do I get pink material?” she asked with quiet persistence.

Dredon simply shook his head.

Chelan furrowed her brow. Suddenly, she looked up at him, her face alight. “Can your materials take dyes?”

“Yes, I suppose. Certain types,” he affirmed.

Chelan jumped to her feet and raced to the food dispensary at the far wall, making a selection. Grabbing the Sana fruit, she ran back to him and split it open, revealing the rose-petal pink interior. “Would this work?”

Dredon stood. He looked at the fruit, then to her, and smiled. “Maybe, or with the proper mordant.” He was caught up in her excitement, and he returned to the table with a stack of fabric samples.

Chelan whispered. “Mordant?”

Dredon nodded. “A substance, usually an inorganic oxide that combines with a dye to fix it to a material.”

“Oh,” she uttered as she watched him set the black samples to one side and concentrate on the whites. She pointed to the black. “What are those for?”

“Uniforms mostly,” he answered. “Others are used for anything that requires fabric, including furnishings. We design and produce everything we may need on board with materials that are stocked from designated supply planets. That’s what I work on in my off-duty time when I’m not out with Korba or in training.”

Chelan continued to watch as he sorted through the fabric samples, selecting and putting aside specific pieces. Then he smiled broadly at one particular swatch, and he handed it to her.

Chelan took the material, and her heart nearly melted.

Dredon nodded at it. “It shimmers in the light, and it drapes beautifully. But I’m afraid I don’t know what a dye will do to it.”

Chelan’s gaze continued to behold the material. “What is it usually used for?”

Dredon hesitated, watching her carefully. “It is usually worn by a woman during the Letting ceremony,” he answered guardedly.

Chelan’s eyes snapped to his, and she smiled. “Oh, really? How appropriate,” she whispered.

Dredon was struck by her comment. But she was an alien, and she could not be Letted to an Iceanean, especially an Imperial Warlord. It was as simple as that.

Chelan then searched her vocabulary for anything that would approximate the term
lace
. Failing, she tried to explain. “Where I come from we have a material that comes in many forms and patterns that we call lace. Most of it is very fine, with numerous tiny holes. It’s not woven, it’s an open fabric constructed by looping or twisting threads. Oh, I’m not describing this very well.”

But the warrior nodded and reached back into the container. What he handed to her rendered her mute. Chelan took the sample. It was a beautifully delicate lace, its weave gossamer, its design exquisite. It was perfect. She raised it to the light, and it too danced in spectral splendor.

Suddenly, she grabbed the gown material and the fruit, and she beckoned to Dredon to follow. She stepped into the wash area and peeled the fruit quickly, extracted the pit, and mashed it into the sink. Chelan had not noticed, but Dredon had picked up a few more pieces of the fruit and had already peeled them. He handed them to her for crushing.

Chelan looked down at her hands when she was finished, noticing the slight pink stain to her skin, and she smiled. Holding her breath, she took the material and dipped it in, squeezing the juice into the weave. Withdrawing it, her eyes lit at the beautiful pastel color. Stepping to the other sink, she rinsed it, and her face fell. The color ran.

But Dredon remained undeterred. He snatched the material from her. “Here, we’ll try a super-heated mordant.” He pulled one of his knives from his boot and laid it in the juice. Then he withdrew a small lazgun from his side and adjusted it to a low energy setting. He reached for Chelan’s hand and drew her protectively behind him. He pointed at the sink and then shielded his face.

There was a brilliant flash and an angry hiss. Chelan peeked out from behind him and looked at the frothy pink juices alive from the energy afforded them by the laser.

Dredon then tossed the fabric into the bubbling liquid. Both of them stood silently as the fluid began to settle. Cautiously, Dredon plucked the material out and held it in front of her, the surface still steaming.

Chelan took it from him, holding it gingerly by her long fingernails, and placed it into the other sink. As the fresh water washed over it, Dredon edged to her side. Chelan lifted the material, and they both beheld the beautiful, iridescent-pink fabric.

She gasped with delight and then threw herself at Dredon, who caught her in his powerful arms. “Oh, you’re amazing,” she cried, hugging him close.

Dredon smiled warmly at her as she released him. He looked down at the fabric again. He took it from her and held it under her chin. “It does you justice, my Lady,” he commented. “The color is that of your beautiful cheeks.”

Chelan blushed and snatched the material from him.

Dredon chuckled at her inherent bashfulness. “And now it matches all your skin.”

Chelan finally laughed, and she hugged the fabric to herself.

Dredon then turned to retrieve his knife; the blue blade was dulled and pitted by the heat and the Sana juices.

“Oh, Dredon,” Chelan exclaimed. “What have we done to your knife?”

“It’s okay,” he assured. “If a thorough buffing does not bring it back, there are plenty more where it came from.” Then he sheathed the weapon and proceeded to clean out the sink.

“How much material will I need?” she asked excitedly.

Dredon looked at her. “I’m not sure, but I will dye it myself and make sure that there is plenty. Regardless, though, I should take your measurements so that we can begin with the pattern, and at the same time, I will get a good idea of the amount of fabric we’ll need.”

Chelan nodded as she followed him out of the en suite and into the bedroom. There she watched as he picked up an instrument that looked like a bizarre calculator. “What’s that?” she asked.

“It’s a measuring device that logs in specific body dimensions. It takes the measurements and stores them for further use.”

Chelan nodded her understanding, but suddenly her mind switched to yet another detail concerning the gown. “Dredon, do you have anything that looks like sequins?” Immediately, she detected another problem with the language. “On Earth, we use them to decorate fancy garments. They are small, shiny objects, disc-like, often with a hole in the middle so that they can be sewn on. They can come in all different colors, and they are usually faceted so that they reflect light.”

Dredon shook his head slowly. “No, sorry, my Lady. None of our dress is ever decorated, man or woman’s, except that of the Warlord’s dress uniform, and that is only with a fine thread of gold.”

Chelan squinted at him. “I didn’t know they had such a thing.” Then, she saw him smile, and a surge of excitement went through her. “What is it?” she asked.

“The sequins—I bet I know what to do for them. May I be excused for a moment, my Lady?”

Chelan smiled. “Yes, of course. I’ll wait.”

Dredon strode from the room, and Chelan resumed working on the dress, sketching the side and back views. He was not gone long before he returned to her with a small box. Stepping up to her, he opened it and presented her with its contents.

Chelan was in awe. They appeared to be sequin-like, but were more akin to beautiful jewels, their many tiny facets catching the light like diamonds. “What are they?” she whispered.

“They are discarded crystals, my Lady. They are the punched-out remnants of a large crystal assembly that focuses the lasers used in the weaponry of the fighters. The crystals are replaced frequently, and where they are attached to the fuselage, these small pieces are stamped out. I can get thousands of them.”

Chelan picked one up and held it over the fabric, its facets concentrating the color of the pink and making the crystal appear to be a shimmering, translucent jewel. To her, they looked like perfectly cut pieces of pink fluorite.

Chelan was still mesmerized by the gems when Dredon spoke. “And now for you.”

She looked up at him, noticing the measuring instrument in his hand. She held very still while he first studied her dress design and then looked to her.

Dredon nodded and then returned his attention to her sketch. “Where are you going to attach the sequins?”

“Along the top of the bodice all the way around. I will also tack the lace to sections of the skirt and overlay those sections with the sequins.”

Dredon remained deep in thought, obviously perplexed by something.

“What is it?” she asked, noticing his discomfort.

He took a deep breath and turned to face her, looking directly into her expectant eyes. “This device, I merely point it at you and it logs what I need to know. The bodice of your gown is very fitted and the material relatively inflexible, especially with the crystals attached. If I scan you with the gown you are wearing, the material will distort the measurements ever so slightly.”