by Bill Denise
His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. His heart leapt into motion and his breathing became shallow—it was Andrea. He knew by her knock.
He answered the door, and she stepped in. “How are . . .” She stopped suddenly when she heard the shower running. “Oh, you have someone here—sorry,” and she turned quickly, nearly tripping over own feet.
“No wait,” Damon grabbed her arm gently. “It's not what you think.” In the back of his mind he thought maybe, just maybe, he should have let her leave and not told her the truth.
She turned slowly back around. “What is it then?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.
Damon sighed, unsure how to answer the question. The shower stopped and he realized this was not going to end well. “I have a problem, and I need your help,” he blurted.
“What . . .” she started and then, as suspicion grew in her, she asked, “who is it?” She moved past Damon to stand in front of the bathroom door.
Melanie opened the door, wrapped in a towel. She saw Andrea, yelped in surprise and stumbled back a few steps.
Andrea's eyes narrowed as she turned her head slowly to look at Damon. He met her gaze briefly and then looked down.
“What . . . the waif? Really?” Andrea stammered. “You're dead,” she said to Damon. “I've got to tell Michael about the whole thing now.” After a short pause she added, “Oh yeah, and then I have to explain to him why I lied in the first place!”
Damon couldn't look her in the eyes. “I'm sorry, Andrea, she followed me.” He glanced up, but couldn't hold her gaze. “What was I supposed to do? She already found the path so even if I took her back, she'd find it again, and—”
“Enough!” Andrea hissed through clenched teeth. “I am absolutely livid that you neglected your training to such an extent. And ignored what I told you to do.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
“I won't be any tr—” Melanie started.
“You!” Andrea jabbed a finger toward her, “do not get to speak.”
“Andrea,” Damon said as he stepped toward her.
She held up her hand to stop him. After a few moments of silence, she said, “I don't know what to do with you. With either of you. I have to go see Michael.”
She pushed her way between Damon and Melanie as she rushed to the door. Before leaving, she stabbed them both with a harsh glare. “Damon, I'm very disappointed in you, I can’t believe you could let me down like this.”
If he didn't know better, Damon would have thought he saw tears in her eyes. Before he could be sure, she turned away and rushed out the door, slamming it behind her.
Silence followed her departure until Melanie said, “Well, that could have gone better.”
“Shut up!”
Damon decided to follow Andrea. “Stay here and don't leave this room,” he said to Melanie as he left.
“Exactly what I intended to do,” she said to the closing door.
Damon arrived at the door to Michael's office too late to see Andrea go in. Leaning casually against the wall next to the door was a man that Damon knew only by name.
“Jeremy, is Andrea in there with Michael?”
“Yup, she sure is. Said you'd be showin' up 'ere soon, too. Asked me to 'ave you wait.” He pointed to a folding chair against the wall.
Damon sat down heavily in the chair, trying to figure out exactly how things went so bad. I should have killed her. I've killed before and it didn't bother me, I've killed to defend and protect the Family, and I'll do it again. What's different this time?
His thoughts roiled around the same subject over and over. He couldn't find an answer and he couldn't stop thinking about it.
“Demon!”
Damon looked up as he realized Jeremy had been saying his name repeatedly.
“Wake up, man, Michael and Andrea want to see you now.”
Damon felt sweat beading up on his forehead. “Thanks,” he mumbled as he steeled himself to face the anger.
The room beyond the door was well-lit and Damon was a little surprised at the number of electric lights in use. Michael sat in an overstuffed chair, leaning forward with his hands clasped together, resting elbows on his knees. Andrea was on a couch next to him and her glare made Damon flinch. He felt off-balance, like the floor was unstable, as he walked to the middle of the room, and stood stiffly before them.
The man was older, with graying hair. He still had a lean fighter's build, and numerous scars crisscrossed his forearms. His face was lined and worn, but was shaped with sharp, angular features. Penetrating blue eyes bore into Damon where he stood.
“Demon, my Demon, what are we going to do with you?” Michael said.
Damon's eyes darted over to Andrea quickly and then back to Michael, unsure if he was supposed to answer somehow. Before he could open his mouth, however, Michael continued.
“Andrea tells me that her previous account of your patrol may have been,” he paused and glanced at Andrea, “not entirely—shall we say—complete.”
Damon felt a surge of hope, since Michael sounded very calm.
“Andrea has filled me in on all the details, and I'll honest with you, I am disappointed. Even though I understand that you found it difficult to kill the girl, you need to grasp the gravity of the situation, and the importance in protecting the Family.”
The implication that Damon disregarded Family interests truly hurt, and he wanted to speak in his defense. However, Michael did not tolerate interruption and Damon knew that it would not help his situation to press the matter.
“You know the importance of keeping the perimeter safe, and I know that you understand, because you learned it from Andrea.” He paused, looking thoughtful for a moment before continuing, “Allow me to recap my understanding of what happened this evening. If I get something wrong, you can tell me after I finish.
“Mistake #1, the big one: you rescued the girl.” He ticked off the first point on his finger. “Then Mistake #2: the girl followed you somehow; and it’s quite worrisome that she could do that.” He ticked off a second finger. “Finally Mistake #3: you couldn't kill her,” he ticked off a third, “and then you decided it would be safer to bring her in than leave her out there with potentially dangerous information.
“Ironically, this last thing was the actually the correct action at that point in time. Although if you had avoided just one of the three mistakes we would not be in this situation right now. Do you agree with this assessment, my Demon?”
“Yes, sir, I do,” Damon felt relief pouring over him even if he didn't understand why he was getting a reprieve.
“Good. Then here is what needs to be done. First, you are removed from solo patrol, obviously. It may be a long time before you see that role again. Second, YOU must decide what to do with the girl. There are two choices and you may pick one. First,” he held up one finger, “you may kill her now and be done with it. Second,” he held up a second finger, “she stays with you, in your room, and shares your resources. In other words, she literally eats off your plate. You will get no extra supplies or rations, and you must share everything with her. The Family simply cannot afford to take on another mouth to feed at this time. Also, she must work a full duty schedule, most likely in jobs that are less-than-desirable.” Michael finished, looked over at Andrea for a moment, then back at Damon. “Which will it be, son?”
Damon paused only long enough to make sure it really was his turn to speak. He already knew he couldn’t kill her in cold blood, “I'll take the second. You’ll never even know she's here.”
Andrea made an almost imperceptible huffing sound through her nose, but it struck Damon through the heart.
“You may go now,” Michael said, “Andrea and I have more to discuss.”
Damon turned and fled from the room. When he closed the door behind him, he let out a huge sigh of relief.
Kyndra's soaking tears! Now what am I supposed to do? He wondered as he realized that the good life as he had known it was now over.
Chapter Two
Renard Trueblood sat in his large ornate chair and listened as the last notes slowly faded from the giant, archaic pipe organ. He marveled at its size, beauty, and musical quality as he had so many times before. He always felt that it sounded much better than a high-tech substitute. He looked down to the gathered congregation standing below, awaiting his sermon.
For the third time today he approached the pulpit to deliver a message borrowed from another he had written decades prior. Crowd is even smaller now than earlier today. His mouth involuntarily drew into a thin line as he estimated a mere twenty to twenty-five thousand in attendance.
“Our Mother watches over us . . .” he intoned the ritual opening in a deep resonant voice he liked to think matched well with the organ.
“SHE IS KIND” the congregation replied.
“She provides for our needs . . .” he continued.
“SHE IS GENEROUS” they dutifully added.
“She laughs with our happiness . . .”
“SHE IS JOYFUL.”
“. . . and She cries with our sorrows . . .”
“SHE IS CARING.”
“She will always protect us . . .”
“SHE IS VIGILANT.”
“. . . and She will bring us to eternal happiness.”
“SHE IS LOVE.”
“You may be seated.” Renard waited for the rustling of twenty thousand people to quiet as they took their seats. He rearranged the sleeves on his robe and made a ritual display of opening the huge, leather-bound and metal-strapped copy of The Chronicle. He didn't actually read from the book, but he acted as if it gave him inspiration. He scanned his eyes over the random page in front of him, giving the illusion of reading.
“Bear with me good people, while I present a short history lesson.” He paused meaningfully. “I promise, it will be short,” he added conspiratorially with a smile.
The congregation laughed politely.
“Our Good Mother, Kyndra Dickson,” he made a ritual motion of his right hand to his heart and bowing his head slightly, and the congregation rustled again as they imitated the motion, “came to us in our time of need over nine hundred years ago. She came to a budding society that was just beginning its foray to new worlds. There were only The Five, then, and they were in disarray. They squabbled amongst themselves and the new society was on the brink of collapse before it had even begun.
“Then Kyndra,” again he made the ritual motion, “descended from heaven to lead the human race into their destiny and began the Consensus as we know it. And today it encompasses thousands of star systems with its order and benevolence,” he paused and change the timbre of his voice to convey dread and danger.
“However, many have forgotten these simple truths. They have forgotten that we owe our prosperity and happiness to the Good Mother. They have forgotten the tenets of good citizenship, they have forgotten how to care for one another. Rather, they live to satisfy their own desires at the expense of others. Today, Kyndra's tears soak the downtrodden where they are mired in the neglect of the people who no longer remember their own history!”
The sermon continued for twenty-three more minutes to end the service promptly on time. Renard made blessing motions over the congregation as they filed past him on their way out. This was the last service today, and he was anxious to get on to his other business.
Once all the people had left he turned and walked quickly to his office behind the altar. Waiting inside, as always, was the ever-faithful Jeffrey Allen. He smiled at his long-time assistant and friend.
“Nice sermon, Renard,” Jeffrey smiled and made a slight bow.
“Funny. Did you notice the numbers were down again today?”
It was a rhetorical question, since Jeffrey always checked the numbers during the service. He answered anyway, “Yes, the numbers are down. They have been consistently declining for almost a year now. We could consider doing only two services a day.”
Renard made a disgusted sound, “We can't make such an obvious admission, it would merely accelerate the decline.”
They'd had this same conversation many times lately, but they kept repeating it anyway, secretly hoping a new idea would arise. Renard sighed and began removing his robe and accoutrements. In a few minutes he was done and dressed in a casual suit. Tall and lean, he looked the part of successful businessman. His hair showed some gray, by his choice, even though it was not the current style.
“Any last minute information on the meeting?” he asked Jeffrey as he worked on his tie.
“Well, yes, there is.” He picked up his screen and tapped it to open the files he had prepared. He had been waiting for the invitation to brief his boss. “Avelina is going to be there.” He waited for Renard's reaction, glancing up from his screen. Seeing nothing, he looked down and continued, “She will be reporting on the Human Implanted Enhancement program. Apparently she's ready to go live, so to speak.”
Renard stopped working on his tie and turned to look at his friend. “Are you guessing, or do you know something?”
“The only thing I know for sure is that she will be there. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” he lied as he turned back to the mirror to finish his tie. “I haven't seen our favorite pupil in . . .”
“Almost two years,” Jeffrey finished.
“And she has something to show for her—how many years of research?”
“She's been working on the implantation program for ten years; ever since she developed D-SAP.”
Renard chuckled and said, “Oh yes, D-SAP, the greatest invention to never be used for anything! I believe it's her claim to fame, is it not?”
Jeffrey seemed slightly irritated, “The material performs exactly to specification.”
“Yes, possibly, but it can't be used for anything.”
“I believe she may have fixed that,” Jeffrey said, sounding every bit like he was defending Dr. Baksa.
“Well, I have faith in her. We certainly put a lot of time and effort into her education and upbringing. I’ve always had the highest hopes for her, and we could really use some help in keeping Pryke under control.”
They walked together down the hall, Jeffrey reading from his screen and reviewing important facts with Renard. They were an effective team and had been working together since the day Renard took over as Chairman of the Council more than forty years ago. After a few minutes of walking, they entered the ship that would take them to the meeting. It was small but luxurious, and the two men sat facing each other in comfortable arm chairs with a small table between them.
The ship accelerated smoothly, giving little indication of motion. There was a deep thrumming sound that was felt more than heard, but otherwise the ship’s Kline Drive was silent, which allowed the men to discuss their plans in quiet conversation.
**** ****
Dr. Avelina Baksa looked out the window of her own private ship, alone in the passenger cabin. Her long-time friends, Conn and Veradisia, maintained and piloted the craft, but mostly left her to herself. She had a marvelous view of the system's gas giant with its multi-colored bands and its dramatic rings. Two of the planet's moons were also visible, one in a beautiful pale blue and the other an angry, shocking red. All in all it was a breathtaking view, and Avelina soaked it in.
I've spent too little time outside the lab these past . . . twenty years! Is it really possible? This is it—after this program is complete, I'm taking time off. LOTS of time off.
She daydreamed about travel and carefree living, but the illusion didn't last. Her smile faded as she realized that she was fooling herself. She spent so much time in the lab because that is what she liked to do. It was what she lived for.
Maybe I'll take a little time off.
She’d been working toward this day and this presentation her entire life, although she didn’t know it when she started down this path. The importance of this moment triggered reminiscence of the long road she traveled to get here.
Her most poi
gnant memories began when they pulled her out of the regular classes in her secondary school. Despite their assurances that she was special and required personalized attention, she was young and missed her friends. From that point on, her entire life consisted of study, research, and religion, with no time for social activities. That was when she first met Reverend Trueblood, and she still felt awed by him to this day.
She remembered walking into the lab with a fresh doctorate, big ideas, and no clue how to make them happen. In an unusual display of support for a single scientist, the Kyndraist Church set her up in her own lab, and her research began in earnest.
Most vivid in her memory was the day she presented D-SAP to the Council. She started the day ecstatic and barely able to contain her enthusiasm, but before it was over she felt that her life was in shambles.
The Council, of course, wanted results, but their idea of results was more specific than her own. To her, the actual creation of the “impossible” material was a victory in itself. However, the Council (and Reverend Trueblood specifically, a particularly painful memory) wanted an application of the compound, not just a discovery.
Finally, nearly ten years later, she was ready to give them their application. She knew that they would be shocked. It was much bigger and far more effective than they could ever imagine. This would finally give Reverend Trueblood, the Church, and the Council what they needed to ensure Kyndra’s peace throughout the Consensus.
Avelina looked out the window again and let contentment flow over her.
**** ****
Alexander Pryke adjusted his tie and finished his drink. The pilot had just announced that they were on final approach to the meeting place for the Council, and he was eager to arrive. He knew something big was going to be announced but he had no idea what it was. He chafed at the fact that the four other Council members still considered him a second-rate newcomer to their circle. They didn't communicate with him the same way they did with each other and he often found himself in the dark about major decisions or policies.