So far as Archer was concerned he was no longer a scientist or inventor or investigator. He was an executioner, the modern equivalent of a shirtless guy wearing a hooded mask, carrying a nice sharp ax.
When number seventeen was escorted in, he didn’t look up. He spoke the text of the instructions by rote, in a monotone, and waved toward the machine. Forty-seven minutes later the interdimensional transport returned. Archer looked at the clock so that he could log the time, but didn’t bother to turn around when the door hissed open, at least not until he heard cheering and clapping. His head came around to see number seventeen shuffling toward him offering the biolocator.
Rothesay was beaming, no doubt imagining his next promotion.
So Archer looked at number seventeen, really looked. He accepted the biolocator with thanks and verified that the light was indeed green. There was a match between number seventeen and the first stop on his tour. The first stop.
Archer had thought it so unlikely that Phase Two would ever be implemented, that he hadn’t given much thought to how he would feel about the inherent operations of a third mission. It was looking like he’d better get with the program fast. Because that’s how things were going to start moving. Fast.
CHAPTER 6
BLACK SWAN TRAINING MANUAL, STANDARD PROCEDURES.
Section II: Knights. Chapter 1, #2
A knight of The Order of the Black Swan comports himself with honor, dignity, and in accordance with the wisdom of the guiding principle, that service is a privilege.
Glen had found that there were a lot of surprising things about performing the day-to-day duties of Sovereign. It didn’t take long to figure out that it wasn’t a glam job. First, it involved lots of lonely butt-in-chair hours staring at spreadsheets on a monitor. Second, when he did get to interact with other people, it was usually under circumstances that were unpleasant for the person on the other side of his desk.
That was never more true than in the case of disciplining trainees. He’d never really given much thought to the fact that the Sovereign of a training facility acted in a capacity corresponding to that of Principal or Vice Principal in more typical schools. Dressing down a seventeen-year-old when he could only claim to be older by the technicality of two plus years? It went beyond feeling ridiculous, past preposterous, and kept going right on into the sublimely silly.
The day that he had to discipline Kristoph Falcon and Rolfe Wakenmann, a.k.a. Kris and Wakey, gave him reason to rethink his suitability for the Sovereign gig. Kris was seventeen. Wakey was sixteen, but just three months younger. The two of them had sneaked out of trainee quarters and stowed away on a Manhattan-bound Whister, behind the back seats of the last row. They’d gotten a quiet, smooth state-of-the-art ride to the city and weren’t nabbed until they tried to disembark or decopter or get off or whatever you call it when you leave a Whister behind. They were promptly returned to Jefferson with the promise of punishment, to be determined by the acting Sovereign.
The next morning they were escorted to the hallway outside Sol’s door where Glen was inside feeling like a kid playing “dress up”. The trainee who had been assigned as Sovereign’s gofer from eight to eleven knocked on the door.
“Come in, Mr. Barrock.”
Glen’s morning boy came in with a quiet dignity that seemed mature for nineteen. “Thank you, sir.”
Glen sighed. “Look. I know that calling me sir has got to sound as eff’d to you as it does to me. So let’s make a deal. If I should be cursed by ending up riding this desk in Excel hell permanently, gods forbid, then you’ll have to call me sir. Till then, Glen is good by me. Deal?”
The other boy grinned. “Sure.”
“So what’s going on?”
“Two for A.A., si...” He cut off the last consonant and smiled.
“What’s A.A., Barrock?”
“Sovereign Nemamiah’s code for discipline. It stands for attitude adjustment. He says consequences are the bedrock of civilization.”
The big burgundy tufted leather chair creaked when Glen leaned back, the corners of his mouth curving with amusement. “Does he? And what does discipline usually entail?”
“Well, he’s old school about some things, but he doesn’t believe in corporal punishment, something about knights not hitting other knights, even knights-to-be. Actually, there’s kind of an ingenious creativity to his approach that scares the guys more than knowing what’s coming.”
“Scared of the unknown. I can see that. So give me some examples. I need a feel for comparison’s sake, action and reaction.”
“Um. Okay. Let’s see.
“Eidelman pretended to stumble into one of the nurses so he could grab a feel. Sol made him cross-dress for a day, complete with wig, makeup, and falsies.” Barrock leveled a look and gestured with his hands in front of his chest. “Big ones.” Glen snorted while he tapped a pencil. He didn’t actually use pencils, but he liked having something to do with his hands. “The guys had a field day with telling him how cute and sexy he was. And, really, between you and me, he kind of was. That’s why some of the guys call him Queenie Eidelman.”
Glen nodded, clearly enjoying this. “So it’s the punishment that never stops giving.” Barrock nodded. “What else?”
“Another time, somebody made fun of Crisp when he was close enough to overhear. Called him a fag. I heard what Crisp said when he came down here and talked to Sol. He said he didn’t like tattling, but that part of his job was to assist in making sure the young twigs were bent in the right direction.”
Glen barked out a laugh. “He did not say that!”
Barrock’s ears turned red when he grinned. “Yeah. He did, but he didn’t give any indication that he realized….”
“Got it. Sorry to interrupt. Go on with your story.”
“Um, oh yeah, he was saying that it wasn’t the principle, but the pejorative, that a knight could be a person of character and call him gay, but the prejudice implied by the term ‘fag’ was beneath Black Swan ideals.
“The Sovereign agreed. He sent me to the library to find a book and bring it back. Then he had me go get Wakey, um, Mr. Wakenmann – and he’s one of the two who are outside waiting right now –he had me go get him out of class and bring him to the office. He told Wakey that his behavior was unbecoming of a knight in training and that it would require restitution.
“Wakey said, ‘You want me to pay Crisp off?’ The Sovereign said, ‘No. You can’t buy your way out of dishonor. Restitution has to be made in deeds, not currency. Then he gave Wakey the book, which was Love Sonnets, and a little spiral notebook.
“He said Wakey had twenty four hours to complete the task and return with both items. The spiral notebook needed to have the names of twelve different poems from the book and each one had to have the signature of one of his peers. They had to confirm with their signatures that he’d read them the poem, slowly and with feeling. The Sovereign emphasized that last part.
“After coming back here for approval, he had to take the book and the notebook to Crisp and apologize, saying that, ‘Love must be respected in all its forms. That is a creed worthy of a knight. Difference must be respected when it harms none. That is a principle worthy of a gentleman.’
“The Sovereign made him memorize that last part.”
Glen sat back in his chair tapping the pencil on his thigh. “Sounds like it made an impression on you as well.” Barrock said nothing. He just nodded. “So what have Wakey and…” Glen looked around Barrock like he could see through the door. “Who else is out there?”
“Kristoph Falcon.”
“Hmm. Of what are they accused?”
Barrock smiled at the formality of the question. “Away from quarters after hours. Away from quarters without permission. Misuse of Order equipment and personnel…”
“English.”
“They snuck out last night. Stowed away on a Whister. Got nabbed on a Manhattan roof pad and were brought back here.”
Glen wheeled the chair aro
und and looked out the window for a couple of minutes, leaving his gofer waiting.
Barrock was right. He had to hand it to Sol. Points for thinking outside traditional methods. Points for maintaining a climate of uncertainty for the wards. The old guy had made an art form out of designer punishments, making them fit the crime in deliciously inventive ways. Glen spun back around.
“Send ‘em in.”
The two boys shuffled in and stood in front of Glen’s desk in silence. He took his time looking them over.
“So what was your destination?”
Wakey looked down at his feet, but Kris looked Glen straight in the eye. “Strip bars.”
Glen’s eyebrows shot up. “You turn drinking age without us knowing about it?”
Wakey glanced at Kris, who seemed to be the agreed upon spokesperson.
“Little cash acts like lube. Know what I mean?”
Of course Glen understood, but decided fraternization could unravel the illusion of authority.
“No. I don’t know what you mean. Why don’t you explain it like the well-educated gentleman you’re supposed to be?”
Wakey spoke up. “He means that there are some dives in the thirties that look the other way if you have a couple of big bills ready at the door.”
Glen nodded. “And how many rules did you think you were breaking in association with this illicit outing?”
Kris looked defiant.
Wakenmann said, “We didn’t count.”
“Um-hum. Okay. Tell you what we’re going to do.
“For the next three months you will report to the pilots’ station at five o’clock a.m., Monday through Friday. You will spend two hours every day learning to fly Whisters. When the pilots have signed off that you’re cleared to co-pilot, you will spend your weekends shuttling people back and forth to Manhattan. People who are authorized to go. You will not leave your Whister unless you are on the Jefferson Unit roof pad.” Wakey glanced over at Kris for his reaction. “Last, except for pilot duty, you will not leave Jefferson Unit for three months.”
Glen could see that it was taking every bit of self-discipline and training they had undergone to keep from groaning out a protest. He pulled up his calendar and identified the date when they would regain the normal life of a Black Swan trainee, which was anything but normal by most standards. He pointed to a calendar date.
“This is when you will have completed your obligation to me. Dismissed.”
“Yes sir,” they both mumbled.
“Whatever. Out.”
As they closed the door behind them, Glen was thinking that he was going to have a story to tell at dinner that night at the vineyard. He had dinner with Storm and Litha every Thursday night. She either picked him up right at nine or sent Deliverance. It made an early dinner for them on Pacific time, but it seemed to work.
There was a soft knock on his door. “Come in.”
Barrock stuck his head in. “Good one, si… Glen.”
Glen cocked his head. “You heard that?” Barrock nodded. “I guess I didn’t think anything about your reporting of those other incidents. How are you managing to know everything that goes on in here?”
“I put my ear against the door, si… Glen.” Sol’s gofer didn’t hesitate to answer or bother with trying to look sheepish. As far as he was concerned, knowing what was doing was one of the perks of the job.
“Oh. Okay. Thanks. And either call me sir or call me Glen. Sir Glen sounds stupid.”
“Yes, si…” He closed the door.
Almost immediately there was another knock.
“What is it now, Barrock?”
Elora opened the door and stuck her head in. “Name’s Laiken, Rookie.”
Glen’s face lit up in a way that left no mistake he was glad to see her. He jumped up and came around the desk. “Sorry. I just had to lower the boom on two trainees who are two years younger than I am. Everything about it was…”
“Weird.”
He nodded. “To say the least.”
“You’re doing great, kiddo. It takes some enormous… um, confidence to sit in the chair.”
He grinned. “Some enormous confidence?”
“Um-hmm. So there’s a reason why I’m honoring you with a visit.”
“Hey. That was my line. You stole my line.”
“Okay. I take it back.”
“To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
“You remember that thing you were doing for me. What I asked before we left Ireland?”
“You thought I forgot.”
“Well…”
“Of course you would think that. I should have let you know I’m on it. It’s a worthy mystery, tough enough to be fun, cool enough to be interesting. I was at the latest in a series of dead ends, but I’ve got a new lead. So the trail is heating up again. As soon as Sol gets back I’ll request some time off and a pass ride.”
“Good news.”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Well, I’m hoping. I wish I could tell you why I need the intel so badly, but just to reiterate, it’s important to some people I know. Really, really, really important.”
Glen cocked his head. “Abandon-my-post important? Or work-on-it-when-I-can important?”
“Scale of one to ten. One means if we never find out it’s no big deal. Ten is the end of days. I’m putting this between seven and eight.”
“Okay. You know I don’t have any free time while Sol’s gone and not much when he’s here. And the lead I need to follow requires travel with flex time and a long leash.”
“When Sol gets back, let me know what you need and I’ll make it happen.”
“Done, my Lady.” He gave her a little chivalrous bow.
“You know I never thought I’d live to see the acting Jefferson Unit Sovereign bow to me – and in his own office at that. Sol would have a coronary. Got to go.”
“Where you off to?”
“Trainee Mid, hand-to-hand.” She specified “Mid” because the twenty four trainees were divided into two classes of twelve each. The younger boys were beginning. The older boys were midlevel. The active duty knights were advanced.
Glen looked at his watch absently. “Would you drop this in Monq’s box on your way by?” He handed her a file.
“Sure. Later.”
Elora exited Elevator 3 a couple of steps behind Kristoph Falcon and Rolfe Wakenmann, who had been on Elevator 2. Some of the boys were gathered in the hall outside the sparring room. When Kris and Wakey walked up, one of the loiterers said, “Yo, Wakey. Let me see your eyes.” Wakey gave him a funny look. “Yep. Bottomless pools, clear and deep as a cloudless night.”
Amid a round of youthful laughter, Wakey responded with, “Fuck you!” Then he noticed that everyone stood straight as all eyes shifted to something behind him. He turned to come face to face with his instructor, the famous and formidable Lady Laiken. Taking a step back, he dropped his eyes.
She looked over the group. “Go on in and warm up. I want a private word with Mr. Wakenmann.” Once the boys had filed inside and closed the door, leaving the two of them alone in the hallway, she turned to Wakey. “You know, Sovereign Nemamiah has strong feelings about minors – that would be you, and expletives – that would be the last two words that came out of your mouth.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Personally, I wouldn’t care. My husband is quite partial to colorful language and I’ve grown used to it. But as long as you and I are on these premises, working with this organization, we’re going to respect the Sovereign’s wishes on the matter. Not because it’s the rules, but because he’s earned the right to set the rules. If I’ve learned anything since being here, it’s that he always has good reasons for what he does.
“Was that clear, Mr. Wakenmann?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then get to the friggin’ mats now.”
He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, and Wakey?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
/> “You do have eyes as clear as a cloudless night.”
He spit out a laugh and jogged toward the door to the sparring room.
CHAPTER 7
Halcyon Dimension, Present Day.
Angel was done for the night. When it first opened, Divas Dive had shown some promise as a club. It was a little different in look and atmosphere and often drew yupsters who wanted to check out clubbing in his tawdry neck of the borough. It had even been named in the hopes of drawing uptown curiosity seekers. Come walk on the wild side. He sneered at that. Like a couple of hours of pounding bass and undulating bodies could make you worldly.
It’s not so easy. Real corruption takes practice. For some it even takes dedication.
The ladies had been given a chance to interest him. He’d held court at the bar for an hour while a parade of cartoon tits and well-used tail came and went. They offered the usual, immediate availability and tipsy gushing about his beautiful eyes and broad shoulders. He was almost as tired of that old song as he was of being groped without his permission. Almost.
It was a waste of time, like standing in front of the butcher’s premium case, staring at the strips and filets, when you’re in the mood for fish and not meat.
He decided to hit the men’s room before he left. As he came back out into the dim hallway a girl stepped in front of him. She pressed the front of her body up against him and purred his name. Between the pale blond hair and the white dress, she was glowing like radiation in the semi-black lighting. He’d been with her last week, in a stall on the other side of the men’s room door. Maybe she’d given her name and maybe she hadn’t. It was irrelevant because he couldn’t remember either way.
“Okay look, doll, it’s not happening, right?”
He tried to ease her away, but she pressed closer, thinking she was being seductive.
“What’s the hurry? Stick around. See what I’ve got for you.”
Gathering Storm Page 6