by Amy Gallow
"I can imagine.” Anneke's tone was dry. “Peter sends his apologies."
"The Soldier.” A window opened in Rachael's mind and the word was out before she thought.
"I told you she'd remember.” She'd heard that voice before. It spun her round to face the man who'd appeared between her and the Pontiff to save her from the pike. “Rachael, this is Dael, my wife and Jack's grandmother."
Dael was the Earth Mother incarnate. Her eyes were as gentle as Jean-Paul's, but wiser, more feminine. Her age could have been anything, but she was physically no older than the others.
"Shall we go in?” Peter was the host now, the natural leader, and he gestured for Rachael to precede him.
The pavilion was three sided, open to the sea along one wall with a cushioned bench running around the other three. A cleverly arranged table, now laden with food, could swing to be accessible to each guest. Another gesture from Peter directed Rachael to the middle of the bench facing the sea, with Jack at her side, while the others took their places along the other walls. The space was designed to be intimate and this group warmed it in a way Rachael had never experienced.
Her nervousness eased.
There were no questions. The conversation flowed though common subjects, open-ended gambits keeping it going, involving Rachael as if they'd all been friends for years. Peter obliged Gabrielle and Anneke by singing an ancient Earth ballad about a Gypsy Rover, both women lost in memories when he finished, and Jean-Paul gave a hilarious account of his dealings with some official on a world Rachael had never heard of before—a place far beyond the Federation's reach.
These were far traveled people. They spoke familiarly of places she's seen only in holograms, even Jack had been beyond places where the Federation was known. Portal technology was not new. Its invention lay many thousands of years in the past, nor was it confined to the Federation. The original discoverers had seen to its broad dissemination, traveling around the galaxy, demonstrating, assisting in the development like modern day apostles, and proselytizing the benefits to all. Their names were part of history, Cedric Brown the engineer, Rashid the Commander, and Charles the teacher. Another name was mentioned sometimes as the patron saint of the new religion. She thought it was Gabrielle, but couldn't be sure. Not this Gabrielle though. It would make her thirty-five thousand years old and that was patently ridiculous.
She'd come here tonight half ready to accuse Jack of being an immortal. Having met his family, she knew he wasn't. Immortals don't have families. Their longevity made them environmentalists par excellence and they'd understand the danger of overpopulation in ways mortals couldn't grasp. Jack's family was very special, truly Elite, but they were a family, the generations clearly defined, not by physical appearance but by attitudes. No one could doubt Peter's position as the Patriarch, or Jack's as the grandson. It was the same with Dael, Anneke and Gabrielle, the generations clearly defined. Peter's son, Jack's father, must be the Elite of Trygon, the only missing link and they were expecting him shortly. She'd never met him while she served the Pontiff.
"Have you left me any food?” A voice answered her thought and the final member of the party entered the pavilion. “Hello, you must be Rachael. I'm Karrel.” He crossed the floor, kissed her cheek and sat down next to his wife, taking her hand in his in a natural gesture of affection. He and Peter were very close, not only in appearance, but in manner as well, both leaders, both aware of their responsibilities, but unabashed by their extent. She could sense mutual respect between them and the subtle homage paid by the others. In this group, such an accolade could only be earned.
"I think I like you.” Jack's mouth was close to her ear. “What do you think we should do about it?"
"Slip away as soon as we can.” She spoke with minimal movement of her lips, her tone soft and private.
"You don't like my family?” He pretended shock.
"I need something else more."
A throaty chuckle, almost a purr, from Gabrielle drew her attention, but Jack's mother was looking at Karrel and brushing a crumb from the corner of his mouth. She was too far away to have heard.
"What are you going to do about it?” Rachael put the onus squarely on Jack.
"That's a weighty matter. It deserves some thought.” He was teasing her with the hand concealed from the others by their position and it was Rachael's turn to purr.
"Don't think too long or I might shock your family."
"This lot's pretty hard to shock,” he warned, shifting his hand a little higher.
"I'm getting desperate.” She shifted to give him better access.
In truth, she was enjoying herself. These were good people to be with and she sensed their approval. They might be implacable enemies of the Federation, but they'd accepted her without question. This had to be the current generation of the mythical First Family.
They'd probably fostered the myth of immortality as a tactic. Karrel and Peter were so alike, it would be hard to tell where one ended and the other started. Succession would be seamless to outsiders and Jack was well on the way to copying his father as closely. Their natural longevity as Elite helped, blurring memories as their earlier contemporaries died. Rachael felt a little smug at having worked it out, even discounting her privileged position in their midst.
"I was on your world a week ago.” Jean-Paul interrupted. “Your family's prospering with the extra money you're sending. Peter asked me to look in on them on my way home."
His admission drew sharp looks from half the gathering and caused Rachael a pang of guilt. She had not contacted her parents in over a month. Such lapses were forgivable when she was undercover, but not now. She would rectify it tomorrow and tell Jenni to remind her frequently. “Tell me all the news,” she said. “I've been a bit remiss of late."
"They understand the pressures of your new position and said to give you their love.” He went on to list the doings of everyone, keeping all the relationships in order, which was a difficult task in Rachael's convoluted family, close knit as it was.
A secondary thought popped into Rachael's mind. There was no ostentatious display of wealth here, but the journeys they'd all taken were not cheap and the “squeeze” all Federation officials demanded to facilitate secret movement wouldn't have come lightly for known enemies. That sort of money should have appeared on the Federation's radar. It might be monolithic, but the Federation was not lax. Internal Security monitored such things obsessively. There were never any arrests, just monitoring and surveillance. Knowledge was power in dealing with veniality.
The Pontiff had taunted her with the extent of Internal Security's reach while she was undercover in the Temple. She'd let it slip in the debriefing and an Internal Security officer had paid her a visit, bargaining for her silence with a threats and promises. There was even a hint they were not above the secret disposal of the recalcitrant. They knew everyone's secrets and their power was untrammeled.
Jack's hand shifted again, destroying her train of thought.
"Behave yourself,” she whispered, turning her head to bring her lips close to his ear. “I'm meeting your family for the first time."
"Of course,” he said, withdrawing his hand.
"You don't have to go that far,” she shifted closer.
"They're a fearsome bunch. You're right to be cautious.” His expression was a little too serious. “They start eating babies after the second course."
Rachael started. Her mind had strayed to the Federation slanders, including the asinine claim of unnatural practices and child sacrifices. These were nice people, genuinely funny at times, who liked each other. There were no sniping remarks, no carping dialogue, fun was shared equally between giver and taker and respect was given, not imposed.
She liked them and wanted them to like her.
Chapter Four
Limbo still fascinated Peter.
He'd named it from a vague recollection of religious instruction received in an isolated rural church from a man whose faith exceeded h
is theology by a country mile. Soldiering had overlain those childhood memories with hard-won pragmatism and, if his own faith was non-existent, he still remembered the Reverend Black with affection. He'd slipped into it when the gathering at the beach pavilion broke up. The others all had business elsewhere and he had time to himself and knew what he wanted to observe.
Through the portal into his old world, Arlington was particularly beautiful. It was easy to forget it had been established out of political spite and requisitioned illegally because of hatred for an honorable enemy. Robert E. Lee would have felt himself at home among the honored dead, while the place of the man who requisitioned it illegally is more questionable.
"Peter."
He turned as Dael joined him, struck, as always, by her beauty. “Yes.” His tone made it a question.
"What are you doing here?"
He smiled, reading her concern. “I'm not sure. Honoring a memory, perhaps?"
"I'm worried."
He sensed the truth and opened his arms. “There's nothing to concern you here. Belen paid the price in full. If I had any vestige of a physical connection to the man lying in the coffin, then the time I've already spent here would equate to thirty years at home.” He used the term deliberately to prove he no longer thought of Earth as his home.
Dael buried her face in his shoulder and held him tight. “I can't think that clearly when it comes to you."
He held her until she was calm enough to accept a diversion. “How's Rachael?"
"Remarkably well. Being in love is good for her.” Her arms tightened. “Have you been giving lessons?” He could feel her suppressed laughter.
"Flattery will get you everywhere.” He chuckled. “I thought of it as grandfatherly advice. Our version of a rite of passage, so to speak."
He felt her test his memory and give grudging approval.
"You need more practice,” she decided. “Leave this nonsense and we'll go to the beach camp.” Dael would never tire of the place where their love had begun and the others understood its special nature. None came there except by direct invitation, not even their children.
He knew there must be no argument. “Let's go."
They joined hands and were there.
* * * *
Jack felt Rachael's rebellion as they walked towards the Federation compound and a glimpse of underlying pain trapped him into going deep enough to discover her fear of his immortality.
She would die. Dael and Jean-Paul would prolong her life for many years, probably doubling her life span, but in the end she would die. He wasn't immortal, not in the true sense, just incredibly long-lived. None of the First Family had aged beyond maturity in the two hundred years since Karrel's birth had broken the gentle tyranny of the Blood.
Anneke, Jean-Paul and Jack had developed normally through the first twenty years of life, as did all the children of the Blood who'd followed Dael's example, reaching full physical maturity in their early twenties. At twenty, the aging process slowed and, at thirty, stopped altogether. Peter believed they would die eventually, and he was seldom wrong, so Jack accepted it intellectually. It was the trade-off for a physical reality and the ability to reproduce, the salvation of his grandmother's race.
Was she right? Would pity replace his love as her beauty withered? It hadn't with Anneke and Jesse, but he was not Anneke's equal. Could he kiss a crone and feel the Rachael within? Not all the loving in the world would ease the hurt of a single slip on his part. The prospect appalled him. The family was right. Rachael saw further into the future than he did. Guilt made him stop to embrace her and then allow lust to redirect their steps towards the inn and his bedroom.
The dozen drinkers in the fore-court ignored them out of politeness, but a general sense of approval warmed Jack. They thought he and Rachael deserved whatever pleasure they could find, particularly in each other. He wished Rachael could share it.
"We seem to be very popular."
Her words caught him off-guard and he scanned her mind, receiving a general impression of the group approval, without specifics. She'd sensed it without knowing how. He fought down a surge of hope, afraid to read anything into it other than coincidence.
Anneke's Commoner husband, Jesse, had been receptive to deliberately sent thoughts but had never developed beyond this level. Gabrielle, Jack's mother, on the other hand had become a fully functional telepath, even to the level of translocation, something Jack had not yet mastered. The others could carry him into Limbo, but he couldn't shift there unaided.
Could Rachael have natural abilities the Family could help her develop? Dael had hinted there was more to Rachael than appeared on the surface. “She'll be more of a handful than you expect,” she'd warned. This could be her meaning.
Something in Jack quailed. He'd grown used to controlling relationships with his greater abilities. A fully functional telepath would be his equal in everything, a reality he'd never experienced and wasn't sure he could handle.
"What's up?” They'd reached his bedroom and Rachael was impatient.
"Sorry. I was thinking about our future,” a convenient half-truth.
"It's more than that.” Rachael's tone was positive. “You're having doubts."
"Not about loving you.” He put his doubts aside and took her in his arms, trusting in his ability to distract her. She came willingly and thought became superfluous.
* * * *
Peter was satisfied. Dael had returned to the settlement and everything else was going well. Jenni would report the gathering at the pavilion and the pragmatists at Federation head office had reason look at the balance sheet and accept the status quo, writing off further attempts to destabilize Feodar's World as unprofitable. It was the best way to deal with them.
Jenni would have to be monitored. A Federation zealot, her loyalty to Internal Security had a reptilian feel and Internal Security personnel were the Jesuits of the Federation, maintaining its purity and punishing backsliders. Pragmatism was not in their lexicon and they had many old scores to settle with the First Family. Rachael could seem a tempting target pour encourager les autres. Peter's lips quirked at one corner. French quotations often had a bitter twist.
He sensed what Jenni was doing and shifted to the portal tied to her
* * * *
Jenni sat in the comms room waiting for a response. Anneke was a known criminal, escaping from custody the least of her crimes. While, not strictly the business of Internal Security, she'd reported her presence as part of her surveillance of the Ambassador and hoped there'd be a reaction. Anneke's contempt had bitten deep.
"Jenni, something coming through for you in the secure cubicle,” the duty comms operator pointed at the rarely used cubicle. This station received few ultra-secure comms. The last one, over a year ago, had sent the former Ambassador into the temple with an ultimatum for the Pontiff.
Jenni spoke the access code, submitted to a retinal scan, entered the cubicle and seated herself at the camera's optimal spot. “Agent Samuels reporting."
The whir was probably her imagination as the cubicle sealed itself around her, setting up barriers to every known form of snooping and making an electronic handshake with the scrambler in Federation headquarters.
"Samuels,” the Head of Internal Security appeared on the screen. “Did you get any vision of the meeting?"
"No, sir. They must have some barrier set up. The digital signal was corrupted, both from the fixed cameras and my button lens."
"Typical.” His face gave no indication whether the source of his dissatisfaction was the First Family or her performance. “Did the Ambassador expect the meeting?"
"She seemed surprised.” Jenni wouldn't venture beyond that. Rachael was an ex-field agent, experienced in deep cover operations.
"I asked for your opinion, not your observation. Did she expect the meeting?” His tone left her no place to hide.
"No. It was a surprise.” Jenni crossed her fingers out of the camera's range.
"My opinion
too. These people are weaving a net to draw her in. Give her time. She may resist."
"If she doesn't?” Jenni didn't want to ask.
"We'll make her a double. Her family's a good lever. There's enough of them. We'll make an example of two to show what we can do—reward one and destroy the other."
"How will she know it's us?” Jenni knew what was coming.
"You'll tell her. We'll provide vision of both events."
It was a standard Internal Security approach. Jenni had carried out similar operations in the past, but this one compromised her primary mission to discover the secret of the undetectable portals.
"Questions?” Her hesitation had been noted.
"This is the First Family.” She must not break security with this man. His ruthlessness was legendary.
"Are you afraid?"
"Yes.” It was the truth.
"Good. It will make you cautious. This is no ordinary operation.” He nodded approvingly. It had been a test.
Emboldened by the apparent vote of confidence, Jenni followed the thread supplied by the security man, Dick Smith. “The President,” she made it a question.
"...was not born on Trygon. He is either a Family member or a close associate."
"He is known to be fond of the Ambassador.” Jenni tried to make the implied criticism gentle.
"She is in his room. They are lovers in the physical sense, but make no assumptions from that. The First Family is ruthless when it comes to normal humans. They use them without compunction.” He made it a warning.
Jenni nodded. No other response was acceptable. “Proof he is not what he claims could be useful. He may have lied to her."
"A courier will deliver it."
"Thank you."
"No other questions?” He paused long enough for Jenni to shake her head. “These are your instructions..."
Jenni listened in silence until he finished, asked three questions and nodded her understanding when he expanded the points. “Making an example of her is our last option,” she confirmed. “Only if all else fails."
He nodded and broke the comms link, the screen going dark.