The Matriarch Matrix

by Maxime Trencavel

  Mei winks at Peter and says, “If it’s not too forward of me to ask, would you mind rubbing my feet?”

  Without so much as a blink, she puts her feet into Peter’s lap. And as his mother had taught, as his grandmother had taught her to teach, Peter is superb. Simply superb at the massage, given the moans Mei lets loose. First, he runs his hands gently up and down her calves and shins, going up to her knees but no transgressions, no hint of desire to go higher. He warms her calves with a fast rub and proceeds to address each muscle fiber one by one, in just the right progression from soft, to medium, to pinpoint hard. Then the ankles, the soles, and each toe, one by one. She moans in relief, rubbing his hands back as if to ask for more and higher. And her moans become more and more intense.

  Squeezing her knees together, she pulls his hands away with one last deeply satisfying, deeply releasing moan. “I never knew a woman could have an orgasm from her feet.”

  Shocked, Peter takes his hands completely away. And she smiles again. “You are who we thought you would be.”

  As she closes her eyes, Peter imagines the expression on her face must mean she is experiencing the same sensations he did when she first touched him. Is she the one? What did Pappy say again about how one tells if she is a “good woman”?

  Mei glances at the clock. “Time for bed.” Peter stiffens. Mei retorts, “No, silly, not that type of going to bed! Your pajamas are laid out on the bed. You take the bedroom while I sleep out here.”

  Peter gentlemanly insists he cannot take her bed. He will sleep on the couch.

  Mei replies, “No, silly, you’re the key person in tomorrow’s meeting, and you need to be fully fresh, awake, and functional. You need to sleep in the bed. I apologize—as I’m sure you can appreciate, I’ve been so busy today I was unable to get the sheets changed.”

  With the importance of his sleep clarified, she shows him into the bedroom, takes some things she will need for the night, and is about to turn to the door.

  Peter picks up the black silk pajamas laid out on the bed, with teal trim and embroidery and the MoxWorld logo, hallmarks of something Mei would have had custom-made.

  She points to boxers in the bathroom. “Made especially for you. A little more special MoxFashion tech. You’re just going to have to put them on and tell me about it tomorrow morning.” And with a mysterious air, she closes the door.

  Alone for the first time since 8:30 this morning, he puts on the pajamas so neatly laid out for him, brushes his teeth with the toothbrush she has laid out for him, and climbs into her bed. He lies there staring at the ceiling, reflecting upon this amazing day. Slowly but surely, he starts feeling subtly different. He ponders and ponders why.

  And it dawns on him. Pheromones. Her sheets are full of her pheromones. He imagines the fibers in these pajamas wicking her oils and her pheromones onto his full body. Not having time to change the sheets, indeed. This was all planned. Oh, what a night this is going to be. He puts his nose into the pillow and smells, breathing in deeply. Oh, how wondrous this is. He falls asleep in the most peaceful manner of his life.

  If only this could last forever.

  Chapter 9

  Try to keep your soul always in peace and quiet, always ready for whatever our Lord may wish to work in you. It is certainly a higher virtue of the soul, and a greater grace, to be able to enjoy the Lord in different times and different places than in only one.

  —Saint Ignatius of Loyola

  Late Spring 2018

  Vatican City

  Nine eighteen p.m. The air cool, the night sky clear, the Vatican is quiet, devoid of the tourists that swarm the piazzas during the day. A priest dressed in his black cassock steps out of the Domus Sanctae Marthae, where a Swiss Guard takes him down the small road between the Palazzo della Canonica and the Campo Santo Teutonico. From afar, it would seem he is being escorted for his security, but up close, the two are jovial, seemingly old friends. But this simple priest could roam the most dangerous streets of Rome and be safe, for he is no small man at 193 centimeters of height. Under his cassock are substantial muscles, and if one looked close enough, maybe a scar or two.

  The two enter the office of the Swiss Guard, where the priest partakes in a seemingly informal evening drink with his escort, Captain Buchli, and the Head of the Swiss Guard. At 10:25 p.m., two more junior Swiss Guards escort the priest more formally to the exit gate, and he proceeds alone down Via Paolo VI, along the colonnades forming the south side of the Piazza San Pietro. A right turn onto Borgo Santo Spirito, where he passes by a well-placed ecclesiastical clothing store. He pauses just a moment as he notes he will need to cancel his recent order for a new black cassock. But time is short and he keeps walking, passing series of similar four-story beige buildings. When he reaches a taller one with five stories. He enters to meet the Superior General of the Society of Jesus.

  Father General Antoine Lemoine, S.J., stares out his window, patiently waiting for the tardy priest. He had expected Father Jean-Paul Sobiros, S.J., to return from his private audience with His Holiness the Pontiff an hour ago. What could have detained him?

  The Father General is the thirty-first to hold the office of the Superior General of the Society of Jesus, as well as the one who made history as the first Father General of French descent, a heritage he shares with the wayward priest he’s awaiting.

  Ironically, the Society of Jesus was founded in Paris in 1534 by Ignatius Loyola, who, along with six of his fellow students at the University of Paris, took vows of poverty and chastity. They intended travel to the Holy Lands and convert the Muslims. However, the Ottoman Wars impeded their professed mission. Instead, they traveled to Rome to seek formal approval for their society from Pope Paul III, and in 1540, the Society of Jesus became an official Order of the Catholic Church.

  The Jesuits quickly became an influential force across the New and Old Worlds, spreading the Catholic faith through missions and educational institutions. As with any organization that finds rapid success, the Jesuits became subjects of considerable controversy, accused of engaging in secretive and subversive activities to counter the growing Protestant movements, up to and including infiltrating leading positions in Protestant organizations and national governments. A hundred and twenty years after the Society’s formation, the fear of their vast political and financial influence led Pope Clement XIV to issue a papal bull that abolished and suppressed the Society entirely.

  It was from this low that successive Father Generals rebuilt the Society of Jesus. Father General Lemoine carried on the good work of his successor in fostering the Order, which still fought the cloud of suspicion propagated by detractors who accused the Order of being truly the “Soldiers of the Pope,” the secret military arm of the Vatican. Nonetheless, under his direction, the Jesuits had a historic turn. After many decades of decline, the number of Novitiates grew, in part due to the good work and reputation of priests like Father Sobiros, albeit tardy, which helped rejuvenate the interest and reputation of the Jesuits.

  Now, only an hour and six minutes late, Father Sobiros finally arrives at the door of the residence of the Father General. Very nonplussed, Jean-Paul Sobiros asks the Father General’s forgiveness for his tardiness and is ceremoniously forgiven.

  “Jean-Paul, we are behind closed doors. We can now speak candidly. What did His Holiness discuss with you?” the Father General asks. “I will need to reflect upon this matter tonight before I take breakfast with His Holiness tomorrow morning, for surely he will ask my opinion and advice.”

  “Father General—”

  “Please, Jean-Paul, let us drop the formalities. We’ve known each other for a long time, and we speak in private,” the Father General replies.

  “Antoine,” says Jean-Paul with a little trepidation, “as you had expected, His Holiness heard my request, but expressed his sorrow at the Order possibly losing me.”

  “Which is the same as I said to you, Jean-Paul. You grew to be one of the most promising and aspiring of our younger Fat
hers—aspirations which can lead to many more acts of inspirational faith and kindness on behalf of the Order.”

  Jean-Paul nods. “He asked me to reconsider my requests. He was very gracious and spoke well of my work on the Pontifical Commission for Sacred Archeology, with which he encouraged me to continue. He also offered that I act as second chair for his little-known working group on extraterrestrial affairs.”

  The Father General raises his eyebrow. “Jean-Paul, as you know, his offer is a highly prized honor for a priest of your years, as have been his many personal meetings with you over the past two years. He is trying to tell you how important you are to the Order, as I have said for the past two months, since your first request.”

  “Antoine, I do appreciate your faith in me. But I feel, I believe, that it may be misplaced. As I also explained to His Holiness, up until now, I have endeavored with deep faith to fulfill the missions and goals of the Church, the Society, and most importantly, the Pontiff. But I find now what I must do would not be consistent with the vows I solemnly took. Simply the fact that I feel that there are actions and pursuits I must personally take, my prioritizing my needs over the greater good, bespeaks to my unfaithfulness to the Order, to my vows.”

  “Jean-Paul, we can be extremely candid now, can we not? Who is she? I understand how difficult it is for our young priests to fulfill their vows of chastity. We lose too many who rescind their vows so that they may fulfill their marital or sexual needs.”

  Jean-Paul remains silent on the subject for the moment as the Father General continues, “Jean-Paul, what I am about to offer is not well known, but the Superior General has the blessing of the Pontiff to issue extraordinary, but highly discreet, dispensations for certain priests, those of the greatest promise and potential, to take a leave of absence, so to say, so that they may determine with certainty that the pursuit of marriage is truly their calling in life.”

  Jean-Paul looks out the window into the lights in the night sky. “I could only wish it was as simple as a woman, one who would love me and I her.” And he stares directly back into his old mentor’s eyes. “Antoine, I will forever be grateful for the space that you, as my mentor and my current Father General, the previous Father General, and above all, His Holiness have afforded me for my unique condition. You, above all, have seen most recently what my affliction can do to me, each night and every morning. I had thought by entering the Society, the spiritual exercises would solve the issue, and for these many years now, they have helped. But my condition continues to worsen, and I find now that to truly address what aches deep in my soul, I must do things that would not be in the best interest of the Order, nor would they allow me to fulfill, to the completeness required, the wishes of the Pontiff.”

  Jean-Paul looks down in sorrow. “And thus I have requested special permission to revoke my fourth vow, where I further promised an extra obedience to the sovereign Pontiff in regard to his missions. To fulfill my inner mission, I can still remain chaste, still remain in poverty, and still remain obedient in my spirit of faith and love in the following of Christ. And thus I have asked that the Church allow me to retain my ordination, which I believe will be important for me in fulfilling my personal quest, but release me from the special vow to the Pontiff.”

  The Father General reflects while rubbing his fingers, and then thoughtfully replies, “Jean-Paul, after two months of reflection, do you really believe that forsaking all of your good work in the name of Christ, in the name of our Lord, to enter the employ of Alexander Murometz is truly God’s calling to you?”

  He pauses, studying Jean-Paul’s face. “A rhetorical question, which you have recognized with your silence.”

  With a voice that echoes the spirit of the Superior General, Antoine Lemoine adds, “Please, with all due respect to your humility, let me remind you of your lifetime of deeds, which has saved souls, lives, and in some cases, prevented needless deaths. Even in your Regency, you and Brother Petrus turned around the violence that local boys perpetrated upon your students. Your academic excellence in biblical archeology and geo-archeology have made you a leading expert in the claims of human-alien interaction in the scriptures. And from this, the Pontiff has found your distinguished value towards his key commission and working group on these subjects.”

  Flushing slightly at the accolades, Jean-Paul replies, “But a man, a sole man, can never be indispensable. He can be replaced.”

  The Father General takes a different tack with his young mentee. “And let us not forget the work you have done to save lives. A sole man who saves a life is not indispensable. What you did in Nigeria, the Congo, and in Egypt—can you tell yourself that those children, those students, those members of our parishes would say you were replaceable? And your relief work after the great quake in Van, Turkey, or with the refugees from Northern Mali—would those survivors say you were replaceable?”

  Jean-Paul gets up, stretches, goes to the window and gazes upon the Milky Way. He turns and says, “It fills my soul well, your kind words of recognition. Especially you as my friend, but notwithstanding as my Father General. Mr. Murometz has shown me a pathway, a solution postulate to a problem that afflicts not only myself but, as I have discovered, many others. My special talents with his resources and access can help save the souls of many who are unaware that their souls could be saved. But to do this, I may need to act in ways that may seem superficially to be inconsistent with my vow to His Holiness, the Pontiff. My actions may look questionable for the reputation of the Order, especially to our detractors. Mr. Murometz has indicated that part of his family traces its lineage back to the Jesuit Order in Russia, during the time of Catherine the Great, and thus, he has the utmost regard for what I have vowed to the Order. I trust that you will trust me when I say that I intend to uphold my other three vows in what I will do.”

  And with that, the Father General gets up, shakes his black cassock and in a deep voice requests, “Father Sobiros, I ask that you meditate on the wishes of the Pontiff for two more weeks. I will take your request under advisement in my conversation with His Holiness tomorrow morning. You are dismissed.”

  “Father General, thank you for your audience. Ad majorem Dei gloriam. For the greater glory of God.”

  And so the humbled Father Sobiros, perhaps soon to be simply Jean-Paul, leaves the Jesuit Curia. As he slowly walks back towards his residence, Jean-Paul stares at the Milky Way again, deep in contemplation.

  Then his MoxWrap taps his wrist. The message reads, “Did he accept our story?”

  Jean-Paul taps back, “Yes, Your Holiness.”

  A few seconds pass, and then the reply comes. “Then may the Lord be with you on your mission.”

  Chapter 10

  He who gives away shall have real gain. He who subdues himself shall be free; he shall cease to be a slave of passions. The righteous man casts off evil, and by rooting out lust, bitterness, and illusion do we reach Nirvana.

  —Buddha

  8:30 a.m. GMT+1, May 15, 2021

  MoxWorld EU Headquarters, Luxembourg

  “So, I hear you are a Jesuit.”

  Zara sits on the edge of an exam table while a physician takes her wrist pulse, her poor new bayramlık looking much less crisp after the ordeal she has suffered at the hands of a monstrous man. Or perhaps her holiday dress was fine, but she looked worse for having met “him” again. Against her will. At gunpoint.

  “A former Jesuit,” replies a tall man a few centimeters higher than she, with a slight French accent. He is dressed in a black turtleneck vicuna sweater with raspberry trim and black dress pants. “My work with Alexander required I renounce my vows and leave my order.”

  She stares at his crucifix hanging below his neck over his clavicle. Silver, a little tarnished. Much like she feels at the moment.

  “So which kind of Jesuit were you?” she asks with a hint of a grin at the edges of her mouth. “The great educators who taught the world’s eager minds in hope of converting them, or the secret soldiers of t
he Pope who clandestinely infiltrated and manipulated the greatest institutions and nations on Earth?”

  Staidly and calmly, the former priest continues his manipulation of a number of medical instruments, seemingly making some concoction. The physician now standing with him took a cotton swab of her cheeks upon her arrival not long ago after a tortuous nine-hour affair, from helicopter abduction to an airport in Georgia where she was forced to board “his” jet. His very private one with the special bedroom, Jacuzzi, and another galley with tools of his deviancy.

  Upon landing, “he” insisted she be given a pelvic exam. That OB/GYN is now nursing two or more broken fingers. Why on earth would “he” insist she be checked down there? He should know well enough. First, well enough that he should have hired a female physician and, second, that nothing has changed down there since he last saw her.

  Fighting her fatigue, as her Sasha kept her up all night, she says, “I am still waiting for your response. You must be a Jesuit as you are contemplating the different answers you might offer, deciding whether to mislead me or not. Aren’t you?”

  He turns to her, and she blinks as the one shiny spot on his crucifix catches the bright white exam lights and sparkles in her eye for a microsecond. He methodically blinks and states, “I was neither. I was but a humble simple priest carrying out the Lord’s work. And now I am but a humble simple man carrying out the same work.”

  As he turns back to those mysterious medical instruments that hum and blink multicolored lights, she asks, “And why would such a humble simple man work for the less-than-humble and very complicated Alexander Murometz?”

  He glances back at her with a rapid blink and smile. “The Lord works in mysterious ways.” He checks her dark eyes, which only stare at him, piercing into him. He chuckles. “That is a priest joke. We have simple humor, we ex-priests.”