Which Art In Hope (Spooner Federation Saga Book 1)

by Francis W. Porretto

  Armand said nothing.

  She's had a premonition.

  "Before you go back to...to Idem, Armand, make love to me once more. Give me a second betrothal night. In case things...don't work out, I want that one parting gift." She spread her arms. "Do you still want me? I know I'm not what I was."

  Armand stepped forward, sank to one knee, and took her hands between his.

  "I could never not want you," he murmured. "Do you think your special condition is unique? Maybe it was before we met, but not now, love. You are the only thing in the world I could never live without. You aren't just my wife. You are my life."

  Teresza's eyes widened. She reversed her hands between his and pulled him back to his feet. Her arms went around his waist as he bent to press his lips to hers.

  ***

  Charisse felt her orgasm as a burst of heat and brilliance, a small nova ignited in her loins that swelled to suffuse her whole body. She arched as the breath exploded from her chest, clutched Chuck's buttocks, and pulled him even more deeply into her, willing him to join her in release. Moments later her fiance threw back his head, thrust a final time, and spent into her with a hiss of pleasure and triumph. She clasped him tightly and begged silently for his seed to find its mark.

  This is all I could possibly want. I couldn't ask for more. No matter what comes next.

  She marveled at how quickly she'd come to love him.

  They lay that way, still conjoined, for a long interval of silence.

  "Thank you," she breathed into his ear.

  Chuck pulled back a little and grinned. "Any time, darlin'."

  She chuckled. The warmth of the orgasm had permeated her bones. She felt as if she glowed from within. "Wow, a guarantee! Such confidence!" She sobered as a thought struck her. "How many impressionable young things have you...serviced?"

  He looked steadily into her eyes without answering.

  "Well?"

  "Counting you?" he said.

  "No, not counting me!" I'm not an impressionable young thing!

  He looked away as if abashed.

  "Chuck?"

  "None."

  What? "You mean...?"

  "Yeah." He slipped out of her embrace and rolled onto his back.

  "Chuck?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Me too."

  "I know," he said. "I...felt it give way."

  Her bedroom darkened slowly as she digested it all.

  "I guess we're a little off the norms, then," she said.

  "Yeah." He turned toward her again. "Did it hurt?"

  She grinned. "A little. Not for long. Did it hurt you?"

  He shook his head. "I was caught up in the moment. Mostly worrying about how it would be for you." He frowned. "Ask a personal question?"

  She giggled. "I think you've earned the privilege."

  "Why didn't you want to wait?"

  She opened her mouth, closed it again without speaking. He waited.

  Why didn't I? I've never had a problem with deferred gratification.

  "I think..." she said, "I think it's because I wanted confirmation."

  "Of what?"

  "Of us." She straddled him, put her hands to the sides of his face, and pulled it close to hers. "You blindsided me by proposing. You could have shown me a third eye without surprising me that completely. But what stunned me even more was that I was ready for it, waiting for it, even. It was as if I'd gotten a look at the script of my life and knew what was coming, knew it was what had to be. But I still wanted to be sure."

  He smiled gently. "Are you?"

  She nodded, and he pressed her to him.

  Presently she rose and said, "Want some coffee?"

  "Sure."

  She robed herself, he dressed, and they descended to the Morelon kitchen.

  The kitchen was empty. The twin sinks were filled to overflowing with dirty dishes; whoever had presided at the larger clan dinner had chosen to leave the washing up for someone else. Charisse clucked disapproval and set to making coffee as Chuck seated himself at the table.

  "Chuck?"

  "Hm?"

  "Have you thought about...what you'd like to do?"

  "You mean here and now, later tonight, or with the rest of our lives?"

  She snorted. "Long term. Armand mentioned that you've studied genetic engineering." She seated herself and slid a mug of coffee across the table to him. He took it with murmured thanks. "The closest we get to that is burbanking, and we don't even do much of that."

  He nodded. "I guessed that much. Armand told me that you'd expect me to fill a position in the family business. Have anything in mind?"

  I did, but..."There are a bunch of things you could do here. There's always more work than hands, as in any successful firm. But I want you to do what you most want to do. If that means apprenticing to someone like Teodor --"

  He smirked. "Forget that."

  "Well, all right, some other genesmith you haven't punched out." Yet. "I wouldn't insist that you become just one more corn farmer."

  Chuck smiled merrily, took a long draught of his coffee, and sat back, eyes as deep and mysterious as an unlit cavern. "Want to know what I most want to do, darlin'?"

  "What?" She braced herself for a shock.

  "Be with you. Alongside you. Doing whatever will keep us together. All day and every day, if possible." He stretched a hand across the table, and she took it. "I'd say our nights should take care of themselves, wouldn't you?"

  "I..." She fell silent. "How long have we known each other?"

  He pursed his lips and looked off. "A day and a little more. Having second thoughts?"

  "No! But...look, I have a lot of responsibilities. I can't just lay them down for a life of carefree frolic."

  "What did I say that made you think I want that?"

  She looked away. He squeezed her fingers gently.

  "Chary, I just want to do useful work. For most of the past twelve hundred years, the work that's seemed most urgent was adapting Earth life to Hope conditions, so when I decided to go to college, that's what I studied. But that was a decision made as a singleton. Everything's changed now. I'm about to marry into the largest, most important family firm on Alta, consort to its...well, to its matriarch. The Morelon clan feeds thousands of people. That's useful enough for me. My family has no emotional investment in genesmithing. I can let it go, and I will, if it would mean more time with you, with our children, and with whatever else matters most to you."

  "You don't think you'll get bored?"

  "Let me sample it first. If it turns out to be wrong for me -- us, we can always talk about it then."

  Tears flooded her eyes and dripped down her face.

  "I think I might be the luckiest woman on Hope," she whispered.

  "One of the luckiest."

  The two of them turned toward the entranceway. A robed Elyse Morelon stood there, arm in arm with a bare-chested Teodor Chistyakowski. The pair looked indecently pleased with themselves.

  "Mom?" Charisse hastily blotted her tears on her sleeve.

  "We're going to have more than one genesmith in the family," Elyse said. Teodor nuzzled her neck, and she giggled. "I think Chuck will have plenty of options."

  "If he finishes school and promises not to punch me again," Teodor growled. "And if Armand manages to save the world, of course." He grinned. "He's punched me out too, you know."

  Charisse rose unconsciously from the table. "Why...why is all of this happening now?"

  Chuck grinned at her. "When should it happen?" He squeezed her hand again, rose and approached Teodor, a hand extended. "I apologize. I overreacted."

  Teodor took his hand. "No, you didn't. I was a mealy-mouthed asshole. Not the first time, either. But let's keep it to words from now on, okay? I think you loosened one of my teeth."

  The four laughed in unison.

  ***

  The crimson haze that surrounded Victoria had reacted not at all to her flailings, even as her strokes had risen toward planet-ki
lling intensity. Despite her ever swifter, ever more powerful telekinetic blasts, she could perceive no changes in the ruddy gloom. It was as if she'd been suspended weightlessly in an indestructible sphere filled with crimson gas.

  Her frenzy was surging beyond all bounds. Her mind pulsed with an unopposed lust for destruction. Yet beneath the fury that propelled her blows there remained a tiny flame of longing for restoration. Longing for her apartment in the rock. For the homage and deference of the

  Inner Circle. For the comfort of Ethan's embrace...or her mother's. Even for the sense of time passing pointlessly, bringing neither obligation nor care. Even at the peak of her rages, that flame was never extinguished. But the rages had their way. Her powers had grown to a magnitude above all that had preceded her. The telekinetic force at her command rivaled the power available from a fission bomb. With each stroke against her "surroundings," they swelled an increment further. Though she could not detect the effects of her lashings, they were growing very large indeed.

  There came a moment when she thought to perceive a response. It was faint, a drawn-out, pseudo-acoustic pulse that seemed to originate from a particular direction. It was not a sound, at least not of the sort human ears could hear or classify. Yet it had the feel of an outcry of pain, as if she'd finally struck out hard enough to affect something hidden in the ruddy gloom.

  Her adversary.

  Her jailer, responsible for holding her there.

  Her enemy.

  Triumph trumpeted in her brain. She thrust at the source with redoubled force, and the cry was repeated.

  She thrust again, still harder.

  And again.

  And again.

  Chapter 56

  Teresza was in the borderlands between consciousness and sleep when she felt Armand disengage himself from her embrace. She sat up, passed her fingertips over her eyes, and blinked as he slid out from under the coverlet.

  He dressed slowly and in silence.

  This could be it. Our last night together.

  She folded back the coverlet, rose, and went to him. He smiled wanly, pulled his sweatshirt over his head, and sat on the bed to don his boots. As he reached for them, she raised a hand, and he halted.

  "Let me."

  His brow furrowed, but he leaned back and allowed her to do as she would. She knelt before him, slipped his boots onto his feet, and drew the laces tight with deliberate care. When she'd finished, she wrapped her arms around his calves and laid her head in his lap.

  "Thank you, Armand."

  He stroked her hair. "For what, love?"

  "Everything. Especially tonight."

  He said nothing.

  "It could be the last time, couldn't it?"

  "Yes," he said. "It could."

  She raised her face and sought his eyes. "How...will I know?"

  He was briefly silent.

  "I don't know, Terry. I have no idea what to expect. If we lose, I imagine it will be quick. It's winning that's likely to take a while."

  "I don't understand," she said.

  He stood, pulled her to her feet, and bade her sit beside him on their bed. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and she leaned close.

  "It's not a natural phenomenon," he said. "Idem is under attack. Ianushkevich and Petrus made Victoria far stronger than he is. He can't resist her without me. I'm not sure even the two of us together will be strong enough."

  "Why is she attacking Idem?"

  "I don't know," he said. "Ianushkevich said in Defiance that she'd gone insane. She must have discovered Idem somehow and started lashing out at him. I never knew about Idem until he revealed himself to me, but I didn't...don't have the power she has."

  "And you're not insane."

  He chuckled. "Thank you for that."

  They sat holding one another in the quiet.

  Presently, he said, "Is Valerie still with Elyse?"

  Teresza nodded. "That's where I left her. She must be ravenous by now."

  "You mean, like always?"

  She giggled. "I guess." She rose and pulled him along with her. "Time to see to her dinner!"

  And for you to say goodbye.

  Elyse wasn't in her bedroom. Neither was Valerie. They descended the stairs and made their way to the kitchen, and found Valerie lying on the great oaken table, swaddled in a silken blanket. Elyse, Teodor, Charisse, and Chuck were there as well, in varying states of dishabille.

  Armand stopped in the archway. Grinned and beckoned them to him. They rose and went to him, and he enveloped them in a single enormous hug.

  "Thanks, all of you," he murmured. "For everything. There's no better gang of conspirators anywhere on Hope. But it's time for me to stand to battle. If...things don't go well, will you look after Terry and Val for me?"

  Teresza stood motionless, mouth clamped shut.

  Elyse's eyes widened. "Are you saying you might be leaving us again?"

  "It's possible, Mom," he said. "I don't like the idea any more than you do. But I have to do this. There's a lot on the line. Trust me?"

  Her eyes filled with tears. She nodded.

  Armand's eyes moved to Teodor Chistyakowski's. "Will you take care of my mother, Teodor?"

  The genesmith started to speak, bit it back. He nodded.

  Armand turned to Chuck Feigner. "I don't have to ask about Chary, do I?"

  His roommate chuckled. "More likely she'll be taking care of me."

  Armand's expression didn't waver. "What about Teresza and Valerie?"

  Chuck's face became as serious as Armand's. "Count on it."

  Armand kissed each of them in turn, went to the table, and gathered Valerie into his arms. The baby smiled and cooed. He beckoned Teresza to him and took her hand.

  "Wish me luck," he said.

  ***

  Idem's pain and fear at the fury from above was matched by the agony of anticipation It felt for Armand's return. It could no longer doubt that without the assistance of Its new friend's full, recently unleashed powers, It would succumb to the rage of the Other.

  Its redoubt rang continuously from the telekinetic assault. The Other's psi blasts had begun to chip bits of the nickel-iron shield away from the outer surface. When a blast struck one of the thinned surfaces, the amplitude of the jolt was enough to interrupt Idem's consciousness.

  It could barely resist yanking Armand forcibly into communion. When the human lay down on his bed and composed himself to return, Idem, had It lungs and breath with which to do so, would have gasped in relief. It sent a frantic pulse through the psi channel that linked their two minds, rocking Armand so badly that his body spasmed and hissed from the force of it.

  Yet above all other things, It felt relief.

  ***

  WE MUST ACT SWIFTLY. MY FORTRESS IS FAILING.

  How can I help?

  HELP ME REINFORCE THE WORST-WEAKENED PORTIONS.

  THERE IS DANGER. I MUST OPEN A PORTAL IN THE SHIELD.

  Why? You didn't need to do that when we dealt with the glaciers.

  THIS IS DIFFERENT. MUCH GREATER POWER, MUCH FINER FOCUS WILL BE REQUIRED. I CANNOT DIRECT THE FLOWS AS I MUST WITHOUT MORE DIRECT CONTACT.

  Let's do it.

  The human's obvious confidence in Idem, though plainly unjustified, permeated and soothed It as an injection of tranquilizer would have done to a human. Listening all the while for any sign that the Other could sense Its movements, It drilled a narrow hole through Its defenses, just barely wide enough to permit direct telekinetic manipulation of the molten metal beyond, reinforced it against collapse, and beckoned Armand into rapport.

  Armand agreed without hesitation. They linked their powers and set to work.

  ***

  Teresza sat beside her unconscious husband, clutching Valerie to her breast. The infant suckled with her usual greed, utterly heedless of the battle for her survival and that of all her kind.

  I wish I knew as little about what's happening as she does.

  What am I thinking? Whatever's goin
g on, I'll only learn the outcome when Armand returns to...this world, or when the world ends around us. And I have no idea how long it'll be before then. I might as well be Val.

  We all might as well be. After twelve hundred years of independence, struggle, and progress, the fate of Mankind lies in the hands of a single man. And no one else on Hope can do a thing to help him.

  So much for our dream of freedom.

  Valerie released her nipple and belched. Teresza smiled involuntarily, put the baby to her shoulder and patted her gently on the back. Valerie cooed. Teresza laid her gently on the bed next to Armand, and his arm curled around her in response. The baby's eyes slid closed in post-prandial lassitude.

  Teresza's eyes moved to where Maria Simpson's book lay, on the floor near the foot of the bed.

  Maybe not. Maybe there's something I can do.

  She stooped, scooped up the little volume, opened it at random, and read aloud.

  "Now it came to pass on a certain day, that he went into a ship with his disciples; and he said unto them, Let us go over unto the other side of the lake. And they launched forth. But as they sailed he fell asleep, and there came a great wind upon the lake, and they were tossed to and fro, and in fear for the danger. And they came to him, and awoke him, saying, Master, master, we perish! But he arose, and rebuked the wind and stilled the waters, and calm returned. And he said unto them, Where is your faith? And they muttered to one another, What manner of man is he, who can command the winds and the sea?"

  "Ask and ye shall receive," she murmured. "Knock, and the door shall be opened to you." She laid the book aside, descended to her knees, and folded her hands.

  "Lord Jesus," she whispered, "we're not all that well acquainted, and this feels a little presumptuous. But if you have the time and the inclination, may I ask a favor? My husband is doing battle for the life of the world. Sort of like what you did on the lake, whenever that was. It's our bodies rather than our souls that are at risk, but, well...could you lend a hand? At least to help my husband give it his best, so that whatever way it comes out, he won't have any regrets?

  "Lord, if we're doomed to perish, I hope you'll judge us on our merits. We've had no knowledge of you for twelve hundred years. Somehow, when we made the Hegira, we...most of us...left you behind. Maybe our ancestors thought we wouldn't need you. If they -- if we were wrong, please think of us as uninstructed rather than rebellious. Give us the benefit of the doubt.