And I have no one to blame but myself.
I hurry back to the Council Hall and search the antechamber for the recording device. I’ve brought a monitor that will find any bugs in the room, and I end up discovering three. I then scour the Council Hall itself and find none. Council meetings are meant to be private. We discuss classified matters within these walls. Spying on the councilmembers, even in the antechamber, is considered treason.
The editor and reporter should be held accountable, but if they are, then so shall I be. I am a military captain, not a police official. And I pulled a gun on a civilian. It may be a lesser crime, but a crime it is. And if the reporter wanted to risk his life and career, he could try to bring charges. But I doubt he will. What I have on him is far worse.
I return home, all these thoughts swirling in my brain. I’m not afraid of going to prison. I’ve already lost the most important thing in my life, something that I didn’t even know was important until just a few days ago. But without her, I can’t go on. I must find a way back into her heart. I must earn her forgiveness. The solution eludes me as I land my vehicle and make my way into my house.
I avoid my housekeeper, knowing that I will snap at him if he asks if I need anything. And though my mood is foul and dark, I don’t want to take it out on anyone. I go to my room and pour myself a scotch.
Out on the veranda, I gaze into the gray and silver crashing waves against the red shore. The sky is pale blue with low gray clouds that suggest a coming storm. I think about our history on Mars and the technological wonders of our world, the advanced state of our race. Yet we are still hounded by a voracious press that is so hungry for a story that it will risk the future of our species for a scoop.
Anger rises again inside me, and I take another long swig of scotch. I need to relax enough so that I can think of a way back into Doris’s heart.
When I’m finished with one scotch, I pour myself another and sit at the table in my library. I try to recall my courtship training and the intricacies of the Earthling female heart.
There must be a way back into her good graces. I rub my temples, at a loss. I scour through the courtship training resources. Earthling females enjoy gifts, intimate conversations, affection and closeness, praise, and attention. I would give her all these things if I could and so much more. But she won’t even speak to me.
I settle on the one possibility that does not require her allowing me to be near her. I will get her a gift. What kind of gift, I do not know. But then it dawns on me exactly what she might like. She has been drawn to art history. All the knowledge of Mars and Earth before is stored in our databases. But the physical treasures made by the hands of Martians and humans alike are far more valuable.
Thinking I’ve found my answer, I leave the house and climb into my vehicle. There is renewed hope in my heart.
I hurry into the city and land outside the gallery district in a high-rise parking lot. On the forty-second floor of a glass-and-chrome high-rise, I walk into a Mars-renowned gallery and take in the paintings on display.
Doris has been teaching me to appreciate art, and along with everything else she has taught me, it has expanded who I am as a man. I progress down the halls, trying to decide on a piece that will suit her. Then I stop, my eyes falling on a bouquet of flowers in a vase. The lighting is dramatic with high contrast between light and shadows. These are all terms that she has explained to me. And I think that she will like this piece.
I find the gallery owner and ask for the price. It is a shock at first, but then I wave it off. No price is too great for the affection of my beloved. I just hope that it will earn me at least a conversation.
24
After Jaxxo leaves, I curl up in bed, hugging a pillow, and begin to cry. It’s soft at first but soon turns to