Chapter 27: A Debt
(Jasmine Goodwell)
Jasmine Goodwell’s arms and legs started to burn with the warrior pose that the holographic yogi insisted she do. She found herself wondering why she chose yoga to relax, when the ache in her muscles were the farthest thing from soothing she could imagine. But she decided to persevere after the meeting she had just left with Senator Ashley Templeton. She half expected Senator Templeton’s son to appear in the room at any moment to sweep her off for another romp. For all of his brutishness, she still found him exciting, but this was unlikely today, with the whole Templeton Estate in a commotion.
Jasmine had woken up that morning to gentle sunshine and a fragrant breeze flowing through the bedroom windows. She rolled over in bed to admire it, relishing the silky feeling of the fine sheets on her naked body. The bedlinens at the Templeton Estate were among the many benefits of her travels to Oregonia Province, and she made of a point of appreciating every luxury—no matter how small—wherever she went. Even the sun here was a pleasure in comparison to the Desert Plains Territory, where she grew up and still spent much of her time.
Next to her, Carlos slept, snoring softly. He was another benefit, though not as consistent or reliable as the sheets. No way of knowing how long he’d be asleep, but she had tons of work to do for the church, and her appointment with the Senator was already on her mind. So, she let go of the beautiful sight of the lace curtains, slipped quietly from the bed, and rummaged through her bag to find her formal ministry robe. She padded quietly to the cavernous washroom adjacent to the bedroom for a hot shower—another Heavenly gift of the Ellies.
OK, she thought, immersing herself in the clean cascading water. You’ll get through the meeting. You always do. He’ll do it. He’s got to do it. Then maybe some sex with Carlos. Then you can leave.
Her trips to the Templeton Estate had always been brief. Two dozen or so visits since her family first sent her on a damage-control mission following her father getting crosswise with Senator Templeton and the Gang of Seven over gas attacks on rioting workers. She had doubted the wisdom of making her the account rep to the Templetons since the moment it was decided with her family’s dirty deal with the Ellies. There was no getting around the logic, after news of her fuck-fest with Carlos at the Nautilus got out. But a sexual relationship with the Senator’s son hardly qualified her to deal with these people. Hanging relations with the Senator on her love affair with Carlos struck her as patently foolish.
The arrangement was made harder by her father’s growing suspicion that the Gang of Seven—maybe even including Senator Templeton—were behind many of the brutal tactics against workers, migrants, and would-be reformers. Templeton was among the church project’s most enthusiastic supporters, but nearly every trip to Oregonia involved a meeting to assuage whatever anger her father had ignited with his moral protestations. Although the Senator was friendly to her—for an Ellie—he was also running the entire province, as well as his own commercial empire, so she also had the sense that each meeting was a favor he bestowed upon her, the lowly urchin girl from the badlands. She tried to convince herself it was all just her imagination, perhaps her own lingering discomfort with being a pawn in the PetrolChurch scheme—though she still wasn’t really sure what that scheme was all about.
Carlos, for his part, was a spoiled young man. Despite the feverish energy between them, they had little in common. As important, Carlos had little real influence on his father, who loved his son, but questioned his fitness to be the heir to the Templeton empire.
Carlos’ cousin Angelino was the leading competitor in the long-game of family succession and inheritance. Angelino was taller, more slender, and more suave than Carlos. Emily figured him as being more politic—and probably smarter—than Carlos, if only because of his ability to ingratiate himself with the Senator without giving Carlos any real pretext for protest.
Angelino was a regular fixture at the estate, and he conspicuously crossed her path every time she was on site. He had propositioned her twice on her first trip, with all the confidence of a young Ellie male, but without the standard air of entitlement. She managed to extricate herself from the encounter on that trip, and she tried her best to avoid him—at first. But Angelino was more intriguing to her than Carlos ever was, and she partly believed they were more suited to one another. He also seemed to find her every time Carlos wasn’t around, and continuing to reject him posed its own set of risks. Tied to the Templeton family, he could have her disappeared as quickly as Carlos could. By her third visit, she relented, satisfying him with a hand job in a washroom before sleuthing away to her quarters as quickly as possible.
Each trip since had become more intense and uncomfortable. There was a certain thrill and a guilty pleasure in sneaking between the powerful Ellies. Even the fear of being caught and exposed gave her some rush, though she had to push the potential consequences out of her mind. So, she made the trips, endured the thankfully-brief meetings with the Senator, and tried to focus on the benefits: sex with Carlos—and Angelino—and the myriad luxuries of the Templeton Estate. She departed from Oregonia as quickly as she could, invariably exhausted both emotionally and physically.
This visit would be tougher, though, as today’s meeting with the Senator featured a real, no-kidding request that would certainly come with a real, no-kidding debt.
As soon as she got out of the shower and was dressed, she left the bedroom and found herself an empty room—an easy task in the Templeton Mansion. She was well into her work—church financials, expansion proposals, and business correspondence—when Carlos tracked her down, a tray of coffee and pastries in hand. He planted a sleepy kiss on her cheek, peeking at her screen, and set the tray on the table beside her.
“A note from Rashid?” he said, now shamelessly reading the message on her screen. She leaned forward and closed the screen, prompting a chuckle from Carlos. “Really?” he chided. “You think we don’t monitor everything that rag-head does?”
Jasmine’s jaw dropped. Even Carlos wasn’t usually so crass. But the comment sparked an impulse in her, and she blurted out, “Why is your family working with Rashid on the church?” Before she could think better of it, she followed up. “And the Baumgartens, too. Everyone knows your families hate each other.” In that instant, she would have paid anything to have her imprudent words back. “—I mean, I believe your father when he says he cares a great deal about the work of the church.”
Carlos seemed oddly amused at her impudence. He stuffed a muffin in his grinning mouth, chewing slowly and exaggeratedly before replying.
“You’re a smart girl,” he said at last, taking her a little off guard. “Look at it from our perspective. What do we put into it, and what do we get out of it? We pay modest salaries to your family and some ministers—and they work cheap, by the way. Chip-in some capital to renovate some buildings for the churches. A few landing pads, an airship, trucks, and fuel. Throw in some security guards—also cheap.
“And for that, we earn money on the tithes, the alms, and the pharmas.”
And the contraband, Jasmine thought.
“We get some peace with the urchins—no offense.”
“None taken,” she answered defiantly.
“That means fewer strikes, fewer riots, less crime. We undercut some of the more militant messianics, and we get another check on the Big Five church leaders, who otherwise chap our assess at every turn. Bishop Romason especially. The Baumgartens get the same benefits. Hell, even the Chief Regent gets what he wants. A cut of the money. And then there’s the influence we get with the Chief Regent, who appreciates what we’re trying to do for him.”
Jasmine felt inexplicably more relaxed, despite her disgust with his candid response. Maybe I’ve been underestimating him, she thought.
“So, why Rashid? And why involve the Baumgartens?”
“The whole thing was Rashid’s idea. He wants to get his family out of the Caliphate, and our families have the most invest
ment there. So, he brought the families together and broke down the business plan. Said we need to polish our image with the Chief Regent, who was starting to see the rivalry as a problem.” Carlos took another bite of muffin and smacked his lips. “—which is probably true. So we made a deal. If it all goes to plan, we’ll try to get his family out. If not, we still have a decent little business. Doesn’t mean we’re friends, or that we trust ‘em as far as we can throw ‘em. But there it is.”
Jasmine nodded silently, trying to digest it. She sensed that Carlos believed what he was saying, but she wasn’t convinced that was the whole story.
“So far, so good, by my count. …And I got you out of the deal, so it’s worth it to me.”
She smiled at him, struck by his sentiment, and amused by the crumbs clinging to his lips.
“Anyhow, I have to run. I’m overdue in the Ops Room.” Carlos had spent most of his time since she arrived in the Ops Room, the command center in the basement of a building near the mansion. He wouldn’t say why they were so busy, but she had asked enough questions for the day—maybe for the rest of her life. As Jasmine reached over and wiped his mouth with a napkin, he continued. “You meet with Dad today?”
She nodded.
“You’ll be fine,” he assured her, draping a lock of her hair over her ear. “He likes you, ya know.” With that, he kissed her again on the cheek and left.
It took Jasmine a while to regain her focus on her work, but before she knew it, her alarm was pinging her to get to the Senator’s office for their meeting. She took a deep breath and steeled her nerves for the discussion.
At least this time I’m not walking in with some controversy from my father, she assured herself as she approached his secretary’s desk.
“He’s expecting you, Jasmine, Dear,” chimed Templeton’s secretary. “Please go right in.”
Senator Templeton was sitting at his desk, as usual, navigating a menagerie of V-plat images and work screens. She willed her palms to stop sweating and walked over the expanse of lush burgundy carpet to the visitor’s chair, conspicuously lower than the Senator’s. Templeton stayed focused on his work, as he always did, making her wait quietly for a minute or two after she had arrived. She hated the tactic. Finally, he turned his attention to her, leaning back in his chair.
“Well Jasmine. I’m surprised to see you again so soon.” He shuffled some papers on his desk. “I hope there isn’t any new trouble with the church. We’re very busy here.”
“No Sir. The church is fine, and I appreciate you seeing me.” She started with her standard update on church business, only with a more sugary veneer than usual, while also trying to move quickly to make sure she got to her real objective.
“Sir,” she said at last, “there is one challenge I would like to raise with you, if I might.”
He raised an eyebrow at the slight breech of their normal etiquette.
“It pertains to a citizen named Paul Lancaster, a new officer in the Commonwealth Expeditionary Force.” She could see him already losing interest.
What will make him want to help? Why didn’t I think of the sell more before I came in?
“He’s the brother of some dear friends.” Templeton tapped his stylus on the desk impatiently. Strike one, she calculated. He won’t give a shit about that.
“He’d been rising through the ranks since his induction, but he’s run into some trouble, and I fear it’s because of his membership in the church—or maybe his support for provincial rights. I understand both are frowned upon by some in the current command structure.”
Templeton’s tapping stopped, and he gave Jasmine his first curious look.
Yes, I listen to what’s happening around me. Persecution of a member of the church would be bad for recruitment. She had also gathered from her visits that Templeton wanted a freer hand in ruling his province, if only to ensure the power and position of his family. A sympathizer in the military, bound to Templeton’s pet church, and who owes him a debt? Couldn’t hurt.
“Well,” he muttered, “let’s have a look at this Paul—what’s his last name?”
“Lancaster,” she replied, now trying to contain her rising enthusiasm.
It’s working!
He keyed the name into his InfoSystems bio repository and leaned forward to read his screen.
“Yes, here he is.” Templeton said after a few swipes and flicks at his console. He paused to examine the record, and Jasmine felt a flush of embarrassment at seeing the full-body holograph of Paul Lancaster illuminate and rotate over the Senator’s desk.
“Mother—Vanessa Lancaster. Father—Kahleb Lancaster. Born—California-Sur . . . Yadda-yadda . . . A few scrapes with security, but no arrests.” He shot her a dubious glance. “…Blah, blah, blah . . . moved to Ozarks Province.” He rolled his eyes dismissively.
“Ahhhh, I see now. He was in the group that saved your brother in that unfortunate aircraft incident. I see. …Then Rashid arranges residency passes. Joins the Provincial Militia. Lottery gives him to the Expeds.” He smirked. “Shipped to Asia. Hmmmm. Nominated for a battlefield commendation and out-of-cycle promotion while still in basic.” He looked at her again. “I would think he may have found his calling. Three years left in his term of service—if he survives, of course.
“Oh, I see. Here it is. Under investigation for war crimes. Oh dear. Yes, well then. So, what is it you want from me, Dear Girl?”
You know full-well what I want from you. She fidgeted in her seat, knowing he was going to make her say it. Soliciting intervention from an Ellie—especially in matters of federal security—was more than frowned upon. It bordered on treason for her, but for him it was next to nothing. He sat perfectly still, waiting for her to cave.
“Well, Sir, his faith would never permit him to participate in such a crime, and we think his skills are better aligned in the Domestic Security Service, or perhaps with a provincial militia here in the Commonwealth—one that might use him more effectively.”
Templeton stared at her, silent and unmoved, still waiting for her to ask. She swallowed her fear.
“I was hoping you might possibly . . .” she cleared her throat. “Would you consider using your good offices to see that his innocence is recognized? …And possibly arrange a transfer?”
“That’s quite the request,” Templeton replied nonchalantly. “Two large requests, actually.” He paused. “Tell me, Jasmine, I’m curious why this request is coming from you. Are you in love with the boy?”
“No Sir!” she insisted, flustered by the question she had foolishly not anticipated. “He’s a friend—of the family. He’s a friend to the church.” She paused to consider her boundaries. But she was all in. “I believe he would be a loyal friend to your great house if he were exonerated.”
Templeton raised a finger for her to stop and leaned back in his chair, sending her heart into nervous palpitations. “Well, I’ve heard a bit about this incident. Quite the embarrassment for the Baumgartens and Crispens—to say nothing of the Chief Regent. And quite the drama with the Caliphate.” He paused for what seemed like minutes and then let out a reluctant sigh. “But these charges against the Lancaster boy seem to me a perfect sham. I do know some of the flag officers in the Expeds and the Domestic Security Service.” He tapped his stylus on the desk again.
For a man too busy for God himself, he loves using the pressure pauses. She swallowed her bile, hoping her annoyance didn’t show on her face, and feeling just a little penitent for impugning the man who had been such as supporter of her family.
“Yes, well, for you My Dear, I would consider asking a friend to look more carefully at the case against Mr. Lancaster.”
“Thank you, Senator.”
“Of course, Senator Crispen will likely be incensed. Do you know Senator Crispen?”
“No Sir.”
“Count yourself lucky,” he smirked. “I know you are familiar with the Baumgartens—or at least your brother is. I would suggest discretely telling them of your r
equest to avoid any misunderstandings. Both Crispen and Baumgarten can be . . . mmm . . . temperamental, but Baumgarten is the more reasonable of the two and can keep Ozarks from overreacting. Let me know how they receive your proposal, and I will make a call.”
“Yes, Senator. Thank you again. And if there is anything I can ever do—”
“I will certainly let you know if that ever happens,” he quipped. “We mustn’t count our chickens,” (a phrase only the Ellies ever used) “but if it works out, be a dear and message Mr. Lancaster that I should like to meet him on his next R&R.
“Of course, I won’t mention this to Carlos, who would likely be suspicious of your interest in helping a boy half-way across the globe.”
“Yes, Senator. Thank you, Sir.”
“Of course. Now, as I’m sure you’re aware, there is a lot going on here.”
“Yes, Sir.” The next major storm of the season was near at hand, and everyone was scrambling to prepare for everything it would bring. So, she offered the Senator a half-curtsey and left.
Despite her success, Jasmine left the meeting feeling small and indebted. As she made her way through the maze of the estate mansion, which was bustling with bureaucrats and military officers, she worried about how she would raise this with the Baumgartens, about how to avoid retribution from Senator Crispen against Paul’s family, and about getting Paul to play his part in the religious fiction. Closer at hand, she had to get out of Oregonia before the storm hit.
Jasmine slipped back into her quarters, leaned against the door as she closed it, and tried to settle her nervous shaking by again admiring the lace curtains floating softly on the warm breeze. She looked askance at her computer and V-plat and decided on yoga instead.
Fire, Ruin, and Fury (Embers Saga) Page 33