The Father Unbound

by Frank Kennedy

  “Very good, sir,” Elizer said under his breath. Ephraim recognized the hesitation but refused to address it. They had been dancing around this topic for days.

  “So tell me, what news from Asra?” The regent asked, and Elizer twisted his fingers through the holocube to retrieve a new set of data.

  “Our intel on the Trayem boy is largely unchanged. His fame on the haepong pack continues to grow in spite of the general discord between him and some of his teammates and his elders. They say he is exceptionally angry, arrogant, and routinely insubordinate. However, most of those around him are treating his behavior as a byproduct of his celebrity, not as a product of the incident six years ago.”

  “So he still refrains from openly preaching against the Chancellory?”

  “Correct. Evidence continues to point to his gene-father. Ever since Trayem Azir was granted entry into the Ministry, the boy has shown no movement toward sedition.”

  Ephraim enjoyed a cookie. “White chocolate. Wonderful. Yes? Make a note. I’ll take four cookies with my tea effective tomorrow.” After Elizer confirmed the request, Ephraim continued. “The key is indeed the gene-father. Elizer, it is time to intervene. Yes? The arrangements we discussed a few months ago – are they in the works?”

  “Yes, sir. Rumors have begun to circulate at the Ministry. No one will be able to prove anything – as you predicted – but some colleagues have begun to make assumptions about Azir.”

  “Naturally, he can do nothing to refute them.”

  “Naturally. As you anticipated, his ambition has manifested itself in questionable ethics.”

  “Good. I trust you have been working with our operatives on laying out the next stage?”

  “Yes. I believe we have an excellent window of opportunity in about three months. There will be a First Tier tournament of some notice at the Haepong Bowl. The Trayem boy will be three days past his fourteenth birthday. The atmosphere should provide the crucible you predicted. Do I give the go-ahead to our people?”

  “For all but the final piece, yes.” Ephraim grabbed Elizer by the hand. “That one, I wish you to take care of personally. You are more suitably skilled, and we do not want to expose our grounders to unnecessary risk.” He looked into Elizer’s eyes and could see the slightest nudge of hesitation. Had five years away from the UG stripped off the warrior’s edge?

  “Elizer. Sweet Elizer. The coming months are important. Trayem Hadeed will become a man. It is vital that we steer him onto the path before he becomes comfortable with the privileges of Hiebim manhood. If he finds comfort in his new status, we will lose him forever. I have no intention of forfeiting a six-year investment in this way. You do understand. Yes?”

  Elizer tapped off the holocube and stood, walking to the edge of the balcony, his back to Ephraim. “Of course I don’t understand, sir. I never have. You’ve never trusted me enough to tell me where all this is leading. We are engaged in so many dangerous tactics on so many fronts. I trust in your genius that there is a plan, but I fear we will overreach.” He sighed. “Trayem. The twenty-five other Genysen displants. That siren from Polemicus. That one … she’s asking too much of you, sir. She’ll betray you to a Sanctum, I’m sure of it. She’s an indigo, sir. She’s not worthy. I …” He took a long, deep breath and swirled about. “I wish you would trust me as I have trusted you. I’ve given you everything I have for six years.”

  Ephraim rose. He came close and pierced into the young man’s hazel eyes, now tinted blue through the regent’s glasses. He saw the flicker of naiveté in his aide, a remnant of a boy who served admirably in the peacekeepers but left duty behind to serve personal ambition. Elizer’s long, fluttering eyelashes were shadowed with just a tinge of liner, and his skin was pure and tight, devoid of the rigid, muscular lines so common after retirement from the UG. He admired Elizer’s fastidious efforts to maintain a perfectly groomed, lean and efficient body since the recursion therapy while keeping hard, bulging pectorals – Ephraim’s personal favorite attribute. He ran a hand across his aide’s ivory crew cut and almost allowed the stimulation to break his train of thought. Almost.

  “One day, you will be a ranking member of a presidium,” he told the aide. “You will thank me for having shielded you from the truth. Of greater importance, you will have learned a central tenet of life in the presidium: Trust is neither earned nor given. It is an abstract, and presidiums only deal in that which can be quantified. Yes? I believe it is time for you to go about your responsibilities.”

  “Yes, sir.” Elizer gathered up the tray with the empty cup and a few cookie crumbs. “Sir, I apologize for speaking out of turn. Sometimes I …” He dropped a visible lump down his throat. “Ephraim, it’s been a month. I’m worried that after Professor Brium accepts your proposal …”

  Ephraim saw the desperate glimmer in those hazel eyes.

  “Sweet Elizer. This has always been about my needs. Yes? We have discussed this. Everything I do is part of a necessary progression. You will not always be central to that progression. I continue to expect professionalism from you, along with the occasional intermix of that famous Elizer wit. When I require your other services, I will call you to my chamber.” He motioned Elizer away, but as the aide took the first few steps, his back slowly straightening again, Ephraim coughed. “And never forget: If you realize that your loyalty to me has become something else … if love ever enters your mind … put a plasma pistol to your head and shoot yourself. Or I will do it for you. Yes?”

  Elizer nodded. “Of course, sir. I won’t forget. Tomorrow, four cookies with your tea.”

  Ephraim watched Elizer disappear into the adjunct offices and wished he had not been so firm. Elizer did not understand the scope of the mission and likely would have fled aboard the first intercolonial transport had he known what might lie ahead.

  “No,” he whispered. “The truth is not for you, my friend.”

  Ephraim gathered himself and retreated to his circular office in the Chancellor consulate wing of the Peoples Union. The room was Spartan, as he preferred, with walls devoid of any of the traditional Hiebim murals. The furniture consisted only of a hand-crafted settee with aquamarine cushion – imported from Earth and more valuable than an average Hiebim’s annual pay – and a levitating CV console with a flat, translucent control board perfectly positioned chest-high. It was here he conducted the business of peacekeeper relations, always in repose as those around him stood uncomfortably in the deep, central well.

  Ephraim took his seat, lit his pipe and crossed his legs. He took a long draw upon his pipe, allowed the sweet purple fumes to engulf his lungs, and exhaled slowly.

  “Atmosphere,” he said, briefly waving his left hand toward the ceiling. At once, the room’s glow softened as inset lights dimmed and violins played his favorite allegro from Dostani’s Symphony No. 4. He laid a hand upon the translucent control panel, and a wall of water seemed to appear before him, half as high as the ceiling and five meters across. The water coalesced into a sea of pulsating images, classified documents, Sanctum transmissions and global stream vids representing his day’s administrative busywork. He smiled, having no desire to engage in the minutiae of business. Instead, he tapped his amp, pointed to the CV console, and transferred data to the pulsating wall. Within seconds, he was rewarded with visions of natural beauty from the far corners of Earth.

  He allowed the grandeur to wash over him and rekindle the longing to return to his birth world. He had not been there in almost ten years. He allowed the violins to cleanse his nerves of tension as he dreamed of the enormity of it all. Ephraim was so caught up in the intoxication, he did not sense the passage of time or hear the whisper of his office door as it slid open and shut.

  “Are you Prime Regent or Prime Napper?”

  Ephraim opened his eyes to the woman’s voice but refused to betray his surprise. He gently tucked his pipe into a pocket on his vest and waved off the wall of images.

  “Beautiful symphony. Yes?”

  The woman t
apped her right foot as she stood, hands across her chest, in the center of the well. “I can see already that you have no interest in what I have to say,” she ticked off. “Could not even be awake to greet me, and you don’t have the courtesy of so much as one chair?”

  Ephraim smiled. “Professor Genevieve Brium. Like an arrow through the heart, straight and true. Exactly as I was told to expect.”

  “So you knew I was coming? I would never have guessed, Prime Regent.”

  “Please. Sir Ephraim will suffice. Actually,” he said, rising from the settee, “Ephraim. And as for the chair … I am not a great fan of furniture. The geometry of the room provides all the functionality I require.”

  He took four steps down into the well and followed his side-nod with an extension of his hand. Genevieve shook it, but with cold expedience. Ephraim did not care for her light blue, mesh bodysuit. It was the style among the scientific set, he was told, but he thought it an awful substitute for a healthy sarong.

  “I see,” she said. “The plebeians gather in the well, extol the virtues of your office, curry favor in the fewest words possible, wait for your exalted verdict, then leave. Am I close?”

  “Very. I am a strong believer in efficient bureaucracy.”

  “Some would say those words are contradictions.”

  “Most, I would think. Nevertheless, it is a pleasant illusion.”

  Genevieve scanned the minimalist office, her chin noticeably elevated in the sort of smug, judgmental style that Ephraim had come to expect from any Chancellor who believed herself entitled to a much larger piece of the Collectorate. Or, as Ephraim would define it, the natural state of any garden-variety Chancellor anywhere, any place. He liked her already.

  “I suppose I should thank you for finally seeing me,” Genevieve said. “I want to resolve the matter of the geothermal mapping and other funding issues today. I have been shuttled through the Sanctum hierarchy too long, and my credentials are …”

  “Troubling to some, I would suppose. Yes? The Brium name is not in vogue, as they say. In truth, Professor … may I call you Genevieve?”

  Her pallor had faded, and she hesitated. “Yes. Call me what you will so long as I can have resolution.”

  “Magnificent. Genevieve, your scientific credentials as codified by the Sanctum are impeccable. However, you understand all too well the problems associated with a tainted lineage. The Chancellory is not by design forgiving, even to descendants. The fact is, Brium is no more or less consequential than Hollander. There are those in my lineage for whom I have no use, but others for whom I have the greatest admiration. They are the fighters. You are a fighter. I postponed our first three meetings not because of your name but because I wanted to measure your persistence. And to address your initial concern, yes, I am prepared to resolve all funding issues today … and perhaps for the rest of your life.”

  Ephraim knew he had her at a speechless moment. She blinked twice and ran a hand through her close-cut, short-cropped red hair.

  “My life? What do you mean?”

  “Simple, really. Every door opened. Every ambition fulfilled.”

  “Excuse me? I am not the sort to be toyed with.”

  “Not at all, Genevieve. I have read your complete dossier. To be honest, I am surprised you have not killed anyone. You are one truly remarkable challenge. But I have a proposal that I very much doubt you will leave on the table.”

  “Here I am. Listening.”

  “Hmmph.” Ephraim returned to the comfort of the settee. Genevieve started to follow, but he raised a finger in warning. When he turned and sat, Ephraim saw her back in the center of the well, as much at his mercy as all the others – yet so much more important.

  “First,” he said, “you must understand that the geothermal project is no longer yours and will not be yours under any circumstances.”

  “What? I was the first to …”

  “Dr. Kendrick Sayn will continue with his work, and he will do so alone. My office has direct control over his apparatus.”

  “Sayn is a bastard. He took advantage of my family crisis to steal …”

  “Yes, quite possibly. But also of no consequence. Genevieve, let us be honest. You have no interest in the geothermal mapping of Hiebimini. You never did. You proposed it only because the presidiums refused to fund your most ambitious projects. Yes? You are an explorer at heart. Yes? You have written about the need for the Collectorate to study the galaxy beyond its borders. What you truly need is to find favor within the Corporate Oversight Presidium. And those doors closed thanks to your grandmother’s impropriety. What I have in mind will not only open those doors but one day give you a seat at the table. Interested?”

  Ephraim saw the glimmer of excitement in her eyes, mingled with reasonable skepticism. Genevieve shook her head.

  “How? You’re not even a member of Corporate …” Recognition fell over her features as Ephraim grinned. “You have ties to Corporate? How is that possible?”

  “Me in Corporate? I doubt I said such a thing. You know very well the membership is shielded from full public disclosure. Then again, there were those rumors about invitations offered to certain colonial regents. Rumors, you understand. Yes?”

  Genevieve nodded. “Yes. Rumors. Of course. Then let us suppose a certain colonial regent had Corporate access. Why would he give entrée to a Sanctum scientific consultant he doesn’t know?”

  “He would not,” Ephraim said with matter-of-fact certainty. “However, if the consultant were his wife …”

  “Beg pardon?”

  Ephraim removed his pipe, massaged the neck to light it, and took a puff.

  “To the point. I am need of a wife, and you are in need of scientific glory. I believe it would make for a perfect arrangement.”

  She threw up her hands. “No, no. You’re raving mad. You want a wife? There are plenty of disposable lapdogs on any Carrier. I have no use for marriage.”

  “You do now. Oh, and I want a son. This part is especially important. I am the only one of my lineage, and I would very much like it to continue.”

  “A son? Contract out with a farm if you need one of those so badly.”

  “No. Must be natural. A true family.”

  “What? You’re one of those bloody traditionalists? No. You have wasted my day …”

  “Please, Genevieve. Enough with the histrionics. As soon as you take the Hollander name, the stain upon your family will be dissolved. All I ask is that you bear me a son, and I will repay you with a place among the most select of all Chancellors. You may even enjoy my company. One day, possibly, remote I’ll grant you, I might even offer you … love. It is a fair deal, Genevieve. Think it over. You can even wait until tomorrow to say yes.”

  She flailed. “I … I don’t … you are beyond belief.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “I can’t do this now. This is too much to consider.”

  “Sleep on it. My aide will expect to hear from you.”

  She did not move at first, and Ephraim wondered whether she might stand in the well until coming to her senses with the logical decision. Yet Genevieve gave up on whatever torturous debate swirled inside and finally headed toward the exit.

  “Those glasses of yours look positively ridiculous,” she said as the door slipped open.

  Ephraim laughed through a puff.

  “Sounds like a wife already.”

  His smile disappeared at once, however, as he removed the blue glasses and examined them. He wore them almost every waking moment even though he did not need them to augment his sight. He wore them to confuse the locals, to impress other Chancellors who desperately wanted a pair just like his, and to remind himself of what was stake. Yet he had not used them for their true purpose in almost six years.

  “Perhaps …” he started then reconsidered. As moments in his life went, as stages in the greater mission were concerned, this morning could be considered significant. Perhaps it was time to share his news, to reflect with those w
ho would understand and commiserate.

  Ephraim took another few puffs then cooled the pipe and set it aside. Yes, he told himself. Maybe this is the right time. Have they noticed how long I have been away?

  He waved; the music from Symphony No. 4 resumed. Then Ephraim slipped on his glasses and relaxed.

  “Come to me,” he said with emphasis.

  His office dissolved in a blur. Within seconds, he heard laughter, the clinking of glasses, the tapping of shoes on a dance floor, and the raucous melody of a swing band. He had arrived in the middle of a trumpet solo.

  Ephraim stared at the curiosity of a European cabaret. Judging by the architecture – the dark wood paneling, the checkerboard tile floors, the velvet curtains behind the stage, and the glass tables with candles in the center of each – he recognized the cabaret as a product of the late Eglantine Period, most likely in Germania. Not his favorite choice for a reunion.

  Clouds of tobacco smoke hovered over more than fifty patrons, some of whom were tapping their feet to the rhythms of the band; but most seemed preoccupied, lost in intimate conversation. Many leaned over to whisper, occasionally to laugh out loud at jokes no others could hear. The tables were overburdened with liquor glasses and champagne flutes clustered among bottles of vodka, rum, churned whiskey, and assorted variations of classic bubbly. As usual at these reunions, an inordinate number of patrons were already quite inebriated. This was, after all, the way many preferred to arrive. They didn’t need alcohol to alter their states. A few less drunk took to the dance floor beneath a spotlight, the room’s only electronic light.

  Ephraim turned to the mahogany countertop beside him and grabbed a glass of red wine, which was waiting for him as he had hoped. He took a sip but tasted nothing, felt only the sensation of a smooth, nuanced liquid passing through his body.

  He knew each of the patrons by name or, at the very least, reputation. He had spoken to most at one time or other and often wondered whether they were all worthy of being here. Although their dress was a wild mishmash – tuxedoes, red-beaded evening gowns, military uniforms, form-fitting tunics, three-piece business suits with multicolored ties, sarongs, and black leather – they had one accoutrement in common. Each wore the identical pair of blue glasses. A thunderous, rolling voice came at him from his left.