Published: 28 Nov 2016

Part VI

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

Chapter 16: Fleet HQ Geneva—Finding George

Our next assignment was to be the United Space Fleet cruiser Independence. She was a ship of the line, a warship. This would be my first line command, so I had to make a couple of visits to Geneva, including one very “sweaty-palm” visit with Admiral Davis, who now wore four stars and was the Deputy Chief of the Fleet. That’s where Danny and I found George.

He was in Admiral Davis’s waiting room. He looked like a puppy that had been whipped until its spirit was broken. Danny and I could feel his unhappiness and fear. Then…

… George spoke. “Are you really boyfriends?”

He’s reading us! He’s seeing the sex, I thought.

Danny and I had an incredible time that morning. Visiting captains’ quarters at Fleet Headquarters are right nice, and there were these two white bathrobes…

He doesn’t see everything, I realized. But he sees something. He’s one of us!

Before either of us could say anything, the boy blurted, “It’s not fair! You’re so happy!”

“Do you want a hug?” Danny asked.

“Don’t tell me what I need!” George nearly shouted.

“Not telling; asking. Not need; want. But, you do need a hug. May I?” Without waiting for an answer, Danny took the seat next to George and put his arm around the boy. George stiffened, looked at me from the corner of his eye, closed his eyes, and leaned into Danny. George was trying very hard not to cry, and was doing a pretty good job of it.

The admiral’s aide came in. “Captain Stewart, the admiral will see you.” He didn’t even look at the two boys. The veil; Danny is getting very strong. George, probably not, or he wouldn’t be here.

“Danny? Tell George everything, okay?” I said before following the aide.

Danny nodded. He knew what I meant.

“Why are you here,” Danny asked.

“To get kicked out of Fleet,” George said.

“Why?” Danny asked.

“I stole a shuttlecraft,” George said. Then, he jerked his head toward the door through which Paul had gone. “He said to tell me everything. What everything?”

“When I met Paul?” Danny said. “He’d flown to Sea-Tac in a stolen shuttle! He used to do it all the time. Then he got promoted and didn’t have to steal them. Said it wasn’t nearly as much fun, anymore. He took me for a ride. I was still a civilian; it was very illegal. He took me from Seattle to Switzerland, the long way. We went over Antarctica and Australia and Africa and everywhere! And he let me fly it. Also, very illegal. I saw penguins and lions and—”

“Yeah, but have you ever stolen a shuttle?” George interrupted.

“No, but I’ve done bad stuff,” Danny said.

“Like what?”

“Promise not to tell?”

“Promise.”

“I hacked the fleet mainframe, and gave a couple of my friends from school space duty. Well, they deserved it! Paul doesn’t know, and you promised not to tell. And, I put about a jillion credits in my account, but Paul caught me and made me put it back. I would have, anyway. I just wanted to know I could do it. I also put a bullet hole in the wall of our quarters in Wales. I was cleaning my service pistol and hadn’t taken the round out of the chamber? Paul grounded me for a month for that! Not ’cause he was mad at me, but ’cause he was so scared for me. He loves me an awful lot.”

“So, you’re a computer geek?” George asked. “And you have a service pistol? You’re supposed to be sixteen to get a service weapon… you’re too little—”

“I am not little!” Danny said. “And I’m 13. Well, almost. And I’m really good at math and computers.”

“I’m 12, almost 13, too, and I’m really good at physics,” George said. “I just aced the physics comps. But I couldn’t tell anybody because—promise not to tell?”

“I promise,” Danny said.

“Um, they wouldn’t let me take them because I’m too young, but I can push people, and sometimes they’ll do what I want them to do. I don’t like to do it. I’m afraid I’ll get caught.”

Danny released George from the hug, and laughed. It was a happy laugh, and he pushed happiness so that George knew it was.

“George, how do you think Paul got to be a captain? Do you know how old he is?”

George shook his head. The veil. “Forty, maybe?”

Danny laughed again, and pushed more happiness at George. “He’s sixteen! He can push, just like you. So can I. How do you think a sixteen-year-old got to be a captain? How do you think a twelve-year-old—me—can carry a service weapon?”

Danny patted the butt of the pistol on his hip. “And I was just eleven when Paul gave it to me! How do you think you were able to steal the shuttle in the first place? George, you’re one of us! Hold on a minute.”

Danny sent me a message. It was short and to the point. Admiral Davis was about to wrap up. His usual, “Anything else?” had just been spoken.

“Yes, Admiral, there is one more thing,” I said. “The junior cadet in your waiting room, George—(Rogers Danny supplied)—George Rogers. Would you assign him to me?”

“You surprise me, Paul. First, that you know him. Do you know why he is here?”

“Yes, sir. He took a shuttle for a joy ride because he couldn’t find anyone with whom to share his happiness. He’s shared that with my son. I do need an aide.” I stopped talking, and prepared to push. Before I could, the admiral nodded his head.

“Your call. Tell my aide, and cut the orders, yourself. And when you get back from this assignment, let me know how the boy worked out.”

That’s one of the reasons Admiral Davis was so respected. He really cared about his people. I knew that if I didn’t get back to him in a year or so, and tell him about George, he’d come after me. And, he didn’t write this stuff in a calendar. He remembered it. It’s too bad he’s so old, I thought. I don’t think he’s one of us, but he’s something more than simply human. I saluted, and left the admiral’s office. I stopped at the aide’s desk and told him I’d be taking Cadet Rogers with me. The aide didn’t bat an eye. Veil.

“Danny? George? Ready to go?”

George looked startled. He was waiting for the admiral’s aide to come in and lead him to the scaffold.

“Go?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “You’re assigned to me. We’re leaving for the Independence in thirty minutes. Can you be ready? We’ll be gone for a year.”

George nodded. His mind was numb. His face reflected that.

“Danny, please go with him. Make sure there’s no interference. I’ll see you both at the shuttleport. Thirty minutes. Oh, by the way, George, can you pilot a shuttle?” I grinned. Danny giggled. George smiled. It was a tentative, crooked smile, and brief. He was getting over his funk but there was a way to go.

The captain’s lighter from the Independence was a regular troop transport shuttlecraft: none of the luxury of a science ship. George thought I was kidding, but I insisted he pilot the shuttle to the Independence. (So did the lieutenant who had brought the shuttle to Geneva—think I was kidding, that is. It took only a little push to convince him that George should have the left seat.) George was thrilled. He’d been afraid to take a shuttle into space, so this was his first trip. He was sweating when he landed on the flight deck, but his eyes glowed. By then, he was fine.

An hour or so after we landed, I was able to get the two boys alone in the captain’s quarters. There was no separate Captain’s Mess, but my quarters were bigger than those on the Goddard. Four chairs and a table were bolted to the deck. Against the far wall, a couch faced a large display screen. “Danny said you were just sixteen. But that’s impossible!” George said.

The boys had lemonade; I had found a one-cup-at-a-time coffee pot and a note from the previous captain: I wish you calm seas and following winds.

“He said I was ‘one of you.’ What did he mean?”

“George, many boys start Fleet School at age six; so, you and Danny being twelve-going-on-thirteen junior cadets isn’t unusual.

“Being a twelve-year-old cadet on active duty is rare; being a twelve-year-old with space duty is even more unusual. Usually, the only ones are sons of fleet members serving with their dads. That’s why Danny…”

Oh, oh, I thought, and probed lightly. “George, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

The boy’s eyes misted and his nose wrinkled. “He died when I was six. Training accident on the Yorktown. He always said when I was ten he would bring me into space with him. I’m here, now but he’ll never know!” George was crying big time, now. I took his hand and pulled him to me, and put him in my lap. He buried his head in my chest and sobbed. His tears soaked my jumpsuit.

I pushed calm, but only a little. He needs this cry, I realized. He needs to cry while someone holds him. He’s never been able to do that, before! None of us have been able to. We are so cursed!

After a few minutes, I asked, “George? Are you okay now? You don’t want to cry too much, now. You can always do more, later, okay? Any time you want, I will be here.”

The boy looked up, sniffled once, blew his nose on the handkerchief Danny handed him, and then smiled at us. It was a good smile; we felt him push happiness. It was small and unconscious, but it was a definite push.

“Thank you,” George said. He gave me a fast hug, which I seconded with a kiss on his forehead before letting him slip from my lap and into his own chair.

“I don’t want you to think I’m a baby,” he said. He was looking at Danny.

“Nah,” Danny said. “I cried a lot after I met Paul. He held me, let me cry some, cheered me up, and kissed me. Just like he did with you. After a while, they got to be happy tears. It’s okay. You’ll find your happy tears, too.”

Out of the mouths of babes, I thought.

I’m not a baby! Danny replied.

“George, you and Danny and I, and I hope others as well, are something different from most people. Danny and I have decided we’re not super-humans, but we think of ourselves as Meta-humans: a different kind of human.

“We’re able to feel what each other is feeling; we can talk to each other in our minds.”

“Telepathy,” George said. I nodded.

“But I can’t do that,” he said.

“Actually, you can. When Danny and I came into the admiral’s waiting room? You asked if we were really boyfriends, and said it wasn’t fair that we were so happy. How do you think you knew that? It was the feelingspart of telepathy. That’s the easiest. Words and pictures will come later.”

George nodded his understanding. I continued. “We also broadcast protective thoughts that we call the veil. Mostly, it just makes people ignore us. It makes people not wonder why boys so young are borrowing shuttlecraft or taking PhD-level physics tests. It makes the crew of the Independence not wonder why their Captain is sixteen and his security detail and personal staff are two twelve-year-olds. By the way, Danny, we need to get George weapons—and training.

“We can also push; Danny said you used that word when you said how you got to take the physics tests. We can push people to do what we want them to do, what we tell them to do. Danny also told me that you didn’t like to do that because you were afraid you’d get caught.”

George nodded, again.

“George, there’s a better reason not to push people. Do you know what it is?”

George hesitated only a second before answering. “It’s wrong, and it might hurt them.”

“It’s wrong because people are not our playthings. That’s an important part of the answer, but there’s more. Danny?”

“Because if you push people too much, you would become an evil person. ‘Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely.’ We’re Meta-human, but we’re still human. We can still be tempted—and corrupted.”

George nodded; I believed that he understood. I thought of Mark, the boy I’d nearly killed. I thought of those I had killed. This was a lesson I’d learned the hard way, an experience I did not want Danny and George to have.

The crew easily accepted Danny as my son and George as Danny’s boyfriend and my aide. Those things were within parameters. We had to push a little before people became accustomed to the boys carrying weapons, though. By conventional standards, they were still too young for that.

As my aides, the boys kept my quarters neat and clean, made coffee, brought me meals when I wanted to eat alone, and stuff like that. It wasn’t one-sided. I spent a lot of time teaching them, training them, and cuddling them.

There were other cadets in the junior mess. One was Alex, the eight-year-old son of the Chief Helmsman, and an eleven-year-old who was the son of the Armorer. There were two, fourteen-year-old midshipmen from the École Militaire Royal de Saint-Jean in Quebec, and six ensigns, ages about 17 through 20. There was a broad spectrum of interests, talents, experience, and training. The second day out, I brought them into the officers’ mess, which also served as a meeting room.

The dads were there, as well.

“Gentlemen, what is the most important job of the captain?”

The Armorer believed he knew the answer; he also knew I wanted one of the youngsters to answer, so he kept quiet.

A midshipman raised his hand. “Sir, to tell people what to do?”

“What’s your name?”

“Midshipman Jean Acton, sir.” He said it like “John Acton.” The école was bilingual.

“Thank you, Mr. Acton. You aren’t quite sure of the answer, are you?”

“No, sir.” He nearly whispered.

“It’s close, though, isn’t it?” I asked.

“Uh, I don’t know sir.”

“That’s three good answers, Mr. Acton,” I said. His eyes brightened, and he sat up a bit taller. He still didn’t know what I wanted, or what I meant.

“First, you said what you thought; second, you admitted your uncertainty when that was appropriate; third, you said when you didn’t know.

“Rules, gentlemen,” I said. “First, don’t hesitate to answer a question or offer an opinion. Second, don’t be reluctant to say when you don’t know something. Third, ask questions.

“It is my plan, and my sincere hope that each of you boys will walk off this ship in one year wearing a grade higher than the one you wore when you boarded.” That got their attention.

“That’s going to take a lot of hard work. It’s going to take cooperation in the Junior Mess—you will all be responsible for training and helping each other. It’s going to take a commitment on your part, and a commitment on the part of the crew. If you will make that commitment, I’ll ensure the crew does their part.

“Do we have a deal?”

“Yes, sir!” the boys chorused.

“Oh, and the answer to my question, and your first lesson: the most important job of a leader, a commander, the CEO of a corporation, a captain, a supervisor by any name, is to set expectations. That means both more and less than just telling people what to do. By tomorrow, please text me 1000 or so words on what you think it means to set expectations, and be prepared to suggest answers to the next question, what is the second most important job of the captain.”

Then, I reminded the senior ensign, a kid named Kennedy, who was also the oldest, that he was in command of the junior mess, and was responsible for discipline. The others looked a little nonplussed until I added, “I define discipline not as punishment, but as leadership that make punishment unnecessary. I would like a 300 or so word paragraph on that subject from each of you. Two paragraphs from you, Mr. Kennedy, including one on how you propose to go about it.”

Kennedy looked a little bit like a deer in the headlights, but then set his mouth in a line, and nodded.

The training program worked. Each of the boys advanced in his curriculum and skills enough that when the cruise was over, I felt confident in promoting them all, including Danny and George. They moved from Junior Cadet to Cadet. Because I promoted the entire Junior Mess, I didn’t strain the veil, or the credulity of the paper-pushers in Fleet G-1. Or Admiral Davis, I thought. At least, I hope not. Don’t forget to tell him how well George did, I reminded myself.

The veil was strong enough that Danny and I could have an occasional night together. After three months on the Independence, we were still exploring the physical side of our relationship, when Danny told me that George wanted to have sex with me.

“Daddy? You told me to do sex stuff with other boys if I wanted. Well, George wanted, and I did, too, and he did, and we did. And he figured out that besides being my daddy, you and I are boyfriends, and he wants to do sex stuff with you.”

“Yes, I got that. Actually, I get that every time he comes into the room. He broadcasts so strongly…”

Danny giggled. “I know you got a stiffy on the bridge the other day, and that’s why you ordered George and me to clean the converters. That was so unfair!”

“Not unfair: you encouraged him, my little pixie!”

“I am not little!” Danny said. He did not, however, deny encouraging George or that he was my pixie.

“Speaking of which, have you ever thought up a nickname for me?”

Danny’s mood changed. The giggles disappeared. “No. I couldn’t come up with anything better than the one you already have.”

I must have looked blank and projected puzzlement.

“Daddy,” Danny said. “I never had anyone to call ‘daddy.’ My stepfather was Arvid, and I tried not to call him even that. So daddy is the best nickname for you.”

I felt a little sadness, but it was quickly smothered below our love.

“Now, about George?” Danny said.

I reminded Danny that I’d promised not to have sex with anyone but him; he told me that George didn’t count if George were his brother. I asked him if that meant he thought we should adopt George, and he said yes. I asked, again, how he would feel about my having sex with George, and Danny explained, like I was a child, that sex was much easier than the kind of love a daddy and son should have, and that he was so very glad we had that before we did sex stuff. Danny said that if we were going to adopt George, we’d have to do that before I had sex with him. I’m not sure Danny exactly answered my question, but he was so sure of what he said, I figured he meant yes.

“You said if ‘we’ adopted George. You understand, don’t you, that I would love George as much as I love you? You will always be first, and I will never love you less than I do. I used to think that I couldn’t love you more than I do, but I think every day that I love you more.” I was getting misty-eyed; so was Danny. We had a hug. Danny assured me that besides having me for a daddy, having George for a brother would be the best thing in the universe.

The next morning, I sent orders for George to report to my quarters after supper. I also tweaked the duty roster, and put Danny on the swing shift in the engine room.

The chime sounded at 1900; I opened the door and gestured for George to come in and have a seat on the couch. I pulled a couple of lemonades from the fridge, and handed one to George, and then jumped in the water, feet first.

“George, Danny and I have known you for only three months, but we’ve learned a lot about you. We’ve come to love you, and we think you love us, too.”

I paused. George nodded. “I wanted a friend, so bad,” he said. “When you showed me the picture of you standing in the wind and ice on that mountain asking it for a friend, I felt sad for you and me ’cause I’d done the same thing, and then you showed me Danny and how you felt about him, and you showed me myself, and how you felt about me, and I knew I had two friends who… who…”

George was crying. I put my arm around him and pulled him to me. “Two friends who love you, George? Is that what you want to say?” Why is it so hard for him to say it?

It took a lot of talking, but the result was that I agreed to adopt George. He would have a hyphenated last name, to honor his first father, whom he loved intensely. We held a private ceremony, with only Danny present (and Tobor, by light speed—meaning slow—link). We agreed to keep this a secret for the rest of the tour, in order not to stress the veil.

I hid from Danny and George that I’d manipulated the duty roster so that George and I weren’t off duty at the same time for a few days after the adoption. I felt it was important for George to know, to believe, to feel, to understand that I hadn’t adopted him so we could have sex. I think he knew it, but that feeling and understanding would take time. Something worked. The first few times we were alone, including the first time George stayed overnight, we simply cuddled and talked. We talked about his father, about his feelings of loss and isolation. I showed him again my visits to Denali; he showed me his visit to K-2. We had a good cry, together, but, as Danny had promised, they were happy tears: happiness at having found one another and at having shared the same feelings on two different mountains.

Then, on our fifth overnight, I realized that George was going to ask. I forestalled him. “Before Danny and I had sex, we had been friends for two years. We had cuddled a lot. We’d been naked together. Still, before I would have sex with him, we opened ourselves up, mind-to-mind. I wanted to be sure that Danny was asking from love, and not just from lust.”

George blushed. I felt what he was thinking. “I’m pretty obvious, huh?” he asked.

I nodded. “I also looked hard at my own feelings. Like Danny, you are cute and sexy. Yes, you’re cute and I’m your captain and now I’m your daddy, and I can call you cute as long as we’re in private.”

“You’re two years older than Danny was; you’re two years smarter and two years more experienced. But, you’re also a couple of years behind where Danny and I were in getting to know one another.”

I held up my hand to stop his objections. “George, will you open your mind completely to me? And, will you let me open my mind completely to you? Everything will be exposed. There is no more honest or frightening thing you can do.”

I pushed hard at that last sentence. George paled. His hand shook when he lifted the lemonade bottle. I sat quietly, patiently while he thought.

“Will it hurt?” he asked.

“Physically, no,” I said. “Mentally, yes. It will hurt. Every bad memory, every sad memory, every hurt you ever experienced—and every one of mine, too.

“We will know each other better perhaps than we now know ourselves. We will be forever bonded.”

“And Danny did this?”

“He did; but you will not see what he shared with me. Unless, that is, you two do this—which you may not without talking to me, first. Is that clear?”

George nodded. “I do love you,” he said. “And I love Danny, too. I’ll do it.”

I entered George’s mind. I showed him my mind opening like a lotus flower in a time-lapse film. Each petal was a memory; he saw them all. When the center of the flower was revealed, he saw my most secret thoughts. While this was happening, his own mind opened to me.

George was exhausted. Sweat soaked his jumpsuit. Mine, too, for that matter. I got two more lemonades from the fridge. We both drank them without stopping.

“Nova sol, Paul!” the boy said. “You weren’t kidding! Oh, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about…” I shushed him.

“I know, George. You don’t have to say it.”

It was late, and we were both exhausted, physically and emotionally. We showered, crawled into bed, cuddled, and fell sound asleep.

A few nights later, when it did happen, sex with George was a lot different from the first time with Danny. George was about two years older than Danny had been. George had had sex with Danny, who was an excellent teacher. (I had learned that Danny had done with George the first couple of times almost exactly what I had done with Danny. Apparently, I was a pretty good teacher, too.)

Sex with George also progressed faster than it had with Danny, partly because of his age, and partly because of his experience. The third time, I lay on my back; George sat on my thighs with his knees bent. He was tracing random patterns on my tummy. When he found a spot where his touch caused a quiver, he marked it with a felt-tip pen. Between gasps, I said I hoped it would come off. George giggled, and the assured me it would. It did—when he licked the marks. Water-soluble, strawberry marker, I read afterwards. Where do you suppose he got this. I resolved to do a check of the ship’s stores inventory. Just a routine, captain-being-a-manager-thing. I shouldn’t have been surprised at the number of sex aids we carried.

A few weeks later, I woke with an erection (normal). George was spooned in front of me (also, normal). My erection was nestled between his nether cheeks (ditto). George was pressing back and moving his buttocks in a way that stimulated me more than I was prepared for (nothing at all like normal).

“George?” I whispered. I opened my mind. George woke quickly. I felt him blush. He showed me what he had been dreaming about.

“Can we do that?” he asked.

“Not this morning, George. We both have duty. And, not until we’ve talked about it, and prepared you for it. Is that okay?”

“That means yes, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, my little leopard.”

“Why do you call me Leopard?” I visualized the chocolate marker spots I had put on him the night before. He giggled.

The training program for the junior mess was intense; still, I knew I was dealing with children, and made sure there was room for play. George and Danny became fast friends with the two other cadets, but seemed to find a closer bond with Alex, the eight-year-old son of the chief helmsman. It was Alex, however, who first brought that to my attention. He’d asked, through channels, for a meeting regarding his training.

“Sir! Cadet Alex Tremaine reporting as ordered, sir!” He stood rigidly at attention before my desk. His arm was at the perfect 90- and 45-degree angles of a salute. He was cute as a button in his jumpsuit.

I returned his salute. “Please be at ease and take a seat, Mr. Tremaine,” I said, and gestured to the chair beside my desk. I had had the two chairs that had been bolted to the floor in front of my desk removed, and reinstalled on one side. It flustered a lot of people, including some of the senior officers, but usually not for long. The desk was no longer a physical or a psychological barrier to conversation.

The boy sat, but his posture was stiff. “Relax, Alex,” I said. “You asked for this meeting, and said it was about training. There’s no reason—”

“I lied, sir,” he interrupted. “It’s not about training but please, hear me out?”

“Of course.”

“Why aren’t you angry, sir?” he asked.

“Alex, if there’s something so important that you would lie in order to tell it to me, then it must be important enough for me to listen. Do you agree?”

The boy gasped, and I felt his relief. “Yes, sir. Yes, I do.”

Thus encouraged, he continued without pause. “Sir, I know that Danny is your son, and that George is his boyfriend, and even though George isn’t your son, you love him. It’s all quite confusing. The reason I know this, is that George and Danny may be aliens. They are telepathic! They broadcast their thoughts! They may have influenced you.”

I fought not to laugh or to show or project any emotion. I raised my hand. “Alex, please, slow down. We are safe, here, and you have plenty of time. Start at the beginning.”

The boy took a deep breath. “Ever since George and Danny came on board, I’ve felt them. I hear them talking to one another in the classroom, on the bridge, in the shower. In the shower, they think about sex stuff; I… I…”

“You start thinking sex stuff, yourself, and get an erection,” I supplied. The boy nodded, and blushed.

“They exchange stuff in class, but not when we’re tested. It’s as if they don’t want to cheat, which seems strange. If they’re trying to infiltrate our civilization, then—” I had raised my hand, again.

“Alex, thank you for your loyalty to humanity and to Fleet. You’ve shown that, because in spite of your fear, which I can feel, you’ve brought this story to me.

“Alex,” I pushed trust and hope, “I know all about Danny and George, and now, I know the same thing about you. Danny and George are not aliens. They’re little boys, just like you. In fact, more like you than you know. You wouldn’t hear or sense or see what they’re thinking unless you had the same talents they have. Do you understand?”

That was the beginning of understanding. I explained that some boys were smarter than most others, and could talk to one another in their minds. “We call ourselves Meta-humans, and we are sworn to be the guardians of humanity. You know you’re smarter than the others, don’t you? And now, you know that you’re telepathic, too.”

Alex nodded. “So I’m—what did you call us? Meta-human? I’m Meta-human, too?”

“It appears that way, Alex.”

The boy shook. “What’s going to happen to me?”

“Let’s get your dad before we talk about that, okay?

“Oh, and Alex? You never have to lie to talk to me. Just call me.”

He blushed, and nodded.

Alex and his dad were comfortable on the couch in my quarters. Danny and George sat with me at the table.

“Lt. Tremaine, you were in the meeting nearly a year ago when I challenged the junior mess to advance one grade in one year. You and Alex are the first outside my family to know that all the boys have reached this goal. That’s the good news. Congratulations, Alex, on your next assignment, you’ll be a Senior Cadet. Actually, we’ll hold a promotion ceremony before we leave this ship so that you’ll report to that assignment with your new grade.

“I said that’s the good news. The rest of it is that I want Alex’s next assignment to be with me.”

I gave them a chance to absorb this before I continued. “Alex is much more than an eight-year-old whose talents and energy have led to a promotion to Senior Cadet. And you know, Don, if you think about it, how rare it is for a eight-year-old to reach that grade.” I used his first name both to open him to informality, and to give his brain a ‘things are not what they seem’ kick. Then, I paused to give Alex’s father a chance to think.

“Rare? It’s unheard of,” he said. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that when you promised it, a year ago.”

“Don, what would you think about a seventeen-year-old ship’s captain?” I asked.

Don’s eyes widened. He saw me for the first time as I was. He looked at Danny and George, and saw thirteen-year-olds with pistols. “What’s going on?”

I waited.

“Alex is like you?” The man was sharp. Maybe a genetic basis. Not enough data points. Something to think about, though.

“Yes, he is. He’s smarter, stronger, and faster than his contemporaries; he’s going to be able to hide himself as we do—it’s a form of self-protection that will serve him well—and he will advance as fast as he can to the highest levels of leadership and command.

“He will be required to take an oath of secrecy, and an oath of loyalty to humanity and to the fleet.

“You will be required to take that oath, too. Alex is the first we’ve recruited from his family. You will be the first outsider to know of us.

“Actually,” I paused. I explained the veil. “I’m not entirely sure if you will remember all this. I promise you, however, that you’ll not forget Alex, nor he, you, and that I will make sure that you can stay in touch and visit one another.”

The admiral had told me to let him know how George had worked out. I knew that didn’t mean a fitness report or an email. As soon as I turned the Independence over to the captain of the refit crew, I took a shuttle to Geneva. I left the boys in Morocco, with Alex’s father, mother, and little sister.

By this time, we’d determined that Alex’s dad didn’t forget about Alex when they were separated for some time; but he did forget that I was seventeen, George and Danny were combat-armed thirteen-year-olds, and that Alex was something much more than his dad had ever contemplated. Don just didn’t worry about being separated from his son, and was happy that he’d gotten a good assignment with his friends, Danny and George.

As I boarded the shuttlecraft to leave Morocco, the boys sent me images—imaginary images of themselves in filmy, translucent pantaloons from the old black & white movies, images of themselves sunbathing on a clothing optional beach. I sent back an image of myself wearing the costume of a harem guard, arms crossed on a naked, oiled chest; long, greasy hair tied into a pony tail; Fez on my head; and a whip in my hand. Danny added Persian slippers that curled up at the toes. We all giggled.

Chapter 17: Escape from Las Vegas

Deacon Jerome dismissed us from our lesson. Matthew left the room immediately as I had told him. He was reluctant and afraid, but I made him promise on our love. I hated doing that, because I knew that what I was about to do was a betrayal of that love because I might die.

When the door closed behind Matthew, Deacon Jerome said, “Didn’t you hear? You’re dismissed.”

“You like to see me naked and wet,” I said. “I like to be naked and wet. I don’t need to know everything that you know to know that means something.” I giggled.

Jerome looked at me.

“Do you know what you are asking?”

“Yes, Deacon Jerome. I also know that you are closer to the Lord God than I, and that I am not worthy to be the receptacle of your seed, but I very much want to be.”

“Jesus H. Christ, boy, I think you’re serious,” the Deacon said. “Come with me.”

I followed Deacon Jerome through the hallways to his quarters. He waved me through a door and into a bedroom.

“Drop your robe, boy,” he said.

I pulled my robe over my head and tossed it into a corner. Despite my fear, my penis was erect. Thank—not the Scudder, I thought. But thank something I can be erect!

Deacon Jerome looked at me, his eyes swept from the top of my head to my feet. Then, he beckoned, and I walked to him until I stood only inches from him. He put his arms around me and pulled me to him. I looked up as his face bent down and his lips found mine.

I remembered the lessons in kissing, and opened my lips to his tongue. When it retreated, and I felt a pull from him, I pushed my tongue between his lips and moved it around his mouth.

He gasped, and released me. “You have been well taught, boy.”

I felt something from him, and dared to say, “Deacon Jerome, my name is Hamish.”

He froze for a moment, and then laughed. “You know that I have known that, boy. You are brave, too,” he said. And then, “Hamish. That’s a Scottish name. Are you from Scotland?”

“I don’t know where I am from, sir. Does it make a difference?” I put my arms around him, and pulled us together. I rested my head on his chest. “Does it really matter?”

I felt his excitement and his lust. I could almost hear his thoughts: This boy is going to be the one, I know it! The little one is softer, but he’s a crybaby. This one? He’s stronger, he’s eager.

“The little one cried and screamed and begged. Are you going to cry, boy?”

“Only if you want, Reverend,” I said.

“You called me Reverend,” the deacon said.

I mumbled an um hum into his chest.

“Someday, soon, I will be a Reverend. When my father dies, I will become The Scudder. Did you know that my father is The Scudder?” he asked.

“No, Reverend Jerome,” I lied.

The deacon released me, and stepped back. He sat on the edge of the bed.

“Well, he is, and I will be the next Scudder.”

I felt the uncertainty and the hope in his mind. I also sensed the tension between him and his father, and between his father and the Council of Reverends, although I didn’t understand any of these things. I also felt his lust, and suggested that he allow me to undress him.

One of the boys had described the Reverend who had fucked Artie as old, smelly, and fat. Deacon Jerome was not old or fat, but he did smell. I suggested a bath, reminding him of the “hard and wet” experience, but he wanted a blowjob immediately. I managed not to gag when I took him deeply into my mouth. Fortunately, he was quick to cum. Fortunately, his cum was scant. I managed not to upchuck. I think that knowing how important this was, I managed not to upchuck.

Once he’d gotten his rocks off, as he thought, it wasn’t hard to convince him to bathe with me. I used a loofa to scrub him thoroughly, and then suggested he should treat me the same. He hesitated, but only for a moment, before applying the loofa to my body. He’s got a lot of years in him, especially if he gets castrated in, what, two or three years? I heard him think.

It was then that I realized what I’d gotten myself into. I don’t know if it was fear or anger, but I pushed away from Deacon Jerome.

“No! No! You’re not going to turn me into one of them!” I thought of the eunuchs. I thought of Matthew, and what had been done to him. I thought of the other boys who had to submit to the Reverends. I thought of the girls, whom I knew were in the same situation as the boys. I thought of Artie, who had escaped. I thought of the picture of the First Scudder with the flame of the Holy Spirit around him. I thought of Matthew’s belief that I, too, was surrounded by the flame of the Holy Spirit, and I lashed out at Deacon Jerome. I focused all my hate into a thought, and pushed it at him.

Deacon Jerome took two steps back, and stared at me. I pushed my hatred at him, and watched as blood squirted from his nose. I watched as he fell to the floor. I watched and I heard him die, and I cursed him in my mind to live forever in Hell.

I dried myself with a towel, and then took my robe from the corner where I’d tossed it, donned it, and left the Deacon’s quarters. It took a few minutes to find our room, but when I did, Matthew was waiting. He rushed at me, and I tried to hide my thoughts as I hugged him.

“Deacon Jerome won’t be bothering anyone, ever again,” I said.

“The doctor said it was a massive cerebral hemorrhage,” one of the boys said.

“More likely a curse,” another offered.

Deacon Jerome’s death was the only topic of conversation the next evening. Matthew and I had reported that morning to the classroom, but were intercepted by a man in green, who told is that the deacon was dead, and that we would be living in the boys’ quarters from now on.

“What do you mean, a curse?” someone asked.

“He did something bad,” the first boy said. “Remember that people are cursed unto the seventh generation.”

A boy, bolder than the others, said, “Maybe that means his father, the Scudder, was cursed and he was cursed for that.”

There were shocked expressions on the faces of most of the boys. Then, Andrew spoke.

“You’ve been told that a man’s seed is cursed because Adam sinned. You’ve been told that a man’s seed can be purified in you, a holy vessel. You’ve been told that alcohol is poison. You’ve been told a lot of things.

“Most of what you have been told are lies. That’s all I’m going to say, except that Robin is now the senior boy because Hamish, Matthew, and I are going to leave this place.”

He looked around the room. “We are going to leave but only to find a way to come back, to return and to rescue you and the girls. This is a secret you must keep, a secret that you may share only with new boys after they have earned your trust as you have earned mine.”

He held out his hand. “Come Hamish, come Matthew. We have a long way to go.”

John, named for John of Patmos, drove the motorcar. “They’ll not miss us until morning,” he said. “Perhaps not until late morning, but we can’t take that chance. By morning, we’ll be close to California. You will leave the motorcar before we can be seen from the border station, and will walk across the border through the mountains. I will turn back, and lead them on a wild goose chase.”

He looked at Matthew and me in the mirror, and chuckled. “You don’t know wild goose chase? Trust me—it will take their minds off the three of you.”

“Two,” Andrew said. “I will join you on the wild goose chase. That will distract them even more.”

I knew what Andrew was promising: that he would try to keep the Reverends from tracking us—at the risk of his own life.

“Andrew! You can’t do that,” I said.

“Actually,” he said. “Actually, I can. I know my fate, but yours is hidden from me.”

“What do you mean?” I demanded.

“Do not ask, Hamish, but give me the gift of your trust as I give you the gift of my life. You know that I know you killed Jerome. You know that I know you see more than most. We are different, but we are also alike.”

My words were pushed through tears. I saw as much as, perhaps more than, Andrew. “Andrew, I give you my trust and my love,” I said. “I hope that you will be safe, and I will look for you to come, someday from now.”

The man in green stopped the motorcar. “Around that curve is the California border. It is guarded by men with guns, and more. There—” he pointed, “is a trail that will take you past the border guards and into a valley. Once you reach there, ask anyone to take you to The Don. They will know what you mean. Then, tell him your story—all of it. Leave out nothing, do you understand?”

His words were sharp, and laden with hidden meanings.

“I understand,” I said. “And I will make sure Matthew understands as well, for he is now my responsibility.”

I looked at the man in green. “John, I know you will likely die for what you have done for us, but we shall remember you.”

The man chuckled. “I would ask that you remember not only me but my fellows, for they too conspired to make this day happen.”

“You mean the one who fondled us in the bath” Matthew said.

“They did what was expected of them,” John said. “They kept up the charade—the pretending—so that we might reach this day. Now, time is upon us. Go, and remember.”

At first, I was worried that we’d been turned loose in a strange and hostile environment without anything but our robes and sandals. However, the trail was clear, and once we passed the summit we found springs that gave us water—fresh, sweet, and cold. We reached a valley by late afternoon, and found someone to take us to the Don before suppertime.

“You’re from the other side of the mountain,” he said. There was no question or hesitation in his voice. Maybe it was because of what we were wearing: no one else was in robes and sandals.

“Yes, my Lord,” I said. Matthew only nodded.

The man chuckled. “Do not call me lord,” he said. “If you call me Don Renaldo, that will be sufficient.

I answered his questions: who were we, where were we from, how did we get here. I remembered that John had said to tell the Don everything. He did not seem surprised when I told him how I had killed Deacon Jerome.

“We heard that there was some confusion in Las Vegas, and that the Scudder was angry enough to curse the entire council. We also heard they didn’t take that very well, and that there will likely be a new Scudder before tomorrow.”

Then, he asked, “What do you want to happen, now?”

“Don Renaldo, I have not thought farther ahead than our escape. That has happened, but there is unfinished business in Las Vegas. The two who helped us escape are probably dead. If they are not, they will be soon. There are perhaps a hundred boys and girls who are captives of the Reverends. They, too, need to be rescued. And the men in green? Even they.”

Don Renaldo nodded his head. “You are good boys. I agree that there is unfinished business where you came from. And, I think you need to know more about that before we create plans.

“This is what will happen. You will remain with us, attend our school, and learn about the world—the reverends and their world as well as the world outside their influence. With that knowledge as well as your knowledge of Las Vegas, you will help create a plan to destroy them.

“This is not an overnight thing. It is likely that some of the boys you know will suffer indignities, even death, while we prepare. Still it is important, even critical, that we prepare.”

The face of the man in green, usually florid, was ashen. He did not relish being the messenger. He knocked lightly on the door of the Las Vegas Senior’s office, and entered.

“Sir, the worst possible news,” he said to the Senior. “Deacon Jerome is dead.”

“Dead?” the Senior asked. “How?”

“I don’t know yet, sir,” the eunuch said. “A doctor is there, now. There was a great deal of blood, sir.”

“Blood? Was he stabbed? Shot?” the Senior demanded.

“I don’t know, sir. May I go ask?”

“Of course, fool! And ensure the fewest possible people know.”

The eunuch bowed his head. A little late for that, he thought. There had been a crowd outside the Deacon’s suite, and much coming and going.

“It appears to have been a cerebral hemorrhage, sir, a ruptured blood vessel in the brain. He lost a great deal of blood in a very short time. Death was likely quick and painless.” The eunuch spoke quietly, and then bowed his head.

“Where is the other doctor, John?” he asked. “Why did he send you?”

“Sir, John is not to be found. He is missing. So are three of the boys.”

“Goddamn it!” the Senior said. “Find out exactly how the deacon died. Cut open his head if you have to.”

“An autopsy, sir? But the scriptures—”

“The scriptures be damned,” the Senior said. “Find out what killed him. And then burn the body—or whatever of it is left.”

The eunuch bowed and left the room. The Senior turned to his deputy. “Contact the Sheriff of Las Vegas and the Army. Tell… ask them to find the missing eunuch and the boys and return them—alive. Then assemble the council. We need to decide how to tell the Scudder that his son is dead.”

The Senior’s worry about how to tell the Scudder that his son was dead, perhaps murdered by a eunuch, was unnecessary. Someone had already sent a telegraphic message to Lynchburg. It was relayed from there to a town in Illinois that would be the Scudder’s next stop. The local Reverend was waiting on the platform when the train arrived, and handed the message to the Scudder.

The Scudder read the message, and then struck the Reverend who had handed it to him, knocking him off his feet. “Goddamn it! Why did this happen? How could this happen!” he grabbed the revolver from the holster of the soldier at his side and fired two shots at the fallen man.

Other soldiers, startled by the gunfire, drew their weapons. Soldiers with rifles poured from cars at the front and rear of the train. The crowd of serfs who had gathered by the station platform panicked. Two children who held flowers to have been presented to the Scudder were trampled to death.

It was never determined how the Scudder died. Some said of sorrow, some said of apoplexy. No one dared suggest that he had been shot by one of his own guards, even if the guard might have fired in self-defense.

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