When Duty Calleth - Chapter #91

Free Enterprise  -  When Duty Calleth  -  Chapter #91


Tyr knew what duties were expected of and awaited him. However, he also knew the importance of taking a little time out for self.

“Let them wait.” He thought as he purposely strode towards the Insurrection, trailed by some of his Ceremonial Guard. Even though their duty was to protect him, he found it a tad annoying that they now followed him nearly everywhere. . . . . . .

The first place Tyr headed once he boarded his beloved vessel, was the gym. There, he did a brutal two hour workout. He cleaned up and was heading down the corridor to his quarters when he espied Amanda coming from the opposite direction while toweling her short, damp hair. They both stopped and stared at one another.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Amanda said, and smiled as she let the towel drape around her shoulders. Her hair stood up in short spikes. Tyr thought the look was sexy. . . . .

“Same here.” He replied and smiled.

“I thought you were supposed to be meeting with. . .” Amanda started.

“I'm supposed to be, but. . . .” Tyr started and glanced sideways at his guards, who were by the way discretely shadowing him. Amanda smiled and winked at her consort. She understood that he didn't want to discuss weighty issues in front of them.

“Come let us reason together.” Amanda said, as she looped an arm with Tyr's and they both walked in the direction of their Quad.



* * * * * * * * * * *


“Puuuurrrrrrr! Purrrrrrrrrrr! Purrrrrrrrr!”

Tyr's left hand reached down from the hammock to the deck to grasp and tab open the Nietzschean communications devise.

“Yes.” Tyr growled into the implement.

“Buenos Dios mi esposo.” ( Good day my husband - in Spanish ) Tamara voice said a tad too cheerfully. “I'll refrain from asking for your current location, but I wish to inform you that everyone is looking for you.” she continued. Then proceeded to rattle of names of certain dignitaries who were his fathers allies.

“They've all come to size me up and see if I am of the same nettle as my father.” Tyr sighed, as Amanda yawned and stretched next to him.

“I will be there soon.” Tyr replied, shut down the devise dropped it back to the deck.

Tyr thought he had the hammock exit technique straight, but once again he wound up flat on his backside. Of course he cursed the Promethians for sleeping in hammocks instead of beds like normal people. . . . . . . .

And of course, Amanda had another good laugh at his expense. Tyr frowned and gave her a sour look.

“Oh my! Is it against the law for me to laugh when the Arch Duke falls upon his royal butt?” she asked.

“At one time it was, Amanda. And punishable by death.” Tyr said, as he righted himself.

“Sheesh! Talk about NOT having a sense of humor.” Amanda replied.

“Anyway, I would not lay a hand upon my pregnant wife's head.” Tyr said. Amanda had gotten out of the hammock, sans mishap, and stood nose to nose with him. “When were you going to tell me Amanda?” Tyr continued.

“Tyr, the conditions have not been exactly what one would call conducive lately.” Amanda said. “How did you know?” she continued.

“I took a wild guess.” Tyr replied, and smiled.

Actually, Barbarossa had schooled his last son how to observe his wives. Since Amanda was full-figured, it was hard to tell if she'd picked up any extra weight. If she did, she hid it well. However, he had noticed she had been sleeping later, tucking away a little extra at mealtimes, craving and flinching sweets, which she wasn't supposed to have.

He had originally thought Amanda was finally winding down from her thirty plus years as a Starfleet Admiral. So, those so called behaviors were the result of an unfettered life. But he changed his mind at the last second.

“Yep, you caught me, Bo.” Amanda said.

“I promised Barbarossa that I would name one of my sons after him. . . . . .” Tyr said, drawing her into an embrace.

“That's alright by me, but what if they are twins or girls?” Amanda asked. “After all, I have five sets in my immediate family and my granddaughters are twins.” she continued.

"You have not been to see Doctor Kori yet?" Tyr asked.

"No I haven't. I don't want to know what the sex is yet. Promethians like to stick to the old tradition of guessing the sex." she replied. "I will see her as soon as everything dies down. she continued.

"If it ever does die down. . . . . . ." Tyr said.

The past circumstances had indeed caused Tyr to forget that 1. Amanda was older than him by 40 years or so. 2. She had a longer lifespan that he did. 3. Thus, she capable of starting a second family.

“We will simply have to cross the naming bridge when we encounter it.” Tyr stated.

He would've said more but he was cut off the his communicator purring again. In response Tyr snatched it up, and crushed the devise in his hand as if it were an old fashioned soda can. Then dropped it.

“My, that was very Cro-magnum of you. Now how are people supposed to get in touch with you?” Amanda scolded. Tyr gazed at the closed door, and reconsidered. After all, his Guard had standing orders to contact him by any means necessary if the matter was urgent. He just didn't want them battering down Amanda's door.

“I'd best get ready then.” he said, as headed for the fresher.

“I'm right behind you.” Amanda replied.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Ten minutes later both were dressed. Tyr in his Nietzschean best and Amanda in a dark blue business pantsuit. She'd also selected a pair of matching high heeled boots to wear, but she wasn't going to wear them until they arrived at the compound. For now she wore flipflops as she puttered around in her kitchen.

“What do you want to eat? I can throw something together real fast.” she asked.

“I cannot eat.” Tyr replied.

“Why not?” Amanda asked.

“It is Nietzschean tradition, one is to fast from dawn to sunset before The Speaking.” Tyr replied. Amanda just blinked at him.

“Pregnant and nursing women are excluded.” Tyr added.

“You can still take fluids can't you?” she asked.

“Of course.” Tyr replied and frowned.

“Give me a minute.” Amanda said. The next sixty seconds were filled with chopping and electronic whirring. A minute later she presented a pitcher filled to the brim with a pink, thick, shake-like liquid.

“It's a smoothie.” she said as she poured some off into a large glass with a wide straw, with a spoon scoop on the end. “Drink this and you will have all of your nutriments for the day, and you didn't have to chew a bite.” she continued, as she handed the glass to him.

Tyr didn't have to be told twice. He simply snarfed it up, and licked the spoon, while Amanda delicately sipped away at hers and smiled.

“Did you at least taste it, Tyr?” she asked. Remembering an old joke her mother used to tell her. “A man would eat an entire pot roast, fifteen minutes later he would ask 'Was there garlic in that?'. A woman would say 'I taste, cumin, garlic, turmeric, cloves, pepper, etc.'”

“Strawberries, blueberries. . . . .” Tyr recited, as Amanda cleaned up everything and set the kitchen to rights. She then grabbed her boots and matching bag.

“Time to meet thy adoring public.” Amanda said as they headed out of the door. The Guard formed up around and followed them.


Once outside they found a convoy of aircars waiting for them. Victoria, Tyr, Tamara, Xena, Alexander, Lysander, Desi, Khan and HaxHis, got into one car, as the rest of the family and friends got into the others.

The lead car took off, and others followed as they made a leisurely pass over the entire tableu. The Insurrection, The Anasazi Compound, and their land holdings.

“Mother, where are we going?” Tyr whispered to Victoria.

“The only place that can accommodate such a crowd. The Citadel.” she replied.

“Father had not used that place in ages.” Tyr said. The Citadel was literally a replica of an old Earth 16th Century castle, with a mote, a drawbridge, murder holes, and places on the walls to throw pots of boiling oil down upon the unsuspecting enemy. Oh, by the way, it had a magnificent throne room.

“It's actually ten years since he used it. Three months ago I hired a crew to repair and clean the entire castle and grounds. This morning I ordered it opened so it could air out. There is plenty of room inside if guests wish to stay, or outside if they wish to pitch tents and rough it.” Victoria said.

But Tyr didn't hear her. He was remembering The Citadel from a different prospective. He fondly remembered playing with his Metric Blocks on the floor, by Barbarossa's feet. And listening as his Dad haggled, wrangled and practiced Verbal Jujitsu with his allies, dignitaries, and foes, alike.

“Too bad I did not pick up his gift for diplomacy.” Tyr thought. Supposedly learning a craft at someone's feet was the universe's best way to learn.

“It's not too late to learn.” Tamara thought back. “So long as there is life, there is hope.” she continued. As their car landed in the middle of the Citadels great plaza.

"Is there a dragon in the mote?" Tamara asked Tyr mentally.

"A dragon?" Tyr replied, and frowned. He thought of all the fresh water carp, catfish and striped bass which did inhabit the mote. He was thinking a nice plate of baked catfish with a side salad would be nice right about now. But, oops, there was that pesky fast he was supposed to be on. . . . . . .

"Yes. In most of the stories I've read, there was always a dragon in the mote." Tamara replied, as Tyr's "foodie dream" went up in a puff of smoke.

"No, Tamara. There is no dragon in the mote." Tyr replied. "And please do not hatch a scheme to procure one. The creature will have to be fed, properly cared for and will need companionship." he lectured mentally. Tamara ducked her head and hid a smile. Tamara was a consummate animal lover, and the last thing Tyr Anasazi by Barbarossa out of Victoria, wanted was a pet DRAGON. . . . . . . .

They debarked and were led inside by Victoria. They immediately encountered hundreds of servants and helpers going to and fro, hurrying to make last minute preparations.

Even though The Citadel boasted every modern convince known to man, which could cater to every whim. They still needed humanoid hands and feet. to cook, to clean, to do laundry, to make arrangements to stay on or off grounds, etc.

“If man ever advances to the point where he no longer needs a touch, to see a face, to share a voice, laugh or song, and I had a choice? I'd rather NOT live in that kind of world. . . .” Some anonymous writer had penned in public rest areas all over the galaxy.

“People! People! People! The guests are here, so whatever hasn't been done, can be done later.” A female Nietzschean called out as she clapped her hands. She was clearly in charge, and as one the servants fled in different directions. In half a minute, only Tyr and his group stood there alone.

“Wow! Where'd they all go?” Amanda asked.

“Underneath. There are access tunnels so they will not be seen, and disturb the guests.” Tyr replied.

“That sounds curiously like the Old Earth theme park called Disney World. They too had tunnels underneath for their workers. The tunnels were specifically for all of the people who dressed up as cartoon characters. It was determined that it would be upsetting for young children to see a favorite cartoon character unscrew their head. So to speak. So they all did their dressing and undressing underneath.” Khan said.

“Here the tunnels are an excellent form of transportation. Especially when the Citadel is crowded like it will be very soon.” Victoria started. “Why don't we retire to the throne room?” she continued as she led them forward.

The throne room was indeed a vast room. The great windows had been thrown open, sunlight and a fresh breeze blew in.

Even though Tyr had been there many times in the past, he was still awed by the room's size and scope. He wanted to look at the wall hangings and muse over them, but Victoria said:

“Places everyone.”

“Tyr, sit on the throne. Tamara, you sit here, Xena here, Amanda here, Desdemona over here, HaxHis and Khan here. I will sit here, and the guards will bring everyone else something to sit on. While they do that I must borrow my two grandsons.” Victoria said. She took both Alexander and Lysander, sat them down at Tyr's feet and gave them a set of Metric Blocks to play with.

She then walked a few feet away, turned and faced them and held up her fingers in the shape of a frame. The way the old movie directors used to. . . . .

“Perfect!” she said. She beamed as she walked back to the group and sat with them..

“Send in the first petitioners.” Victoria ordered. The guards bowed and got ready to open the door.

In Tyr's mind kept hearing a familiar song being sung in his mind, because Tamara was singing it.


* * * * * * *

Isn't it rich? Are we a pair?
Me here at last on the ground and you in mid-air
Send in the clowns

Isn't it bliss? Don't you approve?
One who keeps tearing around and one who can't move
But where are the clowns? Send in the clowns

Just when I stopped opening doors
Finally finding the one that I wanted was yours
Making my entrance again with my usual flair

Sure of my lines
Nobody's there

Don't you love a farce? My fault, I fear
I thought that you'd want what I want, sorry my dear
But where are the clowns? Send in the clowns
Don't bother they're here

Isn't it rich? Isn't it queer?
Losing my timing this late in my career
But where are the clowns? Send in the clowns
Well, maybe next year

* * * * * *

“Yes, Indeed. Send in the clowns. . . . .” Tyr thought, as the huge wooden doors swung open.



NOTE TO READERS: The name of the song is “Send In The Clowns” by Frank Sinatra. . . . . . . It's supposed to be a song about LOVE but that one particular line got stuck in my head . . . . . . .