Asylum
Copyright© 2026 by Tedbiker
Chapter 4
The community meeting was crowded. Many of the colonists wanted to communicate with their families, even those who hadn’t heard from them. Those who had, handed over memory cards with responses. There was considerable debate about what we could do, but little conclusion. At length, I stood.
“I think,” I said, “we’re all fed up of being isolated, though we have done rather well in meeting our own needs. Andromeda?”
“Your Majesty,” Andromeda’s voice filled the hall. “There is a skeleton staff at the Embassy on Earth. We haven’t heard from them since withdrawing our ambassador, but I do not believe anyone could have penetrated the building. We could suggest anyone wishing to move here could call at the embassy, perhaps? And our legal representatives should have been working on the Federation Council.”
“That’s a thought,” I agreed. “It might be worth sending a squad of Marines to check out the embassy using the Mat Trans. I’ll talk to the Brigadier. For the rest, digital communications should be handed to me or the Brigadier, and we’ll do our best so see that they’re delivered.”
After some discussion of peripheral matters, the hall emptied. Syretia and Romy went home, Anya having stayed with the kids, and James and I walked to his office to talk about a possible expedition to the embassy on Earth.
Available pilots were still picketing the outer system. They were spending ten hours out there, but with the trip each way taking about ten hours they were away thirty hours at a time. With four ships available, not counting Jason, there was some leeway in ships. I didn’t like sending single pilots on the duty, but compromised on qualified pilots flying with trainees. Including Syretia, but not including the Rosses, we now had six qualified pilots and ten trainees – that meant they all had a short break back on Andromeda while the rotation was in progress. It also meant I was losing Syretia for thirty hours at a time. We collected digital mail, and each ship carried a copy, additions being included as and when they were available.
Several cycles later, I met Syretia’s ship as it landed. I was, reluctantly, wearing the ‘undress’, dull fabric, dark green ASN uniform of my Admiral’s rank. On my left breast, the traditional ‘wings’ of a pilot. We’d discussed this. Terran pilots wore straight ‘wings’, since they’d graduated from atmospheric craft. Ours, though, had a ‘V’ form, intended to emulate a falcon.
I watched the small craft descend, neatly, expeditiously, coming to a smooth halt on the ground. The hatch opened, the stair folded out, and Syretia’s co-pilot descended, Syretia following. The cadet approached me and saluted. “Your Majesty.”
I returned the salute. “Perfect landing,” I said, smiling.
She blushed. “Thank you, Sire. Um. How did you know?”
I chuckled. “I didn’t. But I was pretty sure.” I turned my attention to Syretia, who saluted. I returned it. “Well done, you.”
“Thank you, Sire,” she returned with a quirk of the eyebrow, daring me to protest the title. “Cadet Laura conducted the whole mission except her rest breaks.”
“I suspected as much,” I smiled. “Did she run through a translation?”
“She did. Just to the Beta band. I will be recommending her accreditation to full pilot status.”
“Excellent.” I turned to the cadet. “Anything to report, Pilot?”
She straightened even more, and I’d swear she gained a couple of inches of height. “No, Sire. Completely uneventful mission.”
“Very good. Have a break and your accreditation will probably be through before your next trip.”
“Wow!” She gasped, then covered her mouth with her hand, looking mortified. “Sorry, Sire!”
I chuckled. “Hakuna matata.”
“Sire?”
“Don’t worry, be happy. It’s from a Terran language called Swahili, used in a song in a very old film. Seriously, don’t get uptight. I’m just a courier pilot who got lucky. I don’t enjoy protocol.”
She did not look convinced, but saluted again and, when I responded, did a smart about-turn and left. I took the opportunity to kiss Syretia. We both enjoyed that. It turned out that the replicated cello, though not as mellow as the original, was quite adequate for Syretia to learn on. She spent much of her free time practising. A learner cellist is not quite as troubling as a learner violinist, and she progressed rapidly.
James and I discussed our options. We did, in fact, dispatch a squad of marines to visit the Embassy on Earth. They were instructed to talk to the staff there, ask if anything was needed, and would be relieved in a couple of days. When they returned, they said that the Embassy had not been troubled, though the staff there would appreciate some supplies. Limited supplies of fresh food had been delivered, but the staff had been tentative in their contacts with the ‘outside’ world. They’d been delighted with the visit from the marines and happy that there would be regular visits.
As a result, replies to the communications we’d received included an invitation to visit the Embassy in order to use the Mat Trans to come to Andromeda.
The Terran courier made the second unscheduled visit to collect our replies which were duly handed over. Then on, we maintained the picket. However, the cadets having qualified as pilots meant a longer break between missions to the hyper limit. Some of them paired up and offered to stay out a week at a time. Even better. “We can occupy ourselves,” one grinned at his partner
I wouldn’t like you to think I neglected my first love. Romy tended to fade into the background, but I made sure to make time for her, as I did for Anya and Syretia. I did sometimes feel I was being spread rather thin in family terms, making time for the little ones as well as romantic gestures to each wife, but Romy would always be special. Sometimes I needed to escape. A walk to the lake, perhaps. It was as I sat by the lake looking across the water, that Romy came and sat beside me. She was silent, but found my hand and sat holding it.
“Well, Sweetheart,” I said, gently. “What can I do for you today?”
“Syretia wants a baby,” she told me. “She’s reluctant to ask, though I told her to. Andromeda says Prometheans and Terrans are genetically compatible.” She paused. “She’s got a pregnancy inhibitor. Something the Prometheans do, since their reproduction is all artificial and monitored.”
“You want this?” I asked, looking at her carefully.
“Yes. There are more pilots now, and I want her to know the same joy I have known.”
“You’re really something, Romy.” I wrapped an arm around her and hugged her. “I love you, you know that?”
She snuggled against me and responded quietly. “Yes, Hex. I know you love me. It was hard to believe at first. I was made to serve. Andromeda was made to serve, not to be loved. You have let me become human, as far as I can be. You let me have a baby. Calista is beautiful, and I love her as I love you. I did not know that I could love like this.”
“Would you like another baby, Romy?”
She didn’t respond immediately. “Perhaps,” she said, slowly, “maybe. I will need to think about that.”
“Well,” I said, “we can certainly arrange for Syretia to try for a baby. She’s due to go out tonight, if I remember correctly. We’ll have to talk to Andromeda about her treatment when she comes home again.”
We sat like that, just together, watching the water a little longer, then walked home, hand in hand.
That night I made love with Romy. I should say we, meaning Anya and I, made love to Romy. We took our time and unusually she fainted at the climax of our joining, which didn’t happen very often. We’d certainly worked on her for a long time. She, and Anya and I, slipped into sleep before she surfaced again.
A couple of nights later, we were woken early, just before dawn, with a call from the Mat Trans sentries, via Andromeda, of course. Apparently another four Promethean youths had appeared and were waiting in the reception room. The Brigadier, Romy and I attended. Andromeda translated for us, though Romy understood, of course.
“You may have asylum here,” I told them, pausing for Andromeda to translate, “we only ask that you contribute to our community and do not judge other peoples’ lives or beliefs.”
They communicated between themselves, then one spoke. Andromeda said, “They ask, ‘how do we contribute to the community?’”
“By being, and doing, something of value. We will teach you. You can work on the land or the sea. You can learn to pilot the starships. Other things. Art, Music, that we value too.”
The response came. “Thank you. We will learn, we will work. We will find what we can do.”
So we agreed that they could stay, and they were offered places to live, opting for a single house with several sleeping spaces. I gathered that they were not couples as we understood it. Andromeda provided one of her avatars, and told them they could have more if they needed. Hypnopaedia, sleep teaching, would begin at night, and they would be expected to attend a school to teach how to access the implanted information and learn what to do with it. A vocational assessment would be included. They could access replicated food, or attend the mess-hall. That latter was a part of an overall assessment, as it would show how committed they were to integrating into our communty.
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