Freedom's Fury (Spooner Federation Saga Book 3)

by Francis Porretto

  “Hm? Nora and I are fine. Why do you ask?”

  “I didn’t mean that.” Her eyes flicked toward the half-empty sleeve over his stump.

  “Oh.” He pushed back the sleeve to expose the appendage beneath.

  Claire’s regeneration nanites were already visibly at work. They’d caused a shoot of new bone to sprout from the end of the stump. New muscle, delicately threaded with hints of arteries, veins, and nerve channels, had formed at its base and was slowly creeping forward along its length.

  “Does it hurt?” Althea said.

  He nodded.

  She looked into his eyes. “A lot?”

  He grimaced. “Yeah.” He made to cover it, but she held up a hand, and he halted. She slipped a hand under it, gently pulled it close, and peered at it.

  I can’t imagine what she’s looking for. I can hardly bear to look at it myself.

  Althea released his stump, rose from her desk chair, and took him in her arms. He, surprised by the embrace, hesitated to return it. She pressed him to her and spoke softly into his ear.

  “I want to tell you something,” she murmured, “but it’s kinda personal. Promise you won’t be scared?”

  He squeezed her gently with his good arm. “Go ahead.”

  “If I have a guilt of any sort on my conscience,” she said, “it’s that I thought so little of you for so long. There’ve been a lot of developments since you married Nora, but none of them have been as good for this clan as its embrace of Barton Kramnik Morelon.” She kissed his cheek. “We are blessed to have you.”

  He squeezed her again.

  “Wouldn’t you say,” he said at last, “that being rescued from an invading army compares favorably with that?”

  He felt her mouth curve against his cheek.

  “Well, okay, that was one of my better days.” She pushed him out to arm’s length. “All the same, you have no idea how lucky you are that I’m a married woman.”

  He smirked. “I don’t suppose I should pass that along to Nora.”

  “No, probably not. So: Happy?”

  He nodded.

  * * *

  “And it came to pass, as he was praying in a certain place, that when he ceased, one of his disciples said unto him, Lord, teach us to pray, even as John also taught his disciples. And he said unto them, When ye pray, say, Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us day by day our daily bread. And forgive us our sins; as we forgive those who have sinned against us. And lead us not into temptation...”

  Althea stumbled over the passage as her eyes clouded over with mist. She swiped at them and glanced fleetingly at her audience. Martin said nothing. Claire listened with head bowed.

  Why does it do this to me? I’m not even sure I believe it yet.

  “And he said to them, Which of you shall have a friend, and shall go to him at midnight, and say to him, Friend, lend me three loaves; for a friend of mine is come to me from a journey, and I have nothing to set before him; and he from within shall answer and say, Trouble me not: the door is now shut, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot rise and give you? I say unto you, Though he will not rise and give him because he is his friend, yet because of his importunity he will arise and give him as many as he needs. And I say to you, Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, a-and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened to you.” She paused, pressed a fist to her chest, and coughed. “For every one that asks shall receive; and he that seeks shall find; and to him that knocks it shall be opened...”

  Epiphany struck her with clarifying force. She closed Teresza’s book and laid it down on the bed, hands trembling only slightly.

  “I didn’t get prayer,” she said, “before I boarded Liberty’s Torch and plunged into the darkness. Actually, I didn’t really get it until just now.” She looked directly at her husband. “Do you remember telling me, just before I left for the Relic, that prayer would be good for me?”

  “I do,” he said. “But I don’t remember why.”

  “You weren’t specific,” Althea said. “I got the feeling that you wanted me to work it out for myself. But I remembered the one thing you did say about it: that it helps to remind us how much is beyond our control.”

  She turned to look at Claire.

  “I was in a vessel of my own design, based on physics no one else on Hope could comprehend. I was heading toward an unknown destination at a speed no human being had ever attained before. And I was completely alone.

  “Martin told me I should try to pray, so I did. I wasn’t sure why I was doing it. I wasn’t even convinced that God exists. But I did it anyway. And I remembered what Martin said.

  “It did help. It let me admit to myself that I was repressing fear. A lot of fear. It told me that I feared because I was finally, totally alone. I’d put myself beyond all human advice or assistance. And it told me what Jesus told his disciples when he returned to them after they saw him executed: Be not afraid.”

  Claire’s eyes compressed from confusion. Althea smiled.

  “I was beyond all human help. But I wasn’t alone. I had to find that out the hard way: by unwittingly putting myself in thrall to Loioc power, by carelessly allowing my body to be invaded by the Loioc nanite, and by finding myself needing a solution to a problem no one from Hope had faced before.

  “There was always at least one way out: not to return to Hope. But I wanted badly to come home, to be with Martin again, and to get to work on a comeuppance for the bitches who’d reduced half their race to the status of...of beasts of the field. I saw a way to do it, but it would involve coercive violence and massive destruction. And I realized, without knowing how I knew, that it would be okay.”

  Claire peered at her. “That never happened to you before?”

  “No, actually, it did,” Althea said. “When I pulled Bart out of Kramnik House. Wait, you never heard that story, did you?”

  Claire shook her head.

  “Maybe another time, Al,” Martin said. He unfolded his legs from beneath him and reclined full-length on their bed, hands behind his head. “I remember it well, Claire. Everyone in Morelon House thought Al had gone insane.” He smirked. “I did, too. She did what she thought was right anyway.”

  “I got the impression,” Claire said, “that she always does.”

  Althea shook her head. “Don’t credit me with that much independence, love.” She swept an arm around her. “This house is filled with my kin—”

  Claire grinned impishly. “Our kin.”

  Althea’s eyes widened. “Do you think of yourself as a Morelon now?”

  “And an Albermayer.” Claire chuckled. “And a Hallanson too, I guess.”

  Althea nodded. “All right then, our kin. And they’re a pretty strong-minded bunch. The thing a Morelon seldom realizes until he’s outside the clan environment is how much we all agree on just about everything...and how little leeway he allows himself for his own opinions. It’s so pervasive that I had to go eleven light-years to notice it—to realize that it was missing. I bet you’ll tell us it’s pretty much the same over at Albermayer House, after you’ve thought about it for a while.”

  Claire frowned. “But—never mind.” Her lips drew thin. “I’ll think about it.”

  “The absorption of Clan Kramnik hasn’t changed that much, either,” Martin added.

  Althea shrugged. “I wouldn’t have expected it. We can be pretty smothering, and they really want to be Morelons.”

  She looked directly into Martin’s eyes.

  “That was my moment, love. In the Loioc space station, staring at that awful machine, with Efthis standing there waiting to put an irremovable fetter around my neck. That was when I realized what conscience really means. Where the knowledge of right and wrong comes from, and what that implies. Do you remember your moment?”

  Martin hunched forward and propped his elbows on his knees. He bore the expression of one who has become aware of a loss that has
suddenly become critical.

  “No, I don’t,” he said at last. “That went missing with the rest of it.” His features hardened. “But I will.”

  Althea took their hands. “Will you pray with me? Both of you?”

  They nodded.

  ====

  Sexember 22, 1326 A.H.

  “Claire, we need you here more than an hour or two once or twice a week.”

  “I think I can improve on that,” Claire said, “but I’m still going to need to be here quite a lot.”

  “Claire—”

  “Does the prospect of a new and unprecedented treatment for severed limbs and failed organs excite anyone over there, Art? Or do you all think I’m just indulging myself in an extended vacation, purely to HalberCorp’s detriment?”

  Althea grinned. Claire released the key and waited.

  “Claire,” Arthur Hallanson said, “there’s a lot of concern over here that you’re no longer focused on the company’s best interests. I’m not exaggerating. Your stint on the Relic got it started, and it’s been swelling ever since. The board has discussed replacing you as CEO.”

  “That’s at the board’s option, Art,” Claire said. “I have an important experiment and an even more important patient to monitor. I’m not about to abandon either.”

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  Althea moved up behind Claire and laid a hand on her shoulder. The bioengineer turned to her, eyes tinged by doubt.

  “Whatever you think is best, love,” Althea said.

  Claire nodded and keyed the mike. “No, Art, there’s this, too: If the board should replace me as CEO, it will need a new lead technologist as well, because I’ll immediately petition Clan Morelon to be adopted here. I have no doubt that I’d be accepted. After that, anything I develop would be my sole property, to be commercialized and marketed to the benefit of Clan Morelon, regardless of what that might do to HalberCorp revenues. Take that to the board and let them chew on it.”

  Claire returned the mike to its hanger and turned away, shaking visibly. Althea lifted the instrument and keyed it.

  “I suggest you take that seriously, Mr. Hallanson. Claire is quite welcome here. All our kin love her. We already think of her as one of us. We would be overjoyed to have her here always, even if she weren’t a biotech genius.”

  “Who is this?” Hallanson snarled.

  “Oh, no one in particular,” Althea cooed into the mike. “Just your largest customer...and the person who was thinking of offering Clan Hallanson-Albermayer an impregnable defense, so your kin wouldn’t have to fear being kidnapped and made a hostage, the way Claire was. You might want to take that to your board as well.”

  “What are you talking about, Miss?”

  Althea chuckled. “I suppose my voice isn’t all that unique after all. Tell you what, Mr. Hallanson: Bring the HalberCorp board over here this coming Tuckerday at noon. We’ll have a buffet lunch set out and a demonstration waiting. If you really value Claire, or whoever you plan to replace her with, you’re going to want to see what we’ve built around Morelon House, and what it could do to the next gang of villains that tries to kidnap your CEO.”

  “Miss...Is this Althea Morelon?”

  “Ah! The light dawns at last! None other, Mr. Hallanson. Will you have your board here Tuckerday at noon, or is your concern for Claire just for show?”

  There was a protracted silence.

  “I’ll have to talk to them.”

  “Do that. Give us another call when they’ve decided. You really need to see what we have before you can make an informed decision.”

  “About what?”

  “About what we’ve been talking about, of course! Whether you want Claire, that defense, or both. We’ll be waiting.”

  Althea set the mike on its hanger and took Claire in her arms.

  “Has he always been like that?”

  The bioengineer shook her head. “These past few months have unsettled a lot of us.”

  Including you.

  Althea hugged her gently. “It’ll be okay.”

  “I suppose so,” Claire said. “But...well...”

  “Claire, it will be okay. Remember who needs who.”

  Claire’s eyes probed deeply into Althea’s.

  “I do.”

  * * *

  Althea stared dourly at the mount and pintle design Martin had conceived for the fixed-position laser cannons.

  “It looks sturdy enough,” she said.

  He glanced sideways at her. “Just say it, Al.”

  She started to speak, stopped.

  I didn’t say anything about putting one on Liberty’s Torch. It would be crass of me to gig him for not thinking of it.

  —Wonder of wonders, my beloved granddaughter is learning to think before she talks!

  Oh, knock it off, Grandpere. I’ve never been that bad.

  —Well, let’s just say opinions differ on that subject. Still, it’s nice to see you trying to think ahead. Not just about Martin’s feelings, either.

  Grandpere, it was clear from the start that I’d need a close-in defense against bombardment on board. I did tell Efthis and her sisters that I’d be back, after all.

  —Yes, you did. Was that another shining example of your habitual lack of forethought, or just an attack of diarrhea of the jawbone?

  All right, all right. So I should have been satisfied just to escape. But I was angry, damn it.

  —Anger has its place, Althea. Anger can be useful. But it can also get your head bashed in. You’re a fifty-five year old woman. It’s time you got control of your impulses. It’s been the other way around for far too long.

  Althea struggled to control her rising temper. It was even harder to cloak her reaction against Armand’s perception.

  He’s pushing too hard.

  “Martin,” she said, “this will be just fine for the ground units, but something else just occurred to me.”

  He nodded and reached for a rolled-up sheaf of drawings. “Liberty’s Torch, right?”

  She started. “How did you tumble to that?”

  He grimaced at her as he spread the second set of drawings out between them. “You did tell the Loioc that you’d be back, space babe. Did you seriously think I was going to let you go back into that danger zone with no weapons but a hand needler and Claire’s nanites?”

  She peered at him wonderingly.

  As usual, Martin’s workshop was littered with dozens of projects in various stages of assembly and disassembly. A few were recognizable as subassemblies for a backpack laser or a portable fusion unit. One was too large to be anything but a control module for a commercial-standard Morelon power generation system. Most were devices he’d contracted to fix for the farm operation, or for the members of other nearby clans. Any order pertinent to the scatter of machines and tools existed solely in Martin’s head.

  “How do you keep it all straight, love?” she murmured.

  He shrugged. “It’s not that hard.”

  “For you, maybe. I could never do it.” She shook her head. “And you found time to work on this, too.”

  His face betrayed no discernible emotion. “I made time.”

  She nodded and bent to the new drawings.

  Presently she said “I see this one doesn’t have provisions for an independent power source.”

  “Does it need one?”

  “Well, what if we lose the unit onboard Liberty’s Torch? We wouldn’t be able to defend ourselves while we were making repairs.”

  “Hm. Good point.” He reached for a drafting pencil. She laid a hand on his arm. He halted and looked at her.

  “Martin,” she said conversationally, “how long has it been since you and I last made love?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Was that rhetorical or are you having memory troubles? About sixteen hours ago.”

  “I meant just us two.”

  It sat him up straight. “Oh.”

  She turned him to face her squarely.

 
; “We’ve both been working way too much,” she said. “and when we’re not working, we’re nearly always with Claire. That’s not a bad thing, but...maybe we need some just-us time, too. You know, like before I went a-sailing.”

  His adam’s-apple rose and fell. “Maybe.”

  She caressed his cheek. “Claire’s gone to Albermayer House. She said she had to do some unruffling of HalberCorp feathers. She’ll be over there for the rest of the day. Would you like to...take a little break?”

  He nodded.

  * * *

  The bedroom was warm and golden in the late afternoon sun. Their chests rose and fell in rhythm as they drowsed, arms around one another, replete with bliss.

  “That was good,” Martin murmured.

  Althea sought his eyes. “When was it ever not?”

  He grinned. “No time I can recall, space babe.” He pulled her more snugly against him. “You were right. We needed this.”

  She laid her head against his chest, immersed herself in the deep, elemental music of his heartbeat, and smiled.

  “Company,” she said, not realizing she’d said it aloud.

  “Hm?”

  “Old saying.” She squeezed him. “Two’s company, three’s a crowd.”

  A brief current of tension went through his frame. She noticed at once.

  “What’s wrong, love?”

  “It mustn’t be that way, Al,” he said. “Not when Claire’s the third.”

  She backed a little away, probed his eyes again. “I know, she’s a part of us now, but...”

  “But we do need this now and then.” He gazed down at her, his expression curiously neutral. “Believe me, Al, I understand. And I understand that you’ll need some time alone with her.”

  Althea’s pulse accelerated.

  “I...Martin, how do you do it?”

  “Hm?”

  “How do you keep anticipating everything this way? Figuring out exactly what’s coming and what you’ll have to do to cope with it?”

  He smiled gently. “A gift, I suppose. Like your psi.”

  Except that I know who my giver is. Who’s yours?

  “Al, I think you should radio Albermayer House and let them know you’ll be coming over this evening. Just you.”