"Nice speech," said Adrienne. "You must have rehearsed it for ages."
"Oh, hours," said Finlay. "That doesn't make it any less true. Is it so strange that a man should want to see his children? His stake in the future? The only part of him that will be left behind when he's gone?"
"I don't know," said Adrienne, moved by the earnestness in his voice but determined not to show it. "This isn't like you, Finlay. It's an improvement, but it isn't like you. You never gave a damn about them before. If children are suddenly so important, why don't you and Evangeline raise some of your own?"
"We've discussed it," said Finlay. "It's a matter of finding the time. We both lead very full lives these days."
"If it mattered enough to you, you'd make time. I did. Oh, hell, come on. Let's get this over with. They've both been overexcited all day, getting ready to meet you. For God's sake, try not to frighten them. They only know you from what they've seen on the news broadcasts, and most of that involved you killing people."
"I am on my very best behavior, Addie. I promise I cleaned all the dried blood out from under my fingernails before I left."
Adrienne looked at him dubiously, shook her head, and then led the way down the hall and into the parlor. Finlay did his best to appear calm and relaxed, even while his stomach tightened and his heart raced. He hadn't felt this nervous while waiting to go on in the Arenas. But then, fighting was easy. It was people he'd always found difficult. And he'd never had much contact with children. He'd asked Evangeline what he should do, but she just laughed and said to treat them like little adults. That hadn't helped much. The few things he talked about with adults all involved subjects he was pretty sure weren't at all suitable for children. In fact, despite a hell of a lot of thought and a certain amount of practicing in front of the bathroom mirror, he still didn't know what he was going to say to Troilus and Cressida. He was also beginning to think he should have brought some kind of present for them. He could feel small beads of sweat popping out on his forehead.
All too quickly he was there in the parlor, and Adrienne was waving him toward a small boy and girl standing almost at attention before him. They'd clearly been dressed in their best for the occasion, and cleaned and groomed to within an inch of their lives. Their solemn faces and large eyes suggested they were just as nervous as he was, which actually helped to calm him a bit. He tried to see himself in the boy's slightly chubby face, but he had to admit he didn't. The girl, with her frizzy gold hair, at least reminded Finlay of her mother. Adrienne coughed meaningfully, and the boy bowed formally and the girl curtsied, just a little unsteadily. Finlay nodded to them, trying hard to smile kindly. Going by the slight frowns he got in return, the smile hadn't been that successful.
"Thank you for the presents, Father," said Troilus, his voice breathily light but steady. "It was very kind of you."
Finlay was thrown for a moment, and then realized Adrienne must have known he wouldn't think of it in time, and had covered for him yet again. "Hello, Trolius, Cressida," he said as gently as he could. "It's good to see you. It's been a long time, hasn't it? Too long."
"We saw you on the news," said the boy. "During the rebellion. They said you were a hero."
"I did my duty," said Finlay. "I was fighting for something I believed in. Something very important. When you're older, Troilus, and come to a man's estate, as a Campbell you'll do the same."
"I don't think so," said Troilus. "It didn't look like anything I'd want to do. I think I'd much rather be a dancer."
"Ah," said Finlay. "Well, I'm sure the Empire will always need… dancers." He looked to Adrienne for help.
"Ballet," she said flatly. "He's very good."
"I see," said Finlay. He tried to visualize his son and heir prancing around on a stage in tights and a tutu, and couldn't. He turned to Cressida. "And what do you want to be when you grow up?"
"I'm going to be a nun," said the young girl solemnly. "I'm going to enter the Church and serve under Saint Beatrice."
"I see," said Finlay. He looked at Adrienne. "Was this your idea of a joke? Or some kind of twisted revenge? The Campbells have always been warriors! Men with blood in their veins, not milk! Who the hell is going to lead the Campbells when I'm gone, the Swan Prince here?"
"Keep your voice down!" said Adrienne. "You're frightening the children!"
"Why not? They're scaring the hell out of me! This is not the proper upbringing for Campbells! It's a vicious world out there, with all kinds of people just waiting to tread all over them. And from the look of him, I doubt if Troilus has ever even held a sword in his hand!"
The two children hurried to huddle against their mother, clinging to her hands while trying to keep from crying. Adrienne glared at Finlay, her voice ice cold. "They're my children, not yours. You lost all control over them when you left me to raise them alone. And I was damned if I'd raise them the way your father raised you. I didn't want them to be anything like you. I wanted them to be normal."
"I won't always be here to protect them!"
"You never were! I kept them alive and safe, without once having to run to you. And the world they're going to grow up in will be nothing like yours. That's one of the things we fought the rebellion about. My children are going to follow their dreams, and to hell with the Campbell inheritance and traditions. What did it ever bring you but blood and heartbreak?"
Finlay's hands clenched into fists as he fought to hold on to his temper. He'd been here only a few minutes, and already it was all going horribly wrong. Adrienne was as angry as he'd ever seen her, and his children were on the brink of tears. He made himself unclench his fists and took a deep breath to calm himself.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to raise my voice. It was just… a bit of a shock. Why didn't you tell me any of this, Addie?"
"Because I knew you'd react like this. I was hoping that once you'd met the children, you'd take it better. I should have known this was a bad idea. You only see the children as extensions of yourself. Someone to follow in your bloody footsteps. And what's all this crap about them leading the Family? You're not the Campbell; Robert is. His children will lead the Clan, if any will."
"I could have been the Campbell if I'd wanted. My father was the previous Campbell. The position was mine by right if I'd wanted it. I just chose not to."
"Because you didn't want the responsibility. You've never cared about anyone but yourself."
"I care about Evangeline! I'd die for her!"
"Death," said Adrienne. "That's all you know about, Finlay. Dying for someone is easy. Living for them is much harder. Would you change your life for Evangeline, for your children? Give up who you are, what you've made of yourself, for them?"
"I don't know what you mean," said Finlay.
"No, you don't. That's what's so sad. I think you'd better leave now, Finlay."
"What?" He gaped at her. "But… I only just got here. You can't just throw me out. I didn't mean to shout. I was upset. Don't do this to me, Adrienne. There was so much I wanted to say. To you, to them."
"I think you've said enough. It's not for you: home, and family, and children. You wouldn't know what to do with them. You'd break them without meaning to. You always did play too roughly, Finlay."
"Addie… please. Don't make me go. You know how much this means to me!"
"Do I? I thought I did. I hoped I did. But I don't think I ever really knew you, Finlay. There were so many yous to choose from. But in the end I think they were all just masks, faces to show the world so they wouldn't see the real you. So they couldn't hurt you. Maybe Evangeline got past the masks. I don't care enough to try anymore. I think you're trying to die, Finlay, searching for death like a lover, and I won't let you take the children down with you. It's time to go, Finlay. Leave now. Please."
And faced with his wife's cold, implacable voice, and his childrens' tears, and words that cut him like knives, he'd turned and left. Walked away from all the things he'd thought he wanted. He shut the front door behind him, knowin
g he could never return. Because there were some fights even he couldn't win. The children weren't his future. He didn't have a future. He'd always known that. He'd just tried to forget it for a while, because he wanted to so very much.
He walked home alone in the middle of the crowds, and people in the streets saw his face and hurried to get out of his way.
Diana Vertue, now only occasionally Jenny Psycho, was hard at work again in the computer-records section of the newly established Esper Guild House, in the Parade of the Endless. The Houses existed to train, succor, and politicize espers, and to provide sanctuary for those in need. Diana didn't feel at all in need of protection or succor, and she had no interest in esper politics, but she did need access to the esper underground's extensive computer files. Over the past few centuries the underground had built up a massive database on the theory, practice, and history of all esper abilities, a library of knowledge far more extensive than anything available anywhere else. And Diana had a lot of questions she needed answering.
Though if the esper underground had known exactly which questions she was pursuing, they would undoubtedly have moved heaven and earth to keep her far away from their computers. So Diana hadn't told them. She hadn't wanted to upset them.
There was a cautious knock at the door, and then it eased open just enough for a servant's head to peer carefully in. People in the Guild Hall had learned the hard way not to interrupt Diana when she was working, without very good reason. Her Jenny Psycho persona could still erupt occasionally if she was annoyed enough. As a result, people walked very softly around the infamous Diana Vertue, and had as little to do with her as possible. Which suited her just fine. She turned slowly in the swivel chair and gave the unfortunate servant at the door her best daunting glare. He paled visibly, and had to swallow hard before he could deliver his message.
"Beg pardon for disturbing you, most illustrious, revered, and very calm senior esper, but the head of the House asks again if you would be so good as to speak with him concerning the… nature of your current research. He's sure he could be of help if you would only—"
"No," said Diana. "I don't think so." Her voice was harsh and grating, distressing to the ear. She'd ruined her throat and vocal chords screaming endlessly in the terrible detention cells of Wormboy Hell. Diana could have had her voice repaired, but had chosen not to. It made a useful psychological weapon. She fixed the servant with her best unwavering glare until he started twitching. "I'll speak to the head of the House when I'm ready, and not before."
"It's just that… well, you've been tying up our computer resources for three weeks now, and the list of people waiting to use them is now so long that some have been asking whether they should make arrangements for their descendants to inherit their position on the list."
Diana didn't smile. It would have undermined her image. "Tell them patience is a virtue. Anyone who doesn't feel particularly virtuous is always welcome to complain to me in person."
"Can I at least persuade you to attend regular mealtimes? Snatching ten minutes to wolf down a hurried meal in here, when you happen to think of it, can't be good for you. You hardly ever leave this place. You'd probably sleep in here if there was room to fit in a cot."
"Thank you for your concern," growled Diana. "Most appreciated. Now get out of here before I decide to turn you into a small hopping thing."
The servant's head disappeared, the door closing quickly behind him. Diana smiled slightly. She knew she shouldn't take advantage of her reputation like that, but chances for humor were few and far between in her life of late. He was quite right; she wasn't eating properly or often enough, but the work was so important she often couldn't drag herself away until her body forced her to.
She had to find her answer before someone sufficiently powerful arrived to stop her.
She sighed and turned back to the computer terminal before her. The monitor screen buzzed impatiently, waiting for her to put something useful on it. She was using an old-fashioned keyboard, infuriatingly slow and tiring, but she couldn't risk setting up a direct link to the computers through her comm implant. It would have left her vulnerable to all kinds of things. Diana Vertue was investigating the single greatest mystery of the esper age—the nature and origins of the enigmatic Mater Mundi, Our Mother of All Souls.
No one knew exactly who or what the Mater Mundi was; ask a hundred different people and you'd get a hundred different answers, all of them equally vague. Some said she was the uber-esper, the single most powerful esper mind ever created. Others maintained she was a group of senior espers in the underground working together. To some she was the God of the espers, and those whose lives she touched were considered Saints. They'd tried to make a Saint out of Jenny Psycho, but it hadn't taken.
To those who weren't espers, the Mater Mundi was a dangerous unknown, a menace all the more disturbing because its nature was so unclear.
Diana had her own reasons for distrusting the Mater Mundi. The phenomenon had manifested through her once, uncalled and unexpected, boosting and expanding her esper abilities far beyond anything she'd ever been capable of before. She'd blazed like a sun in the dark pit of Wormboy Hell, binding all the esper prisoners together so they could break out of their cells and fight for freedom. Hundreds of espers had been drawn into her focus, guided by her augmented will, fused into a single, unstoppable force. The gestalt hadn't lasted long, but while it did Jenny Psycho worked miracles.
Afterward, she'd convinced herself she was the chosen avatar of the Mater Mundi, the permanent agent through which the Mother of the World would manifest. She believed she was the Chosen One, the leader destined to bring her people out of slavery. She was wrong. She found that out the hard way on Mistworld, when she tried to summon the Mater Mundi's presence at a vital moment and nothing happened. People died around her, and she could do nothing to save them. Later, the Mater Mundi manifested through the rogue Investigator, Topaz, and she combined all the espers of Mistworld into a single potent force. And Jenny Psycho found out the hard way that she wasn't who she thought she was.
At the end of the rebellion, the Mater Mundi had pulled together hundreds of thousands of espers, in cities all across Golgotha. She hadn't bothered with a focus then. Just slammed into their minds and used them to do what was necessary. Again, the gestalt didn't last long, but while it did it swept away all opposition to the rebels with an almost contemptuous ease. The Mater Mundi manifested just once more, at the very end, possessing Jenny Psycho just long enough to teleport a handful of useful players into Lionstone's Court.
Diana should have felt grateful, even honored. Instead she felt used.
So she set out to find who or what had been using her, and why, only to run into a brick wall. The Mater Mundi apparently didn't want her true nature known, and had gone to great lengths to cover her tracks. There were rumors and gossip aplenty, but nothing at all in the way of hard facts, no matter how deep she dug. It was taken as a matter of faith that the Mater Mundi had founded the esper underground, somewhen in the distant past, and then retreated into the shadows to watch and guide from a distance. But there was no record anywhere of anyone who had personally witnessed any of this, or knew anyone who had.
The one thing that was clear was that people who went looking for the Mater Mundi tended not to come back. People who asked too many questions disappeared. Eventually the underground declared her officially off limits, a mystery too dangerous to be investigated. Diana didn't give a damn. In her experience, people who stayed in hiding usually had a good reason for doing so, and she wanted to know what it was. Why the God of espers hid from her worshipers. And why she thought she could just use and discard people, and not answer for it.
Diana decided that if anyone knew anything, it had to be the esper underground's records. So she walked into the esper Guild House in the Parade of the Endless, took over its records section, and basically defied anyone to do anything about it.
At first Diana got nowhere fast. There were all kind
s of blocks and passwords, secret files within files, and double encryptions that she had no experience of. The esper Guild protected its secrets well, even from its own. Perhaps particularly from its own. But Diana had planned ahead, cultivating useful friendships among the cyberats, who just saw the Guild's blocking tactics as a challenge. Diana watched and learned at a rate that astonished herself. The Mater Mundi might have abandoned her, but it had left her much more than she had been. Soon she no longer needed the cyberats' help, and dug steadily deeper into the past in pursuit of an enigmatic ghost.
She discovered a great many hidden truths about the early days of the underground, when the espers had been still struggling to put it together. There were files on secret deals and unpalatable agreements, of good men sacrificed for the greater good. Of conflicting organizations savagely crushed so that the underground could represent all espers. Past heroes were revealed to have feet of clay, and past villains emerged as simply people in the wrong place at the wrong time, or with too many inconvenient scruples. As in so many organizations that have been around for a while, the winners wrote the history, and truth was sacrificed on the altar of necessity.
Diana wasn't really surprised. But dig as deep as she might, the Mater Mundi remained elusive, flickering around the edges of the underground, touching this person or that, guiding the underground's progress with a subtle nudge here and an unobtrusive prod there. The pattern was clear when you stood far enough back, and Diana couldn't believe she was the first person to have done so, but there were no records anywhere, no solid facts worthy of the name, no official files of any kind on the Mater Mundi.
If the truth was there, they'd buried it deep, where maybe even the current leaders couldn't find it anymore. Something had frightened them. And given some of the things the underground did still maintain in the records, whatever they had found out about Our Mother of All Souls must have been pretty damn unpleasant. Or dangerous.
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