Neptune - Part 7

Part 7 – Idle Hands
Neptune's Journal 06/02/2025
Mercury, I'm going to assume you're reading this. This is not for anyone's eyes but mine, but I am not surprised or upset that you peruse it. With that being said, I will write my log for the day.
My conversation with Uranus was discouraging. By the end of it, his opinions remained unchanged while I feel as though he has manipulated me into sympathizing with him. I know that his empathetic nature makes this difficult for him, but we must all act as a cohesive whole in order to survive.
Venus and Mercury have returned with supplies, trash stolen from small restaurants. Unwanted foods discarded because they are expired. It appears that this trash is few and far between, and Mercury is reluctant to even eat it due to her programmed phobia. Of us all, the ones most suited for this Siberian arctic are Mercury and Venus with their plush coats. I suspect it will be best to keep them on the food gathering runs. Saturn is doing perhaps the worst of us all in this environment: she is trying to put on a brave face, but she feels guilty and she is freezing cold. Her fine fur makes it easy for the cold to cut her to the bone. I stay with her because, honestly, I am not well suited to this environment either.
The biggest threat, however, is that we all seem to have become aimless, our only goal survival. We have no plan from here. We have escaped from a prison into a freezing hell. The locals are unhelpful to us, morale is low and the cold is not helping. We needs two things now: something with which to keep ourselves busy (something better than exchanging tales of the experiments we underwent, since we are no longer restricted from talking about it) and something to strive for. As things are going, I fear a cold, aimless death.
***
I arrive home to the scent of baking, that pleasant aroma that means that Paris is baking. Hopefully with some supervision, at least. I round the corner to the left from the entrance to enter the kitchen. Next to the library, this is my favourite room in the house. I like the white ceramic tiles on the floor, the modern looking refrigeration and heating units, the elegantly simple black and white paint and ceramic designs on the walls and most of all the opportunity it provides me to do baking with my daughter. It is unfortunate that this lovely room is commonly underused in day to day meals.
As I walk in, I first notice Samara looking through my silverware drawer. I don't ask, instead turning my head slightly to find my daughter. She is eyeing the timer while wearing oven mitts. "What are you baking, there? Is Aunt Tam helping you?"
We both look back to the snow leopard recom, who softly mumbles something after a few clanking sounds. "Yep. But she said your kitchen was disorganized so she's fixing it."
"I don't smell burning fur, so everything is fine," says Samara. She puts her finishing touches on the drawer before pushing it slowly closed so that the utensils do not fall out of place. She moves on to the next drawer, full of cloths and pot holders that were thrown in haphazardly. A snort comes from her direction, but I'm not paying her any mind anymore.
"So, Paris, did you have a good day today? Do you have anything new to tell me?"
"No, I... Oh, well, this morning Amity told me that I should be ready to participate in the Junior Lunarian fencing circuit! But school was boring." Paris and Natasha are both homeschooled. They have personal tutors who teach items from the curriculum, but because of their Sol precociousness they had never fit in with their peers and needed to be put on an accelerated program. Amity is Paris' physical education teacher who was selected due to Paris' interest in French martial arts. Most of the time, she is provided with training that synchs up with her interest, though Natasha and Paris sometimes cross train with each others' instructors to understand the principles of the others combat art, and sometimes they are provided opportunity to try out other sports, but as is the general trend in my family, they are always returned to their respective combat sports.
"The Junior circuit? I'm very proud of you. If you want to participate, I can take care of all your registration, same as I did for Tash." To that statement, Samara looks up from her work of carefully replacing cloths in the drawer, stacked so that the colours lined up from red to blue according to wavelength. Honestly, I have difficulty keeping up with all the rules she has for arranging things.
"Speaking of, I sent Tash's tutors away today due to sickness. It seemed genuine, since Tash didn't even want to do any physical training. Just letting you know," says Sam, before replacing all of the cloths back into the drawer very carefully.
Politely waiting for Samara to finish speaking, Paris nods and opens her mouth before she is interrupted again by the oven timer. "Oh!" She pulls the oven open and I watch her carefully. Even though I know that she is old enough to operate the oven, I tend to be a bit protective of her. She reaches in to pull out her pan of the oven. She made the cookies with her 'secret' recipe. In other words, she added more chocolate chips than the recipe calls for. After placing the cookies on the stovetop and closing the oven she says, "It would be wonderful, daddy, if I could do competition!" I'm thrilled that my children are so enthusiastically competitive, since most children in these circuits seem only to be there because their parents want them to be.
I nod at her with a smile. "Well, then, I'd be glad to register you." I turn my attention back to Samara, "She wasn't doing so well last night, so I can understand. Have you talked to her much today?"
"Only to bring food. It didn't seem like Tash wanted to talk much." I raise my brow slightly at Sam.
"The cookies are still hot!" says Paris as she prematurely tries to grab one, making the declaration only to save face and make it look like she's just checking them for us. I reach to turn off the oven and I nod at Paris.
"Remember, you can only have one tonight. Samara, would you like to join me in the library, I-"
"The library? You know how I am around books." Sam's arranging rituals for books are complicated and make it impossible to find anything. Also, once she has started arranging something, she cannot rest until it is finished. She generally just uses a reader on her PDA or sends others to get a few books from the library for her if she wants to read.
I nod slowly and say, "My office then. I need to talk to you." I simply prefer the library because I find it more relaxing. I can understand how stressful that Samara must find it, though.
Paris looks between us and, seeming to acknowledge that there will be grown-up speak happening (in other words, speech that she is not particularly interested in hearing anyways) says, "I'm going to use my computer..." She grabs one of the cookies, the one that she had previously touched, and moves it back and forth between her hands so that she doesn't get burned before ultimately heading out of the room.
"Here should be fine for whatever you'd like to say. I've almost got everything organized." Paris had left us, so there is nothing to stop the conversation to take place here. I do not enjoy when others wrest control of the situation out of my grip, but it is not of any importance at the moment. Samara opens another drawer, looking into it for a few moments before internally deeming it satisfactory.
"First things first... I know it will seem cold to ask, but before the funeral, did you at least store tissue samples?"
Samara turns from her task and furrows her brow at me, "If you're looking to start this conversation on a pleasant note, you're doing great. My children should rest in peace; it would break my heart to ever see clones of them... But I've always had some of Darryl's genetic material in storage, ever since we decided to have kids in the first place. It's crazy, but like you, I just can't let a Sol line die. The guilt would be unbearable..."
I sigh and look away from her, aware of the meaning behind those words. "Alright. And I'm guessing you had some of your tissue put in storage as well?"
She nods, "Before that, even. As far as I know, I'm the only MER line recom in existence. Leia proved that some of my flaws can be reversed without compromising the Sol traits." She turns away from me and continues picking through the drawers. "I don't want to talk about it right now, though. Let's change the subject."
"Certainly. I trust you'll keep this next thing I'm going to say confidential?"
She nods. I trust her to keep the secret. As much as she wants to be an actress, I still worry that once she feels she has nothing left to live for she will seek the bumpier course. While espionage is dangerous, it's lucrative and thrilling. Because of this, her reputation for keeping agreements is still important. It wouldn't do if she leaked something that she indicated she would not. Besides, we have been amicable for years now. She does not have many friends, and I doubt that she would jeopardize that.
"What do you know about Advanced Intelligence?" I ask just to see how much she's been keeping up with current events. Darryl was very good at keeping himself informed, but Samara always seemed to know things that were not possible to know. Even though she removed herself from being a field agent of sorts, she still found ways to help her husband from a distance.
She taps quickly into her PDA, so that she doesn't feel compelled to slip into untruth or sarcasm midway through: 'It's a robotics company. Mostly focusing on droids for home comfort, though they are also doing a small amount of weapons development, downplayed by their public relations. Rumours about nanotechnology, unconfirmed. What I'm more interested in is the owner of the company: Tarence Ural. There are no pictures of him. I've been looking into it for awhile, and either he's made up or very camera shy.'
"Interesting..." I consider this for a few moments, reaching to grab one of Paris' cookies. "I need to go speak to Cleveland right away."