by JB Penrose
Just as John Reider united the technologies of every continent, Nathan Young had brought together their governments. The two men shared a vision of communication that linked the world. It was an unlikely friendship between science and politics, but Nathan became John’s apprentice in global unification. After the conference Nathan would be the administrator of the first global treaty.
PRESIDENT-ELECT NATHAN YOUNG
SPOKESMON FOR THE PEOPLE
The banner hung between two giant wreaths across the front of the house. Rachel wondered how the phrase she created had caught on with such popularity. In the 21st century, it was now considered slang to use the mon suffix as gender-neutral, replacing “man” as the tag to many titles. Rachel had been asked to write speeches for a man who would speak for all people. She was sure Nathan was the Spokesmon.
Inside the foyer the Christmas tree drew a large crowd, and a subtle change of décor sent the group into a burst of applause. It was difficult to distinguish during the change, but the poly-xenite squares displayed on each branch turned almost instantly from red bows to snow doves perched lightly on the boughs. The technology PROBE-Tech had introduced to the world was impressive.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet the illusive Rachel Bolton.” John Reider himself met them at the door.
It took stealth to approach her unnoticed; she usually felt someone’s approach before they were seen or heard. John gave her no such advanced notice tonight.
“You’re lucky,” Nathan said as they slipped off their coats. “I’ve told you Rachel doesn’t like to attend parties.”
“Oh, but tonight is a definite exception,” she smiled.
“Rachel, I’d like to introduce our host, John Reider.”
“Finally, the two of you get to meet.” Li’Ana let go of her hand, which John immediately seized between his own.
John Reider was quite handsome in his turn-of-the-century tuxedo - short collar, no lapel, and chain-buttoned at the vest over a starched white shirt. It was a style blended of many centuries and he wore it well. A loose curl of dark hair fell over his forehead and John brushed it back with his fingertips. Even the slight gray at his temples didn’t make him look much older than the astronaut who landed on Mars a decade before. Maybe it was the amount of publicity he received, but John Reider always seemed familiar to her.
As PROBE-Tech’s founder, John was the driving force behind much of the new world technology. His reputation shined as the first astronaut to land on Mars, but later, tarnished as the NASA director who dissolved the government’s aeronautics program into private sector research and development. John Reider was no stranger to controversy.
Though NASA’s dismantle had been heavily criticized by a small international group, the breakup sped the advancement of technology. Privatization of aerodynamics united the global scientific community, and in turn, finally united the world’s politicians as well. Tonight’s party was just the beginning of a celebration that would come to climax at the OneWorld Conference three days from now.
The decor throughout the house and the costumes of the staff maintained the Christmas theme. An elf stood close by and John exchanged Rachel’s coat for a corsage box. “I know it’s old fashioned, but I still like to give a girl flowers.” John held out the corsage for Rachel’s wrist. She noticed the glint of a gold ring on his finger, and recognized the crest of the spaceship, Aurora. Not that she thought it was odd; after all, he was the ship’s Commander.
“I remember the custom and I consider it very nice.” The sweet rose fragrance went straight to her head. She was already beginning to enjoy herself.
“I said you’d be glad you came,” Li’Ana nudged her friend.
“Li’Ana - you look wonderful, as always. Now that you’re both here the celebration truly begins.” John waved them toward the ballroom.
It was a lively party and guests filled every corner of the halls and stairway. John led them toward the music resounding from the center of the holiday mansion.
The fireplace in the ballroom warmed the atmosphere, but the crowd warmed the room. She inhaled deeply. Wood fireplaces were prohibited in most areas, partially for the danger of spreading a fire but primarily for woodland preservation. It required a special permit, but then of course, the host was John Reider. She was sure he was accustomed to getting what he wanted.
The customary dress of various nations splashed through the mass of people and Rachel smiled realizing how far the world had come in respect of personal heritage. Years ago, it wasn’t so vogue to boldly state your nationalism.
People crowded around them, eager to congratulate the president-elect or wish John and the crew good luck. The four of them were pulled and pushed from conversation to conversation - the election, the launch, and the conference. She put out her hand and smiled as John introduced her to another person “too important to miss.” The yawn stifled by the back of her hand was completely involuntary.
“You look like you could use a break,” he said, finally. Lifting two wineglasses from the tray of a passing elf he handed one to her. “Would you like to see more of the estate?”
“Yes, of course. I’ve heard quite a bit about your view of the heavens.”
“Then let’s go. I won’t be missed. This is Nathan’s party.” John gently steered her toward a far door, waiving off the approaches from other guests.
They passed leisurely from room to room. The motif varied from rustic colonial to Parisian royalty, yet the mixture reflected John’s casual attitude for such a lavish lifestyle. “The Gemini Estate has been in my family for generations,” John explained, “but I can’t always remember what these rooms are for.” The halls were concentrated with exquisite pieces of history, but the engineering was state of the art. Security de-activated, and lights automatically brightened and dimmed as they passed from room to room.
“I’m impressed by your writing,” he told her, “both as Renata Spence and with the speeches you wrote for Nathan’s campaign. The Spokesmon theme was very interesting.” John cocked his head with a curious expression, watching her as she rotated a small bust of Caesar Augustus in her hands looking for the artist’s mark. “However did you come up with such a concept?”
Rachel couldn’t tell him the Spokesmon was a theme that haunted her dreams; it was something she didn’t understand herself. “I confess Nathan was the true inspiration there,” she said. “I’m just glad to get back to my novels now the campaign is over.”
“Still,” John mused, “it was an unusual term.”
He led her through another hall and down a landing of richly carpeted steps. Their pace was relaxed, and she took the time to look around.
“Has anyone heard from the Vice President?” John asked.
“His father’s funeral is tomorrow - just a small family group. But Scott is holding up well,” Rachel said.
“I’m only sorry that Christmas will always remind him of his father’s death.”
“He wishes you and Nathan every success at the conference.” She paused. “I read there was another threat against PROBE-Tech. Are you concerned about violence at the conference?”
John shrugged. “When everyone has equal access to the technology the threats will be moot.”
“And so will the danger? Or is your confidence bolstered by the fact the Aurora is scheduled to launch in ten days?”
He shrugged, and saluted her with his wineglass before he drained it in one drink. “To the Aurora.”
“To the Aurora.” She finished her wine as well, and laughed. “Now what do we do?”
“Follow me. I have a personal selection stashed close by.” He deposited the glasses in each pocket of his tuxedo and offered his arm.
They passed through yet another hallway; Rachel knew she’d never find her way back to the ballroom alone. They finally stopped at a pair of solid oak doors with the Garden of Eden carved in detail from top to bottom. John grasped the elaborate brass handles and threw open the doors with a flourish. Rac
hel followed him into the large study.
In the dim gray light of a computer, a startled silhouette jumped to his feet. “Hello, John,” he said as the lights brightened.
“Peter! Now I know where you’ve been hiding. Andrew’s got everyone looking for you.”
“I told Andrew I would be at the party later.” Peter reached for the tuxedo jacket that lay over the sofa next to a leather valise. His white shirt, open at the neck, accented his olive skin and dark green eyes.
John hugged his friend. “Never mind. I know how you are about parties. May I introduce Rachel Bolton? Professor Peter Kerroon.”
“Just Peter.” He corrected the introduction and capped his warm handshake for emphasis. His continental accent was soft, like a song. “Hello, Rachel. Enchanted.”
“Hello,” she thought she said.
Though Rachel saw his lips form her name, her ears only heard the rush of her heart beating. Awkwardly, she slipped her hand from his and tried to breathe again.
The parlor’s high dome ceiling was an elaborately detailed mural. North, South, East, and West, the faces of the Gods hovered protectively over their territories. Standing beneath them she shivered slightly. The style seemed familiar, and Rachel wondered whom but Michelangelo, would have the time to complete such a project.
John pushed the cabinet door closed with just enough intensity to break the awkward silence between them. Rachel jumped at the clap, and involuntary giggle escaped. Then, she noticed the artist’s sketchpad next to the computer.
“So, you’re an artist?” she asked. Peter Kerroon’s name was not unfamiliar to her.
Peter shuffled several drawings together and slipped the pad inside drawer. “It’s a hobby.”
“He’s an artist.” Just as John edged into the conversation between them a beep erupted from his wristwatch. John looked at Peter before he pressed a button and lifted his wrist to speak. “I found Peter,” he said with a wry grin.
“Great. Maybe you could bring him along as well. The Prime Minister would like an introduction.”
Peter sighed, hearing the conversation about him, and shook his head.
“I’ll be right there,” John spoke into the wrist device. He took the two wineglasses from his pockets and gave them to Peter. “I know I promised to show you the observatory, Rachel, but it seems I have neglected my host duties.”
“I understand,” Rachel said. “I’m sure Li’Ana is looking for me as well.” She turned toward the door but John stopped her with a gentle touch to her shoulder.
“Peter could show you around. And afterward, maybe you can get him to the celebration.”
“I said I’d come, John.”
“Are you sure, Peter? I know how you are about parties. Apparently, you two have a lot in common.” John smiled ruefully and patted Peter on the back before he left.
“So, you’re thirsty?” Peter asked when they were alone.
“John said he kept the good stuff in here.” She watched closely while he studied the selection in the wine cabinet. They were alone, and oddly, it seemed the most natural of situations to Rachel. He was easy for her to be around, and like John, she didn’t pick up on his thoughts or emotions.
“So,” she emphasized, “you’re a professor? Your accent doesn’t sound as though you’re from around here.” His soft speech was easy to listen to.
“Luxor University, in Egypt,” he nodded. “I’m a professor-at-large for the archeology department.” Peter glanced in her direction before choosing the wine, and then slipped the cork from the bottle with practiced ease. “I do quite a bit of traveling. I’ve spent the last few years in different parts of China. But sometimes I have a break in my schedule, like now. And, this is one party John wouldn’t let me skip!”
Rachel laughed thinking of Li’Ana’s insistence she attend. She would have to thank her later.
“Merry Christmas.” He handed her a glass.
She felt like a little girl the way Peter held her with his eyes. Rachel stood poised under his scrutiny, glad to have chosen a gown that complimented her figure. She inhaled the wine’s bouquet. “This is wonderful. From the Rocroi vineyards?”
“You are well versed in wines.” Peter nodded toward the bottle on the counter.
“French education.” Rachel took another sip. “1998 was a very good year.”
“I thought, maybe, that you had gone to school on the Asian continent. I noticed your haircomb. It looks very old. Does it say Meimei?”
“Do you read Chinese?” Her fingers automatically went to the comb in her hair. She hid its real history in the smile she flashed. “It should probably be in a museum, but I received it as a gift.” Rachel felt sure spending time in China was not the only thing she had in common with Peter Kerroon.
Bookcases and art alternately covered the wall space. It was the books that caught her attention. She slipped past him to review the library. “Hardcovers!” Her fingertips ran lovingly over the bindings. “There’s just nothing like the power of holding a book as you read. I miss that. I mean, mine have been published on disk.”
“You’re an author?”
“Mystery novels. I’m Renata Spence.” She was vain enough to wonder whether he had heard of her. “I see John has most of my collection.” She noted the mini-disks scattered over a shelf, amused at the thought of John Reider reading mysteries. Peter immediately crossed the room to investigate. He was close enough for her to smell his cologne; close enough to feel the warmth of him behind her. She blushed, again, and forced herself to move before her knees gave-way.
His eyes had a way of piercing her soul and she was not ready for the questions he might ask. Or maybe she was afraid of the answers she might reveal. Rachel knew he watched as she collected the sheet music scattered around the grand piano in the corner.
“Chopin. Very challenging. It looks like someone has been working on this for a long time.” She smiled at Peter and slid to the bench. It was a beautiful Steinway piano, and the arpeggios rolled from her fingertips over keys much played. Harmony resounded in the room’s acoustics as she built chords into a bridge learned many years ago. Even with her eyes closed she knew he watched her, and suddenly, she stopped. What was it about Peter that made her try so hard? It was unlike her to showoff.
“Please, go on. You play well.”
Rachel shook her head. “Just a hobby.” She rubbed the rich ebony finish after closing the keyboard cover. “It’s a beautiful piano. I can tell it’s been played often.”
“John is quite talented, but not exactly a model student.” Peter carried over her glass of wine, raising it just high enough to force her to look at him when she accepted. “Would you like to see more of John’s house? I believe he promised you a look at the observatory.”
He led through her halls and rooms full of tapestries, paintings, and statues that rivaled museum collections. She could tell he was taking her the long way around. One large room acted as a mock-warehouse, with a high ceiling and an open floor plan. Shelves lined every wall and created aisles through the center of the room. Thousands of artifacts lay in disarray, small statues, pottery, weapons, baskets and blankets - there was no system to what he amassed, but John Reider collected the best.
“John doesn’t do anything small, does he?”
“He does it just to see if he can. And he can,” Peter assured her, watching closely as she investigate the contents of the room.
“These are exquisite pieces.” Rachel picked it up a carved prayer stick and tested the weight in her palm. There were many worn spots but the detail was revealing. “This must be centuries old. Is it Tibetan?”
“Correct again, Ms. Bolton. How is it you are so knowledgeable?”
Rachel could identify many of his collectibles. Too many, she thought. “It’s a hobby.” She tossed back the standard answer.
“How is it John could know someone as versatile as you and never tell his friends?” Peter followed behind her as she browsed.
“Oh, we h
adn’t met before tonight.” She was glad he was interested. “I’ve been friends with the Young’s for years, and wrote a few speeches for Nathan’s campaign. But now that the election is over, I’m ready to get back to my own writing after the holidays.”
“And for Christmas? Do you have plans with your family?”
“No.” She took a quick breath to keep from gushing an answer. “No family.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I mean,” he paused. “I also have a quiet holiday planned, and of course, no classes at the University. I hoped we might have dinner if you’re free Christmas evening. Some friends of mine own a restaurant, Simon’s. They have a celebration every year, though nothing as elaborate as John’s.”
“Sure, I’d like that.” Her confidence rose the moment she accepted, surprised at the comfortable feeling she had being around Peter.
“Great! I’ll call you with the details, then.”
She turned the corner into a gallery of art, but a particular painting at the far end of the room caught her attention. She skipped down the steps with Peter close behind.
“Do you realize this painting only exists in legend?”
Standing in front of the display, she bounced excitedly on her toes. Not daring to touch it, she looked closer at the details. The Arrival pictured Jesus suspended in a storm of dark blue clouds.
“Art is another hobby?” he asked.
“History,” she retorted. To Rachel, the painting was a memory as old as herself. “I did a thesis tracing this painting until it was thought to be destroyed in the French Revolution.”
She studied the painting eagerly, certain of her discovery. The style was unique, but it was familiar to her. She’d first seen the painting during the twelfth century in an old mission.
“You think it’s the original?” Peter asked.
“I think John Reider is not the kind of man who would bother with a forgery. I wonder what he’ll do with his collection after the launch.”