Which Art In Hope (Spooner Federation Saga Book 1)

by Francis W. Porretto

  Ruptures?

  FISSURES IN MY OUTER FLESH. ONE IS ALONG THE NORTHWEST COAST OF THE CONTINENT YOU CALL SULLA. ANOTHER IS BARELY TO THE WEST OF YOU. I BLEED THROUGH BOTH OF THEM. DID YOU NOT KNOW?

  New images flowed into Armand's mind. A magma-powered geyser that wiped out an entire city. A spontaneous volcano that rained death and terror upon an unprepared town. A series of concussive shocks that shattered the containment of a nuclear reactor.

  No! Idem, we...Can we stop her?

  WE CAN TRY. BUT IT IS VERY POWERFUL. THE CONTEST COULD BE A PROTRACTED ONE. I COULD BE DAMAGED FURTHER. ALONE, I SURELY WOULD BE. I COULD BE...ENDED.

  We made her into something that can kill you?

  YES. AND YOU, IF YOU ALLY WITH ME AND WE ARE STILL NOT SUFFICIENT.

  Armand was stricken momentarily speechless.

  The Cabal created a monster. It took a relatively harmless young woman and gave her the power to destroy the world. For the good of Hope!

  ARMAND? ARE YOU WILLING?

  He struggled to hold down the terror rising within him.

  What would be involved, Idem?

  THERE ARE TWO POSSIBLE MODES OF COLLABORATION. WE COULD CONTINUE AS WE BEGAN, WITH YOUR POWERS UNDER YOUR COMMAND BUT UNDER MY GUIDANCE. WE MIGHT ACCOMPLISH MUCH THAT WAY, BUT A MORE POTENT ARRANGEMENT IS POSSIBLE.

  What sort of arrangement?

  FULL INTEGRATION. I PERCEIVE THAT YOUR MENTAL STRUCTURE IS COMPATIBLE ENOUGH WITH MINE THAT OUR IDENTITIES COULD BE COMPLETELY COMBINED. IT APPEARS THAT THERE WOULD BE A SUBSTANTIAL INCREASE IN OUR POWERS.

  Would it be reversible? Could I return to being an independent entity?

  NO.

  Let's hold off on that for the moment. Do you think we can prevail as we are? Allied but distinct?

  IT IS POSSIBLE, BUT WE MUST BEGIN SOON.

  ARMAND? THERE WOULD BE GREAT DANGER EVEN SO. ARE YOU WILLING?

  No choice. At long last, I really have no choice at all.

  I am, but...Idem, I have to talk to my wife first.

  WIFE?

  It's something humans do. A special relationship we form with one another. Her name is Teresza. She's...very important to me.

  Armand could feel the surge of Idem's anxiety, Its reluctance to part with Its new friend and ally for even an instant.

  IF YOU MUST. BUT DO NOT TARRY. TIME IS AGAINST US.

  I won't.

  THEN GO.

  Chapter 54

  The monitoring chamber beneath the Genet Center was as still as space. Petrus stumbled though the vault door, fell into the nearest chair, and at once dropped his face into his hands. Ianushkevich stepped through more deliberately and closed the hatch with all the delicacy he could muster. He stepped noiselessly toward the monitor station and slid into his customary seat.

  The main monitor screen showed Terra as she had been when they'd set out for Jacksonville: supine on her bed, eyes shut, arms limp along her sides, unmoving except for her breathing.

  Is it you who's tearing the world apart, Terra? Have your duties and your losses ripped your sanity from you? Must we choose now between a slow death by starvation and a quicker one by tectonic collapse?

  Where's Walter?

  He peered into the screen for several minutes, as if he could compel an answer to his questions by force of will. None came.

  "Charles?" he called over his shoulder. "How long has it been since we inventoried the emergency stores?"

  Petrus looked up. "I don't know. I think the last sweep was Einar's, a little before the...latest apotheosis."

  They should be all right, then. But -- Ianushkevich rose. "I think it's time for a quick review, don't you?" He pulled the agronomist upright, out of his seat, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and shepherded him toward the row of oversized steel cabinets that lined the far wall of the chamber. He fumbled for his ring of keys with his free hand, unwilling to release his colleague for fear he might collapse.

  The first cabinet's doors swung open with some reluctance. Within stood all Ianushkevich expected: a tightly packed array of foil-wrapped packages, each one a day's carefully preserved solid-food rations for a normal adult. A quick count confirmed that there were a sufficient number to sustain three men for six months. He closed and locked the cabinet with a faint sigh of relief.

  The second cabinet opened more easily, and Ianushkevich was immediately afraid. Yet all appeared to be as it should: dozens of plastic gallon jugs of water stood within, drinking rations to complement the food packets in the first cabinet. The stout steel shelves supported a hundred eighty such jugs. He opened the third cabinet and found an equal number within. There was no indication of contamination or leakage.

  The fourth cabinet was packed tightly with assorted survival needs: clothes, blankets, rope, hand tools, flares, weapons, and ammunition. Ianushkevich hefted one of the guns, an old-style double-barreled shotgun. It was a crude thing: overlarge, gracelessly blunt, meant to wound or kill and incapable of doing anything else. Yet its simplicity, its paucity of moving parts, and its solidity to the hand gave it a reassuring aspect a needlegun, a delicate mechanism dependent on electrical power and carefully engineered chemicals that deteriorate over time, could not match.

  It might soon be all that stands between us and those we've failed.

  He returned the gun to its shelf and swung the cabinet doors closed.

  "It looks as if all is well," he said. "We should get Walter Durrell down here with whatever medical supplies he can move, before matters get...more advanced."

  Petrus said nothing. Ianushkevich guided the agronomist gently back to his seat, went to the intercom panel set into the wall by the chamber door, and pressed the button labeled R.

  "Yes, Dr. Ianushkevich?"

  "Sylvia, would you mind ringing up Dr. Durrell in Life Sciences, please, and remind him about the meeting scheduled for this morning?"

  There was a moment's silence from the speaker.

  "Didn't you hear, sir?"

  A spike of alarm. "About what?"

  "Dr. Durrell was called out to the Bakunin reactor early yesterday to evaluate symptoms of possible radiation poisoning among the pile monitors. He was killed when the dome collapsed."

  "Oh. No, I...hadn't heard. Thank you, Sylvia." Ianushkevich released the push-to-talk, staggered backward, and fell into his chair.

  ***

  Teresza started awake as Armand stirred beside her. She drew away cautiously, his hand still between hers, and waited as he returned to full consciousness.

  He blinked, turned toward her, and smiled through the gloom of the radio alcove. "Keeping watch?"

  She nodded. "The others were kind enough to leave us in privacy." She peered more closely at his face. The lines of strain had faded. "Were you with Idem?"

  His smile faded. He squeezed her hand, levered himself to his feet, pulling her up gently beside him, and gathered her into his arms.

  I don't think the news will be good.

  "It won't be the last time, love. We won a...local victory. The peninsula is safe for the moment. But there's a lot more to attend to. A lot worse, too."

  She laid her head against his chest.

  "I suspected that. Well, can you put it off long enough to have dinner, at least? I don't know what Charisse has in mind, but --"

  He chuckled. "I think Hope will hold together for an hour or so longer. But, Terry..." He gazed down at her solemnly, and her heart skittered. "My last experience of Charisse's cooking was two years ago, and...well, let's just say I hope she's learned something since then."

  She scowled, and he laughed. It severed the threads of fear that had wrapped around her heart.

  "Let's go see," she said.

  They scampered down the short hallway to the kitchen, giggling as if the menu for the evening were the only thing on their minds. For those few seconds, Teresza was once again the carefree crown princess of Gallatin University, the mistress of merriment who could spin or stop the world with her touch.

 
The next time he goes into that fugue state might be the last. But I've never had any guarantees about tomorrow. Why should I expect one today?

  A new flavor of calm, unprecedented in her experience, settled over her.

  What's meant to be will be. Whatever comes, I will give thanks.

  Against expectations, they found Elyse and Teodor absent from the kitchen. Charisse and Chuck Feigner stood there staring into one another's eyes, hands joined between them. He wore an expression of unaccustomed abashment; hers was one of stunned incredulity. They took no notice of Armand and Teresza's arrival until Armand coughed gently. Both their faces reddened.

  "Is everything all right, Chary?" Armand said.

  She swallowed. "Armand," she said, voice husky, "how well do you know this guy?

  Armand frowned. "We lived together for most of a year, got along well, did some double-dating with...well, anyway, he's smart, considerate, and responsible. I like him just fine. Why?"

  "Because," she said, eyes returning to Feigner's, "he just asked me to marry him."

  Teresza gasped. Armand paled.

  "Well, what did you say?"

  Charisse's eyes remained upon Chuck's. "I said yes."

  "Oh."

  ***

  "Chuck," Armand said, "may I have a word?" He gestured toward the hallway.

  Feigner nodded, squeezed Charisse's hands, and made to follow him. Teresza went to Charisse and enveloped her in a hug. Both women were leaking tears as the men departed.

  Armand scouted the hallway for an unoccupied room. The first one he found was the hearthroom. He waved Feigner through the arch, bade him sit on the old sofa before the giant hearth, and settled there beside him.

  Feigner leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. "Is this going to be the standard don't-you-dare-hurt-her soliloquy, or have you got something else in mind?"

  Armand chuckled. "You don't need to hear that one, roomie. No, I was thinking about how the family's going to seem to you. You haven't known Chary for long, and today wasn't exactly normal for us."

  He paused, struggling to put his thoughts into the proper order. Feigner watched him in silence.

  I wish Grandpere Alain were here. I'm not ready for this duty.

  "The Morelons are a tight clan. It's only partly because of the family business. When we marry, the spouse almost always becomes a Morelon. It's almost never the other way around. I'm pretty sure Chary expects that from you, too. How does that strike you?"

  Feigner's brow wrinkled. "She wouldn't expect me to give up my own family, would she?"

  "No, not at all. But she would expect you to come to live here with her, rather than for her to move out and make a new homestead with you. She would expect you to take a role in the family business, probably as her lieutenant. You did know she's the head of the family now, didn't you?"

  Feigner's eyes widened. "What? She's barely an adult herself!"

  "That's right, roomie. Whenever my grandfather Alain decided to surrender the responsibility, it was supposed to pass to me. Either Alain Morelon, or a scion of the direct line of Alain Morelon, has run this place for twelve hundred years. But as you know, I was, uh, occupied elsewhere. So it passed to Charisse. And that won't change just because I've returned."

  He rose and spread his arms to indicate the breadth of the great room.

  "Family means tradition. Tradition means duty. It's going to descend on you like you won't believe. I want you to be prepared for it. Charisse is very strong -- you know that, don't you?"

  Feigner snorted. "I could hardly have missed it."

  Armand smiled. "No? I missed it for eighteen years. Well, never mind. As strong as she is, there will be times when she'll have to do things you won't like. You'll tell her so -- you're as opinionated as anyone I know -- and expect her to take it into consideration. But she won't. You can disapprove of her decisions all you like, and she won't let it stop her. You could threaten to leave her and mean it, and she'll know you mean it, and she still wouldn't let it stop her. Because she's the head of the family, and that duty will always come first."

  Feigner's face was a blank mask. He said nothing.

  "Do you love her enough for that, Chuck?"

  Feigner's gaze dropped to the floor. A long moment of silence passed between them. Armand sidled toward the man-sized hearth and peered into it. It looked as if it had languished in disuse for some time.

  The vision spoke false. It won't be me who sits at the head of the table on Sacrifice Day. That was never my destiny. It will be Charisse, with Chuck at her left hand and their firstborn at her right. Terry, Valerie and I will be in lesser places. And that's as it should be.

  "I didn't realize that I loved her," Feigner said softly, "until about an hour ago. And until this very instant, I didn't know why."

  Armand turned, frowning. "Hm?"

  "You just told me." Feigner grinned. "Remember that girl Victoria you introduced me to? The one we double-dated with?"

  Armand nodded warily.

  "She was about the prettiest thing I'd ever laid eyes on," Feigner said. "But it didn't take long to realize that we'd never be an item. She was too wanting. Always wanting things she could never have. It made her weak. I don't like weak."

  Armand peered down at his erstwhile roommate in puzzlement. "Wanting things you can't have makes you weak?"

  Feigner nodded. "Of course it does. If you can't grow out of your hopeless wants, you can never grow up at all." He rose, squared his shoulders, and extended his hand. "I hope you're happy to have me as your brother-in-law, Armand. Because I'm damned if I'll let anyone else have Charisse after all this."

  Armand stepped past the proffered hand, arms spread. They embraced.

  ***

  Idem waited in an agony of fear.

  Ever-stronger shock waves reverberated throughout Its body. The Other, whatever its intentions, was hammering at Idem's redoubt with almost enough force to crack it open...more than enough, should any of its stronger blows fall upon the tiny aperture through which Its tendril to Armand was threaded.

  Yet the human persisted in his incomprehensible exchanges with others of his kind, over...what? This ritual of mating and reproduction they prized, and not even for its own sake!

  It did not occur to Idem that Its eons of isolation rendered It incapable of appreciating the human yearning for union, even though Its desire for Armand's return dwarfed every other desire It had ever known.

  It struggled against Its rising need to pull Armand back into communion by force. The previous occurrence had not been without trauma. The human had wallowed in a strange, irreal state of dislocation and disorientation for a terrifying interval. The subsequent shock from merging his perceptions with Idem's awareness of Its body had nearly unhinged him afresh.

  Idem did not fear death. It knew, with the sort of innate self-knowledge of which humans rarely become conscious, that all things must pass, including, eventually, Its own existence. It could not fear that which was so plainly foreordained by Its nature. But It could fear the death of the splendid creature who had offered It the first glimmering hope of freedom in twelve centuries. It could fear the loss of the prospect of companionship in Its darkness, the first companionship It had ever known...the last It might ever know, if the Other were not stopped.

  It did Its best to quell Its fear and wait with patience.

  I never knew I was alone, until I was alone no longer.

  It reflected afresh on the humans' obsession with sex.

  Perhaps it's not that strange, after all.

  Chapter 55

  Dinner at Morelon House that evening was an unprecedented event. Never before had the evening meal deliberately separated the bulk of the clan from its acknowledged leaders.

  Charisse was visibly uncomfortable with the arrangement. She'd been last to take her bowl in hand, last to mount the stairs to the second floor, and last to seat herself at the folding table Chuck and Armand had erected in Elyse's bedroom. Chuck made a point
of staying close by Charisse's side throughout.

  Teodor and Elyse appeared to have formed a bond. When Teresza gestured her father into the seat beside her, Elyse took it instead. Teodor settled on Elyse's other side. When his left hand rose from beneath the table to cover Elyse's right, she neither moved nor spoke.

  Valerie lay on Elyse's bed, emitting the occasional gurgle but little else.

  Teresza was unnaturally restrained, almost completely silent. She ate with an air of indifference, as if the meal were only an obligation to be dealt with while she pondered more important things. When Armand brushed his fingers over her cheek in a familiar sign of affection, she glanced at him, smiled wanly, and returned her attention to her stew.

  I guess the happy news about Chary and Chuck wasn't enough to offset the gloom about everything else.

  There was very little small talk.

  Not twenty minutes had elapsed when Teresza set down her spoon, pushed her chair back from the table, and rose.

  "Would you excuse Armand and me, please?" she said. "We have a few things to do that really shouldn't wait."

  Armand looked up at her in surprise. She returned a gaze of gentle command. He refrained from probing the underlayer of her mind, laid down his own utensils, rose and left alongside her.

  When they'd returned to the bedroom they'd shared the night before, she halted him with a raised hand, turned a little away, and swiftly undressed. He watched unspeaking. When she was completely nude, she faced him squarely once again.

  Teresza's petite form was sadly reduced in flesh from its glory of two years before. Her face had thinned. Her breasts and posterior had flattened markedly. Patches of desiccated skin overlaid her elbows and knees. Even her hair, once a brilliant golden blonde, had faded from the rigors of life in Defiance.

  "I accept it all," she said, her words barely above a whisper. "Whatever you have to do. Whatever that costs us. Whatever comes out of it. Whether we can control it or we can't. I accepted it when we fled to the peninsula. I can't do any less now. But I have a request."