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Jen Sin’s Private Quarters


It was the need to be able to move around his quarters that decided the matter. He did have a closet, after all, and drawers, too. He would shift the contents of the mobile closet, so that it would be ready to return to Dragon Song next shift.

That decided, he took off his jacket, tossed it onto the bunk, and pressed the closet’s release.

It sighed as it expanded—not quite so much as he had feared. He took a breath, smelling cedar and lavender—and gasped, his sight blurring.

Stores, he told himself. Don’t be an idiot, Jen Sin, they brought you things from house stores. They said as much.

And yet it would seem that knowing where the items had come from, and encountering the very scent of house stores—were two very different things.

Lavender and cedar—gods, how he had loved to go down into the basements when he had been a boy! Essa would sometimes come exploring with him, but for the most of his age-mates, it had been something to draw on at need, not a heady place of history and adventure.

Truth said, clothes had been his least interest, though it had been a good game now and then to gaze at elder fashion, and wonder after the purpose—or even the attraction!—of this color, or that style.

What had drawn him most had been the art pieces and small treasures that had come to someone’s hand and were kept, because they were pleasing, or held memories, or were simply too trivial to dispose of.

The storerooms were full of such delights and mysteries. All of them smelled of lavender and cedar, and so had he when he emerged from his explorations.

And it had been years—never mind two hundred Standards—but decades of his own since he had breathed in that scent at the heart of the house, and known that he was…safe.

Gods, he was weeping. One might think him a child, indeed. He closed his eyes, and took another deep breath, drawing the essence of home deep into the core of him.

Rubbing his hands over his face, he opened his eyes, and looked at what his cousins had brought him.

Two formal dress coats and the attendant shirts, sashes, pants. It could have been worse. The rest was sweaters, and more comfortable shirts; a spare set of leathers; soft things that one might wear while taking one’s ease on an off-shift; a robe in a particularly pleasing deep green, figured with leaves. He hung them all away, careful to get them straight on the rod, then returned, to find that he had also been provided with two pair of ridiculous, shiny short boots, to go with the formal sets, soft house shoes, and another pair of good work boots.

He put them away, too, and returned once more, thinking that he had reached the end of his cousins’ thoughtfulness, only to find, wedged carefully into the end of the closet, so that it would not be tumbled about—

A small wooden box, entwined in a painted vine, and a simple hook for a clasp.

He bent and had it out, placing it on the table next to the as yet unopened box.

It was, he thought, a jewel case. Some might say that it was a rather small jewel case—but that was fitting. Even when he had been…more regularly fixed, his jewels had been modest—a few rings, for those occasions when the Jump Cluster was inappropriate—a scattering of pins; some earrings. Truly, no amount of jewelry could soften what he was—a yos’Phelium pilot, all sharp edges and ill-temper.

Carefully, he worked the latch, lifted the lid, and sighed.

His cousins had not attempted to foist unfitting grandeur upon him. They had brought a few rings, modest enough in the matter of stones; a half dozen pins, none overlarge. There were in addition three ear-drops, if he were feeling quite above himself, and the hole in his left ear had not been repaired—one each of garnet, emerald, and opal. He closed the box, latched it—paused and leaned closer.

Yes.

There was a dark line near the base of the box, difficult to see among the vines.

Carefully, he pressed the box just below the line.

A drawer sprang open, and Jen Sin nearly laughed.

Nestled inside the velvet-lined space was a tidy little weapon, gleaming blue.

It was not his own lost pistol, but it fit his hand well, which was—pleasing. He checked the charge, finding it full, and smiled again.

Here indeed was a jewel worthy of a yos’Phelium pilot.

Crossing the room, he picked up his jacket, and slid the energy pistol into the weapons pocket.

He smiled with a sense of relief, put the jacket back on the bed and returned to the table.

Carefully, he closed the secret compartment, picked up the jewel box and took it over to the bureau, slipping it into the empty third drawer.

Then, he collapsed the traveling closet to its smallest configuration and pushed it beyond the end of his bunk, out of the way.

“Pilot Ren Zel has reached his ship, Jen Sin.”

The voice that came out of the speaker was not Tocohl’s.

Jen Sin felt his shoulders ease, by which he learned the level of his concern over Ren Zel’s safe arrival.

“Thank you, Catie,” he said softly. “It pleases me to know it.”


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Framed