Seeds

by Chris Mandeville

  “More like Zeke found us.” Reid pictured Zeke sticking close to Kayla, and was comforted he was looking after her.

  They trudged up a slight incline at the edge of town and stopped beside a metal building that provided little cover and even less shade. Tinker groaned and rubbed his head.

  “Headache worse?” Reid asked, pain still throbbing behind his own temples.

  “Like my eyes are going to pop outta their sockets.”

  Reid looked up and down the road. “We need water.”

  “First, let’s be sure we’re alone. Then we’ll find water and restock the supplies that them Albuquerquan bastards stole from us.”

  “Then maybe a nap before we start driving again?”

  “If this place is safe, I vote we find some real damn beds and spend the night. I’m about crippled from sleeping in the car.”

  “It’s a good idea to lay low for a day. Besides, it’s going to take time to round up new supplies.”

  “Yeah, those bastards even took my sunglasses. Hey, check it out,” Tinker said, shielding his eyes and pointing down the road. “A 7-11.”

  “A what?”

  “Convenience store. They always have Twinkies, and those last forever. Breakfast of champions. And they’ll probably have ball caps to keep this effing sun off our mother-effing faces. C’mon.”

  Reid laughed to himself. Tinker sure cussed and complained a lot more when he was hungover. Perhaps the prohibition on alcohol in the Mountain made some sense after all.

  Thirty-Eight

  Lost Angeles, the Grand Hotel

  Pascal straightened his tie as he approached the Grand. It was a bit early in the afternoon, but he had nothing pressing on the docket and he deserved a celebration. He’d soon be rid of Maybelline and the repulsive Van Hooten.

  He entered the spacious lobby and handed his hat to the attendant. His eyes adjusted to the artificial light and he spotted Ellianna by the stone fireplace, smiling as she spoke to two men across from her.

  Pascal didn’t recognize the men, at least not in their present condition with matted hair and several days’ worth of beard. He vaguely wondered why these particular men rated the personal attention of the director, but that was Ellianna’s business. He made a point to stay out of the day-to-day operations of his directors unless it was necessary. With Ellianna, it never was. He appreciated having at least one person he could rely on to make sound decisions without him looking over her shoulder.

  As he walked past the reception station toward the fireplace, a voice called out.

  “Sir? Sir, can I help you?”

  He turned to see a girl in her late teens scurrying toward him.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but you must check in at reception first. Right this way.” The perky, shorthaired girl linked her arm in his and steered him to the desk.

  Her fresh, unfamiliar face was as intriguing as her assertiveness. It was too soon for her to be one of the new missionaries, but she had that wholesomeness about her. “I apologize,” Pascal said as he was deposited in a chair.

  “There we go.” The girl marched to her place on the opposite side of the desk. “My name is Devon and I’d like to welcome you to the Grand.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Devon. My name is Pascal Worth.”

  Horror registered on her face. “Oh my goodness, I didn’t realize. Please forgive me.”

  “I find your directness refreshing.” He found it more than refreshing. “You’re forgiven.”

  “Thank you, sir.” There was nothing coy about her smile. “What can I do for you today, Chancellor Worth? Are you here to see Ms. Ford? Shall I get her for you?”

  Pascal had planned to see Bianca, but that seemed boring now. “Actually, Devon, I’d like to spend time with you. Then you’ll be sure to remember me next time I visit.”

  The girl stiffened. “I’m brand new. I’m not, uh, not . . . trained yet.”

  “Chancellor, how nice to see you.” The soft voice was accompanied by the subtle aroma of patchouli.

  He turned. “Ms. Ford.”

  “I see you’ve met our new receptionist,” Ellianna said.

  “Yes, I’m quite taken with her. We’re going to spend some time getting acquainted.”

  “Good. I did have someone to introduce you to, but . . . another time.” Ellianna smiled, but he knew her nuances so well, it was obvious she was disappointed.

  Devon was plainly afraid, and not nearly as attractive now that her confidence had evaporated. Hardly worth disappointing Ellianna.

  “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “I’m at your disposal.”

  Ten minutes later, Pascal stepped into his personal shower. As the steaming water cascaded over him, he wondered what pleasures awaited him in the adjacent room of his suite. Ellianna would not have chosen someone for him unless she was special.

  He turned his face into the water, feeling it wash away the stresses of his job, the responsibilities of his office. He found the ritual of the shower so freeing, he almost always partook, even though he alone was exempt from the requirement.

  There was a whisper of cool air and then hands on his sides. No one—no one—had ever joined him in the shower. For a fleeting second he hoped it was Ellianna, but of course it wouldn’t be.

  An exquisite young woman appraised him with intelligent brown eyes. His gaze followed her chocolate tresses to where they tumbled across flawless mocha breasts. Her hand trailed up his side and she stepped closer. Her nipples grazed his chest and she looked up into his eyes.

  “Hello.” Her voice was quiet but confident. “I’m Mia.”

  The girl had nerve. This was going to be fun.

  Thirty-Nine

  Lost Angeles, Club Three, the next day

  The evening breeze wafted through the open balcony doors, flickering candles that burned at every table, though there’d be no other diners. It was pleasant. Romantic. Pascal thought perhaps he’d like to bring Mia sometime. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d thought to take a woman out. Mia was different. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He wanted to see her again. Soon.

  The waitress placed a basket of bread on the table between him and Linus.

  “We’d like red wine, and my son will have fruit to start,” Pascal said, placing his burgundy napkin across his lap. “What does Chef have for me today?”

  “Cutlets with mushroom gravy, mashed potatoes, and green beans, or your son’s favorite Shepherd’s Pie. Unless you have another request, of course,” the waitress said. Ashley. That was her name. “But we only have white wine. No red.”

  “None? Send the steward, and tell Chef we’ll both have Shepherd’s Pie.”

  “Anything else, sir?”

  “Yes, Ashley, thank you for asking. I’d like music. Instrumental, no singing. Find out who’s available to play.”

  “My pleasure.” She smiled warmly and left.

  “Did you notice her change in demeanor?” Pascal asked Linus. “Though we would receive excellent service either way, it made her feel good that I recalled her name.”

  “Yeah, I noticed. She’s cuter when she smiles.” Linus helped himself to a piece of bread. He snapped it in half, as he liked to do, covering the tablecloth with crumbs.

  “So you’re becoming interested in women.” Pascal bit into his own dry biscuit. “Anyone in particular? Not, Ashley, of course.”

  “Not really.” Linus reached for his second piece of bread.

  Pascal appraised his son, wondering just how ready he was to become a man. “I can ask Ms. Ford about someone suitable for you to spend time with.”

  “I don’t have to wait until my birthday?” Linus’s eyes widened, his lips curved in a smile.

  Pascal was gratified. Linus seemed a bit nervous, but more excited than afraid. Just as he’d hoped. “I don’t see why you should have to wait when you’re already doing the job of a man. I’ll make the arrangements.”

  “When? Soon?”

  “When your current mission’s c
oncluded. I wouldn’t want anything distracting you.”

  “I can handle both.”

  “I’m sure, but what kind of example would that set for the men under your command? A wise leader knows when to bend the rules and when not to. Ah, here’s the wine steward now.”

  “Good evening, sir. How can I be of service?”

  “Is it true you’re out of red wine?” Pascal asked.

  “Yes, sir. Shall I bring you a chardonnay instead?”

  “I don’t like white wine, which is something you should know.”

  “Uh, yes. My apologies, sir.”

  “Now what about the red.”

  “As I said, we are out.”

  Pascal was curious how Linus would handle this. “Son, is this an acceptable answer?”

  “No,” Linus said smugly. “Rankin, you will have red wine available for the chancellor tomorrow, do you understand?”

  “I understand what you’re saying, but drinkable wine is becoming more scarce every day. Of the last twenty bottles of red brought to Club Three, only a handful were good. We may be nearing the end of it.”

  “Are you saying you’ve searched all over Lost Angeles and you’re certain there’s no drinkable red wine left?” Linus asked.

  “Not personally.” The steward cast a sidelong glance at Pascal, but Pascal looked away and sipped his water.

  “Then I suggest you get on the train and look for it yourself, is that clear?” Linus said.

  “Yes, but there will come a day soon when we’ve exhausted the city’s supply.”

  “Of course. But when you tell your chancellor the supply is exhausted, you’d better be sure not a single person in the city has a drinkable bottle of red wine. And then you’d better find a new supply. San Diego, perhaps?”

  “Yes, I suppose, sir.”

  “You are the wine steward, right? It is your job to keep my father supplied with wine. We won’t accept any more excuses. Get the job done or we’ll replace you with someone who will. But don’t expect to wear those nice clothes to the Tank.” Linus took another biscuit. “That will be all, Rankin.”

  “Yes, sir.” He turned to Pascal. “Is there anything else, Chancellor?”

  “No. You’re dismissed.” Pascal couldn’t help smiling as the steward fled the restaurant. It was obvious Linus was born to lead. “You handled that well, son. I’m proud of you.”

  “Really?” Linus beamed under his praise.

  The boy had probably been craving his attention the whole time he was away with Maybelline. Well, no more. “Yes, Linus. You used his name, told him what you expect, and what the consequences will be if he lets you down. I think you are indeed ready to become a man. As soon as your mission is complete. By the way, how is the mission going?

  “I confirmed that Van Hooten saw my mother right before she got sick, and then several times at the spa. I need to talk to her, but she won’t see me.”

  “You must be worried. Shall I try to convince her to allow you to visit?”

  “That would be great. Tonight?”

  “No, I have an obligation outside the city first thing tomorrow.” He needed to give Van Hooten another day. “I’m paying a surprise visit to World Waste. You could come.”

  “I can’t neglect my mission, even for one day. Someone’s got to keep an eye on Van Hooten. I’m thinking I’ll go to his office and pretend to have a hurt knee or something. I’ll find out what I can, then follow him to see if he goes to the spa.”

  That was a good answer, and it shouldn’t prevent Van Hooten from completing his mission, so Pascal didn’t insist on Linus’s company. Perhaps he’d bring Mia instead.

  Pascal looked toward the kitchen. “We should have your fruit by now.”

  “I really need to ask Mother about Van Hooten. Can’t you talk to her before you leave?”

  “I’m afraid not, but I’ll see her when I return.”

  “Tomorrow evening?”

  “Or the next morning.”

  “But what if Van Hooten does something? What if that’s too late?”

  “Do you think it will be?”

  Linus appeared to be thinking seriously. “Well . . . no, probably not.”

  “What do you think you should do?”

  Linus pursed his lips. “Stay the course. Continue to observe and collect evidence. I apologize for being impatient.”

  “Good man. You realized your mistake before you made it. Here comes your fruit. I was wondering what happened to Ashley.”

  As Linus dug into his food, Pascal turned his thoughts to the next task at hand: the visit to World Waste. The visit itself was unnecessary, other than to give Van Hooten time. The World Waste director was loyal and reliable to a fault. But it never hurt to keep the good ones on their toes, too.

  But first he’d return to Services. He drummed his fingers on the table, impatient for the meal to be over already. The way Mia had surprised him in the shower—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been surprised. By anyone. Now he wanted to surprise her. He wondered just what might surprise a girl like Mia, and he realized he knew nothing about her.

  Less than fifteen minutes later, Pascal scanned the lobby for Mia. On the short walk over, his suspicions had grown. Where had she come from? Why hadn’t he seen her before? She was far too skilled to be one of the newly arrived missionaries. The only explanation was that Ellianna had been keeping her from him. But he couldn’t fathom to what purpose.

  Devon was at reception again. It was hard to imagine he’d ever found her attractive.

  “Hello Chancellor Worth,” she said.

  “I’d like to see Mia,” Pascal said, wasting no time on pleasantries.

  Devon ran her finger down a list. “I’m sorry, but she’s not available at the moment.”

  Anger flashed through his veins. “Unavailable because she’s not here, or because she’s with someone else? Get Ms. Ford. Now.”

  He strode to the bar, breathing deeply to calm what he knew was an overreaction.

  “The usual, sir?” the bartender asked.

  “No, give me your best Scotch.” Pascal drummed his fingers on the polished wood until a tumbler arrived containing two fingers of the caramel anesthetic. He tossed it back and held it out for the bartender. “Fill it this time.”

  Halfway through his second Scotch, he began to mellow, though if Ellianna didn’t show up before his glass was empty, that would change.

  “Chancellor.” Ellianna’s satiny voice came from behind him.

  Pascal turned. “I’d like a word with you. In private.”

  “Of course, sir. Come with me.”

  Pascal finished his drink and slammed the glass on the bar. Ellianna jumped, almost imperceptibly, but enough to be gratifying. Good. She should be a little on edge. She shouldn’t take it for granted she’d be in his good graces forever. Anyone could fall from grace. Even her.

  He strode across the lobby and up the stairs to his suite, not speaking a word to Ellianna. Once they stepped inside, he closed the door and turned on her.

  “I came to see Mia, and she was not immediately available.” He knew it was unreasonable for him to be angry, but he didn’t care. “I want her on reserve for me to use or to loan out as I choose. I no longer require Bianca’s services—you can release her back to the general public.”

  “Isn’t this a bit soon?”

  “Are you questioning me?”

  “Of course not.” She edged closer to him. “You seem tense. Would you like a massage?” Her voice was low and conspiratorial.

  “No,” he snapped, and she recoiled. “What I want is answers. Then I want Mia.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Where did Mia come from? Why have I never seen her before?” He didn’t like being suspicious of Ellianna, but the feeling was there nonetheless.

  “You’ve seen her many times. At the clothiers.”

  “No, I’d remember her.”

  “Mia worked at the clothiers her entire life. Sh
e’s Andrea’s daughter.”

  “Andrea . . . the hideous woman who does the ironing?”

  “Yes.”

  “I remember a gangly, awkward girl named Hermia who worked in the back, but that can’t have been . . .”

  “That was Mia. She seemed destined to look like her mother. Then puberty hit—granted it was rather late—and she was transformed into a beauty.”

  “So you brought her to work for you?”

  “Actually, she came to me. I was doubtful given her history, but once she started, I saw enormous potential. In fact, I’ve been grooming her for you. I thought she would please you.”

  “Then why are you surprised I asked to reserve her?”

  “I’m not, Pascal. I expected it. I’m simply surprised she captured your interest so quickly, and to the extent that you’ve released Bianca.”

  Pascal thought she had a point. He was moving a bit fast, but he would not give Ellianna the satisfaction of backing down. Besides, there was a tinge of sadness, perhaps even jealousy, in Ellianna’s eyes, and he liked that.

  “See to it that Mia is cleaned up and sent to me at once.”

  There was a tap at the door.

  “It’s already done, Chancellor. That will be her now.”

  Forty

  Pacific Ocean, aboard the Emancipation

  Nikolai paced, growing more agitated with each passing hour. He hadn’t left his quarters since that zhopa had asked to marry his daughter. What was Tatiana thinking, getting involved with him? Nikolai thought he’d raised her with more sense.

  His stomach growled, which fueled his indignation. No more meals had shown up outside his door, which meant Finola must have heard about his altercation with Kennedy. Well, screw Finola and her misplaced loyalties. He was hungry, and he was going to get something to eat.

  He flung open his door and stomped down the hall. He wasn’t going to let that traitorous windbag keep him out of the galley. He thrust the door open, bracing himself for Finola’s wrath, but the kitchen was vacant. Everything was buttoned up, no leftovers on the stove.