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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Eighty-five days and a lot of work later, Pascaline heard other less welcome news. Endeley Bouba and Grandpere’s joint influence had jump-started geothermal plant construction. Cement deliveries were running late again, and they need more earthmovers for the launcher line where the maglev system would go. Meanwhile there was this party to attend and that nasty rumor.

“What do you mean Great Aunt Mami is in the hospital?” She wanted to turn around and glare at Angelique, but the woman slapped her hand and growled a threat to have her strapped into the beautician’s chair if Pascaline didn’t stop moving. The hairstyle had been good enough at least a half hour ago, but Angelique was having a bout of nerves over the Parisienne émigré who was doing Aunt Julienne’s hair.

“Who is doing up Maurie these days?” Angelique whispered. “I’ll never tell if you give me the name.”

“How the hell should I know?” Pascaline groaned. “Maurie’s been having doctor visits every other day, it seems like, and spending the rest of the time on the mountain. If I didn’t know better I’d say she was interested in Endeley Adamou. Now, tell me about Great Aunt Mami.”

“Ah.” Angelique went silent, which made Pascaline suspicious. Angelique always had something to say or some tidbit she wanted to hear confirmed or denied. The beautician hummed to herself for a moment, and completely ignored Pascaline’s order. She gave a curt nod. “You’re all done then. Enjoy the party. No, not quite. Wait.” Angelique gave a side of the headpiece a minute tug. The dress was some bamboo-fiber-blend fabric or other from a Yaoundé-based designer Great Aunt Mami had sponsored. It itched. But it also flared and curved and held up quite flatteringly while repelling wine stains. The headpiece Angelique finished pinning in place complemented it.

“Angelique,” Pascaline said. “Tell. Me. About. My. Great. Aunt.”

“Oh,” Angelique fluttered her fingers in apology. “She’s checked into that nice clinic villa. You know the one with the really good spa?”

Pascaline did know the one. “Yeah, and with the hospice wing where you get to have your bed rolled out onto the veranda to die listening to the rainforest birds.”

“Oh, well.” Angelique flapped her hands in denial. “I doubt it’s come to that. Though our Ms. Mami is getting on in years, and the spirits don’t tend to let their blessed ones linger once they’ve moved on.”

“What?” Pascaline shook her head which made Angelique hiss and flutter around checking the hairstyle for any damage the extreme motion might have caused. “Great Aunt Mami is not allowed to die.”

“Of course not,” Angelique said soothingly as if the two of them would have any say in the matter. “But you might send her some flowers. It’d be the nice thing to do.” Then she reconsidered. “Never mind. Forget I said anything. I’ll just call Maurie.”

Pascaline clenched her teeth and left for the party.

“I could be nice if I wanted to be.” Pascaline scowled at her reflection in the mirrored elevator doors. There was nothing she could do for her great aunt. Great Aunt Mami hated cut flowers. Why did nobody else know that? The details of the elevator distracted. Beauty and elegance were blended seamlessly with functionality. One side was glass instead of mirror and a screen behind the transparent wall displayed a waist-height railing and the Douala skyline. It gave the rider the impression of standing in a lush rooftop garden instead of a tight elevator. Whoever had done the design work on this high-rise hotel complex should be hired away quickly by someone foreign who was willing to pay them a tremendous salary. But the sorts who had the means to offer that would probably never visit this hotel. Reality frequently sucked like that.

And yet, her reality was just going so smoothly now. Pascaline fought with the corners of her mouth. They kept wanting to twitch up into the most ridiculous grin. It was Adamou’s fault.

Uncle Benoit had let slip that there was to be an engagement announced today. She ought to be mad about it; Adamou hadn’t talked with her about formally announcing on behalf of the two families yet. Maurie knew and that kid Dibussi knew that she and Adamou had been considering wedding dates, but neither one had spilled. Maurie seemed to expect everything to fall apart, and Dibussi didn’t consider it significant.

Also in the original deal Adamou owed her a favor which he hadn’t exactly delivered. Sure, he’d given her use of a very nice mountainside, but she thought she could negotiate for more. And Maurie was right it might all still fall apart. But Adamou was getting more appealing over time instead of less, so perhaps she’d go ahead and see what it was like to be engaged for a while.

He spent a ton of time up on his mountaintop tweaking new sensor designs and mathematical prediction software. His large extended family liked to bother him about that and she was very skilled at frustrating interlopers enough that they quit their stupid shit. The first time she’d done it he’d been startled. The second time amazed. The fourth and fifth time his mouth had gone all soft, and he’d asked if she’d like to elope before someone else discovered her. It hadn’t sounded like he was joking. Adamou sounded like he was falling in love. With her.

She might need to marry the man. He could always divorce her later, but he seemed to genuinely like her. For now anyway. The constant suggestions from her side of the family that Maurie would be the perfect bride for Adamou were fading into the background of the family’s usual casual disdain for her.

Half the family had turned out today for this celebration feast. It was part corporate merger, part debutant ball, and all circus, but she had a certain image to maintain. Everyone expected her trademark scowl and a liberal smattering of sharp remarks. If she walked out of the elevator all gooey, Adamou would get far too much credit, and her new extended family would be in for far too much of a shock when her normal personality came back out. Far better to start out with a properly cranky attitude.

Besides, Adamou wasn’t even here to enjoy her family’s shock if she did come out smiling and chose to play the demure blushing bride. He had some mountaintop tradition to engage in. That sneaky Bakweri chief had made it sound like a deeply religious event involving dawn ceremonies in the upper mists and a humble request that the mountain accept the even more humble bridegroom’s choice of bride and bless the tribe for another generation. Pascaline rather thought refurbishing sensors would be more useful than nebulous blessings. His accuracy for the timing of microtremors needed improvement. Adamou’s past research had focused on when the major quakes and lava flows might happen. He’d gotten pretty good at issuing warnings and keeping tourists safe. He needed to do even better. Maurie now believed it would all work out somehow. Pascaline had spent less time with him going over the numbers, but she’d looked at the data. And she’d sent Uncle Chummy some messages to get a few math boffins some supercomputer time to check Adamou’s work. Adamou claimed he already had a couple math boffins at the University of Yaoundé. She’d checked on the names. Both female and bookishly attractive, naturally. With an inner sigh, Pascaline mentioned their past assistance to Uncle Chummy and suggested they might only need the simulator time and not the extra nerds.

Unfortunately for Adamou, Pascaline had relatives who couldn’t keep their mouths shut about the mountaintop celebration. Uncle Benoit even got himself invited somehow. He wasn’t exactly the mountaineering type, but he did like a good party. Uncle Benoit had used words like wildest bachelor party ever and so much partying to do that no one goes to sleep before dawn for three straight days. There seemed to be a competition among the Bakweri tribe’s homebrewers for which concoction provided the most ceremonial libations on the mountaintop—after passing through various celebrants’ livers of course.

Adamou’s latest messages on his comm implied he’d left the party going at one of the lodges partway up the mountain and skipped out to check on the launcher-route build crews. Such a useful thing to do it was hard to complain about it. And he wasn’t even lying because his comm had shown a location track exactly matching his words.

It did remain that he wasn’t here. Off up on his mountain working with the crews installing side roads next to the planned track line, he got to do useful things while she had the job of looking pretty. The unfairness helped set her face back into a more normal position. She looked for something else to think irritated thoughts at. Her mind skipped straight past Great Aunt Mami’s hospitalization and Maurie’s concerning recurrent health troubles. She needed anger, not fear.

The braids just over her left ear itched. Pascaline stood a bit straighter, relaxed her forehead, and the feeling vanished. Angelique, the overly competent hairdresser, ought be doing something else like working microminiature repairs. The glare returned and with it her posture slumped a bit, restoring the itch. A good scratch would fix it, but she couldn’t mess with the braided art piece her head had become while looking in the mirror.

Pulling on it to loosen one or two loops called for a club bathroom with appropriately dim lighting. Destroying art in favor of comfort should only be done surrounded by drunks and where even the drunks couldn’t see very well. These bright lights with two rich families competing to outdo each other while throwing a block party was not that place. The glamour lights strung inexplicably in a ring around the top of the hotel elevator threatened similarly bright lighting in the event spaces themselves. Pascaline kept her nails out of her hair.

The doors opened to a hallway buzzing with hotel staff and double doors across the way leading into a frigidly air-conditioned event space. Soft music and a babble of voices welcomed her in. Again, she banished a smile trying to flicker across her face.

Far too many chandeliers hung from the ceiling spilling brightness all over the room. Someone had used sea glass and thousands of tiny electric diodes to make fountains of light. The crowd of guests met the challenge with brilliant formal outfits in designs from Grandpere’s pricey robes in handwoven cotton to the nouveau designs on his assistant. The woman’s clothing consisted of ribbons seamed together to create a light breathable mesh with strategically placed solid patches. It was a clothing idea that had been done before, but on a certain sculpted body type it looked fantastic. So it would probably be cycled back into high fashion every thirty years or so.

“Good evening, Ms. Pascaline.” The assistant bobbed a greeting at her. Her hair didn’t look painful. She’d had it fluffed out gently and trimmed in a soft dark halo. The contrast of normal hair with wild dress looked good on her.

“I want to steal your hair,” Pascaline said in passing and searched the room.

She spotted Uncle Jacques off in the corner. She needed to give him a piece of her mind about his concrete-delivery delays. WuroMahobe needed to be sending them a steady stream of shipments with nobody else getting priority. The foremen at the plant would do what she wanted, but Uncle Jacques’ involvement could give her someone anticipating her needs instead of just complying with orders. Jacques, as plant manager, ought to be making sure there were no delays in supporting Grandpere’s top project.

A fluff of hair moved in between her and the plant manager. Pascaline looked back down to see Grandpere’s assistant brighten and smile widely.

“Thank you, Ms. Pascaline! I wanted something like your style, but I can’t afford Angelique.” The woman shivered with excitement and beamed goodwill. Also, her breasts jiggled out of sync with the woman’s actual motion. It was mildly disturbing to Pascaline, but attracted all the male attention in the area.

Did the ribbon dress do that or was it something else? Oh. This was Fatima, right. She was the one who liked all the body modifications. So, no, it wasn’t likely to be caused by any unusual tensile properties of a new fabric material. Standard old breast augmentation with some sort of cutting-edge implants explained it. Pascaline mentally dismissed the woman.

Uncle Benoit, an even less interesting person, made eye contact and headed her way. He likely wanted something she wouldn’t enjoy hearing. The aide saw him coming too.

“Again, thank you so much for the compliment.” The woman snatched at and pumped Pascaline’s hand. “And congratulations on arranging the engagement! Even if it is only Ms. Maurie, the Bakweri should be so proud to marry a Sadou!”

Pascaline rolled her eyes. She didn’t feel like explaining to another person that Maurie and Adamou were not interested in each other. Well, there’d be some toasting later and everyone would be set straight at once. The Bakweri were eager to have another connection with Great Aunt Mami and with Uncle Chummy. The powerful energy company family wasn’t, or at least wasn’t anymore, and even Grandpere knew it. She’d have thought his assistant would have the real details of the engagement, but self-denial in family staff wasn’t unheard of.

Fatima nodded her farewell and swished away, trailing a flurry of ribbons. She’d chosen to ignore Pascaline’s eye roll or might not have even seen it as the woman’s head had bobbed back and forth as if trying to count all the male glances that turned her way as she moved. Some people didn’t seem capable of being properly offended no matter what Pascaline did.

She shook her head and noticed Uncle Benoit’s face among the many turning to track Fatima. He’d made it back from Adamou’s party in time for this one. Was Adamou here? No. Another brief check on her comm showed him still up on the mountain. She shoved the comm back into her clutch.

Pascaline ducked behind the pile of fruit on the buffet table and pushed past a gaggle of servers working to refill it. She didn’t care to chat with Uncle Benoit. He did too good of a job souring her mood for real, and she didn’t want to have her engagement party spoiled quite so soon in the evening.

The catering staff bumped into each other to make room for her, apologized, and moved out of her way as she moved smoothly down the side of the room partially hidden by the displays of food. Serving as a second line of camouflage for her, the partygoers clumped along the other side of the tables intent on filling their plates.

“Sadou Maurie and Endeley Adamou,” one guest said to another, “I never thought either one would settle down. Adamou, we love him of course, but he can get downright grumpy when torn away from his studies, and what woman would be happy to take second place to a mountain?”

Pascaline gritted her teeth. People had no respect. Adamou loved his work. As if any true partner would want to take a passion that defined a person and demand the work be abandoned. That wasn’t love; it was slavery. Adamou wanted to give her a spaceport. On his mountain.

She did like Maurie, most of the time. But this was getting ridiculous.

“Our Maurie is so sweet.” Pascaline caught Aunt Fatime chatting with a young Bakweri mother. “Why let me tell you about when she was just ten years old and all the boys at the schoolhouse brought her flowers,” Aunt Fatime trotted out one of the favorite family stories.

Pascaline paused to check her comm. Adamou was definitely still on the mountain. Maurie was here… No. She zoomed in the map. Maurie was at Great Aunt Mami’s clinic.

Near the end of the two tables piled with savory delights Pascaline found the voice she’d been aiming for.

“Oh, uh, how am I related?” Uncle Jacques shifted uneasily back and forth on his feet as the pair of partygoers interrogating him looked on with less than tolerant expressions. One produced an image of the Sadou family tree on the comm removed from her purse with a miniature of Maurie’s face on the bottom and the rest of the family connected by an array of spokes.

“It’s, um, a somewhat distant connection,” Uncle Jacques said.

“Not really,” Pascaline said, deciding to rescue him. She gave the crowds a slow turn to ensure she had their attention. They knew who she was. “This is my Uncle Jacques.”

Pascaline’s favorite plant manager looked over with an expression of deep gratitude, but when he saw which relative had claimed him, confusion and wariness warred with thankfulness and won.

She favored the crowd with a flat smile and hit them with the truth. “My Uncle Jacques is married to the former second wife of my deceased dad’s brother. He has accepted the Sadou name for business. My dad’s brother later remarried and became the father of Sadou Maurie who you have at the bottom of that silly family tree app.”

She favored him with an almost real smile, and the audience with a more predatory one. The two with the family tree slipped back into the crowd rather than engage with her. Pascaline rather doubted they were up to locking wits with her if their idea of a good time was sniffing around an engagement party looking for possible gate-crashers.

Uncle Jacques turned to another more mature woman Pascaline didn’t recognize, likely an extended family relative on Adamou’s side or a member of the broader Bakweri tribe with some clout. “I never did catch those ladies’ names,” he said, almost apologetic.

“No relation to our side that I’m aware of,” the woman replied.

Pascaline snorted a suppressed laugh. She took it back. Only the best party-crashers made a game of outing other party-crashers. But she did have work to do and needed Uncle Jacques. She restored her scowl.

“Uncle Jacques—” Pascaline claimed his arm and pulled him away from the Bakweri relation who merely murmured a polite “Congratulations on fleeing another engagement, Ms. Pascaline,” and let her have the man.

Pascaline gave the woman’s back an exasperated glare.

“Ms. Pascaline,” Uncle Jacques said, “before those rude people interrupted, I was having a conversation with Adamou’s aunt. Remarkable woman. I was only halfway through explaining the mix proportions for our grades of cement powder.”

“I’m sure she can ask her comm to give her the rest of the details if she really needs to know,” she assured him. “But the main construction project on Bakweri property right now won’t be having any more supply back-order issues from your plant again, now will it?”

“Ms. Pascaline, I’m sure you’ve misunderstood.” The man looked around for someone else to rescue him. “This really isn’t the time or the place?” he suggested.

“It’s a perfect time. Thank you for your assurances. It means a lot to my fiancé’s family to know that our family is fully behind supporting this very lucrative joint project.” Pascaline lifted an eyebrow at him and dared him to disagree.

“There are other back orders,” he pleaded. “And, who? You have a fiancé?”

“Endeley Adamou, of course.” Pascaline patted his hand. “I’ll speak with Grandpere on your behalf and make sure you get support in issuing rebates for those willing to take delayed shipments and support to increase overtime budgets so you can run the plant at top production for the duration.”

“Um, I don’t think so.” Jacques’ forehead wrinkled. “And I’m not sure he’s going to be the person with the authority to make those calls for long.”

“You all agreed on six months,” Pascaline reminded him.

“Well, some time has been passing since then,” he said. Her quasi step uncle looked around at the crowd in an uneasy way that drew the attention of several Endeley cousins and then leaned in way too close to whisper, “The quarterly trust payments were low again.”

“So?” She didn’t move back.

“They are saying this launcher thing has cash in the general fund. So we just replace him; the trust accounts can be filled back up.” He raised his eyebrows and waggled them.

“It’s not,” Pascaline lied. “It’s an escrowed account with funds disbursement tied to project-completion milestones.” Well, that part wasn’t a complete lie. Additional very large payments would be made at major milestones. But how the spending was allocated for the smaller project-completion points was entirely at Sadou discretion. “And Maurie won’t be able to sweet-talk the TCG into paying early if there’s even a whiff of the money going elsewhere. The concrete, Uncle Jacques. Get us the raw materials we need.”

“Ah,” Uncle Jacques nodded, his face still concerned. “I guess you can make it look like you are trying and get a few more of the payments before it becomes obvious that it won’t work. It’ll be hard on Maurie, though, when she has to tell her in-laws.”

“Maurie isn’t…Oh, never mind,” Pascaline said.

Fatima sailed around the buffet tables and interrupted. “No business at the party, please,” she chirped. “Chief Endeley sent me. They can’t find Maurie anywhere and wondered if you could stand in for the announcement of her engagement to Adamou.”

Uncle Jacques tilted his head peering around. “But Adamou’s not here either. How can they announce the new couple when neither one showed up?”

Pascaline’s face froze. She had initially rejected Adamou’s suit and told the family so, but later the two of them had… Her eyes narrowed. Family! Uncle Jacques stepped neatly out of her way. Fatima squared her shoulders and looped an arm through Pascaline’s elbow with a determined expression, ready to drag her across the room if she had to.

Grandpere and Chief Endeley stood on a little dais in the center of the room with the final pages of a lengthy contract in front of them. They had glasses charged and ready for toasts on a tray in a waiting server’s hands at their elbows.

“If he thinks he prefers Maurie, you’re better off without him,” Fatima said. “I had thought he was almost good enough for you. Of course that Maurie would try to steal him. If I’d known, I would’ve…I don’t know, I would’ve something.”

Pascaline was surprised enough at this unexpected support that she let the young aide lead her. “You do realize the rest of this crowd disagrees with you.”

Fatima sniffed. “Only the family. And not even all of them. The marry-ins generally know better. And of course all the staff supports you. We can’t afford to disbelieve our own eyes.” She closed her perfectly colored lips tightly as a young Bakweri boy came scampering over.

Dibussi gave Pascaline an oblivious smile. The Endeley chief nodded at Uncle Jacques who’d trailed along after them. Close enough to hear, Pascaline realized, and he’d not chosen to disagree with a single word of Fatima’s diatribe.

Endeley Bouba turned away from Grandpere and looked at Pascaline like a man might examine a particularly dirty puppy following a grandchild home. That reaction felt more like normal and gave Pascaline a bit of her own balance back. Dibussi trailed the chief with a platter-sized plate of party foods. “Hard at work organizing family business, I see.” Chief Bouba favored both Pascaline and Uncle Jacques with a half bow and half nod greeting. “Finally, we get a classically trained engineer in the extended family. And just in time with this new venture.”

Uncle Jacques opened his mouth as if to say something, but he decided to fill it with a bite from Dibussi’s tray instead.

The chief shook Uncle Jacques’ hand warmly and encouraged him to take something more from Dibussi’s tray. “The nieces got together and made some of their favorites. With so many options already on the buffet, they’ve bribed this little scamp with batches of his own to wander the room stuffing everyone with their creations. Skip the ones with the eggroll wraps,” he advised. “It’s an Indo-Congolese fusion recipe, and I don’t think the fish paste and bitter-greens filling is going to win our budding chefs any awards.” He looked at her and shook his head. “I still can’t believe you turned down our Adamou.”

“No, she didn’t,” Dibussi said. “They’re engaged.”

“What?” Grandpere said.

“What?” Chief Bouba repeated.

Pascaline looked at the two men. So, Adamou hadn’t rejected her. This was just family being family again. She reached for a chocolate truffle, and Dibussi turned the tray to offer the fried plantains instead. She gave him a narrow-eyed stare, and he sheepishly turned the tray back to allow her access to the chocolates. Endeley Bouba’s focus on her intensified.

“You don’t have any engineers in the whole tribe?” she asked.

The Bakweri chief laughed. “Oh, we have some, but nobody else studied aerospace or space systems engineering, much less a double major in the two! And a perfect grade point average on top of all that.”

“Grandpere has been bragging on you,” Fatima whispered. “Congratulations on your engagement. He’s still not good enough for you.”

Uncle Jacques glanced at Pascaline, with a worried expression. “You’d have made the business arrangement for use of the mountain for the launcher construction in any case, though,” he said. “It isn’t as if you couldn’t hire out for whatever training was needed, right?”

The chief laughed. “Of course not. Not if it was Adamou with Maurie either.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I misunderstood which grandchild. Well, never mind all that.” He beamed at Pascaline. “Aerospace types are almost impossible to hire these days. Anyone good has already moved East. Everyone except family. You are such a treasure. I hope you don’t mind, we had already included a proviso in the contract that you’ll be lead technical manager over the project as a whole and have hands-on involvement in the construction. Hired hands are all very well, but some things need a family member involved to make sure they go smoothly.”

“There’s our honored guest; Mr. Endeley Bouba, a pleasure to finally meet you,” Uncle Benoit invited himself into the conversation as well. He eyed Dibussi’s tray but refrained from taking anything.

With a deep nod to the Bakweri chief, he said, “I’m Benoit, one of dear Pascaline’s uncles on the Sadou side, a pleasure. I am curious about the terms of that agreement. I’m the family’s board member for the geothermal power plants which will be supplying power for the launches, at least initially. You’ll find I have more experience than our Pascaline.” He smiled as if there were no insult implied.

Grandpere chortled derisively. “Live long enough and you’ll have more experience than anyone.”

Chief Endeley put an arm around Grandpere’s shoulders and joined him in the chuckle. “It hardly matters when it doesn’t come with the right set of core knowledge. Tell me this, my friend, how many launch vehicles did you study while getting your fine arts degree majoring in, what was it, the intersection of tourism and folk art with a concentration in alcohol poisoning?”

Uncle Jacques choked on his next bite, and Uncle Benoit shot him a scowl.

“The launcher project would be fine independent of me,” Pascaline attempted to rescue herself. A piece of her heart still felt frozen. She’d nearly believed that Adamou had rejected her. Could she stand to be on the same mountain as him if he had intended to dump her and was only faking for the purpose of building a spaceport? Fuck it, yes, she could. She would. But all determination aside, she wasn’t sure she was really capable of managing all of this. A perfect grade point average for only one semester of an undergrad degree meant nothing at all. And, it seemed someone had failed to mention to the Bakweri chief that she’d never completed that degree when a shortage in family finances lined up disastrously with her tuition needs. The fine college in question had objected to the idea of providing financial aid to a foreign national from a family with a claimed net worth in the multimillions.

“It seems so.” Uncle Benoit gave her the tiniest smile. He knew she had no completed degree. “Don’t disappoint the chief, Miss Engineer.” Pascaline would’ve liked to gut her uncle.

Chief Bouba gave another laugh and patted Uncle Benoit on the back. “Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty of work for us old men too. Once this thing is in operation, the international visitors are sure to be arriving in hordes, both to see the spectacle and to shepherd their valuable payloads. You might even want to get your fine arts galleria network busy carving faux ivory into launch craft miniatures and rebranding some night clubs for a volcanic spaceport theme.”

“I might,” Uncle Benoit agreed with a tone that implied he’d do nothing of the sort.

The chief raised his eyebrows at Pascaline. “Do you generally receive so little support from your extended family? I’ve a mind to use that ninety-day annulment clause on our land-use agreement if you aren’t prepared to step up into the design role.”

Uncle Benoit froze. “My understanding is that many of the launcher project materials had already been ordered.”

“I’m sure they have,” the chief agreed. “And the TCG contract might have been arranged by one of your own, but it did contain their standard clauses financially separating the larger company from any obligations to pay bills you incur while servicing their contract. That starter capital is something of an advance against the payments for payload deliveries. Provided, of course, you manage to make those deliveries. It might be a tiny bit more difficult to do so, if you have to find a much, much longer stretch of flat land for your launcher…And you’d need still more cash to buy the properties in the high-risk crash zone. Let’s see. Add in the extra charges for transporting the payloads themselves inland from our convenient port system…You might really miss Mount Fako.”

“None of that will be an issue,” Grandpere informed the Endeley patriarch. “This is family work under family management like any other plant or project. Pascaline will pursue her doctoral studies some other time.”

Uncle Benoit suppressed a laugh. Her college disaster hadn’t been near the secret from everyone she thought it was. The contempt in the curl of Uncle Benoit’s lip and the concern radiating from Uncle Jacques announced quite clearly that these men, at least, were well aware that she was in no graduate program whatever. Something about Uncle Benoit’s expression and the way he looked at Grandpere as if the man were completely senile instead of woefully misinformed made Pascaline want to break him.

So what if this would be learning on the job at frantic pace with far too much riding on it? So what if Adamou might dump her any day? She’d been abandoned by closer relatives before. Screw him and his mountain. She’d build this spaceport, and Adamou’d have to hear the earsplitting booms of her launches all day every day for years. If he really wanted Maurie and not her, he was in for a rude shock. Maurie was not someone who’d appreciate his love for the mountain.

“Do you really think you can handle engineering management for a space launch construction project, Pascaline?” Uncle Benoit asked with that same sickly sweet smile.

You expect me to scuttle this project right now, don’t you, Uncle? Chief Bouba expects us to try to build it no matter what. But if we have no mountain, we could do no building at all. All I’ve got to do is admit my non-degreed status and Uncle Benoit wins.

Instead of saying “I can’t do it,” instead of informing the Bakweri chief that her Grandpere had allowed the family to fail its younger generation in so many important ways over the years that she’d been kicked out of her prestigious undergrad program for nonpayment of tuition and fees, instead of feeding Uncle Benoit exactly the line he expected, she said: “Yep.”

His jaw dropped, and it was all worth it.

Pascaline turned on her heel and walked out. The party could continue without her. She needed staff. Lots of very good staff. Lies like this one required it.

On her way out her comm chimed with a message from Adamou. “My queen, everything okay?”

“It’s fine,” she sent back, and surprising even herself, she meant it. Her heart was calloused enough that she could take this. She sent a few details from the party including the news of his engagement to Maurie.

He replied with a pleasant flurry of curses directed at his own family, her family, and pleas for forgiveness.

Oh. Her heart lifted. He hadn’t meant to abandon her. A mist clouded her vision.

But, she did not tell him about her fake education.

Adamou sent a half dozen more messages not believing that “fine” could actually be “fine,” and she was about to turn the comm off to stop the new message beeps when she saw one come in from Maurie.

“Great Aunt taking turn for worst. At clinic. Please come.”


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