by L. S. O'Dea
“My son has nothing to do with this.” Benedictine’s eyes flashed and a drop of sweat slid down the side of his cheek.
He’d had no idea if Jethro’s injuries affected his ability to sire children, but by Benedictine’s reaction he must have hit a nerve. Dragging this out would be fun, but it was time to drop the bait. “I know someone who may be able to help him walk again.”
All anger and suspicion fled from Benedictine’s face. He leaned forward, eagerly. “Who?”
Just a little more and he’ll give me anything I want. “Have you heard of Professor Conguise?”
“Yes.”
He finished his drink. “He’s been working on an experimental surgery that uses micro-technology on the spine. He’s tried it on three patients who had similar injuries as your son and they can now walk.” Hopefully, the injuries were similar to Jethro’s. He really had no idea.
“We were told there was no hope.” Benedictine’s hand began to shake. He finished his drink in one long swallow and set the glass on the table.
“Like I said, this is experimental, but it has worked before.” He was going to have to reel in Benedictine slowly.
“On other Almightys?”
This could be a snag. “No. Your son would be the first.”
“What did Conguise test on?” Benedictine’s eyes were wary as he poured more whiskey in his glass and took another gulp.
He had to sell this. “Two House Servants and one Guard.”
Benedictine said nothing for a long while. He swirled his glass and stared at the whirlpool of whiskey.
He remained silent. If he pushed too hard, the other Almighty would balk.
“Conguise thinks it’ll work?”
If Benedictine was talking, he still had a chance. “On an Almighty? Yes.” Well, he hoped. Viola had said that her father was ready for the next step, but he wasn’t positive that the next step for the professor was an Almighty.
“Did it ever not work?” asked Benedictine.
He looked away for a moment. He could lie, but it was the Almighty’s child. “Early on there were some failures, yes.”
“And what happened to them?”
“You can’t think of it like that. Early testing was on tissue, not living creatures.”
“What will happen to my son if this doesn’t work?” Benedictine’s eyes bored into him.
Maybe, he shouldn’t be gambling with stakes like these. Then he glanced at the floor. They were cutting the male’s remains into smaller sections and wrapping them in paper. He needed the mother and the professor wouldn’t perform the surgery if he wasn’t ready. “He shouldn’t be any worse than he is now.”
“Shouldn’t? Shouldn’t? This is my child. My son!”
Bad word choice. “Now calm down.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Professor Conguise can explain the procedure and the risks. “ He held up his hand to stop Benedictine from interrupting. “There are always risks with surgery, but from what I understand, they are minimal. And remember, you don’t have to do this. I just thought you might want to give it a try. For Jethro.”
Benedictine glared at him and stood, stumbling slightly. “There is no guarantee that this will work.”
“No, there isn’t. There never is with surgeries.” He breathed a sigh of relief. Benedictine had taken the bait.
“That’s true.” Benedictine sat with a thud. He took another drink. “I can’t give you the female.” He reached across the table and grasped Hugh’s hands. “I don’t have much money, but I can pay you. I’ll make payments. Whatever you want.”
Checkmate. “It has to be the female Producer.”
“Why?” Benedictine’s face scrunched up in confusion.
He needed Benedictine to focus on Jethro, not on why he wanted the Producer. “An experiment or two. Does it really matter, if it results in your son being able to walk again?”
Benedictine staggered over to the rail. “That is the escaped female’s father. Her mother is next unless she cooperates. I need her to tell me who is helping her offspring.”
“Even at the expense of your son?” He was too close; he couldn’t stop now.
A Guard came up the stairs and placed two brown paper packages on the table and then turned and went back downstairs.
Benedictine stared at the floor below. “I’ll give you a different one. Any other one.”
He paused as if considering the option. “No. It has to be this one. “ He had to come up with a plausible explanation for needing this Producer.
Benedictine turned toward him. He could see the other Almighty’s whiskey induced brain trying to puzzle out the reason.
“It’s because of her size. She’s the smallest Producer that I’ve ever seen. I need to study her genetics. Discover if that is something that we can isolate and learn how to avoid.” It sounded logical to him.
The other Almighty stared at him a moment longer and then turned back to the slaughter room. “You may have the mother after she cooperates. I’m sure she will, now, after witnessing—”
“No. I need to take her with me. Today.” He couldn’t take the chance of the Producer telling Benedictine about her offspring’s parentage. She’d remained quiet all these years, but after seeing the slaughter, she might say anything. Plus, what if she did give up information on her offspring’s whereabouts? He could not afford that intelligence going to Benedictine.
“Conguise is actively looking for a candidate for surgery. I don’t want him to commit to someone besides your son.” He prayed his poker face was believable and that the professor would actually perform the surgery. He didn’t like lying about that, but he hadn’t been able to come up with another option.
Benedictine turned away from the rail and stared at him. “You can guarantee that the professor will perform the surgery on Jethro?”
He struggled but the words would not pass his lips. The earnestness on Benedictine’s face stalled his tongue. “I can’t guarantee it, no. But I—”
“You can have the Producer when my son can walk.”
He glared at Benedictine for a moment, but it was his own fault. If Gaar found the offspring alive, he didn’t need the parents, but the teenager might be sterile. He’d read that it had happened in the past, before the Great Death, when two different species produced young. Of course, her existence alone would be a major discovery since they no longer believed different species could produce viable offspring. However, it would be better to have the parents, too. It was time to bluff.
“Forget it.” He stood to leave.
“Wait. What about the Producer?”
“There’s another small Producer in the West Side Producer Camp. She’s not as petite as this one, but you leave me no choice. I can’t guarantee the surgery will work but I also can’t wait for this Producer.” He poured another finger of liquor in his glass and tossed it back. “Damn good whiskey.” He nodded at the Guard behind him who was carrying another bottle to the table. “I hope you trust your Guard.”
The Guard emitted a low growl.
“I’d hate for word to get back to your son that there was a chance for him to walk and sire children but you lost it on some petty revenge. On a Producer no less.” He walked toward the stairs, praying that Benedictine would stop him. His mother would never forgive him if he left Millie here. He was on the top stair when Benedictine called out.
“Take the Producer. Just make sure my son gets the surgery.”
He suppressed a grin. “Okay.” He walked back to Benedictine and handed the other Almighty a card. “Take your son to this address on the date and time written. Professor Conguise will see him then.”
“Thank you.” Benedictine held the card reverently with both hands.
“Tell them to release the Producer to me.” He headed toward the stairs. He needed to get out of there before Benedictine changed his mind.
“Bring out the female and give her to Hugh,” hollered Benedictine. “Oh, don’t forget your steaks.” He pushed the sm
aller of the two packages across the table.
He stopped and turned around. The bundle of meat sat on the table and there was a dark stain marring its wrapping. Fresh steaks for dinner would be nice but he’d never met a Producer before today. He wasn’t sure if having the meat in the carriage would bother her. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Not with...”
“What? Oh, because you’re taking the female?” Benedictine laughed. “They’re not that sensitive or smart. Here, take it.” He held it out.
Viola could grill them with that special marinade that she whipped up. His mouth started to water. Benedictine was familiar with the creatures and if he said they weren’t that sensitive then who was he to argue. He walked over to the table and accepted the package. “Thank you. Good luck with your son.” He truly meant it.
By the time he was on the first floor, two of the Guards had entered the cage to retrieve the female. The others were helping wrap the chunks of meat in paper.
He handed the package to Buddy.
“Is that?” Buddy’s eyes widened.
“Yes,” he said. “Dinner. Benedictine was feeling generous.”
Buddy started to say something and then stopped, sliding the bundle inside his jacket and zipping it up.
“Come on.” he said.
They walked over to the enclosure. Two Guards were attempting to drag the female out of the cage. One of the Guards was burly and covered in blood from the butchering. The other one was leaner and didn’t wear the customary facial hair of the Guards. The Producer struggled against them in any way that she could—twisting, kicking, biting. The bloody Guard cuffed her sharply on the side of the head.
That was not acceptable. She belonged to him now and she would not be mistreated. He stepped forward to intercede when Buddy placed a hand on his arm, stopping him.
The leaner Guard shoved the other Guard. “Stop it!”
He fought a smile as the Producer took that opportunity to bite the leaner Guard’s fingers. She had spunk. The Guard dropped his hold on her, shaking his hand.
The bloody Guard quickly grabbed her legs, knocking her down. “Jackson, get her hands.”
Disgust and pity marred Jackson’s features, but he grabbed her hands and they lifted her off the ground. She thrashed for a moment and then went still, urine running partway down her leg before racing to the floor in a stream.
“Gruntshit!” shouted the bloody Guard. “She’s pissing herself.”
“Enough! Stop.” He pulled away from Buddy and walked over to them. “She’s frightened half-to-death. She won’t do me any good in a catatonic state.”
The two Guards holding Millie stopped moving but did not put her down. Relief washed over Jackson’s face.
“Put her down. Now.” This kind of abuse was unnecessary.
“You’ll never get her out of the cage if we do,” said the bloody Guard.
Buddy walked up to him. “It’ll be quicker if we let them do it.”
He needed to get her out of there before Benedictine changed his mind, but she was terrified. He couldn’t let this continue. “Put her down.”
The bloody Guard dropped her feet and her entire weight fell to Jackson. He struggled for balance, but she was frozen in fear. He staggered backward and then fell, hitting the concrete hard. This seemed to jolt her out of her trance. She scurried across the cage to the farthest corner where she huddled in a ball.
“Get out,” he ordered the two Guards.
The bloody Guard turned and stomped away.
“Sorry,” muttered Jackson as he stood and left.
He glanced at the Guard’s back. For a moment he’d thought the apology was directed at the Producer, but it couldn’t have been. He shook his head. No matter. He walked slowly over to the Producer. When he was a few feet away, he crouched down.
“Millie. My name is Hugh. My mother is Sarah.”
She stared at him, eyes wide with fear.
“I think you recognize Sarah’s name. Timothy is her House Servant.”
Her eyes widened a bit in recognition.
“Now, listen to me. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to take you away from this place but you have to come with me.” He stood. “We need to leave. Timothy is waiting for you.” He held out his hand. “No one is going to hurt you,” he repeated.
She looked at his hand and then at the bloody mess outside the cage door and trembled.
Maybe, he should have let the Guards handle this. “We have to go. Now, before they change their minds and don’t let me take you,” he whispered.
She ignored his offer of assistance and struggled to a standing position.
He dropped his hand. “Behind me is my Guard, Buddy.”
She looked at Buddy and pressed herself back against the bars.
“He is not going to hurt you. He is here to protect me. You are now under my care, so he will protect you also.”
Buddy snorted.
He shot Buddy a glare. Now, was not the time for attitude. “He will protect you,” he said again, emphasizing the words. “I’m going to leave first, then you and then Buddy. Try not to look at...well, try not to look.”
He held his breath and turned. He walked slowly toward the cage door. He glanced back to see if she were following. She took a hesitant step and then another. He let out his breath. In a line they exited the cage. Inside the killing room, she quickened her pace until she brushed up against his back. He peeked over his shoulder. She had her head down. Good. Don’t look. Even I can’t look at that mess.
Once outside the building they climbed into his carriage. He handed her a blanket and she squeezed tightly into the corner covering herself so that only her large brown eyes were visible.
“Get us home quickly, Buddy. She needs Tim.”
The carriage raced down the road. The large, rundown buildings of the Warehouse District changed to open fields recently cleared of their harvest and then to the large homes and manicured lawns of the affluent neighborhood where he lived. When the carriage came to a halt in the driveway, he reached to help Millie out of the corner. She shied away from his hand and slowly stood. She was still traumatized. He could understand that. He moved aside and she stepped out of the carriage with the blanket wrapped around her and her arm held tight against her side. He followed, slowing his pace to hers.
She looked up at the large two story house with the red front door. He wasn’t sure if her eyes widened in fear or awe. He was familiar with the huts of the encampment and compared to what she was used to this was a mansion. Buddy stepped in front of them and opened the door.
Tim slipped past Reese and out of the library.
“Millie!” Relief spread across Tim’s face as he rushed to her side.
Reese raced after him at the same time that Sue stepped out of the kitchen. Millie froze and then backed into Hugh, dropping the blanket. This was all happening too quickly. He put his hands on Millie’s shoulders to comfort her but she bolted toward the door. He grabbed her arm. She was trembling uncontrollably as his two Guards hurried to help him. She wasn’t ready for Guards yet.
“Stand down, Reese, Sue!” he shouted.
The Guards stopped. Tim snarled at Reese as he slowly approached Millie and wrapped her in his arms.
“Oww,” cried Millie.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Tim pulled back but didn’t let her go.
She burrowed closer to him and began weeping.
Hugh was surprised that she’d lasted that long before breaking down. If he’d witnessed what she had, he didn’t know if he’d ever be okay.
“Shh, shh.” Tim pulled her closer.
“Tim, take Millie to my room and let her rest.” Mom stood in the doorway to the library.
Tim led a trembling Millie toward the stairs.
Mom addressed a nearby female House Servant. “Prepare the guest room upstairs and then send for Dr. Kalper.”
The House Servant looked at him.
He nodded. His mom had a habit
of taking charge. It was easier to go along. “Do as she says and after that take these to the kitchen. Buddy, give her the steaks.”
Buddy glanced furtively at Sarah as he pulled the package out of his jacket and handed it to the House Servant.
He shot Buddy an odd look as he walked over to his mother. “Who is Dr. Kalper? He’s not our regular doctor.”
“You brought that here with Millie in the carriage?” Mom slapped his face.
Shocked, he touched his cheek. She’d never hit him before. Sure she’d swatted his backside a time or two but never in the face. That had been his father’s job.
“You are an inconsiderate, self-serving ass...just like your father.” She strode away and began helping Millie up the stairs.
If she thought he was like his father, then he would be. “Don’t take another step until you answer my question.” His tone left no room for disobedience.
Her spine stiffened and she turned around. “He may not be your regular doctor, but he is mine. I’ve been seeing Dr. Kalper for years.”
This was news to him. They’d always gone to Dr. King. “Why have I never heard—”
“I answered your question. May I go now?” snapped Mom.
When his father had been home, she’d had to ask for permission for almost everything. She’d stopped the day father had died, and he’d forced her to do it again. She was right; he was an ass. “Of course. Millie’s hurt. That must come first.”
“What happened to her?” asked Tim.
“I have no idea.” There were many hours between when she was taken and when he arrived.
Tim glared at him.
He didn’t deserve that look. “She was hurt when I arrived. Take her upstairs to rest. She’s had a bad day.” A really, really bad day.
Mom nodded. “Come with me.”
Tim threw one last glare at him before he and Millie followed Mom upstairs. Tim should be worshiping at his feet for saving Millie. Instead, the ingrate was pissed at him because she had a small injury. He should have brought Tim along then he wouldn’t be so upset about her favoring her side. At least she still had a side.
