Marco Domici: Marco and Mrs. Jones

"Cut!" Jessip yelled. His voice carried over the sounds of the explosions they had piped in to cue the actors. "Gingjor, fantastic job as usual! You're beautiful in that armor!"

"What's up, Jessip?" Gingjor called back as she stood up. The blood and dirt makeup accentuated her high cheeks and her long blond hair was blown by one of the stage fans that kept the actors in armor costumes cool. Ginjor dropped the lacar prop and brushed out her hair. "Who came up with all this dry grass prop? I can't keep the junk out of my hair!"

"Hey guys, I got a call today." Jessip said. He looked back at an older woman sitting in a chair next to the water cooler. "There's some legal questions the buzzards want to go over; they may want to input some of the scenes."

Gingjor stomped her foot. "Not again! I quit!" She stomped off. "I'm going to my trailer and calling my agent! We're supposed to start shooting the next 'Rambo' re-make and I can't be held up here because some bird brain wants to change the script."

One of the other actors spoke up after Gingjor left. "What's up, sir? Anything we should worry about?"

Jessip looked around. They were on site filming and things had not gone well. An unusual cold front had hit, dropping buckets of rain onto a dry ground battle scene. They had been able to get spots of it dry enough to shoot on, but people had to tromp through mud.

"Sorry guys. No one from the studio has been able to get the weather fixed for our area. There's a lot of farmland in these parts and they think farmers need the rain more than we do."

A teen boy moved from actor to actor. They piled their gear in his arms and draped paper mache combat armor over his arms, wavy unkempt hair, and askew spectacles.

"Look." Jessip said. "Let's call it a day. Head over and get your makeup off, and then we'll meet for supper and talk about what happens next. I think we'll be okay."

"What about Gingjor? If she quits we're all out of a job."

"She's under contract. Don't worry." Jessip said. "We'll be fine."

The teen boy staggered under the load, heading towards the props van. He tripped and gear went flying, as did his glasses. As he reached around to find them, he heard a woman's voice.

"Here." She said. "Let me help you."

"Tha...thanks." He said, taking his glasses. As he put them on the older woman came in to focus. Rounded cheeks, bright smile. Serious streaks of gray in her long, once light brown hair.

"No problem." She replied. "Here, that's a lot of gear to carry. Let me help." She picked up several of the lacar props she slung them over a shoulder. "I bet it gets to be a pain cleaning the dirt and mud out of these things, doesn't it?" She smiled. "Your name is Marco, isn't it?"

The boy blushed, and nodded. "Yes ma'am. And you're Mrs. Jones, right?"

The woman laughed. "Let's keep the pretenses the contracts call for, shall we, Marco? My pay check seems to depend on it."

"I heard you were rich." Marco blushed even more. "Sorry, none of my business. You don't have to help, ma'am. I can take care of this."

"Should I guess that your parents named you after a hero, Marco?"

He nodded. "My dad's uncle was in the camp, Mrs Jones. He did a lot of the research for some of the novels they wrote." Marco looked around. "He got me this job before he passed away. Hit by a ground speeder coming out of the studio, after they refused to pay him for the movie rights." He shrugged. "Claimed it was public property."

"I'm so sorry, Marco." Mrs Jones said. "I must admit, the movie crew hasn't impressed me one bit." She pointed to the pile of lacars. "They would have been flayed alive had they dropped their weapons on the ground."

They laid the props out on the table and pulled up stools. Marco started to clean one of the lacars, but Mrs Jones interrupted. "Let me show you a secret, Marco."

She quickly broke each prop down. "Grab that spray air, and blow here, here, and here. Waste it, the studio can buy more."

"Were you in the service, ma'am?" Marco said as he followed orders.

Mrs Jones looked at Marco and seemed to lose her smile. After a long moment she was able to force it back. "No, Marco. Not really in the service like you mean. Here, once you blow the clearing tubes give it a quick brush and hand it over, I'll put them back together for you."

Marco turned on his stool. His eyes were wide. "Wait! You're ..."

"Shh..." Mrs Jones winked as she put another lacar back together. "The movie cast thinks I'm a corporate lackey sent to ensure they don't waste studio money. Let's not spoil the fun, shall we?"

"Besides." She paused, and rested her hands on the work bench. "I read your father's book. He understood a lot of things many of the other writers seem to have missed. While I don't agree with all of his suggestions, and I'm sure you understand why, he at least tried to portray the people who fought here as humans. Who did their best and still made mistakes."

"Dad named me after Captain Domici." Marco said. "One time he told me he regretted it. I think he felt there were too many books showing him as a hero. His just kinda added to that, he felt."

"There were a lot of heroes that day, Marco. But, tell me something." She turned to face him directly.

"All those pretty actresses and muscular actors out there, are they heros? Is the director a hero?"

Marco shook his head.

"I'd agree. Your dad missed one point, Marco. He was close, though. He said something like 'many men and women were heroes that day', didn't he?"

Marco nodded, but had a puzzled look. "I thought you said there were lots of heroes."

"There were, Marco. But they didn't come in as such. They came as hunters, as part time soldiers, as politicians with families and kids your age with little but faith in their Guide and in the gun they held."

She grinned. "And by the way, those studio hacks should have read your dad's book. Only the Captain and the Guide had lacars. Most had CPR-4s and a few Zb-6's for the formed troops. A few carried shotguns."

"But they didn't just show up as heroes, Marco. One man, who was just as scared as they were, inspired them to become heroes. Inspired us." She looked around.

"What was it like?" Marco whispered.

Mrs. Jones looked at the young Marco. She smiled. "Terrifying."