Published: 26 Dec 2016

Part X

THREE WORLDS
Formerly Published as “0300 Books I, II, and III”

Chapter 26: Relocation and Promotion

At 1100, I was sitting in the Captain’s chair on the bridge. A susurrus of voices from the bridge crew nearly blocked the buzz of my communicator. I caught it, though.

“Stewart,” I said.

“The Newton and the people from CERN-Higgs are on station.” It was Admiral Davis’s voice. “When are you going to tell me what you’re planning, Paul?”

I was ready for this. “Right now, sir. First, we should make sure we can protect our universe from anything that might come through the rift from the Fundamentalist Universe. I consider their capabilities to attack us to be low and the forces we have on station to be adequate. Still, we need to be sure. We will continue and expand intelligence gathering.

“Second, we must find a way to return the people from Universe 2 to their own universe. This may involve creating a rift through which they can travel. That rift may be a permanent structure; there are political ramifications that only you can deal with. At the same time, we should find out all we can about the U-2 technology, including FTL space flight. There may be negotiations leading to concessions that only you can make. I’ll keep you informed.

“Third, we should decide what to do about the Fundamentalists. That’s going to be another political decision, not a technical one, sir. Still, we must help the kids from that universe, and provide homes for them or arm them and return them to the battlefield if they so wish.

“Finally, somewhere along the line, we should establish diplomatic relationships with U2 and the right people in U1.”

The Admiral replied instantly. “Sounds like you have a handle on it, Commodore. Davis out.”

I shut down the communicator and stared at nothing for a moment. I’d just been promoted. No, that didn’t get past me. I stayed in the seat only long enough to order the Hope assigned to Task Force Rift, and the shuttlecraft Carl Sagan and its crew assigned to me, personally. Then I stood up. “XO? Command team meeting in five minutes. Everyone, no exceptions.” I stood from my chair and headed for the briefing room.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice. At 1107 Zulu, the Command Team was dissolved.”

I deliberately hesitated just long enough for what I said to sink in but not so long that anyone would get too pissed off.

“As of that time, you are the Flag Team. Danny? I know you have been carrying around a pair of stars for me. Still have them?”

Danny blushed, and reached into one of the pouches of his utility belt. “Always, Commodore.” Several of the others gasped as they realized what that meant.

Danny and George removed the triple diamonds from my collar and pinned on the stars. Normally, we don’t do PDA—public display of affection. We made an exception, and I accepted a kiss from each of them.

“You all may have heard that a rising tide lifts all boats. It’s an old Navy tradition, and a good one. Junior Cadets; you are now Cadets. Cadets; you’re now Ensigns. Ensigns, you’re Lieutenants, junior grade. Jeff, you are now a Lieutenant—of the line. Artie, you are a Colonel. You would honor me if you would accept that commission as Colonel Artie Stewart, and take my name as my son.” That was what I had talked to Danny and George about, last night and George had been up at 0300 to talk to the rest of the GWGs. Danny and George were happy to be getting a new brother, and understood why I wouldn’t do sex stuff with him. I couldn’t say the same for the two of them, but that was going to be up to them.

Artie gasped and then grinned and nodded his head. The violations of the “no PDA” rule involved everyone in the room. Artie reeled from hugs and kisses.

“Cory, you’re already a Captain. I’m not sure I could promote you, anyway.” Cory nodded and I read his understanding.

“Jeff?” I addressed the XO. “We’ll have a pinning on ceremony for everyone at 1500 on the main flight deck. After that, the Flag Team will depart for the Charleston. You will stay here.”

Again, I paused exactly long enough. Damn, I loved it! “Jeff, you will assume command of the Hope. You’ll wear lieutenant’s bars, but will be called Captain. You’ll need a new Comm-O and Quartermaster; I’m taking Jonathan and Avery with me. Any questions?”

Jeff’s eyes lit up. “No, sir. I know just who to replace them. They’re both Cadets, but experienced.”

I answered his unspoken question.

“Yes, you may promote them to ensign. Sign the order, yourself, and dare anyone to complain.” Jeff nodded.

“Jonathan? Notify the Charleston that I will be moving my flag there at 1530 hours.

“George, pass on the news and the promotions to the rest of the team.

“Well, don’t you all have things to do?”

There was enough room for us in Kevin and Casey’s shuttle. The captain of the Charleston and several of his staff were waiting on the flight deck. I stepped from the Carl Sagan, and saluted the captain. “Permission to come aboard, sir.”

The captain returned my salute. “Welcome aboard, sir. I’m Captain Moultrie.” My staff lined up behind me for introductions.

“Intelligence Team Chief and Flag Pilot, Lieutenant Cathcart and his boyfriend, intel team and pilot, Ensign Freeman.”

(I’d figured out Kevin and Casey. After they’d kissed Artie earlier in the day, they’d sneaked in a most serious kiss of their own. Well, they thought they’d sneaked it in. George saw it, and relayed it to me. He also told me he’d felt them, strongly. It would soon be time to wake them, if they didn’t wake themselves.)

“Commanding my security detail are my sons, Ensign Stewart and his boyfriend Ensign Stewart-Rogers. They are both on the intel team; Flag Comm, Ensign Hanson; Ensign Hamlin is Flag Quartermaster. My adopted son and commander of forces from the Fundamentalist Universe is Colonel Artie Stewart. The commander of forces from Universe 2, Captain Cory Long; Lieutenant Carter, Universe 2 second-in-command and Cory’s boyfriend.”

I watched Captain Moultrie closely, and was pleased to see that he didn’t flinch when I announced the relationships. There were still some people who were a little old-fashioned about boyfriends serving in subordinate relationships. I was even happier when he introduced his people.

“Commodore, this is my son, Cadet Andrew Moultrie and his boyfriend, Cadet Daffyd Llewellyn. My XO, Lieutenant…” The names rolled on.

“If you agree,” the captain continued, “Andy and Daffyd will take your folks in hand and show them to quarters while I show you to the flag bridge.”

It was a reasonable offer, so I accepted.

The Flag Bridge was a duplicate of the main bridge with extra comm consoles and tactical displays, but without helm or weapons controls. It overlooked the main bridge through a huge window. Behind it were a large conference room, a ready room, and quarters for the flag. That was me. Okay, that was I. There was also a separate dining room, the Flag Mess, which could handle a breakfast or a banquet. The Hope was big; this ship was huge.

I invited the captain to join me for coffee. The mess steward wore a white linen jacket over his uniform. The coffee was excellent.

“Captain, you’ve had a chance to read my reports to Fleet. They are complete with one exception—a new development,” I said.

“You know that the Science Ship Sir Isaac Newton has arrived on station. They have been reinforced with a team from the CERN-Higgs Project, and have begun probing the rift and the universe beyond it. They’re using drones and satellites. Sensors will include elint, sigint, and imint, as well as sensors especially tuned to rift energy signatures.

“One problem we will face is that the people in Universe 1 don’t use a lot of radio-frequency communications. Elint and sigint will be spotty, at best. Their culture is different enough that we would have difficulty inserting humint resources anytime soon. Their society is primitive; imint may be of limited use. Intelligence is going to be the long pole in the tent.

“The rift between us and U-1 has remained open and apparently unchanged. It may be stable. We also believe that U-1 does not have space flight or suborbital capability. We don’t know for sure, though. The Muslims or the Pan-Asian Hegemony may be more advanced than the Reverends. Someone could lob a thermonuclear device through the rift into our universe.

“Bottom line, I think we’re here for the long haul; I think we need to be vigilant until we learn a great deal more. We will expand intelligence collection and analysis.

“I want to do several other things. First, integrate my team with your people; second, host brainstorming sessions with the captains of the rest of Task Force Rift and their teams; third, begin planning for an invasion of Universe 1.”

With that last statement, I had managed to startle the captain. “Do you really think—invasion?” he said.

“I think we must be prepared,” I said. “Besides,” I grinned and parroted a saying that was as old as soldiering. “It’s the only war we’ve got.” I had no idea at the time what that would ultimately mean.

A chime announced someone outside my ready room. Danny was on duty. He told me who the visitor was, and that he was upset. The door hissed. Jonathan, my Comm-O stood in the doorway. I could feel his unease, and some animosity toward Danny.

“Come in Jonathan, have a seat.” I moved from my desk to the couch, and gestured for him to sit beside me.

“What’s up?”

“Um, Commodore, uh, sir…” He took a breath between each word.

“Jonathan, would it be easier if you forget our grades for the moment?”

The boy nodded.

“Now, say what’s on your mind, please. And note that I said, please.”

He giggled. Yes, he giggled. It was okay. He was twelve years old.

“Paul…” He paused, and smiled. “I sure like to say that. It makes my tummy tingle,” he said.

Uh, oh, I thought. Here it comes.

“Paul, I know that Danny and George are your boyfriends. How did you get two? And, if you have two, can’t you have three? Can I be your boyfriend, too?”

Nova sol! Being a role model is not all it’s cracked up to be, I thought.

“Jonathan,” I paused. I can’t lie to him; I can’t give him false hope; I must keep him on my team, though. Is he ready for this?

“Jonathan, no. I won’t be your boyfriend no matter how much I would like to. And, yes, I would like to.

“Shhh.” I touched a finger to his lips to stop whatever he was about to say.

“You’re cute, you’re smart, you are more aware of yourself and what’s going on around you than 99.99% of people. You’re all anyone could want in a boyfriend or protégé. So are Danny and George, and I’ve already bonded with them.

“Jonathan, I will not be your boyfriend, but, if you agree, I will give you something in its place. It will be something just as good, perhaps better. I will tell you something that if you tell it to the wrong people, you will die. Do you want to know it? Think hard. I’m not kidding; I’m not exaggerating.”

The boy looked at me. I felt him thinking about what I’d said. I monitored. After a couple of minutes of serious thought, he answered.

“Paul, I want to love you and I want to be your boyfriend. You said you wouldn’t do that, but that you want to give me something that’s just as good? I believe you about the good part and about the dying part, and I still want to know what it is. Even if you won’t be my boyfriend, I will open my heart to you.”

“Very well,” I said. “Will you swear to tell no one what you are about to learn? Will you swear that your first loyalty is to the human race, that your second is to Fleet, that your third is to your brothers?”

Jonathan opened his mouth. I think he was going to say he didn’t have any brothers, but he nodded. “Yes. I swear.” I locked that oath in his mind.

“Jonathan, think about this. How many twelve-year-old Flag Communications Officers are there in Fleet?”

“Huh?” The boy looked puzzled. Then, it happened. He brushed aside the veil. “Me. I’m the only one.” It was a whisper.

“How many ensigns are there who command a security detail and run around with enough firepower to take out an army?”

“Danny and George. There’s no one else.” It was another whisper.

“How many Commodores my age are there in Fleet?”

“You.” He’d stopped whispering. His eyes brightened; so did his mind.

“It’s something different, something powerful. Something, something wonderful! Are you telling me I’m part of it?”

“You are part of it, Jonathan,” I said. “We—you and I, George and Danny—are different. All the members of my security detail and the Flag Team are, too, but they don’t all know it, yet. Some of them are still growing into that knowledge. You mustn’t say anything to them. You know it about yourself, now. You need to grow in understanding, too.”

“Jonathan, until we can link you with someone to be your mentor, I will do that. I want you to have the same kind of happiness that Danny and George and I share. But it cannot be with me—with us. There are other boys, though, who don’t have a boyfriend. Avery comes to mind. Avery is one of us, but he doesn’t know it, yet, so you mustn’t tell him anything. Why don’t you ask him on a date, and see how you get along?”

Jonathan looked startled. Then he blushed. “He’s two years older, and…” He’d obviously thought of this, before.

“Between 12 and 14, there are more years than two, huh? How about a four-year difference like that when Danny asked me. If Danny could ask me, you can ask Avery, can’t you?”

Jonathan nodded. “Yes, I can. I truly can. And, I guess I understand why you won’t do sex stuff with me.” He giggled. “Do you all three…?”

His face became a stone mask. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.”

I didn’t want to blow off the question; I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer it, either. But, I had to say something.

“Jonathan, if you ever have questions about sex, what not to do, what to do, how to make your partner feel as good as you do, how to be careful, things like that, you may ask me. That’s part of my responsibility. Danny and George will talk to you about that, too. I’ll let them know. Always feel free to ask them or me questions. But what Danny and George and I do? That’s a little too private. Besides, it’s not often that the three of us are together like that, and when we are, it’s usually just cuddles.” George and I make a Danny sandwich. He’s the littlest, and had a tough childhood. He likes the feeling of security he gets when we hold him between us. I was careful to block this thought. Not anyone’s business.

“Huh?” That was Jonathan.

“Danny and George have duties, and they’re serious about duty, and they’re serious about protecting me. I couldn’t love them more than I do, but when I see them in utility uniform, armed to the teeth, going off to make sure that I’m safe, ready to sacrifice themselves—” I couldn’t continue that thought.

“The security team is on duty 24-hours. Danny and George are often on duty at different times of the day, and different from when I’m on duty. So, except for staff meetings, the three of us don’t have much time together. When we do, it’s very private.”

Jonathan nodded. He pecked a kiss on my cheek and left before I could even register it.

Artie was another frequent and private visitor. But we didn’t do sex stuff. We did talk about it, a lot. It took a while, but eventually Artie opened his heart and mind to me, and seemed to feel as if he could talk about anything. His biggest concern was the difference between sex with love and what the Reverends had done to him.

“The Reverends, they’d fuck me like they wanted to hurt me. Some of them did hurt me, slap me, punch me. A couple whipped me with their belts. Why would they do that?”

“When they fucked you, did they look in your face?”

“Huh?”

“Did they do it from the front, so that they could look in your face, or always from the back?”

“Um, almost always from the back. There were a couple who did it from the front, but they always made me keep my eyes closed. If they saw me open my eyes, they’d slap me silly. Why?”

“Because they knew what they were doing was wrong. Because they were ashamed of what they were doing. Because they hated their own weakness, and took out that hatred on you.”

Cory was, at first, reluctant to allow our techs (and the Geeks with Guns) access to the inner workings of the shuttles, the phasers, and the communicators. It was a grave situation, and it was gravity that solved the problem.

Cory wanted to see for himself that the rift over Charleston (the Charleston of the Fundamentalist-Universe) that led to his universe was no longer there. The instrument readings were not enough. I understood. He was a fourteen-year-old kid who was lost. He had 284 members of his family, some as young as six, who were lost with him. There was a risk in taking him through the rift into the F-U and then to Charleston. I figured it was worth it, and asked Kevin and Casey to plan the mission. Naturally, Danny and George insisted on going along. We took Artie, too. I didn’t think it necessary to tell anyone about the combat shuttles that would shadow us.

Cory strapped himself tightly into the jump seat behind Kevin; I took the one behind Casey. The instant we passed through the airlock’s force field and into space, Cory gasped. “You’ve got artificial gravity in shuttlecraft?”

“Well, yeah,” Kevin said.

“But it takes… I mean… Crap. I might as well tell you,” Cory said. “We don’t have artificial gravity in anything smaller than one of your cruisers. I thought because we had FTL drive we were so much more advanced than you. I guess I was wrong.

“You can take one of our shuttles apart, now,” he said. “There’s probably no secrets that you can’t figure out. Oh, and a phaser, too.”

I nodded, and said, “Cory, I promise you that we’ll never use anything we learn to harm your people—those here, or those waiting for you to return.”

Cory looked at me, and nodded. We had an understanding.

The reverse engineering of Cory’s shuttlecraft, phasers, and communicators was useful to us and to Cory. We had power technology that could be adapted to what the shuttles needed. However, after a series of tests, Cory agreed that it would be better if we adapted the shuttles to our power and artificial gravity. I got a promise from Cory that he would safeguard our technology, as we were safeguarding his, and that he’d never use it against us. It was a good bargain on both sides.

And there were enough clues in the shuttle and phaser technology for George and the Geeks to figure out how Cory’s universe did FTL.

Chapter 27: USF Charleston—Recruiting Team I

The Metas—Geeks with Guns—had begun an effort to locate on our world others like themselves and recruit them into Fleet. When the computer searches, including a final check by Tobor, found a likely candidate, I dispatched a recruiting team to locate the boy, and—if he passed their scrutiny—to offer him a place in Fleet.

No one had refused. No one’s family had objected. For the most part, the boys’ families were only vaguely aware that the boys existed: the boys’ veil kept even their parents from remembering them for more than a short time. The boys were so hungry for human contact and companionship they would have accepted any invitation. That the invitation came from other boys like themselves made it easier to accept.

The teams, especially the one commanded by my son, George, wanted to call themselves Press Gangs, after those operated by the British in the early 1800s until President Jefferson had sent Fleet to kick butt. I discouraged that nickname, however, and the boys didn’t push the matter.

We had been on the Charleston for only a week when a recruiting team’s approach call was routed to me on the Flag Bridge. “Paul? We have a problem. Please meet us on the flight deck.”

It was George’s voice, and if there were a problem George couldn’t solve, it would be a serious one. It didn’t escape me that George didn’t say more, not even mind-to-mind. I knew that meant he was afraid—probably afraid of me.

I turned the Flag Bridge over to Kevin, whom I had made my XO as well as Chief of the Flag Intel Team, and hurried to the primary flight deck.

The shuttle door didn’t open until I reached it. That was another bad sign. I stepped in, and the door closed behind me.

“What—” I got only one word into my question when I saw George kneeling over a boy’s body. The boy was naked, and curled in a foetal position. George had looked up when he heard the door. His face was pinched in pain; tears ran down his cheeks.

The boy on the deck of the shuttle was alive. That’s the second thing I determined. The first was that George wasn’t injured.

The boy was alive, and he wasn’t one of ours. I couldn’t feel him, nor see what he was thinking, not even his surface thoughts.

The rest of the recruiting team, all Geeks with Guns, were clustered near the front of the shuttle. They, too, were afraid.

“George?” I held out my arms, and he lurched into my hug.

“We felt him,” George said when he had stopped crying. “We felt his pain and fear. It was dark. I assessed our chances and the risk, and ordered a hot pickup.

“He was in a village—”

George stopped talking, took a deep breath, and continued. “—a village about 50 miles east of Medina.”

Nova sol! Medina’s in the middle of Mujahedeen territory. That was my first thought. I bit my tongue and clamped hard on my thoughts. I needed a deep breath, too.

“Go on, George,” I said.

“There were people, including the target, sleeping on the roof of the building, so we rappelled onto the roof of an adjacent building. It was easy to get from there onto the roof where he was, and to grab him. He woke up while we were carrying him to the first roof for pickup.

“He was suddenly afraid. By the time he had taken a breath to cry out, we’d been pulled into the shuttle and were smoking, straight up.”

“His mind seemed to close down, and he curled up like that. We can’t talk to him or anything.”

George managed to sob, “Daddy, I’m sorry!” Then he collapsed on a seat and covered his face with his hands.

George is only 14, I thought. He’s a Meta, but he’s only 14. Have I asked too much of him? I thought about my own awakening, and realized that it had proceeded more slowly. Of course, that was before we knew that there were other universes, other realities, and that at least two of them were inhabited by bad guys. Am I pushing him, and the other GWGs too hard? Too quickly?

I touched George’s shoulder. What I said was for him, alone. “George, no matter what has happened or will happen, you’re my son and my boyfriend and I love you. I will not abandon you; Danny and I and all the Geeks will be here for you. Now, we must take care of this boy.”

George looked up. I saw the same expression that had been on his face when in Admiral Davis’s office I had told George he would be assigned to me and not kicked out of Fleet. I shared that memory with George and saw a tentative smile.

We have overcome more than this, I thought. Nor is it likely that this will be our greatest test.

I knelt beside the kidnapped boy, and touched his shoulder. George was right—the boy was deeply catatonic.

“We’re not going to solve this here,” I said. “Put him on a stretcher, cover him, and bring him to your quarters.”

I turned and addressed the rest of the team that by now included the shuttle’s flight crew. All GWGs, I thought. Good.

“Guys? Discuss this with no one until we can sort things out. I will make the official notifications when I think it is appropriate.” I raised a mental eyebrow in question. They all agreed. I felt their trust, and it felt good.

I wanted to keep the knowledge of this event close, so I brought in only Cam, who was the most sensitive telepath among the Metas. Danny would, of course, have to know about it, since he and George shared quarters—officially—although when I was lucky, one and occasionally both would sleep with me. Since they were the co-chiefs of my security detail and my sons, no one thought it froward that we had adjoining quarters. That George, Danny, and I were also boyfriends, the GWGs knew, of course.

George answered Cam’s knock, and gestured for him to come into the room. Cam gasped, “What? When—?”

“Cam? What is it?” I hadn’t expected him to react so quickly.

“I’ve never felt anything like it,” Cam whispered. “He… he thinks he’s a mouse, hiding deep in its burrow in the sand. His name is Maudi.”

“How can you—” Danny began.

“None of us could—” George interrupted.

“Shhh!” Cam put his finger to his lips. We watched Cam tiptoe to the bed, strip, and crawl in beside the boy—now called Maudi—and cuddle him. In only a few minutes, Cam was asleep.

I assembled the boys on the Flag Intel Team, and told them enough that they could begin exploring the situation. “This stays among us, for now,” I said. They knew that by us I meant the GWGs and not the broader Flag Team.

George and Danny had watched Cam and the boy, now known as Maudi, turn and turn about through the night and called me when they woke the next morning. I was already awake and dressed, and reached the room quickly.

Cam and Maudi were sitting on one bed. They were wearing Fleet utilities. Cam was holding the boy, one arm around his shoulder. Danny and George were sitting on the adjacent bed, motionless. I stopped as soon as I entered the room.

“Paul, this is Maudi,” Cam said.

The boy spoke in Arabic, and Cam translated. “I am Maudi. How did I get to this place? Am I in heaven? I think I must be, for I have never seen people as beautiful as I see before me. May I have water, please?”

“Ice water, George,” I said, when I felt him tense to stand.

George was puzzled, but obeyed.

Maudi sipped and then smiled. “I know I am in heaven, for Allah has promised that the evil dead will drink from fountains of boiling water,” Cam translated. That was what I had remembered from reading the Quran, and why I told George to bring ice water.

“If he stays here, we will have some re-educating to do,” I sent a thought to Danny, George, and Cam.

“Not so much, I think,” Cam replied. “His understanding is slight, his knowledge is shallow and largely based on repetition and memorization. And he will have to stay here or he will be killed.

The boy kept talking, and Cam translated. “When my father and brothers said that they would burn me because I was a devil, I knew that I would suffer and that on the Day of Standing Up I would be sent to hell. I am glad that—”

Something in the boy’s mind clicked. He paused for only a moment, and then spoke. “What is this place? It is not heaven nor is it hell, and I am not dead.” Cam translated.

“This is the sleeping room that my sons, Danny and George share. We are on a ship of the United Space Fleet, and are in orbit above the Earth on which you live,” I said.

The boy pursed his lips in thought, and then nodded. “That is more reasonable than either heaven or hell,” he said.

“My name is Paul,” I said. “The boy who is hugging you, and who held you all last night, is Cam.

“Maudi? I answer to one who is more powerful than I, and must speak to him. I entrust you to the care of my sons and to Cam, who is like my son. Please listen to them, for they will help you.”

Cam translated, the boy nodded, and I went to meet with the Geeks on the Intel Team.

“Marty, you’ve been monitoring Fleet traffic as well as the news services. Anything?” Marty was the kid who had broken into Danny’s secure, trinary circuit to Tobor while we were at Fleet School Australia, and was now head of the sigint-elint team. Not that the Reverends had any sources of elint, and very few sources of sigint. Still, Marty and his team were wringing everything they could from what they had. This time, I’d asked them to turn their talents to their own world.

“No, sir, not even from Al Jihadi. Nothing about a missing boy, nothing that could be construed as being about a missing boy—or a USF shuttle over Mujahedeen territory.”

“Alex? You have imagery of the village and the roof?” Alex was our art Geek, and had found his place as head of the imint team.

“Yes, sir. But nothing useful. That is, nothing that provides any clue about a missing boy. In summer, especially near the equator, people often sleep on the roof in the Mujahedeen territory.

“It’s cooler and it’s too high for most flying insects,” he added. “But not for flying saucers.” That got a giggle from the team.

I thanked them, and went to my office for a secure, private link to Admiral Davis.

“Admiral? I have exceeded my authority. I don’t think anything will come of it, but you must know in case it does.” I explained that while on a mission to Earth, George had rescued a boy who was about to be immolated, picked him up, and brought him to the Charleston.

“The boy is a Mujahedeen, and was taken from his home in a village near Medina before his father and brothers could burn him as a witch or an evil spirit.”

I knew I was giving the Admiral hints that I hoped he would not pursue. I was torn between my loyalty to him, to Fleet, and to my sons. I hoped what I told the Admiral would preserve all of that.

“We are reasonably certain the kidnapping was not detected. We cannot under any circumstances return him lest he be killed. I will accept responsibility for him and for integrating him into our team.”

Admiral Davis looked at me for a moment, and then chuckled. “Paul? This isn’t an armed invasion of England, but you are right. I needed to know, just in case. Carry on.”

Armed invasion of England—the punch line of the Prime Minister Lloyd-George story. I remembered it had been at Edmonton during one of Admiral Davis’s lectures that I had first heard that story.

The night after Maudi’s rescue was one of the rare ones: both Danny and George were off duty. We had eaten supper together in the Flag Mess, and were cuddled on the couch in my quarters pointedly not watching some banal entertainment on a commercial television channel.

“Daddy?” Danny said. I still got an electric feeling in my heart when Danny or George or Artie called me Daddy—even though sometimes what followed wasn’t a daddy thing. It wasn’t this time.

“Daddy, why haven’t we found more Metas in Mujahedeen territory? In Italy or the other religious territories? In France? Why haven’t we looked?”

I knew the answer instantly. It was hard to say, especially to my boys. “Because no one—meaning me—thought of it. I’ve been wrong, again,” I said.

Our cuddles got a lot closer as Danny and George tried to comfort me.

Jonathan had once asked me what Danny and George and I did when the three of us slept together. I had managed to answer him without providing details. Mostly, we cuddled, with Danny in the middle. Tonight was an exception. After Maudi’s kidnapping, both Danny and I wanted to comfort George and assure him that we loved him. Danny and George wanted to comfort me because they thought I felt bad about not looking for Metas in the territories governed by the religious. George and I wanted to comfort Danny because we loved him. Conundrum? Not really. Danny and I held George between us, cuddled him, and then made him the enthusiastic source and receptacle of our love.

The following day, I called a meeting of all the Metas.

“Some of you know a little bit about how Danny and I met. I don’t think, however, that anyone but Danny knows that I kidnapped him. I operated with less authority than the Press Gang did on the mission that rescued Maudi. I operated from purely selfish motives. I will never regret my decision.”

I felt some grins from the boys who’d been on the “Press Gang” missions to find and recruit Metas from Fleet territory. I’d been—until this point—adamant about not allowing them to use that name. After Maudi’s kidnapping, I felt I no longer had that option.

“The team and flight crew operated from a clear understanding of their mission and from a logical and ration extension of their orders. Their motives were more appropriate than mine. I guess what I’m trying to say here is that I could never call them to task for what they did, especially having done what I did. The fact that I love them all, but especially their commander, only makes that more clear to me.”

George and his team blushed in the applause that followed.

“You may call yourselves Press Gangs, but the bandanas and black eye patches are not approved. Besides, they’re anachronistic.”

That got a giggle and a laugh, and a couple of nudges in George’s ribs.

I was sure George had other things on his mind, but eschewed reading him deeply enough to find out. I trusted him. That triggered the words of a one-time politician: “Trust but verify.” Now who was that? The memory would not come. I shrugged. Must not have been anyone important.

The next day we began clandestine night flights over Mujahedeen territory, Italy, France, and the parts of the Balkans where the Eastern Orthodox Church ruled. Cam was the most sensitive telepath among the Geeks, but he was also a critical member of the intel team. Still, once he understood the mission, he insisted on participating. George had been the one to discover Maudi. George, too, was already overworked, but delegated opsec completely to Casey, who was heading the Operations Team, and reluctantly agreed to bring on Tyler, a new GWG, as his deputy on my security team.

“No sleeping with Tyler,” George warned me. “He’s—”

I laughed, and George knew I wasn’t laughing at him. “George,” I said. “You and Danny are my boyfriends. I know that love shared is love enlarged, and I know that you’ve had sex with Tyler and most of the GWGs. I also know that Commodores shouldn’t sleep with Cadets. Now, don’t try to teach your daddy to suck eggs, okay?”

George had no idea what I meant, which was fine with me. Although it left me with the real conundrum: All the GWGs were polyamorous. They all had steady boyfriends, but they all loved each other and had sex with each other—or cuddled the younger ones. And the older ones made it clear that they wanted to have sex with me, too.

I had put off Jonathan, and helped him find Avery as his best-boyfriend. I tried to make it clear that while I loved him and the others, I only had sex with my two sons, Danny and George. I didn’t know what else I could do, and hoped that this wouldn’t become a problem.

Cam was the first to understand why we didn’t find any more Metas than Maudi in any of the territory ruled by the religious. The Metas plus Artie, Corey, and Corey’s boyfriend, Alan were gathered in my ready room, sprawled on the furniture or cuddled on the floor for one of our Metas- and family-only meetings, when Cam explained.

“In Italy and the Balkans, the Catholic Inquisition was burning witches as late as 1890,” he said. “We know from what Maudi said that the Mujahedeen are still burning or stoning to death people they believe to be possessed—that is, anyone who displays any hint of Meta abilities.”

“What does this mean?” Concho, one of the newest youngsters, asked. Actually, he said, “Whadda you mean?” I remembered he was from New York City.

“They’ve systematically removed the Meta genes from their gene pool,” Cam said. “And, we’ll probably see that in the fundamentalist universe, as well.”

“But Artie, he’s kind of telepathic,” protested Tyler, who was at that moment cuddled with Artie.

Will took that notion. “Artie is becoming stronger as a telepath, but he’s not a Meta. Just like Corey’s telepathic people aren’t Metas. We’ve sequenced our genome and those of some of Corey’s people, and we still don’t know what gene or combination of genes makes us Metas or makes them telepaths. We don’t even know what it is about our brains that make us Metas. In fact, we don’t even know if it’s all in our brains.

“Artie, may I sequence your DNA?” Will asked. “It may give us a clue.”

“Will, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Artie said. “But I trust you to do what is right. Sure. Um, what do I have to do?”

Will laughed, and sent a mental warm hug to Artie as he did so. “I’ll just swab the inside of your cheek with a Q-tip,” he said. “That will scrape off enough cells for the sequencer.

“And,” he added, “If you want, I’ll walk you through the process.”

“You know, there is a way to get a genetic sample that’s a lot more fun,” Tyler said. Then he giggled.

“Shows what you know,” Will said. “Sperm is only half the story.”

Artie looked from Tyler to Will, caught on to what Tyler meant, and blushed.

“On the other hand, so far the only Metas we’ve found have been male. Maybe—”

“What about the French? Why didn’t we find any Metas there?” Alex interrupted.

“You might think that with a small, and restricted gene pool, the French would create more mutations than normal,” Will said. “But apparently it’s the robust gene pool in which we were created that was the source of whatever the Meta genes are. I think it may be the so-called junk-DNA that is the source of our differences, but I really need to think more about it.”

“I think that if Paul hadn’t found us and rescued us, our genes would have been lost to the gene pool. We’d likely be dead,” Cam said.

“What?”

“Why?”

“Every one of us was clinically depressed,” Cam said. “With few exceptions, none of us had had human interactions, and the interactions any of us had were shallow and short-term. Most of us had never been hugged by our parents. My feeling is that if we could examine teen and pre-teen suicides from perhaps 1980 through the start of the Meta Recruiting Teams, we’d find that some of them were Metas who didn’t get reached in time.”

All the boys and I were quiet for a long time, thinking of lost brothers we’d never known.

“That will never be allowed to happen again,” I said, putting voice to everyone’s thoughts.

“Fleet has given us a mission to protect Earth from whatever is beyond the rift to the Fundamentalists’ Universe. Finding and rescuing Metas in both universes is an essential part of that. We’re not going to lose a single one of our brothers.”

I was bombarded with feelings of determination from all the boys.

Artie’s genome didn’t help, but it did provide additional data points. Some day, when this war was won, we might be able to do something with the data. Right now, however, we were overwhelmed with operations.

Cam spent much of his time over the next month with Maudi. After that, Maudi could speak English (although with an incredibly sexy liquid accent) and understood (but perhaps had not completely internalized) the tenets of the Enlightenment. What was most important, I think, was that he and Cam had struck up a relationship that was fast becoming very, very sensual. I was pleased to see that: Cam had been alone since he and Alex had ended their relationship a few weeks ago.

Chapter 28: USF Charleston—Intel Teams Report

The Charleston had already collected some sigint and imint on the portions of the Reverends’ world thought to be Pan-Asian and Mujahedeen territories. There was, however, a great deal more that we needed to know about them.

I didn’t have enough Geeks to fill every position, and reserved them for tasks only they could accomplish—the Press Gangs and membership in the Flag Intel Team. On the other hand, I had over 22,500 of the best and brightest of Earth under my command, and an ally in Tobor, the Fleet mainframe. With his help, it wasn’t hard to put together two additional teams. One would focus on the Pan-Asians and one on the Mujahedeen of the Reverends’ Universe. When they and the Flag Intel Team were ready, we held a briefing to be broadcast to all ships in the task force. I wanted everyone to know what we might encounter, and asked that the teams classify the briefings no higher than Secret. The teams filled the auditorium of the Charleston where cameras pointed to the briefers’ lecterns.

Since the briefing was being carried electronically, and the veil didn’t work through television, I appointed one of the adults to present the Flag Intel Team’s briefing on the Reverends.

And I? I could stand up in front of an auditorium full of people and they’d see me as a 40-something commodore. But the television audience? No way. Tobor came up with the solution.

“Invite the Captains of your task force to take the briefing with you in the Flag Conference Room. Entertain them, there—coffee and donuts, and then lunch. After the briefing is over, you can address the crowd in the auditorium and the task force by TV. I will ensure the picture matches the physical description you project.

The first briefer would be Commander Fitzgerald, the senior adult on the Flag Intel Team. He was an experienced intelligence officer who had turned down promotion to captain in order—as he put it— to remain in the trenches where the real work was done. Fleet was good about allowing that: it was never held against anyone—seaman, marine, chief, or officer, and the pay scale, for those who worried about that sort of thing, accommodated it. So did the honors and respect that accrued from expertise and hard work.

“The group we call Reverends controls most of the former United States of America, Canada, and probably Mexico—except for the Pacific coast from Baja through Alaska. The Reverends suspended the Constitution of the United States some 50 years ago and established a theocracy led by someone called “the Scudder,’ after two presidents of that name.

“There are analogues in their world not only of some cities such as Las Vegas, but also of natural features and a few man-made structures, including the Hoover Dam and Lake Meade. The Reverends’ economy is, however, largely agrarian, and their level of science and technology is somewhat less than where our world was at the beginning of the Franco-German War of the early 20^th Century. The most sophisticated weapons we have seen are battle tanks that resemble those used in the latter days of that war. They have no commercial aircraft, and the few aircraft we have seen are similar to those used in the Franco-German war—cloth-covered, open cockpit, and with petroleum-fueled internal combustion engines.

“There are no hydro dams on the Columbia or Tennessee Rivers, nor in Quebec, three of the densest such developments in the North America of our world before the advent of solar power satellites.

“We have detected no radio transmissions, either AM or FM, whether in broadcast or short-wave bands. There is a system of microwave towers linking cities and towns, and a television transmission tower in each city and town.

“The largest cities we’ve seen in the North American continent are Chicago, Buffalo, Albany, New York, Las Vegas, and Miami. The Erie Canal is operational and frequently used. Barges on the canal are towed by mules. There is no highway system. All long-distance transportation save the Erie Canal is by rail.

“California, which we believe includes the entire west coast of the USA, is believed to be independent of the Reverends. We have not yet examined Central or South America, or Europe.

“May I address your questions?” he concluded.

“What about the Reverends’ Army?” a Lieutenant Colonel of Marines asked.

Commander Fitzgerald shook his head. “Little more than we all saw on the video we captured from the battle on New Year’s Eve: the tanks, as I’ve described, semi-automatic rifles, and some electro-shock weapons not unlike those used by some of our Earth’s police forces.”

“Any idea about the size of their armed forces,” the marine pressed.

“We’re identifying what appear to be military bases, and are beginning a count of aircraft, people, and vehicles, but there’s a lot of work yet to be done. Perhaps in ten days—perhaps in two weeks.”

A Lt. Commander who wore the insignia of the Sea Bees—the traditional nickname for Fleet’s construction battalions and engineers—looked up from his iPad. “Sir, I’m Lt. Commander Cousins, from USF Honolulu. You said their technology was about the level of ours before the Franco-German War. But you also said Hoover Dam. The images show hydroelectric generation, there. Do you have any idea why that apparent disconnect?”

Commander Fitzgerald looked startled. “That slipped by us, completely. Thank you. We’ll have an answer as soon as we figure it out.”

He looked around the auditorium. There were no other questions.

“Gentlemen, it’s nearly noon, and I have found the Charleston‘s mess stewards to be among the finest in Fleet. We will re-convene in at 1330 hours.”

“Gentlemen,” I stood and addressed the assembled captains of the Task Force, including Lieutenant Jeff Evans, Captain of the Hope, who accepted his status among this elite company with remarkable aplomb. I knew it had been a good decision to appoint him to that position. “As an intelligence officer, Commander Fitzgerald is trained always to insert a little uncertainty into anything he says. I, on the other hand, know that the stewards of the Flag Mess are the finest in Fleet.”

The stewards seated us at a round table, not unlike the mythical version around which King Arthur’s knights had gathered. Seating was by seniority. Captain Moultrie of the Charleston was on my right; Captain Fairburn of the Honolulu was on my left. As the most junior captain, Lt. Evans was directly across from me. I managed to catch his eye and wink at him, which brought a little color to his cheeks.

Actually, I was a little bit nonplussed by the company I kept. These men were, for the most part, thirty or more years older than I was, and considerably more experienced in every aspect of command.

I scanned the table, and realized that I was the only one wearing a battle ribbon. Is battle so rare? I wondered.

The table was not so large that conversation was stifled, and these men were not reluctant to ask questions. The first one came from one of the destroyer captains.

“Sir, do you have any idea how long this assignment will last?” he asked.

I heard the unspoken part of the question: There are men on the Kyoto who were scheduled for leave or R&R a couple of weeks ago; when can I offer that?

“Excellent question, Captain. Thank you for asking it,” I said. “We will learn more this afternoon about the capabilities of the other two powers on the Reverend’s world: their version of the Mujahedeen, and the members of a Pan-Asian hegemony. We likely will remain on station at least long enough to be sure that no one from that world can lob a thermonuclear weapon—or anything else—through the rift.”

Then, I dropped my own bomb. “We may remain longer, depending on when Fleet decides to bring war to this universe.”

There was a brief babble of talk, interrupted by Captain Moultrie.

“I was surprised, too, when Commodore Stewart suggested that option,” he said. “However, when you learn more about this universe, I think you will understand.” That quieted the babble.

“Gentlemen,” I said into the silence, “until we know the will of Fleet, I suggest you plan to remain here for the duration. You should begin normal rotation of your men for leave and R&R immediately, maintaining about an 85% complement.”

“What can you tell us about this rift?” Captain Lowry of the USF Buckley asked.

“That is perhaps the hardest question to answer,” I said. “And one which will not be answered today.

“You probably know that the Fleet’s CERN-Higgs collider facility has been forcing sub-atomic particles to combine in ways that would make even the old Hindu gods blush.”

That got a chuckle.

“Their most recent experiments suggest that they can open a portal, a rift, between the multiple universes that are suggested by Feynman’s quantum electrodynamics theory. It appears that someone got there, first.

“We’ve had a science ship with people from CERN-Higgs on station for a couple of weeks, now, but they are apparently as mystified as we are. It’s clear that a rift has opened, and remains open, between our universe and the Reverends’ universe. It’s clear that there was a rift between the Reverend’s universe and a third universe—the one the boys from Clan Long came through to rescue the kids from the First Battle for Las Vegas. It’s clear that the second rift has closed, and that the boys from the Long universe are trapped here.”

About half of the captains caught on when I said “First Battle of Las Vegas.” I suspected the others would have a “Nova sol!” moment soon.

It was nearly 1330 when the Chief Mess Steward interrupted our discussions, and we barely made it back to the Flag Conference Room in time for the beginning of the afternoon session. The head of Team Mujahedeen led off.

“Gentlemen, it is a stereotype of our universe that the Mujahedeen are primitive. That word has some unfortunate connotations. After all, we considered the Amish primitive because they plowed with horses and refused to allow mechanized tractors on their land—until someone discovered they were getting almost as much from an acre as were the agribusinesses’ intensive farming methods, and with both considerably less damage to the environment and considerably greater sustainability.

“We consider the Mujahedeen of the Fundamentalist Universe to be not primitive, but traditionalists. Their civilization is tied together by trade routes on which transport is by camel. Their largest population centers are a few towns near seacoasts and rivers. The buildings are largely mud-brick, which is perfectly suited to the climate.

“Their territory is the Middle East including Greece and Turkey, the underbelly of Asia east to the Indian sub-continent, and northern Africa.

“Some agriculture is supported by irrigation, especially in the Tigris-Euphrates region and along the Nile. Many of the people are herders, moving flocks of sheep and goats from oasis to oasis, and grazing on tough desert grasses in between.

“We have detected no radio frequency communication except television signals in the larger towns. The programming is almost exclusively recitation from the Quran and calls to prayers. There have been, to date, three broadcasts of a punishment by stoning or decapitation for violation of Sharia—that is to say, religious—Law. That is significantly fewer than similar broadcasts by the Reverends.

“We have found no technology that could constitute a threat to our universe, although we will continue to search.”

There were only a few questions for the Mujahedeen team. The most important ones boiled down to “what about the rest of Africa? Australia? Europe? Russia? India?”

The answer was, “We’re still looking.” The answer was accepted with equanimity. Everyone seemed to understand we were trying to create an encyclopedia describing an entire world, something that wasn’t going to be done in just a few weeks.

Commander Fitzgerald then introduced the chief of the Pan-Asian Team.

“The Pan-Asians are considerably advanced in their technology compared to the Reverends and the Mujahedeen. We believe it is the Pan-Asians who supply the Reverends with aircraft, tanks, electro-shock weapons, and probably their televisor transmitters and receivers, as well as their microwave system.

“Nor do the Pan-Asians sell the Reverends top-of-the line arms or equipment.

“We assess the Pan-Asian Hegemony’s technology to be on a par with that of Fleet in the mid-1920s: they have sub-sonic jet aircraft—equivalent to the F-86 and the B-707, extensive radio frequency communication nets, and a steam powered navy which includes two aircraft carriers. They have radar, but it is fairly primitive and could easily be jammed should we need to do that.

“Their government is classical Marxist socialism—although we do not yet know if Marx existed or published in this universe. Their territory, which includes Japan, Korea, Indo China, China, India, and much of Asia east of the Urals, save the underbelly, which you heard is Mujahedeen territory, is connected by an extensive rail network. Their primary sources of power are oil, coal, and natural gas, which they have in abundance.

“Their industrial cities are largely toxic slag pits, and they seem to have no concept of environmental consciousness or sustainability.

“We have seen a launch complex that suggests they are developing a space program, but we have detected no satellites save ours currently orbiting their world.

“We are focusing intensively on this area and hope to have a better estimate of their capabilities, soon.”

“When might they be able to reach the rift?” one of the destroyer captains asked.

“The apogee of the first satellite we launched in 1940 was less than 600 miles. It weighed 180 pounds—about the weight of a crude nuclear device. We judge the state of their program to be consistent with that. Their capability to boost a satellite—or a weapon—to the 250,000-mile altitude of the rift is judged to be extremely low. Further, we consider the possibility of their detecting the rift to be even lower.”

“Why is that?”

“The rift is lenticular, about five miles along its wider axis, and about three miles along its narrower axis. It is also roughly perpendicular to the surface of their earth—nearly invisible.”

“Have you seen anything that suggests an atomic technology?” Captain Fairburn of the Honolulu asked.

“No, sir. There is nothing in the atmosphere that suggests nuclear weapon testing has occurred. We’re still looking at electrical power grids for nuclear power plants.”

I was expected to give some sort of wrap-up. Tobor sent me an all clear signal, the system light of the camera in the conference room came on after I stood behind the lectern. I know that Tobor would zoom into my face, making the deception easier.

“Outstanding work on the part of everyone. You are trying to create an Encyclopedia Solaris for an entirely new world. It’s taken Fleet 60-plus years to get us where we are in understanding our own solar system, and there are still parts of our Earth and many parts of our solar system that are unexplored.

“Let no one overlook the magnitude of our task, and let no one become disheartened by its enormity.

“It appears that the technical capabilities of the Pan-Asians presents the greatest immediate threat, and further understanding should be our highest priority. On the other hand, we were brought here because of a battle fought between children and forces that can only be described as evil—by whatever standard you wish to apply.

“There are 686 boys from that world who survived the battle which brought them here. Some are still recovering aboard the USF Hope. Others are seated with you, today. It is their future that drives me and I hope will drive you.”

I thought it was a pretty good speech.

Jeff Evans was waiting in my Ready Room after the other captains had left. He was one of the first non-Geeks I had trusted sufficiently to appoint to an important position. I knew that whatever he had to say would be worth hearing.

“Jeff? You have something important to say, I think,” I said.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “And something… something really strange. Sir, I appreciate your naming me to command the Hope, and I think I’m doing a pretty good job. But there’s something wrong. There’s something wrong and I’m afraid.”

I sat behind my desk and gestured for him to sit in the couch opposite, hoping the physical separation would give him some feeling of protection, of confidence. It worked.

“Sir, who are you, really?” he asked. I felt his fear, but I also felt determination.

I believed he deserved honesty, and I believed he could be trusted with the truth. I pushed him so that he saw me as I was. He didn’t appear surprised; I guessed then that he’d already penetrated the veil.

“Jeff, I am what you see—a young man, younger than you, actually—who has been put in a position of great trust and great power.”

“You’re not from that world, are you?” I knew what he meant.

“No, Jeff, I’m from your world. I really was born in Texas. I really did attend Fleet schools.” I’d seen his questions, and thought to answer them that way. It didn’t work. He was still puzzled.

“Jeff, for the moment, please accept that what you see is real, and that what I tell you is the truth. When you return to the Hope, call Admiral Davis on a secure link—he’ll take your call. Ask him if what I say is true. Will you do that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And will you keep what I’m about to tell you a secret if you are satisfied by what Admiral Davis says?”

He had to think about that for a moment, but agreed. So I told him about the Metas.

“Nova sol,” he whispered when I paused. “You, and Danny and George? Avery and Jonathan? You stole them from me. How many others?”

“Jeff, I will confirm your guesses. Yes, Danny, George, Avery, and Jonathan are Metas. But I haven’t given even Admiral Davis the complete list. That is to protect both them and him, and you. Some are still children, and deserve that protection.”

Jeff thought before nodding his understanding. “Thank you sir, for your trust. I, uh, I don’t think I’ll need to call the Admiral.”

Artie was next into my Ready Room. Danny and George followed him. I got hugs from Danny and George, and then from Artie. He squeezed me tightly, and I felt him crying.

“Artie?” That was all I said. I couldn’t tell if he were sad or if his tears were happy ones.

“You said… you said it was us… it was our future… just like when you promised…”

I knew what he meant. Shortly after we had met, I promised Artie that I would do everything I could to help him get home and, if possible, carry on his war with the Reverends. He was telling me that I had renewed that promise today.

I returned his hug, tightly. Then, as if they’d rehearsed it, Danny and George left, and Artie kissed me. It started as a daddy kiss, but quickly became impassioned.

It’s time, Daddy. That was Danny.

Past time, Daddy. That was George.

He’s not a cadet; he’s a colonel. And he’s our brother! That was Danny and George.

“Daddy?” That was Artie.

I shrugged my shoulders and yielded.

Sex with Artie was intense. He’d been forced into unwanted sex with unprincipled men who had used his body as an object, a thing to be penetrated, hurt, and debased. He had wanted so badly to find someone to love, someone to share. I saw, but only briefly, an image of a boy whom Artie loved but who had been left behind when Artie went to war. I saw, but only briefly, happy and loving sex with George and with Danny, and I understand that this was right.

As always, please let David know what you think of his story: david.mcleod@castleroland.net