Hoven Quest

by Michelle Levigne

  “Kendle!” Chiara slapped my hand and gave me a wide-eyed stare of amused shock. Then we both burst out in giggles. We had the freedom to laugh, locked up in her office, late in the afternoon in FAN headquarters. Everyone else was packing up to go home for the day. “Just you wait,” she said, waving a finger in my face. “You'll hit maturity in three years and then you'll really feel regrets."

  “Kel will be too old for me. He won't be gorgeous, he won't be Uncle Max's star...” I trailed off, letting my thoughts wander.

  Sometimes, I was afraid to speak our dreams and goals aloud, for fear of jinxing us. Or being overheard by the wrong people. Her office should have been the best place for a private conversation. Over the years, however, our people had learned not to take anything for granted—especially not safety and privacy. I pointedly looked at the script on my portable screen, hoping Chiara would take the hint and continue reading it.

  Chiara, however, wasn't in any mood to let this slide. She had taken it on herself to fill the role of mother to me, to make up for years of being raised by my bachelor uncle and older brothers, in the middle of schemes and secrets and underground operations.

  “The show is bringing us into contact with more of our race every lunar. By the time you hit maturity and you have to seriously consider a mate, there'll be a good selection for you."

  “That's the last thing I'm worried about.” I squirmed a little in my chair and wished Chiara would play network executive while we were at work and leave her mothering for when we were at home. Or better yet, get back to work on seducing Uncle Max.

  Ever since that conversation several quarters ago, when I let him know she was interested, I had caught him looking at her in a considering, almost puzzled way. It was an improvement. Maybe he realized she was a mature woman, his equal in so many ways, just as witty and talented and strong-minded. They were a good pair. But did he make any moves to let her know he was interested, too? No, he did not. The coward.

  Somehow, it was comforting to know Uncle Max had some fears and flaws. It wouldn't be quite so hard to take his place as leader of our organization and our family when he decided to step down. In about a century.

  “True.” Some laughter died from her eyes. “You'll be so busy fending off suitors, you won't have time to worry about adolescent hormone dreams. Maybe you should start planning ahead. It's said that some women are strong-willed enough to create fixation in their chosen men."

  “Why haven't you made Uncle Max fixate on you yet?” I had wondered about that, but talking about fixation wasn't usually a polite topic of conversation.

  “Because I'm fixated on him, and that sort of gets in the way.” Chiara rolled her eyes in mock suffering and we both laughed again.

  It was certainly a lot more fun being the rare Hoven female since Chiara came into our lives. Uncle Max had taught me everything I needed to carry on the mission of gathering our people together, but he hadn't taught me the really important things about Hovenu biology. Oh, I knew that Hoveni lived three times longer and aged at one-quarter the rate of Humans. We learned to make drugs to age us and bring on sexual maturity faster, and helped Humans find drugs to slow aging and maturity in themselves. That shrank the gap between us, making it harder to tell Hoven from Human. I didn't know about fixation, Nature's little trick of making sure the best genetic stock got together, until Chiara educated me. Her parents were fixated, and my parents were fixated. Somehow, I doubted I would be so lucky. I was stuck in a pre-adolescent fixation on Kel Brent, just like half the female population of the planet. Kel Brent, possessed of the ideal athletic build, bronzed skin, perfect green-blue eyes, blue-black curls, square jaw, sharp cheekbones, rumbling voice and dazzling smile. The epitome of the Tri-V star who could make a girl swoon by tape delay. I discovered him. I created him. I was no better off than anyone else on the planet.

  “Kendle, ready?” Uncle Max said, stepping into the office. His face brightened, just for about two seconds when he saw Chiara hunched over my desk screen. Then his expression turned to normal as she raised her head.

  Had I seen what I thought I did? Was Uncle Max acting like an idiot adolescent boy, fifty years his junior, afraid to let a girl know he was interested? Suddenly, life was a little more interesting than it had been half an hour ago. My mind, which had been totally blocked when it came to tweaking the script, suddenly shifted into creative overdrive. I had a dozen scenarios for throwing the two of them together and forcing them to admit their attraction for each other, to each other.

  Chiara had that brighter-than-usual smile and that starry gleam in her eyes that she wore only for Uncle Max, but did he see it for the five seconds it took for her to get her reaction under control? No, he just nodded to her, smiled that business-like smile, and looked at me. For some reason, it struck me as funny and I saw myself in the same situation in three more years. Maybe adolescent goofiness might be fun. If only I could find someone who played the same games back at me.

  “How's it going?” Uncle Max asked, when I reached for the screen.

  “I think the problem's fixed. Kendle is a perfectionist, just like you,” Chiara said. She handed the screen to him, ignoring my outstretched hand.

  How, under the triplet moons, could they talk business when I could certainly see they wanted or at least needed to be alone together? I wondered if that was the problem—they needed to be totally isolated together, where they didn't have to worry about witnesses or interruptions. My few remaining years of physical and emotional sanity looked too short, from where I sat.

  Uncle Max skimmed the script, pronounced it wonderful, and then dragged us away to the board meeting with the top-level executives of FAN from all four continents. I had almost managed to forget I had that bit of torture and boredom waiting for me.

  With the beta season pre-production already underway, someone was making noises about changing the angle and thrust of Hoven Quest. We needed to do a song-and-dance for the upper echelon of FAN about why things worked so well and why the production staff shouldn't be changed. The old adage of ‘if it ain't broke, don't fix it,’ somehow never penetrated the consciousness of the network executives. So we had to prepare for a tight defense and a sharp offense.

  * * *

  Chapter Seven

  We had a meeting a few nights later, family heads and underground leaders from around the planet. The seasonal traveling flux was as good a cover as any for people to travel to different continents without any watchful, suspicious eyes making the connection. I didn't want to go to that meeting. I had three more scripts to revise, thanks to changes made in that one troublesome script. Sort of a ripple effect. I had a party to prepare to attend the next day, for public relations reasons.

  Uncle talked me into attending the meeting, even knowing how much work I had to do. He put pressure on my future status as head of the family line. After all, the Fyx line used to be priests and royalty, when the Hoveni were a race and nation. Unfortunately, some elders from Gadara continent were thinking along that line as well. They were dangerously delighted when I sat down next to Uncle Max at the meeting and several even said in their opening remarks how pleased they were that I was taking on more responsibilities.

  The socializing after the first meeting reinforced my fears that I wouldn't be allowed to experience fixation, if I ever found a male who suited me emotionally and physically, instead of just philosophically and intellectually.

  “My sister's oldest son is close to Kendle's age, trained to hold much responsibility. I'd like her to meet him when she comes to Gadara again,” Wilham Kane said to Uncle Max in my hearing. “They would work well together. We should give them the opportunity to try."

  Uncle Max nodded, glancing between me and Elder Kane. It always amused him, and infuriated me, when the Gadarans insisted on going through intermediaries. They were so old-fashioned in too many inconvenient ways. Like refusing to talk to unmarried women, as if we were too fragile to deal with men outside our families. They also believe
d in pre-arranged marriages.

  “Kendle is going to be extremely busy handling meetings and research for the next alpha season when she visits Gadara again. Aren't you?” he said, bringing me into the conversation. Wilham stepped back and averted his eyes for a few seconds. I would have laughed if I hadn't had a presentiment of what approached.

  “Extremely.” I nodded.

  “There are more than enough responsible young men available here for Kendle to choose as associates. They already have experience in the ways of our underground,” Uncle Max went on. “I appreciate the offer, but bringing in new workers would only slow our operations. Hoven Quest is still bringing in new contacts every lunar, finding more of our lost people. It wouldn't be intelligent to change our method of operations now, would it?"

  “You don't understand,” Wilham broke in. He dared to look me in the eye, just for a few seconds. He didn't understand that Uncle Max did understand.

  Uncle Max had been handling schemers like Wilham since my mother approached maturity, and her little brother had to protect her from hordes of unsuitable Hoveni men who didn't know anything about our heritage except that they could change their shapes at will.

  “Kendle has more important work to do on Gadara than socialize. Forgive me for being blunt.” Uncle bowed to him and took a step backwards, preparing to turn his back and end the conversation.

  “Socialize!” Wilham snorted. “The girl is of the holy, visionary Fyx bloodline, and you think we only want to socialize?"

  “Not again,” I mumbled.

  Maybe a little too loudly—I got an infuriated glare from Wilham before he launched into Uncle on how he, as my guardian, was shirking his responsibilities. I knew my responsibilities all too well. Uncle had brought me up to be responsible, to the point of being a workaholic to make other people look like lazy bums. Elder Wilham and his sort ignored all that. I was three or four years from maturity—child-bearing age, to be blunt—and they seemed to think I would run away or get myself sterilized to avoid my duty to carry on the race.

  “Do you want her to marry a Human?” Wilham asked, five minutes into the lecture. He didn't notice when his voice got louder and most of the other conversations in the room had died out so people could listen. “It's bad enough our young men are reduced to finding Human brides. I feel sorry for the half-bloods.” A few snorts and muttered comments around the room put a lie to Wilham's sympathy. I could imagine he was one of those who verbally supported half-bloods but refused to trust them with even the smallest duty or security work. “Your niece cannot be permitted to dilute her pure blood. It's bad enough she's socializing with that actor of yours."

  Me, socializing with Kel Brent? Not in my wildest daydreams. We had talked at five business meetings and four story conferences. Those were the only times we had ever been physically in the same place. Most of our contact came during conference calls. With lots of witnesses and no chance for anything more personal than greetings, where in the world had that old idiot got the idea that I was interested in Kel Brent? Besides the normal, adolescent star-struck adoration, of course.

  “Kendle is still years from maturity. I prefer she chooses her own mate, in her own good time, to ensure the happiness of them both,” Uncle said, speaking slowly, voice soft and low, impaling Wilham with his bright gaze. “I assume you want me to promise her to your nephew, sight unseen. Technically, selling her to your family. That's what the ill-informed believe about our old traditions. I'm inclined to agree with their assessment. Barbaric custom."

  Wilham opened his mouth a few times, no words escaping him. He knew he had gone too far now, and probably destroyed his nephew's chances of ever meeting me. He shriveled and backed up a few steps, looking around the room for support. No one met his gaze, and I hoped that meant he stood alone.

  Of course, that could also mean that the others condemned him because he had destroyed their hopes to do the exact same thing for the candidate of their choice.

  “Tradition,” he managed to croak.

  “There's another tradition,” I said, startling everyone by joining the conversation. Usually, when people started talking about arranged marriages and responsibility and the Fyx bloodline, I let Uncle handle it. “What about fixation?” I nearly laughed when that word brought startled gasps from some of the more fuddy-duddy elements in the room. “What happens if I fixate on someone—my perfect genetic mate—and I'm promised to someone else? We want to keep the race strong, don't we? Fixation is preferable, isn't it?"

  They couldn't argue with that. Fortunately. I heard someone mutter that it was good Humans couldn't fixate. Maybe more people worried that I would grab Kel Brent as a mate when my time came. I wasn't about to soothe their fears and tell them Kel Brent didn't even know I was a girl.

  * * * *

  Someone attacked Kel during the last leg of a public relations tour at the end of recording the beta season. I was on Gadara, scouting locations, doing research, and I was almost too busy to worry. Almost.

  Several people broke into his hotel room and trashed it. Nothing was missing, but that was likely because Kel didn't leave anything personal in his room besides clothes. In a lot of ways, he still lived as he had when he was a street performer, and didn't have much in the way of baggage to worry about or have stolen. The hotel and Network security people concluded some fans had tried to get souvenirs, realized their mistake a little too late, and tried to make the break-in look like a robbery.

  Just a little problem with that assessment, though. Some of our security people found Set'ri power signs imprinted in the carpet. Someone had the symbols engraved in the soles of their shoes, and the plush carpeting had taken the imprint.

  “Either some Set'ri are trying to determine if Kel really is one of you, or he has some really sick fans,” Garan said, finishing the report sent by the Scout assigned to Kel. Amalia's cover identity made her Kel's assistant, doubling as a staff photographer for the Network archives. Kel knew she also doubled as a bodyguard and the last security report said Amalia was teaching him self-defense moves that he wanted to incorporate in the next season. Which suited us just fine, but didn't do us much good right now.

  After all, only the Scout Corps and our Hoveni network believed the Set'ri were still alive and active. Just like no one but the Scout Corps and the Set'ri believed that Hoveni still existed. Rather ironic, that.

  “Could be good PR,” I mused, and made sure to give Garan a grin to show I was only joking.

  The last thing I wanted was to endanger either the show or our star. Hoven Quest had brought us too many good contacts from Hoveni who thought they were the last of our race. We had to keep it going as long as possible. We agreed to pass the word on to the other Hoveni among our crew and all around the current and future locations, to get their input and warn them. One odd little incident could spark a chain reaction of insights and puzzle pieces falling together. To be safe from the Set'ri, we not only had to have the popular support of the entire planet, we had to know where the Set'ri base of operations lay, so we could neutralize them someday. Hoveni were never a violent race, but the centuries had taught us to put our lives and safety first. If it came down to the Set'ri cult or the survival of our race, someone of us would give that command to attack rather than just defend.

  Two days later, someone broke into my hotel suite. They stole data disks full of historical research, sketches for costumes for Meruk and semi-permanent characters, and pictures of locations for upcoming scripts. Again, they were either desperate fans or the Set'ri trying to determine if we were just Hoven fanatics or Hoveni.

  * * * *

  By the end of the second beta season, demographics listed Hoven Quest as the most popular show on FAN. We would probably have to wait another five or six lunars to find out how well it did in off-planet distribution. After the Travel Network got finished following our location and creative team around the planet, the History Network produced an ongoing series about Hoveni. Some network executives expressed
indignation that HN blatantly tried to play off the success of Hoven Quest by airing their new program immediately after each episode. Uncle just laughed. Every bit of good propaganda about Hoveni, portraying us as friendly, civilized and unjustly persecuted, was another blow in our favor against the day the Set'ri re-emerged to destroy us. Uncle hoped someday to reveal that Hoveni were real. As soon as he could figure out how to keep us safe from the Gen'gineers and their determination to build the perfect Human. Garan called in his Spacer and Leaper relatives to get specific information on how they protected their own from people who wanted to take samples or coerce ‘donations’ to the effort.

  Uncle also mentioned investigating the executives over at HN to see if some of them could possibly be Hoveni, taking advantage of the kinder climate to try to make contact with our scattered race as well. He laughed even more when some public figures, who didn't seem to ‘get’ the gist of the series, made remarks about Hoven Quest belonging on the History Network rather than FAN. As Uncle said many times, right now, most people would rather think of Hoveni as fantasy and magic, rather than real history.

  “So,” I said that afternoon, when he told me about finally having a private meeting set up with a production manager at HN, “what happens when we want to reveal Hoveni are real and people want us to stay products of their imaginations?"

  “My dear, that is a problem your generation, or perhaps your children, will have to handle. I've started the ball rolling, so to speak. It's up to you to handle when it gets to the bottom of the hill. And I think you will handle it admirably. You'll make our family proud, no matter what you decide to do."

  “Flatterer,” I growled. Uncle just grinned at me over his desk. I was in a good mood, with two lunars guaranteed time at home ahead of me. “Free tonight? I hear Megavissy Carnival is better than ever this time of year. I could use some time with my best beau."

  “You need time with people your own age.” He sighed, and his grin faded. “Part of that is my fault. Yes, it is,” he continued before I could voice my usual protest. “If our work weren't so important, I wouldn't push you so hard."