Mikael Pacioli

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've written to you all, but first and foremost, I'd like to thank everyone for all of the comments, reviews, and support. Truly, you are the fuel that builds my fire and keeps me writing. That said, my apologies for the slowed process - it's been a busy year, but change is on the horizon.

In response to questions: (1) I re-wrote Mikael's story (or part of it) because I felt I'd been lax in telling it the first go-round. Because I'd convinced myself that Mikael would be a shorter story (like Cal's), I found myself careening through the plot as if there were some expiration date on my work. Once I accepted that the story would end once it had been told, I felt a rewrite was in order. Jovan, as you'll see, still makes an appearance, and Admiral Holly becomes a much more central figure. (2) Mikael's attempted suicide saved his life because a suicidal carrier is considered a sick carrier, and all efforts must be made to rehabilitate him. A disobedient, ornery, or rebellious carrier is considered a criminal, and is dealt with accordingly. (3) Although I'm not running out of steam on Mikael Pacioli, I have been preoccupied with other work, and so let this fall by the wayside a bit. I believe I'm back now.

Love,

Kabi

August 7: Saint Clare

August was planting season, Mikael had always been told. Brother Agostino had reminded him of this, just as often as he had reminded Mikael to shield the tender buds from danger - sun, bugs, and thievery - to check for signs of frost, disease, or damage, and to thicken the soil with scraps collected from Brother Damon’s kitchen. In August, we plant for the winter, Brother Agostino had said, which we know will always come.

Lost in thoughts like these, Mikael barely noticed the darkening of the sky above him. A voice appeared, attached to the sudden shade.

“Hi.”

Mikael looked up, startled, towards the source of the voice, then quickly turned his eyes back down and refused to look up again.

“Ahem. Hi.” the voice repeated, and Mikael reddened and glanced sideways, through the fence, at the intruder.

“They’ll see you talking to me.” he muttered, annoyed. “You’ll get in trouble.”

The intruder laughed.

“Sure. What’s your name?”

Mikael hesitated, then decided that the best course of action would be to simply ignore the problem. Instead of responding, he focused on patting down a particularly difficult lump of ground so that it properly cradled his seedling. His orange gloves browned where he dug them into the soil to shape the nest.

“Carrier.” the voice was firmer now, “I asked your name.”

With his title involved, Mikael felt that the question had become an imperative command, and now he really warred within himself - should be obey or ignore it? An officer did have the right, if necessity dictated, to demand information, and Mikael knew he couldn’t afford any more yellow flags on his file - be they from strange fence-side invaders or not. He bit his lip and gave ground.

“Mikael.” he answered, but didn’t look up.

From the corner of his eye, he could see that the man was now leaning - leaning! - casually against the fencepost, with what seemed to be only the highest disregard for the rules of separation.

“Hm. Mikael what?”

Mikael reached for his spade, then used it to flatten down yet another stubborn piece of ground and picked up a new seedling.

“Pacioli.” he answered, and stole a glance at the intruder to see if he had grown bored yet or not.

“Italian?”

“No.” Mikael cut him off, then graciously amended. “I’m adopted.”

“Oh.”

It fell silent, and a few more moments passed, with Mikael busily trying to focus on his tree planting and the man across the fence trying to think of things to say to a carrier.

“I’m an officer.”

Mikael sighed. Not only was he saddled with a persistent suitor, but apparently this was a rather silly one as well.

“Oh.” he said, and hoped that would be the end of it. The officer flushed a little, perhaps realizing that he’d made a poor introduction.

“I mean, I’m in tactical response for the Northern Chain coast.”

Mikael wasn’t sure how to respond to this.

“Good.” he said, eventually. “We always need good…tactical responses.”

The officer appeared to consider this answer with some uncertainty.

“Our division does a lot for the Union - we’re strategists. And we defend the borders - the islands in the northern chain.”

“Islands don’t count as borders.” Mikael said immediately, reflexively, and rudely. He thought about apologizing, but didn’t want to give the wrong impression. Instead, he peered up at the sky - the sun was still high.

“They do, too.” the man said, petulantly, and Mikael couldn’t resist a glance to see if his expression was as childish as his voice. “They’re a critical part of the national vision.”

From the opposite corner of his eye, Mikael saw one of the Gardening Club's chaperones turn to observe this interaction, but the thing came no closer.

“I guess.” he said, to the man. And now, peering upwards, he caught a clear view of the officer’s face. He had dark hair, this one - blacker than night, and pale eyes set in a round, tan face. He looked young, and curious. Mikael wondered how he’d gotten into this area, and asked as much.

“Been supervising a construction project,” the man responded, shrugging, “Over by the lake. We’re on duty today, but it’s break time. I took a walk, came upon you.”

Mikael thought over this. If the chaperone wasn’t responsive, then obviously the man was little threat to him - at least for now. Father Pacioli’s rebuke reflected in his mind. He had promised he would try to do well. Perhaps conversation wouldn’t hurt.

“So what are you building?” he asked.

The officer seemed blindsided momentarily - as if he hadn’t expected Mikael to truly talk to him at all. He cleared his throat.

“Bridges. To the moors.”

Mikael dipped an eyebrow.

“The moors? Where are you from?”

The officer looked amused.

“The deep norther coast.”

“Here?”

“Ah. In the far east of the Northern Territories.”

Mikael put his spade down and looked up in interest.

“I’ve never met anyone from there before.” he reflected, mostly to himself.

The man grinned, proudly.

“Beautiful land. Rough living. Lots of boats. Not as much ice as you’d expect.”

Mikael pondered this information and the two fell silent. Distantly, a bell rang, and the officer jolted upright.

“Gotta run.” he said, and looked about to take off before he glanced back at Mikael. “Tomorrow, maybe?”

Mikael shook his head.

“Probably won’t be out tomorrow.”

The man frowned, but Mikael ignored it. There would be others out tomorrow - the man could surely come back and find one of them. Someone more receptive than he himself was - someone interested.

“Well. Down the line, then.” the man said, then added definitively, “I’ll see you.” he turned to leave, then turned back quickly. “I’m Walder,” he blurted. “Jovan Walder.”

Then the bell rang again and he turned and was gone.

Mikael watched the forest where he had disappeared into for a few more minutes, then went back to shaping the ground with his spade.

~:~