Maroli Tango ~ Chapter 20

I would really appreciate feedback on these opening chapters.

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Pulina Nava, Planet Jivada

Offshore of PN, a stately Tuscan Renaissance villa drifted at a thousand meters altitude, aimless, nudged along by the wind, meandering on gravitic tensors as though sliding on ice.

SagGha House, built 1438, the work of Italian/AjJivadi architect Mechelozzo, a prototype for Palazzo Medici, Florence, Italy, 1444.

Erected atop a surplus grav-lift marine construction barge, commissioned as an owner-managed airborne luxury residential complex, then serving as a monastery, a college and a reform school.

Until occupied by SagGha Prefect Samuel Orsa — priest, scholar, family man. A furry Anye Mahat Limar, 138 years old, bearlike in appearance, sometimes referred to on Earth as the Space Pope.

After breakfast, Orsa decided he was too shaggy to receive company. And so, standing naked in a mud room off the owner’s kitchen, he had Charles the maroli shave his pelt.

Orsa’s wife Maryanne, human, Norwegian/AjJivadi, arrived too late to intervene. While sweeping up after, she said, “Our neighbor in Black Rock did his dog this way. The poor thing hid under the porch for two days.”

He was still feeling self-conscious when Rivan Saraf’s famous space yacht landed on the lawn.

Pascal the maroli deboarded first, tentacles laden with suitcases, apparently in a hurry.

Orsa called after him. “Hello to you, too.”

Pascal rotated, flying backwards. He replied, “Sorry. Good morning.”

Magic stairs deployed from the forward hatch. Three humans and a dog descended.

Erin Fowlkes, Loretta Clarke, an elderly female steadying herself on Loretta’s shoulder, Darlene the Rat Terrier, alert for signs of bunnies.

Darlene trotted up, gave Orsa a stare-down, sniffed his ankles, and then ran after Pascal.

Erin said, “I like the haircut. You look dangerous, like an Anye Ninja Commando.”

The old lady was wobbly. Orsa rushed to give Loretta Clarke a hand with her.

They paused to link up. The woman gave Orsa an appraising look, then said, “You must be our host.”

He nodded. “I just got a haircut.”

Loretta gave him the day’s sunniest smile. She said, “Brandon, Carmen, Captain Jourdain and my husband are going straight to Badari. Mason is dropping the boat off for service. I need a ride to a beach hotel down coast.”

“You’re not staying with us?”

“No, dear.” She petted his face. “I want Ted to do something besides work all the time.”

“Does anyone need to talk about yesterday?”

Erin piped up. “Colonel Clarke led us in group therapy on the way over. We all cried.”

Orsa gazed into her eyes. “May I assume, young lady, that you do not require expert counseling from your friend, the priest?”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “That’s not what I said.”

Veronica Charron was flattered to learn Orsa was a fan of the only film she made as a leading lady.

She said, “I would love to tell you about my life as an underappreciated actress, but I simply must go to bed.”

Yakob’s remaining riders watched through the windscreen sim as persons on the ground dispersed to a safe distance.

Mason applied boost. The boat lifted, crabbing sideways over Jivada’s West Ocean.

Brandon asked, “Are you going to drop Citra here?”

“Yeah; I think I’d better.” Mason instantiated a remote console in augmented reality. “I didn’t check the garage airlock seals.”

“Well, then; better not open it up in vacuum.” Brandon nodded at Marie Jourdain. “We looked at everything that matters.”

She said, “You brought Citra with us? Where is it?”

“Belly bay. Off-center, portside, aft.”

Mason’s 9-meter PMI Inspector drifted into view, forward, nine-o’clock.

Colonel Clarke said, “I would have liked to have seen your face when Arya gave it to you.”

Marie turned her back to the action. “What’s the word? Flabbergasted?”

“There are few events as memorable as the day a young man takes possession of his first spaceship.” Mason spoke through his implant. “Okay. The house Oma has it. Onward and upward.”