Dean followed, one hand in the front pocket of his baggy jeans, the other on the back of his neck. “El.” He shook his head. “You broke his heart. Sorry I wasn’t around when you got to the lab.”
“I understand. Come to my office with me?”
“Yep.” Dean walked with her. “So, how are you? Did you sign the papers?”
“Yep.”
“And did Frank?” Dean asked.
“Yep. It’s over.”
Dean stopped walking, he smiled, he smiled big-time.
Ellen realizing he wasn’t with her, looked back before she walked into her office. “I cannot believe you’re smiling about this.”
“Sorry.” He fought to look serious. “I’m heartbroken.” He let the smile back out when she disappeared into her office. He walked in, she was plopped in a chair, her feet extended, her eyes closed. “You’re upset about this. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have . . .”
“No.” She shook her head. “I have the worst tension headache right now. Plus my stomach is upset. It’s been a hell of a day.” She sat up some leaning forward.
“Here. Sit up.” Dean walked behind her, and moved her hair off to the side. Gently he placed his hands to her neck and with a firmness, moved his thumbs in a circular motion at the base of her skull. “How’s this?”
Ellen moaned slightly closing her eyes. “Don’t stop.”
“I love when you say that to me.”
“Dean,” She smiled.
“So, besides me coming to see how you are, I came for another reason.” He took a breath. “I have the kids tonight. I’d like it very much if you’d have dinner with us. I know you were coming over, but I’d like to make an evening of it. A family thing. What do you say?”
“I don’t know, Dean. Seems awfully convenient you asking me when I just signed them annulment papers with Frank.”
“Purely coincidental El. Purely.” Dean leaned closer to her ear. “I’ll give it two more weeks before it isn’t.”
“You’re giving me a grieving period?”
“Who you?” Dean whispered. “It’s not like you and he were living in wedded bliss when you broke up.” He kissed her cheek. “Dinner with me tonight?”
Before Ellen answered, Frank’s huge voice barreled in the room. “I don’t fuckin believe it. Two hours and seventeen minutes. Two hours and seventeen minutes we’re broke up and already you’re hitting on her.”
Dean stood up some looking back at Frank. “My God! I waited that long?”
“Ha, ha, ha.” Frank walked in the room. “You could at least give her some mourning time over the loss of our marriage.”
Dean snickered in sarcasm. “What do you want Frank?”
Ellen turned to look at him. “Yes Frank, why are you here?”
“I came to get lover boy and bring him to my Dad’s office. It’s that Forrest meeting. And we all know how absent minded Dean is. So I am here as his reminder.”
Dean continued rubbing Ellen’s neck. “Now Frank?”
“Dean.” Frank brought his hands to his temple. “I’m not going to speak to you while you molesting her. Now, are you coming? I’ll ride you up.”
“Yes.” Dean followed. “I’ll talk to you later El.”
Ellen nodded and slowly moved her head side to side. She chuckled when she heard Frank’s post-annulment time announcement as he buzzed him and Dean out. Then Ellen stood. Headache or not, that surprise in the skills room was what she need.
Walking from her office she saw Diane. “Oh, is it done?” Ellen asked.
Diane nodded. “Just know Ellen,” her voice quivered. “We tried to revert it.”
Ellen’s expression dropped in confusion. Her eyes shifted totally lost. “Revert it? Revert what?”
Diane only pointed,
Realizing that no gift or party was to be had to cheer her up, Ellen anxiousness to see in the skills room turned to fear. Having to face it she walked in. The moment she stepped into the skills room, Ellen let out a blood curdling scream. She spun and flew back. Breathing heavily she stopped in the hall with a scolding face to Diane and a point backwards. Her voice graveled so deep it was as if Ellen were possessed. “Who . . .” She huffed out a breath. “Who made my dog into a man!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Former Quantico Marine Headquarters
“Fourteen injuries.” Sgt. Hemsley slammed a folder down on a long table. His voice was hard as he spoke to Jess Boyens who sat in a chair. “Fourteen physical injuries that will prohibit her farming for one week.”
Jess kept his stare forward, the blood that had poured down his face was still there, dry and cracking. “That wasn’t my doing. She was running from what she saw.”
“You let her get away.”
“I stepped aside.” Jess kept his voice firm.
“She gave a struggle.”
“You shouldn’t have chased her.”
Sgt. Hemsley blasted, “And since when is it your decision?! It is not.”
“It’s wrong!” Jess blasted back making brief eye contact. “It’s wrong! Can’t you people see that?”
“You didn’t. How many times have you gathered women for farming and breeding?” Sgt. Hemsley opened the folder. “How about I refresh your memory. Thirty two captures. Our highest accredited soldier.”
“And I was just as wrong,” Jess spoke strongly. “After today, after that massacre, I don’t want to do it anymore.”
“It’s your job.”
“I don’t want that job. Put me somewhere else.”
“Can’t do that.” Sgt. Hemsley walked around the chair. “It is what you do. There are no changing jobs within the society.”
Slowly Jess looked at Sgt. Hemsley. “Then I want out of the society.”
Sgt. Hemsley lifted the folder from the table. “Can’t do that either.” Saying no more, Sgt. Hemsley walked from the room, instructing the two guards to stay in the room with Jess.
Seated behind his desk, Sgt. Doyle looked up to the knock on his office door. “Come in.”
“Have a minute?” Sgt. Hemsley walked in.
“Sherman. Yes.” Sgt. Doyle sat back.
“My name isn’t Sherman.”
“I know. It’s a joke.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Sherman Hemsley? Get it?” Sgt. Doyle gave up. “What do you need?”
“To sign these.” Sgt. Hemsley dropped the folder before Sgt. Doyle. “I need your approval to move an insubordination to immediate cyborg enhancement.”
“Lange gets these.” Sgt. Doyle pushed the folder forward.
“Not in this case. Special subject.” Sgt. Hemsley pushed the folder back. “He’s a . . . what do you call them in those handbooks you wrote, Class ‘A’ recruit. So you see I can’t let it get passed you until you acknowledge that you are surrendering his old world skills to the cyborg enhancement..”
Immediately Sgt. Doyle snatched the folder up. “Jess Boyens?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sgt. Doyle opened the folder, sat back and smiled. Lifting the folder to his eye level he nodded. “Jess Boyens.”
^^^^
“Jess Boyens.” Sgt. Doyle dropped the folder before George. “I believe it was a sign that we talked about the infiltrator this morning, especially since he was brought to our attention. Take a look.”
George swiped up the folder. “Go on.”
“Thirty-seven year old male more fit than a twenty-one year old. Look at his specifications. We found him in a small farming town in Canada. He was living there with, get this, his two brothers. And . . . his father had recently passed away. That was the first I heard of that many of one family surviving the plague.”
“Yeah, well, the Slagel clan proved that even death, plague, and the end of the world can’t destroy even the most arrogant and testosterone filled families. Continue.”
“Eleven years in the Canadian Army. Highly skilled, trained, infiltration specialist. With flight time qualification. Captain Jess Boyens w
as part of the special forces.”
George reviewed the file. “Why is this man in the farming division if he is so highly qualified to be elsewhere? You said yourself you need men to help you train.”
“Yes, I do. I’m working on that. Jess Boyens was an early willing joiner. He was put where most needed. Training divisions weren’t fully established at that time.”
“So how did you rediscover this Mr. Boyens?” George asked.
“He wants out of farming. He nearly let a woman escape.”
“Well.” George rubbed his chin in thought. “Reprimand him then move him to training.” He handed the folder back.
“No, sir you’re missing my point.” Sgt. Doyle said. “I don’t want to move him into training. I want to prep him then move him to . . . Beginnings. This is our man.”
^^^^
Bowman, North Dakota
If Elliott had to sing and play, “Hail Holy Queen’ one more time he swore, to aggravate Fr. O’Brien, he was going to break out into the Sister Act rendition of it. Lifting his hand from the last chord, Elliott sat up some, ignoring the pain in his backside from the hard bench and peered up to Fr. O’Brien. He felt so much like that same ten year old altar boy who used to wait for the approval of Fr. David at St. Joan of Arc.
“Well?” Elliott asked.
A look of drastic debate was on Fr. O’Brien’s face, then finally he shook his head. “No. You can do better Elliott. Keep practicing.” He gave a firm swat on Elliott’s back, genuflected before the altar, then moved down the aisle. “Oh and Elliott. Try something else. We wouldn’t want to annoy our Blessed Mother anymore by vocally souring a good song about her.”
Elliott’s mouth opened. Fr. O’Brien had to be joking. Vocally souring? Shaking his head and thinking for sure it was a sick ploy of the Captain’s to get him to break, Elliott stood up and reached into the box of sheet music. There had to be something in there really annoying. He debated on the sheet music to The Wizard of Oz, but passed it up. Then he saw it and Elliott smiled. There was nothing more annoying,--at least in his mind--than that. Smiling at the thick Best of Barbara Streisand Collection, Elliott lifted the book from the box. As he did a single folded piece of sheet music fell to the floor. With a grunt Elliott bent over and picked it up. When he saw what it was, when he grasped it in his hands, Elliott sat back down at the piano. He didn’t know what it was that inspired him to play it. But he started with a single chord, simple, unlike what he had played before.
The flap of the flag brought about a huge grin to the Captain. “Don’t let it touch the ground. This is our first colors.” He looked to a group of four men. “Good job on this.”
Young, naïve, and sometimes sarcastic, Craig pointed to the flag. “Why does it only have one star? It’s supposed to be an American flag.”
“That’s correct,” the Captain said. “This star represents North Dakota. When we’re strong, when we start securing states, then we will keep adding a star. As for now . . . Let’s raise it.”
Hand prepared to connect the flag to the rope that dangled from the flagpole, the Captain along with everyone else, stopped.
They had listened for hours to Elliott sing. So much so that he faded like elevator music to the rear of their attention. But with the strike of that one chord, with that one line, upon the song, all activity froze.
Oh, Beautiful, for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain.
The Captain’s eyes shifted down to the flag then to his men. A simple nod without words was his order to raise it high. Elliott’s singing was the sign that it was meant to be.
So simply Elliott sang, differently than all the other songs he had played during the day. The Captain focused, and walked through the gathering men toward the church.
They halted what they did and silenced entailed. The town became captured by the tones not only of the piano but of Elliott’s singing. Graveling with guts, his intensity increased with each verse he ensued.
Oh, beautiful for heroes prove, in liberating strife. Who more than self their country loved. And mercy more than life.
Heart pounding with each step he took, the Captain opened the door to the church and slipped unnoticed into the back. He was mesmerized, and taken. If asked, the Captain wouldn’t have been able to speak. Elliott didn’t sit behind the piano. He stood. If his singing didn’t tell the Captain enough, Elliott’s face did. Eyes closed, seeming lost in the song, Elliott belted out so emotionally that the song seared through the soul deeper and mightier than any weapon could.
Oh Beautiful for patriot dream, that sees beyond the years. Thine alabaster cities gleam, undimmed by human tears.
Up the aisle the Captain moved, eyes focused and heart locked into Elliott’s performance. It was a song not heard in years, nor sung, or thought of. And appropriately it should have been. It struck the Captain that the one man who seemed to lack the patriotism that everyone else had, right then and there reminded everyone what patriotism was.
Elliott finished. His head jolted up to the steady clapping, but it didn’t make him spin in surprise as much as the applause and cheers that seeped through the church from outside. Elliott hunched in embarrassment and covered his face. “I guess they were glad I stopped playing Hail Holy Queen.” He widened his eyes and turned to the piano to gather the music. “I didn’t realize I was that loud.”
He swallowed first then the Captain took another step, He spoke nearly in a daze. “In a world without sound, you can’t sing and not be heard. But I have a feeling, Elliott, you could have whispered that and everyone would have tuned in.” Breathless he walked to Elliott. “My God. I knew you could sing. But . . .”
“Captain stop.” Elliott chuckled, his back still to the Captain.
“No. Any singer can sing from their diaphragm but it takes someone with heart to sing from the soul. Why . . . why did you sing it like that?”
His hand released the music and Elliot peered out before turning around. “Honestly?”
“Honestly.”
“It didn’t start out that way. I started . . . I started playing it because it just seemed right. But Captain . . . the more I sang, the more I heard the words. And I knew why that song was written. For the first time since it was composed, the first time, this country is in the same parallel. And as I sang I realized . . . what am I doing?” Elliott shook his head. “I believe I called it an impossible dream. I . . .believe I . . .”
“Elliot.” The Captain stopped him. “You don’t have to explain anything. You feel the way you feel. And I was wrong for even getting angry with you over it. I owe you an apology.”
“No.” Elliott shook his head. “I owe you an apology my friend. I called it an impossible dream. I called it your fight. I was wrong. Our forefathers, mere farmers, dreamers, they fought the exact same fight you want to fight now. And look what they made of this country. I want it back too.” He spoke with passion. “And even if it is the hardest fight I ever embark on, Captain, I would rather die trying to get it back than watch with envy what I didn’t have the guts to try.”
With a slight snicker the Captain tilted his head. “Oh my god, Elliott. That was nice.”
Elliott rolled his eyes. “See. I’m trying to be serious. I’m trying to ask if I can be a part.”
The Captain gave a squeeze to Elliott’s arm. “You don’t have to ask.”
“No, I do.” Elliott stepped back. “In tradition of what you want to be.” He snapped to attention, arms tight at his side, eyes forward. “Captain I would consider it an honor if you would let me stand beside you again in this fight.”
The Captain held up a finger getting ready to joke with Elliott, but he didn’t. High with pride he lifted his chin. “I would be honored to have you stand by my side as my right hand man. Sgt. Ryder.” Firm and straight, the Captain raised a salute.
Elliott smiled and returned the salute.
“Son of bitch, come here.” With a chuckle, the Captain tightly embraced Elliott. “Good to have you back.
Might as well put you to work right now.” He released the embrace. “You ready?”
“More than you think.” Elliott smiled and started to walk with the Captain. “Um, one thing. If I am your right hand man. Am I second in charge?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then if we’re reestablishing ranking of sorts, what’s mine.”
“Seeing how I think it would be odd for everyone to start calling me General, Captain will be the highest ranking,. You will be Sgt. Ryder.”
Elliott stopped walking. “Sergeant? I’m second in command. Sergeant? Not lieutenant?”
“Elliott, Elliott, Elliott. You abandoned me.”
Elliott grunted, shook his head and started to walk again. “Figures. Next thing I know you’re going to tell me you had Fr. O’Brien make me sing Hail Holy Queen twenty times.”
“Actually . . .” The Captain paused before opening the church door. “Twenty-two. But who’s counting.” Smiling, and glad to be joined again with his friend, the Captain walked out with Elliott.
^^^^
Beginnings, Montana
“I mooch enjoyed de tour,” Forrest told Joe walking to Joe’s office.
“Good. I tried to avoid the crackpots. So, you’ll get to go to containment later.” Joe shut the door. “We’ll begin as soon as everyone gets here. Well, the ones very vital to the time trip. Have a seat.” Joe pointed to a chair.
Attached to the briefcase he held, Forrest sat down.
As Joe walked around his desk, he paused when the door opened and Henry walked in.
“Badly.” Henry griped to Jason who walked in behind him.
“I was merely driving with caution,” Jason said with a slight snicker. “Can I help it you get motion sickness. Hey, Joe.”
Henry paid attention. “Oh, Hey Joe. Dr. Caceres.” Henry extended his hand. “Glad you are well.”
The Big Ten: The First Ten Books of the Beginnings Series Page 214
