Martin Forrestal stood behind the celebrant’s table. As if it were in no way unusual, he approached her and made to take the items from her arms. She backed away.
“Please, Charisse,” he said. “Allow me the duty. Just for this evening.”
Silently, she surrendered the tokens of the ritual to him. He bowed thanks and returned to the celebrant’s table. She went to stand among her slowly accumulating kinsmen.
As the last few worshippers trickled in and the sun passed below the western horizon, Martin circled the table to face the gathering and spread his arms in welcome.
“Peace be with you,” he intoned.
He picked up a small leatherbound book, turned to a marked page, and read in a soft voice.
“And as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and blessed it, and broke it, and gave it to the disciples, saying, ‘Take ye and eat; For this is my body.’ And he took the cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, ‘Take ye and drink; For this is my blood, the blood of the covenant, which shall be shed for many for the remission of sins.’”
The crowd murmured faintly.
“We haven’t had a lot of peace lately,” he said. “These past few weeks it’s seemed like one jolt after another, with the occasional celebration thrown in for seasoning. We’ve seen new arrangements, new conflicts, and new clan members, with barely time enough to accommodate one set of changes before we’re forced to deal with another. Even the positive changes can be wearying when they come at you too thickly and too fast.
“But the Twelve knew even more tumult than we. Worse, the Master told them that he would soon be taken from them to suffer and die in their time’s most ignominious manner. Despite all he had taught them, they did not understand, and they were very much afraid. Though he said to them let not your heart be troubled, still they feared and sought to resist the culmination he had foretold.
“Yet he said they would have peace, on one condition: that they love one another. And in time, they came to understand what he’d meant, and they learned to abide by it.
“Soon you will confront another change, though hopefully not a permanent one. Althea and I will be going away for a while. Far away, such that our only contact with you will be via the radio. It might be years before we see you again. The separation will be as trying for us as it will for you, because we are of you, and we love you as we love ourselves.
“But the Master said let not your heart be troubled. He promised that all would be well, if only we would love God and one another. And he asked one more thing: that we should remember him with a simple ceremony.”
Martin took the loaf of bread in his hands, raised it high, said “Thank you, Father, for this blessing of bread,” broke it in half, and laid it on the table before him. He took the jug of wine, poured from it into a large earthenware cup, raised the cup high, said “Thank you, Father, for this blessing of wine,” and set it on the table next to the bread. When he turned to face the gathering, his gaze pierced Charisse to the heart.
“With him for our king, we need no other. With him for our guardian and guide, we need no other. For as long as we remember him, he is not gone from us. As his followers followed him across the breadth of Judea, he has followed us across the darkness between the stars. Wherever men may go, if only they will remember him, he will be with them...and those who love him will have his peace.”
He stepped aside from the offerings, beckoned the crowd forward, and said “Do as he instructed the Twelve to do, and remember him.”
* * *
Althea hung back as the others filed out of the hearthroom. Presently she and Martin were alone. When he’d finished returning the masonwood sofa and the table he’d used to their usual places, she went to him and threw her arms around his waist. He enveloped her in a gentle embrace.
“I didn’t understand much of that,” she said against his chest.
He nodded. “But you liked it anyway, didn't you? Made you feel good, didn’t it?”
She looked up at him. “Well, yeah.”
He grinned. “That’s where it begins. With a little bread, a little wine, and a few little words.”
“Well, where does it end?”
“I can’t say, love. We don’t all get to the same place, even with help. But I can tell you how to get to wherever it might be for you.”
“How?”
He smiled and gave her a gentle squeeze.
“Read the book.”
==
Intermezzo: Duember 22, 1305 A.H.
Althea opened the barrier between the halves of the reaction chamber, backed away, and glued her gaze to the thermometer. Martin moved up beside her and slipped an arm around her waist.
The needle on the gauge climbed swiftly. The recorder beside it scribed the advancing reading onto a strip of chart paper at an equal speed.
The temperature of the mass in the chamber reached an unprecedented maximum. Althea found herself holding her breath.
This could be it.
The needle hung at the maximum reading as she hoped against hope. She dared not look at the elapsed-time reading on the strip chart. The accumulated weight of their previous disappointments had grown nearly too heavy to bear.
When it finally, slowly descended from its peak, she turned and moved away. Martin frowned, followed her, and put his hands to her shoulders.
“What’s wrong, love?”
“I’m afraid to look.”
He chuckled. “Then I will.”
He gave her a squeeze, went to the recorder and turned it off, and peered down at the record of the reaction.
“We’ve done it,” he said.
Althea fainted.
* * *
Althea awoke to find herself lying on their bed, fully clothed. Martin sat beside her, passing his fingertips lightly over her forehead.
“Feeling okay?”
She nodded. “Did it really work?”
He smiled. “Really and truly, Al. Two years agone, and maybe a year or two more to go, but we’re going to make it to the Relic.” His smile turned into a smirk. “Always assuming my engine design doesn’t turn us into Hope’s first exoatmospheric fireworks display.”
She snorted and levered herself into a sitting position. The dank gray sky of Hope’s arctic loomed beyond their dome’s small window. The vista had been constant throughout their two years in Thule, impervious to human preferences or other developments.
“Well, if so, our troubles would be over, anyway. Did you annotate the recording and file it with the rest of the data?”
He nodded. “Everything’s locked down tight. We can start on the mass driver whenever you feel up to it.”
She scowled. “I think we should chat about that first.”
He peered at her uncertainly. “Doubts? Or are you just getting tired of living in a flexosteel dome?”
She chuckled. “Just reconsidering,” she said. “Anyway, how could anyone tire of luxury such as this?” She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, thrust herself upright, and stretched.
Martin grinned up at her, his big hands folded in his lap “I thought you might have conceived a hankering for hot running water and a real toilet.”
“Naah,” she said. “We’ve got power enough here, but it never occurred to me just how difficult and dangerous it would be to truck all the stuff we’ll need up this far. About five months out of the year we’d have to do it by air, or we wouldn’t be able to do it at all. And besides all that,” she said with a shake of her head, “the spaceplane really has to come first. We have to get up there at least once before we’ll know what we need to bring.”
“Hmph. That hadn’t occurred to me,” he said. “You’re right. The Spoonerites probably left a lot of useful junk behind. I doubt they bothered to catalog it for posterity.”
“I was thinking about structural materials, actually,” she said. “If we don’t have to fling a few tons of carbon, molybdenum, and zinc into orbit, I’d just as soon not.”
>
He gestured concession, rose, and took her in his arms.
“Shall we radio Morelon House and let our kin in on the news?” he said.
“Not tonight,” she said. “Tonight we celebrate. Just us.”
Martin’s eyebrows rose. “Got something planned?”
“You betcha. Special dinner coming up. I’ve been saving a dish Alvah taught me for just this occasion.”
“Something you can make with what we’ve got here?”
Althea nodded. “You’ll love it, I promise. And after dinner...”
“Hm?”
“Wait for it, husband mine. You’ll love that, too.”
* * *
Martin forked up a bite of the casserole and held it before him for a moment of scrutiny.
“What’s in it?”
Althea smirked. “That would spoil the surprise. Go on, taste it.”
He did. His face lit with pleasure as he chewed and swallowed.
“It’s delicious,” he said. “A wonderful texture, too. Now will you tell me what’s in it?”
“Moose turds.”
“What?”
She giggled. “Just kidding. Old joke. Rehydrated mushrooms, broccoli florets, chicken slivers, cheddar cheese, powdered eggs, condensed milk, and some salt and pepper.” She picked up her own fork. “Dig in.”
They did. Presently it was gone. They exchanged smiles of contentment over their empty plates. Martin wiped his mouth and burped gently.
“That was terrific.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I assume the last consumables drop contained a few things beyond the usual?”
“By special request.” She gathered the dirty dishes, deposited them in the large basin that served them as a sink, and turned back to him. “How full are you?”
He nodded. “Full. Can the dishes wait for an hour or so?”
She grinned. “Make it two. There’s still dessert.”
“Whoa!” He chuckled. “If I’d known you had another course coming, I’d have left room.”
Althea’s grin turned naughty. “You won’t need it.” She waved him out of his seat, folded the two chairs and tiny table at which they’d dined, and stacked them against the wall of the dome. “Trust me on that.”
* * *
“Can I look now?” Martin said.
“Just a minute more.” Althea pulled the backless silk minidress over her head and let it slither over her torso. She adjusted the straps upon her shoulders, scanned herself for wrinkles in the silk and found none, stepped into her pumps and turned to face her husband. “Okay, curtain’s up.”
Martin turned toward her, and his eyes went wide.
Althea smiled beatifically. “Like it?” She stepped through a slow pirouette.
He started to speak, halted himself, rose and embraced her instead. She leaned back against his arms and looked directly into his eyes.
“Five years,” she said, “and you still look at me like that.”
“Five years,” he said, “and you still grow more beautiful with every moment that passes.”
Her eyes flooded with tears. “That’s your doing,” she whispered. He pressed her gently to him, and she laid her head against his chest.
“I don’t suppose every married couple feels like this after five years,” she said, “but I wish it could be that way.”
“I think it could be,” he said. “It isn’t, but maybe it could be. After all, what have we done that no one else could do?”
She chuckled. “Other than invent a brand new rocket fuel and an engine design to match?”
He grinned down at her. “Well, yes, other than that.”
She shrugged.
“We’ve loved each other,” he said. “We’ve made a point of being together as much as possible, of including one another in everything we possibly could. I suppose it helps that we have compatible vocations, but I doubt that was absolutely necessary. Mostly it was just...being who we are, and being lucky enough to have found one another.”
She thought about it.
“How much of it would you say depends on that sort of luck?”
He was slow to answer.
“Not a lot...I hope,” he said at last. “The old Earth notion that a happy marriage depended on your finding Mr. or Miss Right caused a lot of trouble. But you know, we don’t expect the same things from our marriages as they did.”
“Hm?”
“Earth’s dominant cultures weren’t kind to the idea of marriage, Al.” He snorted. “By the time the Spoonerites got ready to leave, they’d stripped just about all the meaning out of it. No more insistence on fidelity or mutual support. Children became an afterthought. The idea of the extended family—clans like ours—was a century and more extinct.” He grinned impishly at her. “You and I are doing something that’s become unfashionable, you know.”
She peered up at him through narrowed eyes. “How so?”
“By separating ourselves physically from our clan and delaying children for as long as we have.”
Is there a message in there?
—Probably not, Al.
Oh, hi, Grandpere. Why probably not?
—Martin’s more direct than that. He doesn’t hint.
True, true. But I know he wants children.
—Just as you do, dear.
Also true. Just...not yet. Not for a while.
“It’ll be a while before we dare have kids, love,” she said.
Martin’s grin turned mysterious. “Maybe not as long a while as you might think.”
“Hm?”
“Let’s leave that discussion for when we’re back among our kin, shall we?” he said.
She nodded and stepped back. “Do something for me?”
He nodded. “What?”
She raised her arms above her head. “Would you please take my dress off—carefully, it’s a delicate knit—and then take me to bed and make love to me?”
He chuckled. “Try and stop me.”
==
Part Two:
The Political Means
Chapter 14: Triember 35, 1307 A.H.
“No, love.”
Althea grimaced. “You’d really rather risk both of us—”
“Than have you do this alone?” Martin said. “Infinitely more, Al. I’m surprised that you’re surprised.”
“But—” She halted herself and turned to face their creation.
Despite its massive size and multifunctional design, they’d managed to make Freedom’s Horizon aesthetically the equal of any spacegoing vessel in fantastic literature. The underslung engine cowlings were perfectly faired into the streamlined fuselage. The polycarbonate bubble over the six-place cabin gleamed in the overhead lights of the Morelon hangar. The modest cargo hold swelled from the rear of the cabin backward and tapered toward the main exhaust housings. Except for its four retractable wings, the spaceplane was perfectly symmetrical about its longitudinal and transverse axes. The whole expressed an urgency of forward thrust and upward flight.
“She won’t hurt me,” she murmured.
She wouldn’t dare. There’s too much of me in her.
“But if she does?” Martin said.
—He’s right, Al.
Althea did not reply.
—Al?
Not now, Grandpere. I’m trying to decide something.
—What, dear?
Whether I’m willing to risk the life of the man I love in an untried spacecraft.
—How is that different from risking yourself?
That’s my perfect right, isn’t it?
—Martin has the very same right.
Not if I say otherwise!
—And if he says otherwise?
She ground her teeth.
—You’re asking him to stand there and watch you subject yourself to lethal dangers. To risk losing you if things go badly wrong. What if your positions were reversed? Would you be willing to stay behind? Should something terrible happen, to live with the knowledge that you might have been able
to save him, had you been aboard?
Grandpere...
—He’s willing to die alongside you, Al. He’d rather die with you than live without you in agony over whether he could have made the difference. He loves you that much. How much do you love him?
It was the question she hadn’t dared to face.
Adam Grenier chose that moment to emerge from his little office, cross the tarmac, and approach them. He stopped on the opposite side of the spaceplane, leaned casually against a wheel strut, and smiled pleasantly.
“Made any decisions yet?”
Althea shook her head and looked away.
“We’re in the middle of a big one now, Adam,” Martin said. “It takes priority over all the others. Scheduling will have to wait.”
“Just keep me abreast,” Grenier said. He smiled up at the spaceplane. “She’s a beauty. Entirely your design?”
Martin smiled. “Althea’s and mine from stem to stern.”
Grenier nodded. “I kinda wish I could go with you.”
Martin chuckled. “You’ll have to give us a chance to blow ourselves up first. But if things go well, maybe we can arrange something.”
Grenier nodded again and ambled off. Althea waited until he was out of earshot, then turned to her husband.
“We’ve only got the two suits, Martin.”
He smirked. “I did say ‘maybe,’ didn’t I?”
She nodded. He took her hand, and they started back toward Morelon House.
Grandpere?
—Yes, dear?
Life outside the body...
—Yes?
Is it for everyone?
There was a pause.
—I can’t say. Teresza thought so.
Is that why...
—Yes, Al, it is. She hoped we would be together.
You’re not, though, are you?
There was another pause. When the reply came, it was as bleak as the arctic sky.
—No, we’re not.
She looked up at her husband, who was apparently occupied with thoughts of his own.
I don’t know if I could bear that.
—Dearest Althea, there are many things about which we’re not offered a choice. That’s just one of them.
Freedom's Scion (Spooner Federation Saga Book 2) Page 14