Tales From Talimara

Silversun Spaceport

Author's note: This is the sequel to The Silver Palace, continuing Sila Dramin's story as she tries to move on from her grief.

"Sila, dear, please wake up."

Two very-tired and mildly-annoyed eyes opened to behold Inilda Dramin sitting daintily on the edge of the mattress. "Mom?"

Inilda smiled apologetically. She was a woman with an unknown youth and a suitably-dubious appearance, just like all the superbly-wealthy people who could afford to invest in age-slowing. Inilda had a prideful look about her- she looked older than fully-grown but young enough that one would never believe she would ever approach her elderly years. She had eyes which were sharp but serene, hair that was styled maturely but attractively and an envy-inspiring complexion. Nevertheless, she was a sensible parent through-and-through, and she reached forward and put a calming hand on her daughter's face.

"Time for breakfast, Sila."

The girl blinked and glanced at the clock at her bedside. A true antique, it was a wooden bell-and-ticker which therapeutically counted the seconds for anyone who would care to listen. "You could've sent the serverbot," Sila mumbled through the hair strands that had gotten caught between her lips during her night's tossing and turning. "Or buzzed the intercom."

Inilda smirked. "Don't act like you're so unwilling to see me," she said. "Besides, waking children up requires a mother's touch. It's something your dad could never do."

Sila blinked slowly. "Dad's hardly ever around to do it," she pointed out, "'cause he's always flying off into space."

"Good that you remember," Inilda nodded, and with a wave of her fingers, the room's automatics sent the curtains flying open.

Rich golden rays streamed through the automatically-tinted windows and Sila pushed back her duvet and sat up to give her mother a hug. "Is that today, then?" she asked.

"You bet," Inilda replied. "Dad says it'll be special this time. More so than usual, he meant. Get going, Sila."

"Yes, ma'am," came the mumbled reply.

Breakfast served at the Dramins' was by no means special, even by virtue of their family's stunning wealth. Feodor Dramin was a very successful businessman, true enough, but his job of trading and exporting with and to the other colonies meant that he was often at the spaceport at odd hours observing incoming or outgoing shipments, if he wasn't blasting off with them on important journeys. As such, breakfast was often brisk whenever he was around.

That didn't mean it was simple. Sila and her sister Deandril grew up with the expectation that they would be able to get whatsoever they pleased whenever it pleased them, but Inilda made sure she raised her daughters with a disciplined respect for gratitude. Regardless, whenever somebody in the Dramins' glittering silver home asked for something, it was rarely simple.

When Sila appeared in the dining hall that morning, her android server homed in on her at once. "Good morning, Sila," it intoned in its chipper voice. "What is your pleasure today?"

Sila glanced at the table. Inilda and Feodor were already there, the latter eating rather quickly from his silver-rimmed plate. Inilda ate in a graceful silence, punctuated by light dabs of her lips with her napkin. Their silverware glinted brightly in the light of the rising sun. "I'll have whatever they're having," Sila told her server.

"Coming right up," it nodded, before it zipped away to the kitchens.

"Sit down, Sila," Inilda instructed, pointing at an empty chair. "We don't have much time."