by JB Penrose
Lehur met them with a car on the busy airstrip. “Professor! Miss Bolton! I am happy to see you again. And I’m ready with another change of clothes.” He indicated the bag that he carried. “I have breakfast waiting. And lots of coffee, like you asked.”
“Thank you.” Peter opened the car door for Rachel. “I’m glad you got my text messges.”
“I’ve been very discreet. Here are the tickets for your friends, Father Ricardo and Sister Mary Catherine.” His eyes indicated he knew more but there was no tone of question in his voice. “They leave in two hours. I hope that gives you enough time.”
“It will be fine,” Peter nodded. “You’re a good man, Lehur.”
“If I could serve you in another way, you would only have to name it, my friend.”
“We have always profited from your service, and the services of your family. But after today it will not be such an honor to name our friendship.”
“That day could not come,” Lehur assured him.
“That day is now, and it’s a sad one. You will hear many stories,” Peter shook his head, “but keep the faith. The truth will show itself.”
“I remain loyal; lies cannot sway me.”
“All the same, for now you should remain quiet,” Peter advised. “Try not to mention our passing here unless grievously pressed, and in the future we will hope to benefit from your services again.” Peter kissed both of his cheeks in a parting gesture and held the car door open for Rachel.
“Mother said to give you her love,” Rachel told Lehur as she seated herself.
Lehur’s gasp was audible. “You are the One,” he looked to Peter for confirmation.
Peter nodded, and smiled as he took the driver’s seat. “We have found the Spokesmon.”
“I stand ready for your call.” Lehur closed the car door and stepped back from the vehicle with a slight bow. Rachel waved slightly as they drove away.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to make any announcement about myself, like that,” she told Peter shyly.
“It won’t take an announcement,” he answered. “Just one look at you would confirm you’re Mags’ daughter, and all of her children know the story of the Spokesmon.”
“I can’t wait to hear it, myself,” she laughed. Rachel looked over the documents Peter passed to her. “Better polish up on your Spanish” she advised. “You’re from a monastery in Zaragoza.”
“Ah, yes. They know me well,” he teased.
She pulled the clothing for them from Lehur’s bag while Peter drove toward the main terminal and unfolded a nun’s habit for herself. “It’s been a long time since I’ve worn one of these,” she sighed.
“I’ve found it’s the type of disguise that people rarely question. Not that wearing these robes was always a disguise.”
“Do you really think we need all this?” Rachel sensed his nervousness though he tried to cover it. “What can Iscar do?”
“Nothing until he finds us,” Peter patted her hand. “I want to confuse him as long as I can, or at least until we discover what he’s after.”
* * *
Thursday
December 29, 2044
“I love the way you plan ahead, Andrew.” James said.
“I wasn’t planning for this! That hoverjet has been stashed for years. I hope the batteries aren’t dead,” he complained.
“I’m not concerned,” Dalyn laughed. “You’d have a plan for that, too.”
The Aurora was hidden under a precipice in the Grand Canyon, and invisible with the ship’s shielding device. Tucked inside a larger cavern close by, a hoverjet was ready for transport. There was a backup plan for everything.
“Will you two be alright?” John asked.
“Don’t be silly,” James told his brother. “We’ll start immediately on the repairs that we can handle before you return. You’re the one that needs to be careful.”
“We are invisible,” Andrew proclaimed. “They’ll never know we’ve been there.”
“Travel safely, then. And no press conferences,” James warned his brother with a laugh.
“Don’t worry. We’ll be back with everything you need before you need it.” John activated his wrist device and re-generated with Andrew outside the ship.
Dalyn and James went to work immediately. Staying busy kept them from thinking about their daughter. They weren’t concerned at all with the passing of time, but hunger eventually forced them to stop for a break.
“I’ll have a bowl of rice and vegatables,” she told James.
He popped two xenite cubes into a bowl in the replicator and programmed the control panel. Mags sat at the counter, more listless than tired; her chin rested on her hands. A sigh escaped and James came behind her with a strong hug.
“Do you feel better about leaving now that you’ve seen Roko?” James kept his arm firmly wrapped around her waist.
“Don’t try to tell me it’s supposed to be easy.”
“Not easy,” he agreed. “But easier. Roko is a strong and beautiful woman; I’m thankful we were given the chance to see her.”
“And I’m glad Peter is with her. They looked happy.”
“See? It is easier.” He embraced her tightly.
Dalyn laughed and dabbed at her eyes. “I love you!” She turned around to kiss his cheek. “You’re right, of course. Roko is very happy, too. Thank you for reminding me how lucky we are that Peter found her.”
“We cannot question the timing. Certainly we would have wished for more time to know our daughter, but all this happiness, hers and Peter’s, and your own, had to have come from never losing faith.”
“I have faith, especially now. Still, I wonder what will happen to Roko, and where her path will take her.”
“Her path has taken her to Peter, whose love could not be stronger, I assure you. There is nothing they cannot overcome together.”
“I can’t help feeling I’m running out on her, even if it’s what we’re supposed to be doing. I know that the world is waiting on the information about the DayStar, but this I promise - the next time we see each other, and Roko said we would, I will not be leaving her side again. Light in the sky or not.”
* * *
John and Andrew had left the Grand Canyon and landed on the East Coast by the time Rachel and Peter changed planes in London. Peter knew from listening that Mags and James were working on the Aurora, doing all they could before his brother returned with the additional repair materials. The voices came through on their own priority not by Peter’s choice, he seemed to only heard the most intense thoughts.
“I’ve never liked airports,” Rachel admitted quietly. “This many people always make me nervous.” It was hard enough to shield herself from the thoughts and feelings of a crowd, but during the holiday season everyone’s emotions were heightened.
Peter kept as close as he could, but even in the Catholic disguise they felt conspicuous under the stepped-up security. He fingered his collar uncomfortably while the loud speaker recited the flight cancellations of weather-blocked destinations. Between the winter storm and the holiday traffic London’s Heathrow Airport had come to a halt.
Peter’s valise was their only piece of luggage, yet none of its contents seemed to exist on any of the scanners and he carried it without anyone ever asking to look inside.
“Shuttle #1209 for New Columbia now boarding at gate three.” The operator continued to announce their flight in several languages before they realized their luck.
Relieved, Peter and Rachel lined up with the other passengers.
“I guess we’re fortunate to have clergy on our flight,” the lady behind them said with a smile.
Surprised cheers erupted down the terminal and a group of students rushed to the new line forming, rudely bumping everyone out of their way. A tattooed teen with rainbow-streaked hair pushed his oversized luggage in front of Peter.
“Hey, old man. I’m in line here.”
“Devon, he’s a priest.” The girl pulled on Devon’s sl
eeve.
“Not of my god.” Devon made an obscene gesture with some flair and continued to drag his bag toward the front of the line.
“I’m beginning to hate airports myself,” Peter admitted to Rachel under his breath.
“I’m sorry.” The airline steward stopped the student’s entry. “Luggage of that size must be checked at the baggage counter. You’ll need to step aside,” he motioned. “They can help you,” the steward pointed across the terminal, “over there.”
“But I carried it here from France. Why can’t I take it on this plane?”
“I’m sorry, but regulations clearly state,” the steward began to explain.
“Regulations don’t mean shit,” Devon challenged.
A smile crept across the steward’s face. “It means you won’t be getting on this plane,” he said with definite authority. “All of you,” he pointed, “will need to check your bags. Over there.”
The sudden arrival of several security officers subdued them quickly as they trudged en masse across the busy airport. Rachel let go a deep breath.
“Karma,” Peter told her. “It still works in the twenty-first century.”
The newspaper in the seat for first-class passengers was focused on the OneWorld Conference, and headlines announced the new location. Peter noted the photo of Hirundi Asaad with bandaged head wounds, embracing the Greek ambassador who was sporting an arm sling. Behind them stood the other survivors of John and Andrew’s table, vowing to continue with the OneWorld Conference after the funeral of President-elect Young and his wife.
There was a more disturbing article on the back page about the search for the Aurora, with several quotes from President Wilson about “the untimely disappearance of John Reider before important questions could be answered”.
“Morrow is trying to muddy the waters. We’ll have to take care of him first.” Peter tossed the paper aside with contempt.
“Calm down. Remember, you’re supposed to be a priest.” Rachel laid her hand on his tensed arm.
“Even a priest couldn’t read the lies Morrow is spreading. That type of story will have everyone hunting for John, and the Aurora.” Peter shook his head. “I truly can’t figure their plan. If Iscar and Morrow are working together it doesn’t make sense for Iscar to fire on the ship. Once the Aurora launched Iscar would have some tremendous advantages being, well, in his mind, being the only one of us left on Earth.”
“Then why would he try to kill John and Andrew at the Conference?”
“Iscar wouldn’t waste his time trying to kill one of us. The bombing had to be Morrow’s idea, but I promise you Iscar’s got motives of his own.”
“Maybe he’s setting Frank up to look guilty.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it. My question is whether Iscar believes the Aurora launched with, or without, the Spokesmon. And does he know it’s you?”
“Maybe not,” Rachel said. “I can’t recall ever having contact with him, and now I have a pretty clear recollection of what he looked like.”
“The question still remains; does he know Roko has been found?”
The cabin steward stopped suddenly to kneel by her side. Peter stiffened, but Rachel smiled sweetly. Wordless of his intent, the steward bent to pick up a gold sovereign at Rachel’s feet and offered it to the nun.
“Keep it, of course.” She breathed with relief. “Merry Christmas.”
“Really? Bless you, Sister.” The steward smiled broadly and pocketed the coin.
The flight from London to New Columbia took less time than the landing. Fog once again backed up the arrivals as well as departures. It was close to midnight when they finally disembarked from the plane, exhausted from the duration of their travels.
“Is all this security because they’re looking for Andrew and John?” Rachel tried to act casual as they passed through the security checkpoints in the airport. The emotions she received from the guards were edgy.
He smiled. “Andrew and John’s hoverjet landed yesterday. All of this security means no one realized it.”
“Where should we start?” Rachel looked around. “Do you want to find your brother?”
“No, we need our own plan. But first, we need some rest, and a secure location to work from. I have a place just north of here. We’ll figure out what we want to do in the morning.” He steered her toward a car rental kiosk.
“How can you rent a car without your card being traced?”
“You don’t live two thousand years without learning how to cover your trail,” Peter produced a credit chip. “Don’t worry, there’s money in the account, but the information is buried too deep to trace it back to the source.”
Rachel didn’t realize she’d dozed off during the ride. She woke as Peter wound slowly through a secluded neighborhood and passed through an automatic security gate. “We’re almost there.” He turned onto the private drive. “My cabin is just around the corner. Can you see the lights through the trees?”
"Is someone there?"
"No, don’t worry," he assured her. "I activated everything from the entry keypad." A picture-perfect hideaway came into view.
The log cabin sat serenely among the tall trees. The furred boughs were heavy with snow and cast a lace shadow in the moonlit wonderland around them. A frozen creek emptied into a small pond behind the cabin. It was a far cry from the high-tech, political arena John created.
“I love this place,” he admitted. “I built the original lodge in 1745, and the expense of hiding this quaint little homestead has been more than justified by the centuries of peace I’ve felt in coming here.”
“How can you hide a house?” Rachel asked. “Is it protected like the oasis?”
“I wouldn’t doubt it, but just to be sure,” he admitted, “it is protected by the same electronic shroud the Aurora uses.”
The DayStar hung low in the sky guiding them to the cabin. Rachel felt differently about its presence now; the softness warmed her. In the beginning it always felt like a warning – something was going to happen. Rachel sighed; something had happened and it turned her world upside down.
Peter steered the car into the driveway and circled around to the rear entry. The low roofline stretched over the porch complete with a rocker and a swing. A newer wing expanded the original cabin on both sides, connected in the back by an empty greenhouse.
Rachel whistled appreciatively as Peter opened the car door. “I think this will be quite comfortable.”
“Then you’ll love this!” He scooped a handful of snow and tried to stuff it under her collar before she squirmed away. She ducked his second attack of snowballs and scooped a handful of snow while running to tackle him. Peter never resisted. He fell back into the snow upon her attack, and laughing, she easily pinned his hands above his head.
“Okay, I surrender.” Peter's breath was warm against her frostbitten cheek. “Rachel?” He never finished the question. They were breathing hard, locked in rhythm, and his lips found hers naturally, soft, hungry, and hesitant.
It was a kiss of promise and trust. She let herself swim in its passion. Only the chill of wet snow down the back of her collar forced her to roll aside. “That’s not fair!”
Peter stood and offered his hand. Weariness from the trip suddenly settled over them. His arm slipped around her shoulders and they walked together up the steps of the cabin. Peter’s palm imprint released the security lock. He entered a few extra commands. “Place your hand here. I don’t want you to get locked out of your own home.”
She felt the heat from the scanner as it recorded her print. “I’m safe now.”
Before the words were out of her mouth, Peter swept her off her feet.
“Welcome, Mistress of the House. I hope you find our humble quarters to your satisfaction.” He planted a solid kiss on her forehead and carried her across the threshold. “I’ll bet you’re ready to change out of those clothes.”
“Show me around first. I’ve worn this so long, it’s almost a habit.”
&n
bsp; “Very funny,” Peter chuckled. “You must be delirious.”
The original cabin had been transformed into a gracious foyer with a glass ceiling that shared the moon and stars as well as welcome daylight. Always, the DayStar loomed overhead.
Peter guided her to the right wing of the lodge; the lights followed them, on when they entered, and then off as they left. Technology was discretely used and as much remained in its original condition as possible.
The library was magnificently paneled and the dark stone floor was scattered with hand woven rugs. The rustic look blended gently with modern convenience, and when Peter started the gas fireplace the room took on a warm welcome.
Peter’s taste of decorating focused heavily on art, none of which appeared to be his own work. An empty easel and stool in a loft on the east wall beneath a stain glass octagon set high in a west window designed in the orbit of Biatra-IV. She thought again about her parents, but quickly pushed the thought of them returning home from her mind.
An antique desk looked out the large bay window to the courtyard. Computer terminals were discretely inlaid to the surface of the desks, and Rachel shuttered; she didn’t want to think about connecting to the real world just yet.
Beyond the library lay the master suite furnished with original antiques. Heavy drapes blocked the cold weather, but the windows spanned the entire east wall. Peter turned on the gas fireplace and opened the door to a large closet.
