by Michael Rigg
"Nonsense," she said. "All the finer ladies wear dresses these days. It's only proper." Then she came closer and leaned down to whisper in my ear, “But I hear ya. I'm somethin' of a tomboy m'self.”
"Proper," her little sister echoed.
I motioned with the hairbrush toward Addy's attire. "But you're not—"
"Oh, fixin' sticks, I'm gonna change, Alice, just as soon as we get you all settled up." She parked her fists on her hips and said, "I only dressed in dungarees because I had chores to tend to this mornin', but Bryce and Daddy will be back in a couple hours or so, so you need to look all presentable like."
"Presentable like," Savannah echoed.
"Presentable... like," I smiled slowly, then shot a wink to Savannah.
A short time later Addy, Savannah and I, all dressed up like Victorian Age Southern Belles, made our way through the wide marble halls of the Landry estate to the east kitchen. There, we ran into a couple of servants dressed in crisp white kitchen smocks and Mrs. Landry, who was nothing like I'd expected. She was about Adeline's height, maybe a tad shorter, and her long blond hair was held back with a double French braid rolled into a bun. Her clear skin and bright blue eyes made her look more like Addy's older sister than her mother. Only a close inspection revealed crows-feet and smile lines. "My goodness," she smiled at me. "You are certainly nothin' like the monster Jefferson made you out to be. You come on over here and give me a proper greetin'."
I looked at Addy who smiled and nodded the okay. Savannah gave me a shove on the rump. I felt like a character out of an old historical romance, a regular Scarlett O'Hara, but completely out of my element as I approached Bryce's mother who waited for me with arms spread open.
When I was within reach, she took me into her arms and hugged me. "Oh, my dear sweet Alice, welcome to Seven Orchards."
I returned the hug gently and said, "Thank you, ma'am. Your daughter—"
"Oh, please, you call me Mother Landry, dear."
I nodded against her shoulder before she released me and pinched my cheek lightly. "You appear to be a sweet, well-mannered girl despite your obvious Yankee heritage and dubious appearance in our midst. But, I promise no one in this home will hold that against ya."
"'Cept maybe Clayton," Savannah piped up. Addy gave her little sister a shove.
Mother Landry waved that off, "Oh, you all come on out on the veranda and we'll enjoy some sandwiches and lemonade."
Which we did. In the time I'd been here I'd never felt so out-of-time as I did sitting in the shade with Mother Landry, Adeline and Savannah, all of us nibbling on triangles of turkey and chicken sandwiches made with fresh tomatoes and lettuce (I didn't mind the tomatoes so much because the chicken was so thick). Savannah never took her smiling eyes off of me, even while Addy and Mother Landry phased me out—or welcomed me in—by talking about anything and everything but me. While they talked about sky traffic over Shreveport, the atrocious dresses Mrs. Pedigrove wears, fabric prices in Baton Rouge, and saving for the family vacation to England next fall, I let my eyes wander to the garden and movement within the greenhouses beyond. I expected there were servants working in the houses, but a flash of white caught my attention. I thought it was a dress. I couldn't imagine who it might be since all the Landry women were accounted for with me. I thought about my nightmare, but the pale strangers—Alpha and Omega—wore black every time I'd seen them, or thought I'd seen them.
After lunch, Mother Landry asked Addy to take Savannah in for her piano lesson, a request met with a healthy cascade of whining and moaning from the young Landry. "I need to tend to plans for dinner this evenin'," Mother Landry smiled at me. "Perhaps, Alice, you'd like to explore the grounds while Addy is occupied?"
I glanced to Adeline who smirked and said, "Savannah's lessons won't take long. I can meet ya in the garden if ya like."
I shrugged and nodded before we all stood up, Savannah complaining that she wanted to "go with Alice in Wanderland," and Mother Landry smiling at me apologetically.
Once they had all gone back inside, I turned my face toward the sun and smiled. A servant came out to clear our plates and glasses. When I tried to help, the young man grinned and said, "It's all right, Miss. I got this," in an accent similar to mine. Huh, I thought, Yankee servants. So, I headed into the garden, toward the greenhouses and the flash of dress I'd seen earlier.
The gardens of the vast Landry estate were as colorful and impressive as the orchards that surrounded the mansion. Everywhere I looked I saw flowers of every size and shape, each perfectly fitted to blossom in patterns that showed their brilliance in the sun. Even the flowers bred for shade were bright. As I strolled around the maze of blooms, I read the small hinged signs hanging by each collection of flora. Guara, cannas, curry plants, Chinese fan palms, dwarf cypress trees, irises, marigolds, daylilies, begonias were all present and filling the air with a strange, almost mystical, fragrance as they combined with rose and lavender. The sound of exotic birds and the grinding of cicadas filled the air. Each time I rounded a corner or passed under a wide shade tree with weeping creeper hanging from its branches, I found another batch of flowers I'd never seen before. I was so spellbound that I nearly forgot my destination until I heard voices echoing from the glass enclosure around the leafy corner from where I stood. To my right was an enormous cypress tree with low hanging branches that shielded me somewhat from the greenhouse which appeared to be built against a tall cinder block wall. I glanced over my shoulder and found that I was quite a distance from the house.
I couldn't get too close to the mossy windows without flashing like a strobe at midnight in this bright blue and white dress, but I risked a move to a low hedge and crouched down, straining to listen inside.
The voices were low, and though there were soft feminine giggles here and there, and a man's deep voice, I couldn't specifically identify who it was, though I had a feeling I knew. Then I heard Lady McFerran's lilting voice call out a name.
"Oh, Clayton!" Lady McFerran exclaimed as if responding to an off-color joke. What was she doing in the greenhouse with Bryce's broth—?
"Just one," said Clayton's voice as he stepped closer to her, which brought him closer to my end of the greenhouse. If either of them looked my way, I'd be seen. Slowly, I lifted my head and peaked over the top of the hedge into the moss-smeared greenhouse a few feet away. I could see them as clear as if they were standing in front of me. They were facing each other,
Clayton Landry, with his hands on Lady McFerran's arms, said "No one is about. Just one kiss."
"Clayton, how dare you approach a lady with such effrontery!"
"My heart has longed for you, Lydia, I ache to be with you again." His voice lowered, “Inside you again.”
I pressed my palm to my mouth to avoid releasing a loud gasp and ducked down so I wouldn't be seen. My eyes burned they were so wide.
"I'll not be spoken to in that manner. I am engaged to your brother!"
"It riles me when you say that," he said with a low, but playful, growl.
"Clayton Landry." But then her voice lowered. I heard fabric moving. Her dress? “Ooh, I feel the soldier has come to war.”
My eyes grew wide as I peered over the top of the hedge again.
Her leg was exposed, up to a frilly garter, and wrapped around Clayton's thigh. Her hand was pressed down between them rubbing his front.
"I love you, Lydia," he growled low. “I want you. Here. Now, in this greenhouse.”
As I watched in shock, She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his.
"Y—" was all I could manage of "You've got to be kidding!" before I ducked back below the hedge and bit into thumb to silence myself.
They hadn't heard me. After the kiss, which must have lasted a full minute, Clayto
n Landry said, "I've missed holding you in my arms, missed your flesh against mine, so soft, so warm."
"I've missed our moments, my darling."
I gasped in my mind because I was holding my breath. I heard the rustling of fabric, I'm sure it was her long hooped dress, undoubtedly lifting up and over her head, and glanced back for a clear passage back to the house. There was no way I could get up and run now. They were too close. They'd hear me or see me try to escape under the shade of the cypress.
"Oh, Lydia, it's been so long since we've made love. Let me take you now."
"Here?" she asked with a playful lilt.
"Of course! Imagine the scandal, the passion."
I covered my face with my hands and winced, then I peeked again for an escape route. No magical portal opened up to allow me to escape. The early afternoon heat started to melt my skin. Sweat dotted my brow from the perfect storm of nerves and humidity.
Lady McFerran released something between a moan and a whine as I imagined she was toying with him, maybe dancing her fingers up the front of his vest. "I'll need some persuasion, Lord Clayton."
“And I'll need you to make that request on bended knee.”
Oh, God.
“Oh, Clayton, you are so predictable.”
Then I heard the scuffling of her shoes as Lady McFerran, so erudite, so lady like, got down on her knees in front of Clayton Landry in a greenhouse.
"Alice, there you are! I didn't know we were playin' hide-and-go-seek!"
The shout of Savannah Landry behind me almost made me cry out. Her voice had to have been heard inside the greenhouse. I turned and saw her big blue eyes lock on me, then start to drift up above the hedge line.
Jumping up, I stepped in front of her to shield her view of the greenhouse and wrapped my arms around her head as if playfully wrestling with her. "Aha! Gotcha! Why'd you run out on your lessons?"
She pushed at me, giggling. "Addy went to the powder room, so I skipped out t' find you in Wanderland!"
"I tagged you. You're it!"
It had the desired effect. Savannah squealed with laughter before prying out of my arms and running back toward the house.
I turned and looked back at the greenhouse.
Lady McFerran was gone, probably hiding behind a shelf of plants, but Clayton Landry stood at the squares of mossy glass, his red face framed in a clear pane, staring at me with the intensity of a murderer.
I held his gaze for a long time, unable to break away and feeling like the fly who just noticed the spider was watching.
"Come on, Alice in Wanderland! Find me!" Savannah called from somewhere deep within the garden.
Just before I turned to find the girl, I saw Lady McFerran reappear. She stepped behind Clayton and placed her hands on his shoulders. Our eyes met. I couldn't read her expression, but she made me feel pitied.
I opened my mouth to ask a silent question, but could only shake my head before I turned to hunt down Savannah and retreat back to the house. I'd seen enough of the gardens.
CHAPTER 20, “Keys”
The Hall of the Thinking Machines in Baton Rouge stood as a testament to modern technology. Over 400 acres of foundation stretched across the land. The single, massive building squatted like an enormous slab, two stories tall. It was walled in with iron and six feet of cement, filled with tubes, gears, junctions, wires, and steam pipes all connected to the twin, centralized artificial brains and constructed by generations of scientists and engineers. Each new generation of great thinkers contributed to the growth of ADAM and EVE, the twins, the most advanced Thinking Machines of the age.
Most of the twin Thinking Machines' components were located underground several hundred feet from the main building. It was ADAM's idea to move them. The primary machine calculated a 79 percent risk of attack by Imperial forces in 1984 and recommended that the Confederate government begin a project to secretly relocate both it and it's "sister." Though the attack never came, a small strike force was eliminated on the north side of Baton Rouge that year. No one thought to interrogate prisoners at the time, so it was just assumed ADAM's prediction was correct.
Every advancement made by humanity—even those of the Empire, Europe and Russia—was conceived by ADAM or EVE. ADAM's calculations led to the advancement of air travel, perfected the Tesla technology and made arc weapons and tools possible. ADAM thwarted the invention of plastics and fuel oils, declaring them poisonous. EVE made the calculations that brought an end to Imperial-Confederate hostilities and reduced warfare to corporate advancement. Since the 1990s, battles have been decided with greed, territories decided with money. EVE declared that only those with corporate identities could carry weapons and anyone else would be summarily judged as a criminal. Since EVE's calculation, only small skirmishes fought between corporate boundaries have shown any indication of Civil warfare at all.
As to the genetic manipulation of children to create witches and ghouls... only the few select members of the Thinking Machine Council know for sure, though some militant groups clung to the belief that an "error in programming" with either ADAM or EVE led to the disaster. Still others, who believed the ghouls to be a purposeful calculation by ADAM or EVE to thin the world's population, maintain that the Thinking Machines have been exercising their godlike abilities beyond their original programming.
Naturally, such power in a machine can't exist unprotected by those who support and believe in it. An entire legion of the Confederate Armored Guard protect the facility, and the Confederate Air Force maintains a watchful eye from the skies around the clock. Representatives from the Imperial United States, the Soviet Trust and the United Kingdom maintain a voice for their nations on the Council, as part of a decidedly weak peace treaty formulated by EVE in 2000.
Beyond that, only those with Corporate Ident may enter the facility, and only those on the Council may enter the Thinking Machines' deepest levels themselves.
The upper level of each section of the Hall of Thinking Machines was divided into twenty access vestibules on each side, tall brass and crystal booths with red velvet curtains for privacy. From here, those with corporate authority could gain access to the machines, input questions and receive answers. Bryce Landry sat in one of these vestibules, his eyes bloodshot from staring at the flickering screens in front of him, his head throbbing from the cables and tubes attached to his forehead and temples.
As the screens went dark one by one, Bryce leaned forward and pinched his eyes closed. He rubbed them with his hands before gently peeling off the suction cups of EVE's direct input.
He reached into the inner pocket of his suit and withdrew a small pad and the nub of a pencil. Before he forgot, he sketched out a symbol EVE planted in his mind and a statement. Then he slumped back in the chair and rubbed his forehead.
Outside Bryce's vestibule, Jefferson Landry stood with his arms folded across his broad chest. An attendant to the Thinking Machines stood nearby, a mousy little man with thick spectacles and a white lab coat.
"His time is almost up," the attendant warned, glancing at his heavy wristwatch.
"My boy will take all the time he needs. This is far too important to be assessed lightly."
The attendant glanced around the corridor nervously. Jefferson Landry was one of the more imposing corporate bosses, his voice sometimes echoing through the halls as he shouted demands of ADAM and EVE's human attendants and sent the copperhearts clanking away into dark corners.
Before the attendant could open his mouth to gently protest the overuse of EVE's time, Bryce's curtain parted and he stepped out, his ascot pulled loose, his eyes glazed over and his expression numb.
Jefferson turned to the attendant and said, "We'll be leaving now."
The attendant bowed and recited, "May your toils bring you pr
ofits and your thoughts bring you peace." Then he slid his hands into his lab coat pockets, smiled crookedly and walked away.
Jefferson smiled to his youngest son and looped an arm around his shoulders. "You see now, boy, how vital Atlantis is to Landry Holdings?"
Still numb, his hand clutching the pad and pencil as his father led him toward the door, Bryce nodded slightly.
His father continued. Though he rattled off words of frustration, his voice was calm and even-tempered, matching Bryce's dazed expression to better get through to him. "Of course, now that your error in judgment has gifted Atlantis to Thorne & Wolfe—and the Empire—we'll have to prepare for Corporate Seizure Warfare. ADAM's granted me the power... There's no way around it, Bryce. We'll have to mobilize the Confederation's naval forces, alert Colonel Monterro and the boys of the C.A.F...."
Bryce stopped walking. His eyes found his father's. "Can't we re-negotiate?"
Jefferson took his son by the arm and pulled him toward the exit. "It's too late for that. Your default gave the property to Thorne & Wolfe. There's only one way to get it back."
Regaining some of his strength, Bryce pulled out of his father's grasp and strengthened his stride. "It may not come to war if we can find the key."
Jefferson raised an eyebrow, his voice deepened. "Key? Did EVE tell you something, boy?"
Bryce nodded, glanced at the time and winced. "We've been here for hours. I need to get back home."
His father stopped, reached out and grabbed Bryce's arm. "Hold it."
Bryce stopped and turned, a new resolve coloring his features as he met his father's eyes. This Atlantis nonsense wouldn't have come to this if his father had been upfront with him from the start. He knew deep down that the appearance of a naked woman in the tower would not have distracted him in the slightest if he had an inkling of the depth of the contract signing, if he knew this Atlantis business could end all war and threat.
