by Vicky Savage
“That’s so great,” I say. “Can we call Ralston and tell him right now?’
“I’ll send for him,” Narowyn says smiling. “And, though it’s not yet noon, I believe I’ll send for a bottle of champagne also. This calls for a bit of a celebration.”
Ralston and the champagne arrive at the same time. “What’s all this?” he asks, stepping inside.
“We won, Rals,” I say hugging him. “You don’t have to go back, and IUGA is banned from operating in Arumel and in Domerica forever.”
“What? The Court issued its order?” Ralston asks, clutching the back of a chair.
“Yes, this morning,” Ted says.
I introduce Rals to Ryder. He nods politely, but still seems stunned by the news of the Court’s decision. “Why would they release the decision on a Saturday?” he asks.
“Probably because it’s likely to cause a big uproar in the media,” Ted says. “Some will hail it as a landmark decision. Others will call the court biased and overreaching.”
“IUGA’s reaction will be sheer outrage,” Narowyn says, pouring the champagne into flutes. “They have no legal recourse do they, Teddy?”
“They can’t appeal the court’s order,” he says. “I suppose at some future date they may apply to have their charter in Arumel reinstated, but I don’t see that happening for many years if ever.”
“Rals, they also ordered an investigation of IUGA’s use of automatons,” I tell him. “If they find automatons killed humans at IUGA’s direction, they’ll revoke IUGA’s license to use automatons anywhere in the galaxy.”
His forehead wrinkles. “Oh dear, what will become of the million or so IUGA automatons if that were to happen? Will they be scrapped?”
I hadn’t thought about that.
“Perhaps the price of automatons will decrease, and ordinary institutions and families will be able to afford to employ them in more intellectual and peaceful occupations,” Narowyn says, passing out glasses of champagne.
“I hope you are correct,” Ralston says.
Narowyn raises her glass. “I propose a toast to Ted and Corinne for their brilliant efforts on behalf of Jaden and the Transcender Society.”
We all clink our glasses together.
Ryder leans in and kisses my cheek with champagne moistened lips. “Congratulations,” he whispers.
“This is truly a momentous occasion,” Narowyn says. “In fact, I believe I’ll ask everyone to convene in the library to celebrate with us. This is a watershed day for the Transcenders. Ted, Corinne, Mr. Blackthorn, will you stay for a while?”
“Most certainly,” Ted says taking another sip of champagne. Corinne nods.
“Actually, I should go and let you celebrate with your colleagues,” Ryder says. “I’ll stop by Eleanor’s house and share the good news with her. May I take a copy of the order?” he asks Ted.
“Yes, and please tell Commissioner Beckett, how grateful we are for all her help. Her amicus brief added credibility and depth to our claims.”
“Do you really have to go?” I say.
He smiles. “This is a major victory for the Transcender Society. I’m afraid I’d be a distraction. Can we make plans to get together this week?”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll walk you to the door.”
“You like picnics?” he asks when we reach the front door of the Chateau. “I live near Kistlethorn Park, and my neighborhood deli is on the way. I could pick up lunch for us.”
“I don’t know. I’ve been to Kistlethorn Park. It kind of creeped me out.”
He throws back his head and laughs. “Those trees are seriously disturbing, aren’t they? I’m shocked they allow school children inside. But there’s this little pond, away from the trees, with swans and lily pads. Very serene. Trust me.”
“All right, sounds fun. When?”
“Wednesday work for you?”
“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll meet you at the main entrance to the park at noon.”
“Fantastic. Savor your well-deserved victory today. Okay if I call you tomorrow?”
“I’d like that,” I say with a shamefully happy grin.
FIFTY-FOUR
Sunday morning couldn’t possibly be more glorious. The breeze is so mild it feels like I’m floating on a cloud as I sit and watch Callie romp around the Chateau courtyard while I mull over my day. I have kitchen duty tonight. For the first time, I’m in charge of planning the menu, which will necessitate several errands in town today. More importantly, I have a little clandestine excursion to make before I head out to do my marketing.
In light of the IGC Court’s decision, I no longer consider myself bound by the contract with IUGA. That means a short visit to Domerica shouldn’t ruffle anyone’s feathers. To avoid any possible protests, though, I don’t intend to let anyone know I’m going.
Back in my apartment, I slip into one of my uniforms to make it less likely that I’ll be recognized should someone in Domerica happen to glimpse me. I also strap on my pistol and utility belt just to be safe. The coordinates for Warrington Palace are already in my TPD bracelet, but I lock-in on a musty little storage room on the third floor. It’s almost certain to be empty, and it’s near the queen’s office—my intended destination.
Zzzt! After landing silently in the middle of the room, I tiptoe to the door and open it a crack. The hallway is darkened, which probably means no one is present on this floor yet. I hug the wall as I slink toward my former office, which I hope Lorelei has made her office now. After listening at the door for voices and hearing none, I turn the knob. Damn, it’s locked. Oh well. I make the short shift to the other side.
The soft, silvery-pink morning light has just begun sifting through the window panes, and I gaze down into the once familiar courtyard. Stacks of lumber and slabs of marble tell me that reconstruction of the destroyed parts of the palace is still ongoing.
I take a seat at my former desk. A beautiful letter opener with an ornately carved handle sits to one side. Lorelei’s remarkable silversmith work, no doubt. Taking the penlight from my utility belt, I parse through her files. When I come upon a file marked Dome Noir, I open it and skim through the contents.
Most of it is correspondence between Lorelei and a Prince Giscard. Recalling Ralston’s history lessons on Dome Noir, I place Giscard as King Philippe’s younger brother. With Prince Gilbert and Prince Jean Louis confined to Wall’s Edge Prison and King Philippe in poor health, Giscard must be handling the fragile political situation—and probably governing Dome Noir as well.
After scanning several pages of correspondence, I gather that a negotiation is underway to restore peace between Domerica and Dome Noir. Giscard’s tone is conciliatory and he renounces his nephews’ actions as abhorrent. He begs Lorelei to reopen discussions on building a new dome in order to save his country from civil war and internal destruction. He sounds like a man on the edge of desperation.
I find information suggesting that Lorelei released the Grand Duke from prison due to his advanced age, but it appears the two princes are scheduled for reeducation soon. The reeducation procedure involves surgically altering the brain to wipe out a person’s long-term memory, leaving them with no past or personal history. I view the practice as inhumane. As queen, I’d hoped to abolish it, but I never had the opportunity. Giscard formally requests that the young royals be exiled to Copula De Vita instead of reeducated. This would be a merciful but dangerous decision for Lorelei.
I search for her response on the opposite side of the file, but my hand freezes mid-air when I hear voices in the hallway. The voices stop at my door. At the sound of a key slipping into the lock, I slam the file closed and Zzzt.
I land back in the storage room and quickly reprogram my TPD with my next location. I didn’t find out everything I wanted to know at the palace, but I saw enough to know that Domerica has the upper hand in dealing with Dome Noir, and Lorelei seems to have things under control. I double click my bracelet and alight in the middle of my old bedroom in Father’s
manor house at the Enclave.
Everything is exactly the same as it was when I left. It’s as if Father expects me to return the way I did last time. It touches my heart to see a bowl piled with fresh pommeras sitting atop my desk. I slip two pieces of the bright pink fruit inside my uniform. Then I take a sheet of notepaper from the top drawer and, plucking the gold pen from its holder, I write: All is well. ~ J., in the center of the page and tuck one corner under the fruit bowl. I hope Father is the one who changes the fruit, but if he isn’t, I’m certain the housekeeper, Mrs. Hornsby, will show the note to him. She won’t know what to make of it, but he will, and I hope it brings him a bit of joy.
My final stop is nearby. I want to see my horse Gabriel one last time, so I shift to the back door of Father’s stables. Any number of stable boys are working this time of morning, but since the main doors are always propped open during the day, I’m comfortable landing here. After slipping inside, I take a moment to allow my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Two stable boys near the front banter back and forth loudly as they muck out adjoining stalls. They’re occupied enough that I’m confident they won’t notice me sneaking over to Gabriel’s stall.
As I draw closer, I see the stall door is open. I worry that Father may already be out for a morning ride. But when I peer around the corner, I’m elated to see both Father and Gabriel inside. I quickly shift to the empty stall opposite them, where I can watch unseen. Their backs are turned to me as Father works to saddle Gabriel. They both look wonderful. Father is handsome and robust as ever and Gabriel’s coat gleams. His tail is long and nicely groomed. Seeing Father is an unexpected pleasure, but it kind of blows my plan to feed Gabriel his favorite fruit, unless …
I decide to give it a try. I set one of the pommeras on the straw floor of my stall, and using my palm, I gently guide it low to the floor and across to Gabriel’s stall. I bring it to a stop just before it reaches Father’s boot. It makes a small sound as it comes to rest in the straw.
Father turns his head as if he senses someone’s presence, and then he notices the pommera at his foot. He picks it up and scans the stable area. “Jaden?” he says softly enough so that the stable boys don’t hear. I’m tempted to show myself to him, but my heart and head agree that it’s best to remain hidden. After a quiet moment, Father smiles widely. He tosses the pommera up in the air and catches it neatly in his right hand. “Thanks sweetheart,” he says in the same soft voice. He turns to Gabriel. “Look boy, someone sent you a treat.” Gabe takes the offered prize and munches it greedily. Father smiles again to himself and resumes his saddling.
Seeing him so well and communicating with him, indirectly at least, to let him know I’m fine, leaves me with a feeling of closure. I’m glad he and Gabriel have each other. I trust they will both live out happy lives in spite of the turmoil of the past.
My heart is light when I land back in my apartment. After changing into shopping clothes and grabbing my purse, I pull a slim red volume of poetry from my shelf and take out the faded sketch of Ryder. A few weeks back I came across a small art studio in town whose owner agreed to restore it and mount it in a small frame for me.
The weather remains gorgeous as I stroll down the city sidewalk. The combination of my satisfying visit to Domerica, the favorable court decision, and my upcoming picnic with Ryder has put me in the greatest spirits. I catch myself smiling at everyone I see. Half of them look at me like I’ve lost it, but the other half return my smile with good humor. One or two even give me a cross-arm salute—a sign of respect for Transcenders. Since the hearing and all the media coverage, I’m getting used to being recognized on the street.
I drop off the sketch at the art studio, and proceed to the farmers’ market to gather supplies for tonight’s dinner. I’ve decided to try my hand at making a baked pasta dish similar to the one I had in Venice on my birthday.
Narowyn asks me to sit with her at dinner. Thankfully, the meal turns out beautifully, and my fellow diners seem pleased—or at least not disgusted. I consider that a success.
“This dish is superb, Jaden,” Narowyn says. “You’re becoming quite a good cook.”
“I had a lot of help,” I say. “But, thanks.”
“I wished to speak with you because we’ve had a new grant come in,” she says, “and I’d like you to consider heading up the exploration team. I think you may enjoy this one a bit more than the last.”
“Of course. What is the mission?”
“An intriguing earth where it’s rumored that people indigenous to a particular rainforest have evolved with web-like arms, similar to batwings. It is said they can actually fly short distances.”
“Sounds remarkable,” I say, feeling thrilled and anxious at the same time.
“Come by my office in the morning, and we’ll discuss the details.”
FIFTY-FIVE
My exploration team and I are scheduled to leave Thursday. A host team will meet us in a small village near the rainforest. They will act as guides and liaisons with the Alarans, as the winged people are known.
I spend the beginning of the week making arrangements for being away and ensuring that my team has everything we need for the project. Asher won’t be along for this exploration, and it’ll seem strange not to have him to rely on. But Narowyn generously offers her assistance and guidance with all the planning and coordination of the mission. Things are coming together very well, and for the first time, I fully appreciate how much work goes into being a team leader.
Wednesday dawns golden, with cheery rays of sunlight dancing around the edges of my curtains. Thoughts of the upcoming exploration take a back seat to my excited anticipation of seeing Ryder and sharing a picnic with him. Though I’ve spoken with him briefly a few times this week, I’m anxious to be with him again.
I stand in my bedroom and stare at the contents of my closet. A half-dozen uniforms are lined up on the left side. On the right side are my everyday clothes, and in the middle I’ve arranged a few special outfits collected over the past year. In general, clothing in Arumel can be a tad boring. Eve introduced me to a couple of small boutiques downtown, though, that specialize in edgy but pretty women’s clothes made of neoprene and other interesting fabrics. I pull out my three favorite dresses and lay them across the bed to be decided on later.
Slipping into my desk chair, I fire up my notebook to go over my lists of exploration supplies and instructions once more. The ringing telephone interrupts me halfway through the list.
“Asher Steele calling,” Vasa says.
“Okay, I’ll take it. Hey, Ash.”
“Just calling to see if you’re all set for tomorrow,” he says.
“That’s so nice of you. I think I’m good.”
“You’ll make a great team leader, Jade. Don’t forget everything I taught you.”
“I’ll miss having you there, Ash. I hope you’ll keep your poly handy in case I have an emergency.”
“You’ll be fine. Hey, you want to have lunch today? I could give you a few more pointers.”
“I appreciate the invitation, but I’m having a picnic with Ryder Blackthorn today.”
He’s silent for a moment, and then he says, “Well … I hope you have a nice time. I mean that. Just be careful.”
“Thanks, Dad. Bye.”
I turn back to my notebook, but my phone immediately rings again.
“Dolce Art Studio calling,” Vasa says.
“Put it through.”
“Miss Beckett, this is Kelly at the art studio. I wanted to let you know that the restoration and framing of your sketch is completed and it’s ready to be picked up.”
“That’s great. I’ll stop by this afternoon. Thanks.”
The art studio is one street over from Kistlethorn Park, so I can pick it up on the way home from my picnic. I finish reviewing the checklist for the umpteenth time and switch off my notebook.
After taking a warm relaxing shower, I blow out my hair with a round brush to form long loose curls. I try on ea
ch of my favorite dresses before choosing a multi-colored silk sundress with a flouncy skirt. The air is still a bit chilly outside, so I top it off with a light-weight jean jacket. My polycom and berry lip gloss fit neatly into one of the pockets, and I’m set to go.
Callie flashes me her saddest puppy eyes as I open the door to a community car parked at the curb.
“Sorry girl. You can’t come this time. I have a date.”
She sits on the sidewalk and watches dolefully as I press my thumb onto the car’s ID pad, and the engine hums to life. “Good morning, Jaden Beckett,” the car says. “Where may I take you?”
“The main entrance of Kistlethorn park, please. Oh wait, drop me off a block from the main entrance.” I figure the short walk will help calm the raging butterfly fest in my stomach.
