Freedom's Fury (Spooner Federation Saga Book 3)
Page 35
He laughed painfully. “Zeus.”
“Hm?”
“An ancient myth,” he said. “Zeus was the god of lightning and thunder. Anyone who displeased him, or who threatened someone he valued, got a thunderbolt up the ass.”
She nodded. “I guess so. Look, Martin,” she said. “It won’t be forever. There are more States forming down there than just ‘the Autonomy of Jacksonville.’ The process will stabilize in a few decades. There’ll be greater and lesser powers, a web of alliances and understandings, recognized borders, a detente. After all that shakes out, I’ll feel better about re-entering. But for now...”
He nodded. “I get it. Al?”
“Hm?”
“We’ll be up here with you.”
She looked steadily into his eyes.
“I mean it,” he said. “Claire and I can’t live without you. Not any more. We love you too much. It might be a while, but we will be back.”
She nodded, and he rose.
“Don’t stay up too late,” he said. “We’ll need you to help with the pre-flight in the morning.”
He turned and headed for their bedchamber, leaving her to her thoughts.
When he had disappeared from view, she slipped from the wall, descended to her knees, and bowed her head.
“Dear Lord,” she prayed, “forgive me, please, for lying to my husband. Forgive me for not admitting the truth to him, that what I really fear is my own weakness. Please shield me from his disappointment and dismay, should he ever learn my real reason for refusing to re-enter. And take me under your cloak while I repent and heal from these transgressions. I ask it humbly.”
There came no answer.
==
Triember 13 , 1331 A.H.
A thin but persistent beeping reached the lab where Althea labored over the null-ball generator. She pulled off her visor, swiveled to locate the source of the sound, and trotted toward the chamber whence it came.
The lid of the medipod Claire had purchased so long ago was finally rising. Althea felt a thrill of incipient discovery.
Now we’ll see.
The lid had swung all the way back, but the occupant remained supine within. Loath to disturb him, Althea slid forward cautiously and peered over the rim.
A short, slight, naked male figure lay there. His limbs quivered. His hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly. His eyes, fixed upon nothing, were filled with unprecedented comprehension and the anticipation of enlightenment.
Greatly daring, Althea crouched, gave the occupant what she hoped would be a reassuring smile, put her hands to his shoulders, and tugged him to a sitting position. He did not resist. He looked at her as one might look upon an entirely unfamiliar species. He blinked, coughed through vocal chords never before used for precision speech, and made a sound between a moan and a grunt.
He won’t understand my words, but he might understand my tone...if I reinforce it properly.
“I want you to relax,” she said in her lowest register. “I’m here to help you. This must seem very strange to you.” She gently laid her palm against his cheek, and he trembled briefly. “You are among friends. People who mean you only good, who will protect you from all harm. You have been the victim of a terrible crime, and we have brought you here to begin to make amends.”
As she spoke, she probed his brain for its most active site, and found it in his cerebral cortex. It flamed in her psionic eye, brilliant with cognitive capacity never before employed. She strove to telecast images of warmth and security into it.
After a long moment he nodded, warily but with understanding.
“Good.” She put her hands to his shoulders and urged him upright. He stood uncertainly, clearly still reluctant to step out of the pod.
“It’s all right. You’re safe here.”
He has to learn to speak sometime. Might as well get started.
She looked him in the eyes, put a finger to her breast, and said “Woman.” She put the same finger to his chest and said “Man.”
He nodded, took her hand hesitantly, joined a finger to hers and pointed them at his forehead, and croaked a single word.
“Vellis,” he said.
Moving as slowly as she could, Althea bent slightly, pulled their joined hands toward her, and laid their fingers against her own forehead.
“Althea,” she said.
He smiled. “Yes, I know.”
Her heart leaped.
Rothbard, Rand, and Ringer! Who’s teaching what to whom here?
Claire thinks too little of herself, but then, she always has.
“Vellis,” she said slowly and clearly, “you probably don’t remember, but we met long ago, in another place.”
“No,” he said, “I do remember. I could not forget.”
“Oh.” Her chest tightened. “Do you remember Efthis?”
His face clouded. “I do. But how is it,” he said, “that I...”
She cupped his face in her hands. “That doesn’t matter just now, Vellis. What matters is that we get you dressed and start acquainting you with this place we’ve brought you to. Do you feel well enough for that?”
He stared at her, and his expression morphed into one of irreparable desolation, of one who has seen paradise with his own eyes, only to be told that it will never be his.
“I want...I want...” His arms rose, beckoning, as his eyes filled with longing and the memory of rejection.
Althea’s gaze dropped to his groin. He sported a prominent erection...a very large erection.
Seems the great geneticist didn’t stop with pulling their brains out through the zygote.
“Uh, no. Thanks for the compliment, but I’m...off limits.”
She turned, grabbed the coverall that hung from the hook alongside the medipod, and handed it to him. He took it and looked at it curiously.
“Let’s see if you can figure out how to get into that,” she said. “After that, I’ll show you around. You’ve got...some other people to meet. Then...”
What then? What do we do with him now?
She could not say.
==
Epilogue
The account you have read of Clan Morelon, of its foremost members, of the community of Jacksonville, and of the world of Hope is my testimony to the great events of our time and the characters of those who steered us through them. My patriarch assigned it to me as my last duty as his scion, to be completed before I succeed him. He exhorted me to be both circumstantial and complete. Having been a witness to much of the turmoil, and one of the many whose fortunes were dramatically affected by it, I took the assignment seriously.
The principals in this tale include some who died before I was born. I did the best I could with their stories, relying heavily on the recollections of those who knew them personally. There are aspects of their lives, and decisions that they made and stood by, that no one alive claims to understand. That includes me. It was a challenge to make those matters seem comprehensible to persons of the present day. Inasmuch as for some half a century no denizen of Hope has died except by accident or violence, the deliberate embrace of mortality by persons so rich in love and material blessings must strike many as insane. Nevertheless, it was thus. To us who include them among our clan’s honored dead, it adds a peculiar lustre to their memory, though we cherish them no less for that.
Concerning those whose deeds it has been my lot to witness at close range, I combined my own memories with their remembrances of those days. Time has not withered nor befuddled them, though three in particular have grown distant with the years, as if they preferred to live in the bright glow of the past rather than move into the future alongside their kin. Perhaps passing six decades in the bowels of a barren rock in sperosynchronous orbit, returning planetside only out of necessity and always as briefly as possible, will do that to you. Of my own knowledge, I cannot say.
None of those chronicled were perfect by any standard. All did their best according to their own consciences. May God accept
them, and us, on that basis, for we have no other by which to judge.
They are our heroes, one and all. Those who fought for us, those who fought for others, and those who fought for freedom regardless of the enemy. Those who died, and those who yet live. We will honor them and their deeds for as long as our clan endures.
Tonight I will take my place as the head of Clan Morelon. Despite the age of our clan, I will be only the fourth person to bear that responsibility. I will be only the second to undertake the administration of the Autonomy of Jacksonville. From what I have seen them do to him I will succeed, I know these to be heavy burdens. I accept them nevertheless. After three-quarters of a century under the yoke, he has earned a peaceful retirement. He surely deserves it.
The summons to the feast resounds throughout Morelon House. Soon our patriarch will tell the tale of the Spoonerites of Old Earth one last time. When he has concluded, he’ll announce his retirement from his post and pass his duties on to me. I will do all in my power to live up to the standard he has established.
For good or for ill, I must declare this record to be complete. It will reside as it stands in the niche appointed for it among our clan keepsakes.
My beloved husband awaits me in our bedroom. Now I shall join him and go down to feast with our kin, to remember our honored dead, and to take up my crown and my cross.
Pray for me.
Emma Mackenzie Morelon
Scion to Barton Kramnik Morelon
Sacrifice Day, 1387 A.H.
Jacksonville, Alta
– The End –
About the Author
Francis W. Porretto is an engineer, fictioneer, and commentator. He operates the Liberty’s Torch Website (http://bastionofliberty.blogspot.com), a hotbed of pro-freedom, pro-American, pro-Christian sentiment, where he and his Co-Conspirators hold forth on every topic under the Sun. You can email him at fran.porretto@yahoo.com. Thank you for taking an interest in his fiction.