Get To Bed
All Nav could do was watch the video. It took almost no energy to view the news, so he sat there for hours looking at reports from all around the world. He was glad to see that Meena was regularly mentioned for her triumphant work reviving jazz for an appreciative new audience. He was so proud. He wished he had the energy to tell her how proud he was.
Then a strange report emerged. Someone had noticed that Meena was wearing a stunning collection of jewelry. It was hard to miss. They'd wondered where she got it, and began digging. Major retailers of high-end jewelry said they weren't involved. Well-known collectors said they hadn't loaned it to her. So where did she get it?
Someone had the bright idea of doing a computer search of photo archives to see if anyone had worn it before. They discovered that it originally belonged to Nav's grandmother Olivia Bushnell Sr., and that it was the centerpiece of her role in the Diamond War. This meant Meena must have gotten it from the grandson, Navius III, who was known to be an oligarch. So HE was the man who said the nicest things! Cool! The stories were glowing and enthusiastic for exactly one day.
But the fact that Nav was an oligarch raised all kinds of questions, and Meena had become such a big star that the media now examined everything about her under a microscope. How did they meet? What did they have in common? Was Meena rich too?
Some bright reporter realized that Nav was one of the few people in the world rich enough to own a slave.
A search for background information on Meena found no evidence that she existed until three years ago. That's not possible normally. A little more digging led to a source from the plantation, who confirmed Meena was bred and sold there.
It was the biggest story on all three worlds. A brilliant musical prodigy turned out to be a slave! All that creativity and skill poured from the mind of a bioengineered woman owned by an oligarch! The people who disapproved of slavery - and there were many - unleashed a torrent of invective on Nav mainly, but on Meena also.
Nav didn't care that people criticized him. He'd lived almost 200 years, and it took a lot to upset him. Sitting there in bed, he did not have the energy to express the enormity of the damn he did not give.
But they were insulting Meena! The woman he loved! They were saying things so mean it made his heart pound in fury! They described Meena as some kind of unwilling victim whose work was being exploited to enrich a man who had too much money already! @#$!
It was on all the channels. Nav turned on a talk show hosted by a celebrity who had outed herself as a slave. Uma Emerson was a beautiful, brilliant, insightful host with a sharp wit and a winning personality; she regularly used her program to examine issues related to slavery, an institution she firmly supported. The controversy over Meena demanded her attention.
She assembled of panel of individuals who were split on the issue of slavery. There was the usual collection of opponents who argued that slavery was a violation of basic human rights. The supporters were a group of slaves and Masters. Most enslaved couples remained in the closet because they didn't want to endure the kind of criticism Meena was getting. But some couples chose to out themselves so they could speak about the many misunderstandings about enslavement.
Both sides screamed at each other. This was not a topic that invited calm, rational debate. "How can you accept the idea that some rich old pervert literally owns this beautiful child?!? She's still a girl!"
"Does she look like someone who is suffering under the boot of oppression?" one slave asked. "Will you just spend a minute and listen to her damn music? That girl is freer than any of you. You aren't able to understand what enslavement means. You think he owns her. What you don't realize is that she also owns him!"
That was a good way of describing it. Meena owned Nav. True that. He may have owned her body, but she owned his heart. She would own him forever.
It got worse, and it was the only thing anyone anywhere wanted to talk about. This was a serious problem. The businessman inside Nav realized that people might not be willing to listen to music by a slave. Lots of people would object if they thought Nav was just using Meena to enrich himself. People who understood math could figure out that Meena's income, as good as it was, could never significantly increase Nav's holdings. But so few people understood math that trying to explain it would be like trying to teach quantum physics to a poodle.
He turned off the video. This was a crisis. Meena was being threatened in a way no slave had been threatened before. Her dream to bring back jazz was in danger. The fact that she was a breathtaking genius didn't change the reality that she was an innocent child in many ways. She had to be in turmoil over what was happening. And she hadn't even mentioned it.
And what was Nav doing about all this? Nothing. He was stuck in bed, with barely enough strength to push buttons on a remote.
This was not acceptable.
Nav took a deep breath and tried to sit up. He took a second deep breath and tried again. It worked that time. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and thought about what he'd have to do to stand up. It took some maneuvering, but he eventually put his feet on the floor, lifted himself from the bed, and leaned against the wall.
"Feva, come here please," he said.
Feva rushed to the room and was surprised to see Nav on his feet. "How can I help you, sir?" he asked. "Would you like a wheelchair?"
"Absolutely not. I want you to help me walk to the kitchen. I'm pretty sure I can do it, but I'd rather not trip over my own feet."
Feva held Nav by one arm and walked beside him slowly. "I smell, don't I?" Nav asked.
"It's not objectionable," Feva said.
"It is to me. I need a shower. But not until I've had some coffee. I didn't realize a person could get this ripe by just laying in bed." Nav's nurse had planned to give him a sponge bath that day.
"Where is Meena?" Nav asked.
Feva checked the home's security system. Meena was in bed, tossing and turning. "She is trying to sleep, sir?"
"Trying?" Nav asked.
"Ms. Meena has not had much sleep for several days," Feva said.
Of course not. How was that poor girl supposed to sleep while the world crumbled around her? Everything she'd ever cared about was in crisis. Not only that, her Master hadn't given her an order for almost a week. Worst of all, she craved physical attention from him.
"Would you like me to tell her you are awake?" Feva asked.
"Absolutely not. Coffee first. And I want you to help me take a shower. I'm sure I look like hammered dog poop." That sounded almost like a joke. Nav hadn't made a joke since taking to bed. Feva decided to pay close attention to see if Nav made any more jokes. The doctor might want to know.
They placed Nav in a chair at the kitchen table, and Feva prepared a large cup of his favorite coffee. Nav felt more alive after the coffee, and he was able to stand without help from Feva. He walked on his own to the bathroom, although Feva stayed next to him, ready to respond in a nanosecond if Nav looked like he might fall. Feva helped Nav take off his clothes, move to a bench in the shower, and wash off the funk from his lengthy stay in bed. He toweled Nav off, helped him get dressed, and took him back to the kitchen. Nav was moving much better.
"Would you like something to eat?" Feva asked.
"Another coffee would be nice."
He took the second cup and cleared his head. "I'd like you to do something, Feva," Nav said.
"Of course. What can I do?"
"I've seen a few news reports about the media shitstorm about Meena. I think I understand the basic idea. But I'm sure I've missed some details. I'd like you to use that fabulous mind of yours to summarize the major events that have happened since this mess started. Tell me what's up."
It took Feva all of seven nanoseconds to organize the data. "Let's start with Ms. Meena's jewelry. Do you know about the report that revealed she got it from you?"
"Yes. I saw that. Bastards. What else?"
Feva ran down the news in chronological order, skipping explanations of the parts Nav already knew. Nav hadn't heard about the renewed effort to abolish slavery. "That won't happen until the third Tuesday after Hell freezes over," Nav said. "People just have no clue about the way the world really works. They must believe the crap they were taught in civics class."
Was that another joke? If it was a joke, was there any significance to the fact that Nav didn't believe Hell existed? Would the doctor care? Feva made a note to look for more jokes.
This continued for almost an hour, with Feva telling Nav several details he didn't know. Those details made everything worse. When Feva finally reached the end of his report, Nav felt overwhelmed by the extent of the nightmare.
"OK Feva, I have a question. You know exactly what is happening. I'm sure I don't need to tell you what I think about it. What I need to know is what to do. If you were me, what action would you take? Can you think of any way to put this monster back in a cage?"
That was a strange question. Feva had never been asked such a thing before. But he gave it some thought. He reached a conclusion in much less than a second, then examined the question for a second time to see if he'd missed something.
He hadn't. "I do not know what to do," Feva said. "This all seems to be spinning completely out of control. People keep coming up with new ways to be outraged."
"Is this hurting the sales of Meena's albums?" Nav asked.
"Yes. Sales are down 80 percent. Today's sales are worse than yesterdays."
"Fuck me," Nav said. "OK, I think it's time to talk to Meena. Is she asleep?"
"Not yet," Feva said.
"Please tell her I'd like to see her."
