Jeanne G'Fellers - No Sister of Mine

so much. My knife and I know better and one of these days we’re gonna show you just how ignorant you really are.” Brandoff carried the linens to the washroom, threw them on the counter and removed the fresh ones from the cleaning unit, grumbling unsavory grievances all the while.
Crammed to capacity with soiled towels, the unit chirped and hummed its cycle signal, needing no further attention. Brandoff balled the sweet-smelling towels in her arms then went to Bane’s corner. “Get up, old fool. I know you’re faking it.” She threw the bundle on his chest. “Fold these while you tell me another of your stories.”
Bane opened his eyes. “Should have known better than to try to fool a Taelach.” He tried to sit up but the trifling weight of the linens pinned his frail body, laboring his breathing. “Move these,” he wheezed, “and you’ll get your story.”
“A demand from the dying?” Brandoff snorted. “Very well, I’ll fold them. Just spare me from boredom.”
Weight lifted from his chest, Bane pushed to a reclining position, the effort throwing him into a painful coughing spasm. He sputtered and gurgled, choking on his own fluids.
“Mess yourself and it won’t be me who cleans you up!” Brandoff pulled a chair beside him.
“Water,” he gasped, “please.”
Brandoff grabbed the glass from the tray, dunked her fingers into it, and flicked them in his face. “Drink up.” Bane stared at her, too winded to object, far too used to her cruel manipulations to give the pleasure of a reaction. “I guess you want me to hold the glass too, don’t you?” She raised his head and held the glass to his lips, allowing him several sips before she jerked it away. “Now, spin me a tale, old man, before I make you the new target for my knife play.”
“Did you ever hear the story of the Greatest Gift?”
“No, let me hear it.”
“On the edge of the eastern Langus shore there is an island called Vinsite. The seas there are unusually rough. They batter the rocky cliffs and storms frequently bash the small cluster of compounds that lie there.
“A child by the name of Talana lived there with her family.”
“Aut or Taelach?” Brandoff continued to fold linens.
“Autlach of course,” said Bane irritably. “I know no stories involving Taelachs that you would approve of. Now, it was the Feast of the Making and a terrible storm was raging on the island. Talana’s home was warm and a chasa meat roast was cooking over the fire. The table was set with the makings of a wonderful meal, but Talana and her mother weren’t interested in it. Instead, they walked to the windows every few minutes, drawing back the drapes to look down the hill toward the sea. Talana repeatedly asked when her father would return. Her mother would say ‘soon’ and leave it at that.
“Talana’s father was a fisherman and sometimes gone for days at a time. He always returned with something for Talana, usually a pretty shell or some other trinket. But this time, because of the Feast, he had promised her a special toy.
“The storm grew angrier and angrier.”
“What about the environmental controls?” Brandoff asked
“This was before the Autlach had stable weather control.” Bane wheezed heavily. “If you keep interrupting me I’ll be too spent to finish.”
“Go on then.” Brandoff stacked the folded linens at her feet.
“The windows rattled and the wind pulled at the roof. Talana’s mother was in tears with worry.”
“Typical Aut bitch, crying at everything.”
After a glare, Bane continued. “Finally, a faint knock sounded on the door. Talana flew to open it and there stood her father. He was soaking wet, his clothes covered with mud. His boots left puddles as he dragged himself to the fire. Talana’s mother wrapped a blanket ’round him and stoked the flames. After some time, he told them what had happened. His ship had been caught outside the docks when the storm blew up. It was impossible to navigate around the barrier rocks in the heavy seas, so they forced the ship to the far side of the island and into the coastal caverns. He had walked across the island in the storm to reach his home. On his way, he had gotten turned about and wandered for hours in the forest.
“Talana’s father called her over and told her he had lost the toy in the storm. He held her close and she could feel his warmth and caring. Suddenly, the toy wasn’t important. She kissed her father’s cheek, hugged him close, and told him his being there was the most special gift he could ever give.”
“A children’s story?” Brandoff bristled a little. “You waste my time with a fucking children’s story?”
“A teaching tale, nothing more.” Bane’s breathing had become labored. “No insult was intended. I only did as you said.”
“So you did.” She took the stew plate from the bedside tray and set it in his lap. “Eat something. I can’t have my only entertainment kicking off yet.”
“Can’t,” he whispered. “Too tired.”
“Must I feed you like an infant, old fool?” Brandoff snatched the plate and spooned a bite into his mouth. “Don’t get used to it. I’m feeling generous for some reason.” She waited while he struggled to swallow then shoved another at him. “Hurry up. I’m only giving broth. There’s nothing to chew.”
“No more.” Bane fairly mouthed the words. “Water.” Brandoff helped him take another drink then eased him back on the pillows.
“The old man is making you soft.” Cance stood at the stair head. “Why bother? He’s dead when we leave here.” She took the stack of linens then looked back to where Bane’s wasting body was curled. “Why help him linger? Let him die.”
“He occupies my time.”
“Not now he doesn’t. I need you to complete the modifications on the plasma bows.”
“They’re finished.”
Cance smiled. “Perfect. Check the scan decoders. I’m fairly certain they’re synchronized, but you’re the expert. Double-check my calculations. And my bow is due a charge. Get it done.” Her twin’s attention adequately diverted,