Convergence

by Alex Albrinck

  They climbed out of the hole. Adam dissolved his shovel and set his nanos to work pushing the dirt back inside. “Just like Angel,” he muttered.

  He sat on the ground, and Will and Hope joined him. He offered the pouch to her first. “Do you want to read it?”

  Hope looked conflicted. Then she nodded, accepted the pouch, and opened it.

  She pulled out a piece of electronic paper and began crying, finally handing the letter to Will. “Read it. I think I know what’s in it. I just need to know who it is. I need certainty.”

  Will nodded and began to read.

  It was an astonishing confession from a man he’d known for centuries, one he’d clashed with from the start. It was a confession from a man he’d considered evil for his treatment of his daughter and for the way he’d long sought to manipulate and control those around him. It was a letter, in short, from a man he’d never truly known at all.

  He read of Arthur’s horrific upbringing, the child of court jesters who kept him chained every hour of the day, preventing him from even relieving himself without the permission of others. He read of the humiliating “entertainment” the child Arthur was forced to perform. Arthur came to understand the world in two shades. One was for those being controlled. And one was for those providing that control. After his upbringing, he’d vowed that after living his life so deeply in the former camp in his childhood, he’d move into the other camp in his adulthood.

  His parents died. He was too weak to perform. His owners lacked the pity and compassion to kill him outright, and instead set him free. He’d made it two miles before he collapsed. He woke to find the most beautiful young woman he’d ever met near him. She told him her name was Genevieve.

  They were captured and forced into slavery two hours later. It was cruel, harsh work, but Arthur survived because she was there. He met others, notably a woman named Eva and a man named Adam. They eventually claimed to be siblings, but Arthur knew better. He was suspicious of Adam from the start, because Adam did the unthinkable, in Arthur’s mind. He fell in love with Genevieve. His Genevieve. Even enslaved, Arthur wouldn’t stand for the competition. He did all he could to prevent any bond between the two. He told lies about Adam that Genevieve would hear. He’d made sure that if he couldn’t be with Genevieve, there’d be no one.

  They escaped. The North Village appeared. Genevieve began to show feelings for him, just as he’d convinced the others to ban any type of relationship until they established some level of stability. They grew through their single-minded focus. Arthur sat by Genevieve at communal meals. Adam sat on the other side, ignoring the pining looks from Eva. They reached the point where they could afford to trade. They went to nearby villages. Arthur was an excellent trader. Eva was better. But he noted that though they argued, such trips put them in close contact at all times.

  He heard stories of people with amazing abilities at the inns. He asked questions. A man told of hearing that such people lived near the sea to the east, and you could catch them in the act if you were lucky. A plan formed. Arthur asked the village to let him go seek out these people and learn from them. If they could accomplish this, he told them, they’d never live in fear of anyone again. It was agreed. He argued that he needed a second to go with him, to bring the message back if he fell ill or died during the journey. They agreed. His heart rose. Genevieve raised her hand with a shy smile.

  The idea met with resistance. The others had noticed his quiet courting. Genevieve’s acceptance could mean only one thing. It was with much regret that they insisted upon a third traveler, a chaperone, to ensure nothing improper happened. Arthur pouted. Genevieve looked annoyed. And Adam volunteered.

  They departed. He escalated his efforts at courting. Genevieve’s attentions divided between the men, unable to decide. They visited another village for the day for a harvest festival. He found a necklace for her. They ate and drank heavily. He planned to ask for marriage the next day, but passed out, with no recollection of the events that followed. When he woke, Genevieve looked frightened. They began the journey home a month later.

  Two weeks into the journey, she told him she was pregnant. They needed to get married before they returned to the village. He agreed to the plan. He gave her the necklace. They married at a small church they found upon the journey home. Adam stood in the back, watching. Arthur was happy. He’d won Genevieve.

  But he knew the truth.

  He played along. He took the verbal abuse when they returned to the village in open violation of the rules he himself had argued for. The little girl arrived, full of smiles and shiny blue eyes and shocking red hair. In spite of everything, he loved the child. But over time, the truth soured that relationship. He did what he could to protect Genevieve, but she grew more distant. He took his frustrations out on the child, enslaving her, making her bear the force of his pain and his secret. He wouldn’t tell the truth to anyone. The truth meant a loss of the control and power he built up over a decade and more.

  Then he heard Genevieve tell the child she ought not to share the secrets of power with Arthur should she ever discover them. And later, he found out the child had done just that. His rage at the injustice led to the deaths of both women. Or so he thought.

  But a lie once told becomes difficult to undo. A lie repeated a thousand times, or over a thousand years, becomes truth. Over time, he even came to believe that the child Elizabeth was his own.

  He’d never admit to himself the truth, that the torture he suffered for the entertainment of others left him unable to father a child. He’d never admit that, as he took the woman he loved as his bride, that he knew the child she carried belonged to his enemy.

  Will looked up from reading, his face moist. And he understood. She’d never known her parents because she’d never known who they were or how she’d come into the world.

  And he knew something more.

  He looked at Hope. “It’s true,” he said. “Arthur wasn’t your father. Adam was.”

  The man who bore the name and face of the father of the little red-haired girl called Elizabeth nodded. “It’s not something I could just tell you. But I tried not to lie. I let it slip back in 2030, a stray thought to you, Hope. You had the decency to let it go until we’d gotten through those hectic days. But I didn’t want to deal with it. When I blocked your memories… I erased that one. I can only hope you’ll forgive me for my cowardice.”

  She stared at him.

  He knew better than to push her. He turned to Will. “Years ago, you asked me to help ensure that you and your wife lived to bring your children to the world. I balked at helping. But then my mother told me what you just read. She figured it out over time, confronted my father about it, and he admitted it to her. So you see, I wasn’t being asked to help just anyone. I was asked to help my half-sister. My perspective changed in an instant.” He looked at Hope again. “I’ve spent the past week trying to help her accept the truth, and hopefully, at some point forgive me.” He reached out and squeezed Hope’s arm.

  She offered him a faint smile. “Little brothers always cause trouble.”

  Adam smiled back.

  Will nodded slowly, still absorbing the news and its ramifications. “The other comment makes sense now.”

  Adam cocked his head. “Which one?”

  “Back in the camp, when I was the young me. I’d just been told that Fil and Angel were siblings, and made a comment asking if you were their cousin. And you thanked me for not asking if you were their uncle. I thought it was just an age joke of sorts, but…”

  “In a way, it was.” Adam smiled. “I look older than them, in part because I was nearly four hundred years old when Angel was born. But the truth?” He shook his head. “The truth is that I said that because I was thankful you’d not asked that question. I didn’t want to have to explain to your children the truth of their parentage. But the reality, Will? I just couldn’t bear the thought of lying to you.”

  There was silence.

  “You also t
old me you wanted to be part of the family one day,” Will reminded him. “I thought you were talking about Gena.”

  “Well, that too,” Adam said. “But I hoped you’d accept the fact that, like it or not, we already were family.”

  Hope threw her hands in the air. “So to get this straight, my half-brother is finally going to propose to my husband’s twin sister?”

  Adam looked at the ground, pulling out a blade of grass, and examined it. “If she’ll have me.”

  Will kicked Adam’s shoe. “Get on with it, man. We need a big celebration.”

  Adam nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Hope stood. “It’s time to go back. The future awaits.”

  Epilogue

  Four years later.

  WILL STARK CLIMBED FROM THE ground car and shivered in the brisk afternoon air of the early January day, watching as his breath condensed into powdery mist. He glanced up at the walls. They’d reproduced the old De Gray Estates architecture with remarkable accuracy after tearing down the crumbling remains of the originals. The moat had been refilled, this time with fresh water and even some fish. They’d reproduced the guard station and tower, but the huge concrete barrier had been left out of the new construction.

  He could drive the rest of the way. But he decided to walk instead.

  He’d made this journey before it all began, before he knew about Energy and the Aliomenti, before he knew his young wife was over a thousand years old when he’d first met her. When they’d decided to throw a joint birthday party for him and his twin sister—who, through the marvels of his own time travel and her own strange birth, was many centuries younger than him this day—he’d thought it appropriate to travel the road to his home again in the same fashion.

  This time, though, there wouldn’t be Hunters there, waiting to pounce. There would be no explosions or fires, no time machines to whisk him away from a danger that no longer existed.

  Nor would there be any Energy.

  It had been four years since they’d activated the device that rendered all of them human again. They were immortal still. But the Energy was gone. Many had tried downing copious amounts of zirple and morange to counter the effects of the “Energy EMP” device, but without success.

  Even now, four years later, he found the lack of thought and emotional inputs strange. He found it bizarre that he had to drive long distances or fly in a sphere, rather than think himself to his destination in an instant.

  The complaints continued from others still working through the change. The furor in the beginning overwhelmed him, and he’d lost his temper on more than one occasion. But humans—even ubermensch immortals—remained remarkably adaptive beings. The noise died down after a time, and he got a new type of email. Thanks from those who’d lived for centuries who’d found the new challenge rejuvenating. Appreciation from those who realized the good they’d done with Energy for those without, now that they could once again appreciate their new limitations. And joy from those who’d represented both sides in the fight that they lived in peace, no longer looking over their shoulder in fear for those who came seeking their freedom.

  Thus far, no one had figured out how to reverse the Energy loss. Thus far, they’d heard no attempts by former Energy users to build an empire. But it would happen at some point. He’d be ready to face the next Arthur Lowell at that time.

  It was still strange to him to think of Arthur Lowell as anything other than Hope’s birth father. The powerful story he’d shared with Hope from beyond the grave still gave him chills, and a not insignificant amount of sympathy. The man had done horrible things, orchestrated them, or allowed them to happen through inaction. The man had paid a horrible price, though. He didn’t know if he’d ever truly forgive the man for his crimes. But when the death blow came, he’d taken the sword and given his life for the little red-haired girl he’d still considered his, facts to the contrary.

  Such sacrifice went a long way to bringing forgiveness.

  Hope spent a lot of time at Adam’s grave in the first few weeks, talking to him. She was finally at peace with her identity, able to talk to the man in her own way, to tell him funny stories about the childhood he’d missed and the grandchildren he’d never meet. When they closed the portals for regular traffic to the Cavern, she chipped a piece off the gravestone and took it with her, adding it to the chain from her mother. Her parents were with her once more.

  Will rounded the bend and saw the house.

  He’d lived there again for nearly a year. The current residents of Pleasanton knew that they weren’t really the Starks of Pleasanton legend. But they looked the part and brought lots of money and a desire to rebuild the old De Gray Estates ruins, so they welcomed the strangers with open arms. Will glanced inside the front window, pleased to note that, once again, William the Assassin wasn’t there with his haunted red eyes and blood-drenched sword, prepared to burn the house to the ground.

  He ran his hand along the cool brick exterior, moving along toward the smells of food coming from the back yard.

  When he rounded the corner, the only fire came from the grill. He found no sign of the Hunters. Instead, he found large tents erected in the backyard, providing a warm enclosure for their meal. Portable heaters kept the sharp sting of the brisk air away. He moved inside and found Salfie, the android Ashley built before her untimely death, learning to flip a steak with Adam’s assistance. Gena watched with an amused expression, periodically laughing, while her left forearm rested upon her protruding belly. Will had a hunch she’d not be pregnant past this day, meaning that her son would share their birthday.

  Well, it would make it easy to remember when to send a birthday e-card.

  Adam laughed at a joke Gena told him, and then Salfie the robot joined in. Will watched the confidence in Adam’s movements now. While he’d never shown much timidity, he’d long reined himself in, daring not expose his full Energy strength lest he be identified as the son of two Energy users. The truth had set him free, even as he’d lost his power. He’d told Will how he and Eva lived on the island they’d dubbed Atlantis for years, near the long-term capital of the Aliomenti empire, and he’d use his likeness to move into conversations while his father was away, gathering intel that the real Adam might otherwise miss. He’d found the work exhausting, because failure likely meant both he and his father would die. He’d readily left Atlantis for the Cavern as it ended that role. He said that he’d balked at helping with the coordination of the activities in 2030 because he’d been so barraged with negative Will Stark talk during his spying stints that he couldn’t make himself care if the effort failed; not until Eva told him that he’d also be helping the half-sister he’d never before known he’d had. His guilt in refusing came from word that his father died to save two people, and the belief he ought to be helping family, and over the years he knew that family was the one he wanted.

  And Will was happy to have him in the family.

  Angel watched the twins running around the back yard. Little Charlie tackled his sister, Eva, and they both laughed as only happy children can. Though it was early January, the heaters left the grass warm and the ground spongy. Angel smiled at her children, who reminded her so greatly of their father. She’d date again, someday, but for now, she’d enjoy the children she’d been given even as she’d lost the only man she’d ever truly loved.

  Hope watched it all with a strange detachment.

  “I may not be telepathic anymore,” Will said as he sat down next to her. “But I’ve known you long enough to realize something’s bothering you.” He paused. “Just don’t tell me you found out that my parents were aliens.”

  Hope laughed before exhaling deeply. “I just wish my mother had lived to see all of this. Me, grown up, her grandchildren, her great-grandchildren, how the world has changed. I miss her, Will. I miss her every day. I miss her more now that I know better what she went through.”

  “They never really leave us, you know.” Will tapped the necklace she wore before offering
her his hand. She accepted it and squeezed. “They live on in us and in our children. When you watch little Charlie and little Eva, we’re seeing Genevieve.”

  Adam walked over and dropped a plate before Will with a large chunk of meat on it. “See, I told you we’d get you that steak dinner for your birthday, Will. Hope you enjoy.”

  Will arched an eyebrow. “You made that promise twelve centuries ago. Took you long enough.”

  “Only four years ago by my calendar, oh ancient time traveler.”

  “That’s still not exactly—”

  Hope groaned and rolled her eyes as the men laughed. Salfie watched, and the internal wiring sparked through translucent skin. Salfie—short for Sentient Artificial Life Form—was built to learn as a child learned, through observation, and was no doubt piecing together an understanding of the exchange in its neural brain. He’d found them on Eden somehow after retrieving Ashley’s unfettered sphere. His story was fascinating in its own right. Will found the nano-skin a marvel; Salfie could change “his” outward appearance as needed, and had apparently spent many years working human jobs without detection, learning.

  Oddly, he’d never learned to grill a steak. They’d fixed that.

  Fil jogged over. “Got a minute, Dad?”

  Will nodded, stood, and followed his son outside the heated tent. Fil reached behind a bush. “Got a surprise for you.”

  He pulled out two baseball gloves.

  Will’s face split into a grin. “Oh, no, you didn’t.”

  “Oh, yes, I did.” Fil tossed one of the gloves to Will. “This ball?” He flipped it in the air and caught it repeatedly. “This is the one I used to nail the Assassin.” He frowned. “Just like I’ll drill Porthos between the eyes if I ever see him again.”

  They’d spent months rehabilitating the former Hunter before deciding he no longer possessed a threat. Or perhaps they’d grown tired of his increasingly cantankerous nature. They’d given him a prosthetic silver hand with a thin, flesh-colored glove. They’d also given him a small bit of money—relatively—before sending him on his way with a warning that he ought to stay far away from them. Porthos couldn’t Track anymore, and was thus no more a threat to them than any other man. Fil hadn’t agreed with the decision. “I know you don’t like it, Fil. But… I guess we’re just giving him a second chance.”