Angry jasper: Forty-Three

The great hall was like something from a vagabond romantic’s dream. It was packed almost to overflowing. The guests and onlookers, a motley mix of refugees, fighters and assorted scum gathered to either side of the long aisle. There were an explosive assortment of expressions, scowls, cold or hungry stares and stoicism. Security was tight, but in a pandemonium they would be easily trampled or swept aside by the sheer number of people.

Katy stood in the shadows of a passageway looking down at the scene. Thomas was late, taking care of something or other. She was nervous. Katy had never been this nervous before, not even when she was banging Corporation security officials for the rebellion. Her stomach was doing somersaults. Katy swallowed a bit of air and made herself burp, which helped a bit.

This was a mistake, she thought. Supporting and propping up Thomas was a mistake. He was not beloved by the people, and that wasn’t likely to change. And now the revelation that he was far more than an alien, but the butcher for hundreds, perhaps thousands of poor young women, whose bodies had been mere vessels for his insidious invasion.

“My dear,” Thomas appeared in the passage quite by surprise, starling Kate. She turned abruptly, laying a hand in a vain attempt to still his pounding heart. Thomas seemed please to have evoked that reaction. As usual he was flanked by several of his lieutenants. “I am terribly sorry. A woman should never have to wait on her wedding day. Pressing business. You understand. The trappings of leadership.”

“Let’s just get this over with.”

“Ah, and they say romance is dead!” Thomas laughed. “You’re nervous. It’s to be expected.”