Chapter 9

Charles Brewster:

I hoped. I really hoped that the issues with the United Planets were a thing of the past. I thought that the negative attitudes had been defused. I considered reducing the security on Naomi and myself. My security detachment refused. I was not pleased.

In less than a week, I was very, very glad they’d refused. Remember who I married, the daughter of a farmer, who’d migrated to the open spaces of Andromeda. The congestion, the crowding, everything about one of the busiest cities in the world, was oppressive to her: I’ll admit I would have preferred to be back on Andromeda myself. But New York has many, many green spaces and they became her retreat. Our son, Lucien, went with her, usually in a buggy, sometimes in a sling. Naomi would sit in the shade of a tree reading, with Lucien on a blanket next to her.

Our escorts are discreet. They try to let us feel free. But they do it in a way that permits them to be there when needed. They couldn’t stop the professionals who approached unobserved until the last moment. One of them hit Naomi with some sort of baton, which rendered her unconscious, then smeared her face with boot-black. That was, presumably, symbolic in some way. Another, while that was happening, snatched Lucien and started to run. He managed about three metres. Clara, Naomi’s close-in escort, managed to combine tripping the kidnapper with grabbing Lucien out of his arms. Bruce, Lucien’s watcher, caught the man who had clubbed Naomi. Unfortunately, they were unable to prevent a third man from making his escape. Our escorts’ body-cams, however, had a good likeness of him.

Naomi was taken ... rushed, in fact ... to the nearest hospital, where she was scanned and found to be concussed. Somehow, a photo of her black-smeared face found its way to the media and appeared on the news for the next several days. When I got to her, she was in a VIP room, Lucien in a cot next to her. Bruce was on duty outside and Clara next to Naomi’s bed. The doctor nervously told me that Naomi was unconscious and would remain so until her body and mind were ready to wake up, but the scans indicated that she would recover fully, barring any complications. I could sit with her, and I was advised to talk to her quietly. Someone had cleaned her face and brushed her hair. She was still beautiful. I sat, held her hand, and talked, quietly, about Andromeda. About the countryside, riding, about how important she was to me, how much I loved her. She didn’t wake, but Lucien did. I am not entirely incompetent, and managed to change his nappy, no, diaper, as we were in America, but he still cried.

“He’s hungry,” Clara informed me. “His dinner is right there.”

It wasn’t difficult to slip the horrible hospital gown down to reveal Naomi’s breasts, which were swollen and dribbling milk. Why was it embarrassing to see my wife’s breasts naked when there was another person right there? Anyway, Lucien latched on happily, drained one breast, and made a good start on the other. When he’d decided he’d had enough, he promptly went back to sleep. We didn’t have the pump we used to make sure production was continued, and I hesitated over the alternative.

“Um...” I said.

Clara laughed. “Go on, sir. Naomi’s told me what you sometimes do. I think it’s lovely. I won’t look.”

I think she did, actually, though I didn’t catch her at it. What I did notice was her eyes glistening with tears. We had to repeat the exercise several hours later. Naomi still had not woken up.

You’ll understand, I expect, when I say I’ve never since suggested easing up on the security. I actually went to sleep in that chair next to Naomi’s bed, still holding her hand.

I woke in the small hours to Naomi’s voice. Clara had gone off duty. Actually, she hadn’t left, but her replacement was now present as well and Clara was asleep in another chair in the corner of the room.

“Charles, darling...” Her voice was quiet, but it pierced my sleep like a bucket of cold water.

“Yes, my love? I’m right here.”

“What happened? Where am I?”