Flash

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Needless to say, the "coincidences" were striking. Not a word of it would have survived a determined advocate, but somehow, I just didn't believe that the events of such a compilation, especially from Central Four, represented mere coincidence.

  The last section was the largest, and it had volumes of information on the Patriots Against Multilateral Domination, as well as on Better Life Now, or BLN, which was a Mars-based group that was even more rabid than PAMD, and responsible for several violent demonstrations in Serenium, in which a number of CorPak safos reporting to MultiCor had been killed. According to the funding trails detailed in the document, credits had gone from the Centre for Societal Research to the Centre for Independent Scholarship on Mars and then to BLN.

  In a backward way, it made perfect sense. The violent demonstrations would justify MultiCor's tight hold on Mars and undermine PAMD efforts at independence or social reform.

  Central Four ... you have other evidence?

  There are other occurrences, but those are not public, and there are conclusions to be drawn. Revealing private actions and drawing such conclusions would violate the Privacy Acts, and that is a hard system prohibition.

  I see. What I didn't see was how I could get around those prohibitions ... or how Paula or Central could.

  You should have enough to begin looking into the issues.

  I supposed that I did, and I also had to spend some time figuring out how to get back to making a living, at least part of the time, as well as determining what to move to Dierk's and Aliora's and when.

  I scoped out what Reya had given me before Bruce Fuller linked.

  "Jonat!" Bruce exclaimed. "I'm glad to see you're back and healthy. The newsies said you might be crippled..."

  "I took the option of some risky medical treatments. I was lucky. They worked." I gave a wry smile. "I appreciate your link." I waited.

  "You're still consulting...?"

  I offered a laugh. "I still have to make a living."

  "Reilin has a problem..."

  I listened, and he sent me the background.

  A messenger delivered a sealed document from Asnart before noon. Inside was yet another sealed envelope, engraved with Aliora's name and nothing more. I looked at it for several minutes before opening it.

  I began to read.

  Dear Jonat,

  I do hope that you never see this, and that all my worrying is for nothing. I have rewritten this every six months since Charis was born, but both Dierk and I feel that it is for the best that you raise our children. You are kind and strong, even if you don't exactly understand who you are. But then, it could be that having children will resolve that. It did for us.

  As you know, Charis is extremely headstrong, more so than you know. She is also extraordinarily sensitive, which you may not know. When you discipline her, gentleness and firmness must go hand in hand. Without gentleness, she withdraws into herself. Without firmness, she will not believe that you mean it. In that, you and Dierk are much alike, and I do not believe you will have too much difficulty. Alan will require more firmness, but is not quite so sensitive, unless he feels Charis is getting something he is not...

  It was hard to read Aliora's words as she went on to detail schedules, habits, clothes for certain activities, doctors, and even the names of the children's teachers, including Charis's piano teacher. Luckily, for me, the piano teacher was paid extra to give Charis her lessons at the house, but I'd still have to work out more than a few transport details.

  As I read the last words, I stiffened.

  Dierk has also left some instructions for you. They're under your favorite wine, he says. You know where the system codes are...

  I wasn't sure exactly what she meant by my favorite wine, but the instructions were somewhere in Dierk's system. At least, that was the implication.

  After I finished reading, I set down the "instructions." I'd need to read them again, several times. I'd only thought my life had been hectic before. Now, I'd have to do everything I'd done before, plus take care of two children, and deal with Central Four, as well as undertake a crusade of sorts, because sooner or later, if I didn't, I had the feeling that people would come hunting for me again. At the same time, that situation made matters worse. Charis and Alan had been through enough. They didn't need more upsets, but they also didn't need to lose their uncle as well as their parents.

  And I hadn't been home a half day yet.

  Chapter 56

  The remainder of the week vanished in a swirl of links, scrambled efforts at consulting, linktimes with Charis and Alan, because I just didn't want to appear out of the blue on Friday. I also had some brief time to think over my study for the Centre. I couldn't help considering it played a part in what had happened, not after the information Central Four had sent.

  Ostensibly, the Centre's aim had been for my work to point out, in a dispassionate and scholarly fashion, that Carlisimo, and perhaps others, had developed or were developing a methodology by which commercial products became surrogate support for him in his campaign for the Senate seat from the West Tejas district. The study—my study— had already become the principal evidence in hearings before the House and Senate Governmental Affairs Committees. Another round of hearings was scheduled after the first of the year, and it looked likely that those hearings would result in legislation further restricting such activities.

  That all might seem fairly open but I knew, even if I couldn't prove it, that far more was at stake.

  Too many things didn't make sense to me. Why had the Centre commissioned the study so late—far too late to affect the elections? That hadn't been its purpose. And someone had wanted the best, someone whose reputation for accuracy was known, not only academically, but also throughout the media and business communities. Carlisimo had been elected. With his flair for publicity and his innate abilities, barring some extreme mistake, he'd be reelected, even if the Legislature put curbs on the use of the techniques he'd developed.

  Senator Crosslin was pushing the legislation as "reform," and it certainly seemed that way. But it couldn't be a real reform. I just didn't get why the backers of the Senate wanted that reform, since their candidates were far more likely to have the resources to use rez-based techniques than the PD candidates. I hated not understanding something like that.

  I forced myself to put that aside until I dealt with everything surrounding Charis and Alan. Or until I got more information from Central Four. If I did ... and that worried me as well.

  The details involving the children went on and on. The two remaining groundcars, the house—everything was in a trust, and while I was the executor of the trust, I had to get myself registered, insured, and bonded. While the trust paid for that, which seemed rather odd, it all had to be done. Then I had to go to Southhills Academy and introduce myself to everyone and get the records changed to show me as guardian. That wasn't too bad, except for the one teacher who really showed an uncomfortable interest when she discovered that I was single.

  I fibbed, saying that I was close to being committed. I didn't say to whom or what.

  On Friday morning, Deidre and Rousel removed their things once Charis and Alan were at school, the last day before the holidays, and I brought in everything I'd need for a while. I felt strange looking over the master suite, but I had arranged for all the accessories to be changed— wall-hangings, the carpets over the parquet flooring, even the paintings on the walls. While that would be somewhat of a shock, I had the feeling that my appearing in the same setting as their parents would set the wrong tenor for things.

  I didn't have much experience with children. All I had were my feelings and Aliora's faith in me. Neither was probably enough, but they were all I had.

  I barely had the master suite half put back together and my consulting files transferred into a partitioned section of Dierk's system before I had to take the remaining groundcar—a sedate Jacara—and head out to the Southhills Academy. My two-seat Altimus wasn't big enough for Charis and Alan
. I'd either need to replace it or add another vehicle, and neither would be inexpensive.

  Somehow, I was waiting in the parental vehicle queue at four o'clock, and that was a position I'd never considered. I did feel safe there, though. I doubted that my enemies would attempt something in the midst of so many parents and children. They certainly could have cared less about killing people, but there was too great a danger of killing the children and spouses of the wrong people.

  I inched forward, bit by bit, until I could make out Charis and Alan. Charis recognized the Jacara before she recognized me, but she wasn't slow to greet me.

  "Uncle Jonat! You're here! I get the front!" That was Charis. She was in the front seat of the Jacara before she finished speaking.

  "Hello." Alan didn't look at me as he heaved himself into the backseat.

  "Hello." I smiled, not too broadly, and looked at Charis. "Do you have all your datablocs?"

  "Yes, Uncle Jonat."

  "And you have your reader cards, Alan?"

  The five-year-old nodded.

  Neither said much more until I was away from the Academy and headed eastward toward the turnoff for Old Carriage Lane.

  "Will we see Aunt Deidre and Uncle Rousel this afternoon?"

  "No. They had to get back to their house. But they'll be over for Christmas eve tomorrow night, and for Christmas dinner." It was definitely a good thing, because, while my food preparation skills were adequate, they weren't up to a full dinner, and Deidre had been most gracious in offering to help. We'd gone over the menu, and I'd ordered everything and gotten it delivered.

  "It won't be as good ... as Mother's was," Alan said.

  "No," I admitted. "But your aunt is going to help, and we will be together."

  "Can you cook, Uncle Jonat?" asked Charis.

  "Yes. Not as well as your mother, but better than many people." I'd had to learn, because I hated reformulated food and disliked going out to eat alone.

  "What's for dinner?" asked the pragmatic Alan.

  "Whatever I fix. I'd thought we might have pork chops with potatoes, green beans, and fried apples."

  "Fried apples?" Charis's voice held surprise and horror.

  "You fry them in butter with maple syrup and a little cinnamon. They're much better than mushy applesauce." I also enjoyed them cool, as leftovers. I'd had a lot of leftovers over the past ten years.

  I didn't glance at the two, but I could sense the look that passed between them. Their uncle had a lot to learn. One just didn't fry apples.

  I smiled. "Your mother had a rule, as I remember."

  More silence.

  "You didn't have to eat everything on your plate, but you did have to take at least one bite from everything."

  Charis offered a groan.

  After a moment, she said, "You're not Mother, though."

  "No, I'm not. But I thought her rules were good, and she left me a letter asking me to follow them."

  Surprisingly, I got a nod—a small and reluctant nod, but a nod from Charis. Alan, I suspected, remained horrified by the thought of frying apples.

  When we returned to the house, I made sure of security, then headed to the kitchen.

  The two were allowed one hour of linktime when they got home from school, but they had to watch together. Aliora had been firm about that, saying it was part of learning to work things out. I used that time to fix dinner. Even so, they actually got about an hour and ten minutes before I announced that dinner was ready. No one even peered into the enormous kitchen with center island stove that could have handled the needs of most restaurants. I thought they were afraid that they might actually see me frying apples.

  When they sat down, I looked to Charis. "You'll have to say grace."

  She cleared her throat. "Thank you, God above all, for the goodness of life and for the bounty that we behold, and please bring better lives to all those who suffer and are in want or need."

  I nodded. "Thank you."

  "That's the short one."

  "You can say the long one tomorrow."

  Alan looked at his plate. I'd already cut his chops into pieces, but not Charis's. Finally, he speared a piece with his fork, the smallest piece, and put it in his mouth. He must have decided it wasn't poison or worse, because he immediately had another.

  On the other hand, Charis picked out the smallest chunk of fried apple, as if to get the terrible substance taken care of first, and slowly lifted it into her mouth.

  A puzzled expression flashed across her face. Then she looked at me. "Those are good."

  I managed not to laugh, because her words implied that it was amazing that I could cook something good that she didn't know about. "I've always liked them. I always thought applesauce was mushy."

  Because I was hungry, I didn't press for conversation.

  We were about halfway through dinner when Charis stopped and looked at me. "What really happened to you, Uncle Jonat?"

  "I was hurt. Someone shot a rocket at me, like they did at your mother and father. I was lucky because it happened closer to my house and I'd already linked for help when I got hit."

  "Aunt Deidre said you should have linked us," said Alan.

  "I should have," I admitted, "but I couldn't. I got taken to a research center because it was close. They didn't have any links close to me. And my jaw and lungs were hurt so badly that I couldn't talk until just a few days before I got out."

  "You didn't link then," Charis said.

  "I didn't. The people at the center asked me not to. They do very special research, and they were afraid other people would find out about it. They saved my life, and they didn't ask much except for that."

  "You still should have linked," said Alan.

  "I can't change what I didn't do. We can only change what we do from now on."

  There was another look between brother and sister, and it was one I couldn't interpret.

  Although Charis ate every bit of her fried apples, and even dipped the last bits of chop in the sauce, Alan wasn't convinced. He ate everything else, leaving the apples on the corner of his plate until the very last.

  Finally, he speared the smallest portion and ate slowly.

  "It's all right."

  Charis grinned at me as he gobbled up the rest of his apples.

  Then ... dinner was over, and the two were fidgeting in their chairs.

  I stood, and they carried their dishes to the cleaner, stacking them inside.

  "Bath time ... and don't forget to wash your hair, Charis," I reminded her as she headed up the stairs.

  She glanced back, as if to say something, and her eyes glistened. Then she shook her head, minutely, and hurried up the stairs. I had the feeling that my words had been too close to Aliora's, but I'd been following the routines that I'd seen.

  I cleaned up the mess I'd made in the kitchen—partly from just not knowing where things were—and within a few minutes of finishing, Alan peered down the stairs, holding a book.

  "You ready for me to read?"

  He nodded solemnly.

  I headed up the wide marble steps to the upper level.

  Reading time was always in the sitting room outside their respective bedrooms, on an old soft leather couch covered with a cotton comforter. That made sense, because leather was either cold or sticky, especially for children in pajamas.

  I sat in the middle of the couch, and Charis plopped herself to my left, Alan to the right. Alan held two books, and Charis one. Charis's was thick.

  "You read Alan's first," she announced.

  I already knew that routine, but just nodded and looked at Alan. "Which one do you want me to start with?"

  He thrust Tyler Tiger's Tail at me.

  Tyler was a tiger, obviously, a white tiger, who was convinced he had no tail because whenever he turned to look at it, it wasn't there.

  The second book was an old one, one that I'd read before, The Three Billy Goats Gruff. That was also a tradition of sorts, because it was "my" story to read to them. Aliora h
ad always demurred, saying that it was "Uncle Jonat's."

  At that thought, for a moment, I could say nothing. Then I swallowed, and started in.

  The story did cheer me up, I have to admit, because I always enjoyed reading how the largest billy goat butted the nasty troll off the bridge and into the gorge.

  That is a good story ... for many reasons.

  I froze for a second at the sound and feel of Paula's voice through my implant. You surprised me.

  You read it well. Then she—or Central Four—was gone.

  "What is it, Uncle Jonat?" Charis asked.

  She was far too perceptive.

  "I was just thinking." That was true enough. "Now, your book."

  Hers was a fantasy, entitled Colors of the Gate.

  "One chapter, maybe two," I said.

  "They're short."

  "Well see."

  Alan was almost asleep by the time I finished the second chapter, and I carried him to bed and tucked him into bed.

  Charis didn't seem as sleepy, but she yawned as I straightened her counterpane.

  "You and Mother are the only ones who do that."

  "That's because our mother did it." I swallowed. "Don't forget your prayers."

  "I won't."

  Because prayers were private, I slipped out.

  Later that night, well after Charis and Alan were sound asleep, I went into Dierk's office and sat down before the console. I'd already used the emergency system codes and transferred the system to me, while allowing the limited usages for Charis and Alan, but I hadn't had a chance to look for Dierk's instructions.

  I had to laugh when I found the file key—Sebastopol pinot grigio, but all there was in the file was an article on the wine. I searched for hidden codes, and found one symbol. There was a question mark. I highlighted it. A question appeared: "Who dropped the bouquet?"

  I entered "Shioban."

  Text appeared, pages and pages. I began to read, and after a few lines of text, I wasn't laughing at all.