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LEGAL DISCLAIMER
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The following literary work is one of historic fiction. While certain elements
may be recognized as based on actual events, the characters and personal
events are fictitious. No actual persons were involved in the creation of this
fictional work, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is pure
coincidence.
Certain characters portrayed within this work are copyrighted to Gould (1993)
and Cormier (1988). The author wishes to express his deep gratitude towards
the aforementioned for giving him creative inspiration when still a young man,
and to stretch his imaginations beyond one's own reality. For this, and the
countless other aspiring writers in the mainstream and underground markets
you've inspired, the author sincerely thanks you. No malice or slight was
intended by the willful inclusion of your marvelous creations into this work.
This work is intended for adults, and features situations, dialogue, and
descriptions that are unsuitable for minors. Please be mindful of your local
laws and customs in regards to distributing or dissemination of obscene
material. Thank you.
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The empire you hold is a despotism ...
established by reason of your strength.
-- Cleon of Athens
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AN INVISIBLE EMPIRE
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You can see us, but you do not know where we are.
You can hear us, but you do not know what we are.
You can even speak with us, but you will not know who we are.
We are an invisible empire, a secret kingdom, and we rule the world.
=======
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PREVIOUSLY:
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Stanley's affair with Rosalind escalates until he includes his brother,
Andrew, in the debauchery. This leads to domestic disharmony when Andrew's
infidelity sullies an existing friendship Janet had with Andrew's
ex-girlfriend's sister. This forces Stanley to end his affair with Rosalind
for the time being. In an attempt to make herself useful to the situation,
Rachelle plays match-maker and arranges for Andrew and Ami to date, much to
Stanley's surprise.
On a different front, Melanie and Rachelle are injured when kidnappers make
off with two of the children. With assistance from friendly local detectives,
Stanley tracks down the kidnappers and saves the day. He immediately carries
out revenge against the parties responsible, killing Rachelle's former beau in
the process, and cataloging elements of the American Mafia for future
retaliation.
The rest of the year is occupied when Stanley tries to reconcile Viktoriya's
desires with practical reality, as well as deal with an instance of infidelity
between his brother Andrew and his fiancee. A chance encounter at the end of
2008 sees Stanley and Phillipa aboard a cruise liner. Having just put
Rosalind's affair behind him, he engages in another adulterous affair with his
agency colleague.
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JANUARY JOSTLIN'
===============================================================================
The start of 2009 was ominous, and I'm not referring to the Grant-Mehserle
shooting which incited the Oakland riots months later. Upon coming back from
Waikiki, I was beset by new problems, chiefly from the fallout of Sachiko's
and Andrew's break-up. Her departure turned his world upside down.
During his initial period of misery, my brother did something utterly
foolish, and now it came back to haunt him. A call had gone out amongst the
psychologists and behavioral specialists in Andrew's unit for TDY (temporary
duty assignment) in Al Basrah (Basra), Iraq.
Still moping over Sachiko, my numb-nuts, dickheaded little brother had put in
the paperwork and never looked back. Usually, it wasn't something to worry
over, as such assignments weren't always given to the person requesting it.
But soon after Andrew and Ameena started seeing one another, his orders to
ship out came, and that was a rather rude surprise to everyone.
Faraz's sister had -- through Rachelle's well-intentioned meddling -- become
intimate with my brother. Although Faraz and I had been good friends, our
siblings weren't part of our circle. Now the two were near inseparable; Ami
was attracted to his good looks, and Andrew found her penchant for lovemaking
met his expectations. All in all, they were a happy couple.
But there was no way to work around marching orders, (well, no easy way)
especially since Andrew had asked for it in the first place. Still, a warzone
was a warzone, and even if he were tucked away safely deep in the Green Zone,
padded with layers of barbed wire, sand bags, and scores of security drones
walking the perimeter, the possibility of my dumbass brother being zapped by
one of Ami's disgruntled countrymen didn't sit well with our parents, me, or
any of my lovely darlings.
"That dork better not pull off a Jon-Peter," I quipped absently after coming
back to the condo.
"Stanley!" Rachelle admonished me sternly, "Don't say that! How could you
even think it?"
"How can't anyone?" I looked towards my mocha-skinned mate and saw the hurt
in her eyes.
We were troubled by two deaths: Heidi's first husband, as well as Faraz. Both
men had died from anti-American insurgents. Faraz on 9/11, and Jon-Peter in
Iraq. Now the threat of death loomed over Andrew.
Rachelle hugged me tightly and I said nothing more as I returned her
affection. When I did, I had to let go of the twins. Danielle and Janelle took
that as a cue to scamper off, both of them eager to reach the elevator first.
Despite the gloom which had polluted our evening, Rachelle and I cracked
smiles as we saw our twin girls hopping about trying to reach the big glowing
"up" button.
It was Andrew's last night in the States, at least for a little while. Ami
wanted to see him off, but because his flight was being made from a military
base, my brother and I dissuaded her from coming along to avoid generating
unwarranted suspicion. While I was certain I could squelch doubts security may
have had about Ami's presence, it was far easier to avoid creating the
situation in the first place.
So, she settled for a quiet dinner at the old 35th Avenue house. We knew not
to impose on my parents' home (not to mention bringing all the kids along),
but since Ami was in Rachelle's circle of friends, she decided to accompany me
to see my brother off. Supper was short and sweet. As soon as it was over,
Andrew packed his things and drove off to the base in Sacramento so he could
fly out the next morning. In the meantime, we dropped off a depressed Ami at
her parents' place.
When we left, I pinged the young woman to check in on her; she was curled up
and crying herself to sleep. The thoughts which raced through her mind were as
unwholesome as mine: images of Andrew being blown up, shot, or hacked to
pieces. It was strange that she and I shared a similar cynicism about the
world at large.
"Stanley? Sugar?"
"Yes, hon?" I snapped to attention; while pondering my brother's future, I
had entered Rachelle's unit without even thinking, and simply sat down without
a word. To my dark-skinned darling, it seemed like I was like a walking
zombie.
"I know this is hard for you," Rachelle whispered and sat beside me.
"Don't think it," I said. "It's bad vibes."
She drew back and sized me up. "Do you want to stay here tonight?"
"That'd be nice." I took her by the hand and bumped foreheads with her. "But
don't you have an early day tomorrow?"
"Not quite. But if you get too unruly," she gave me a smirk, "I'll just roll
you onto the floor."
"You and Jan are so alike now," I chided her.
Rachelle flashed me a big toothy grin, then bit me lightly on the nose before
she kissed the same spot. We were playful, but guarded, as we got our 4
year-old girls ready for bed. After bathing them, I looked after them while
Rachelle showered. Danielle and Janelle were competing to see who would make a
bigger mess in their coloring books when my mocha-skinned mate stepped back
out, fresh and powdered.
"I'll be waiting, sugar." Her fingers grazed my sides gently. "Don't make it
too long."
"I won't." I gave her a demure peck on the cheek. "Fifteen minutes tops."
I quickly headed downstairs to my unit, got cleaned up and headed back to
Rachelle's with a small tote. With the exception of Viktoriya, my darlings all
thought I had learned lock-picking, or had some "skeleton" key on me when I
went to their place.
The simple fact was that I was using telekinesis, so there was no real need
for me to carry any keys at all, save as a distraction for the kids when they
got fussy, or to have something jutting out from the car's ignition lock.
It was the hour or so before bedtime when the kids would wind down. Janelle
finished a page, tottered over to me, and began telling an animal story while
Danielle related the other half. Between their jumbled thoughts and pidgin
English, Rachelle and I had to fight to stay awake and remain interested.
For me, there was an ulterior motive for my interest: the twins were
interesting study subjects for me and Viktoriya; they seemed empathic to one
another, and both often chimed off on similar subjects.
They knew how to work their magic on their poor mother too; while one would
whine and plead, the other would be looking on in confident silence,
occasionally delivering a supportive word, or drawing attention while her
sister could catch her breath.
Viktoriya privately confided to me they reminded her of the Children of the
Corn (strangely, it's the one film where my Slavic siren will cling to me for
dear life throughout). My Russian darling could only scratch her head at the
odd development, for our own son Milhail, despite being older than Rachelle's
twins, didn't seem to be gifted at all.
'And here you gave her two fine empaths!' My dusky Russkie would often
bemoan.
Naturally, their birth-mother caught onto none of this. Rachelle was stressed
and pressured out of her mind, although she and I cherished our daughters.
When their incessant attempts for attention got to be too much -- my black
beauty was on the verge of a panic attack -- I got the girls to focus on one
of their favorite shows, Babar the Elephant. I sensed Rachelle relax as the
twins turned their attention to the TV (and thank God for digital recorders).
Not wanting to waste an opportunity, I asked the girls to tell me about the
characters. While I knew the show inside and out (thanks to sitting and
watching it countless times) I wanted Danielle and Janelle to _think_ how to
deliver a summary for their cognitive development. Rachelle sat beside me
while the twins eagerly chatted with me until their eyelids became droopy.
From there, it was straight to bed.
"Thank you, sugar," my mocha-skinned honey sighed. "It's just like Jay said,
'They don't stop! They never do!'"
"They're just excited and curious. Give 'em a year." I chuckled as I pulled
her towards me. "I'm sure they'll be as quiet as Jenny then."
"I can only hope!" Rachelle rested her head against me.
"Well, now that we're alone," I murmured, "whatever should we do?"
"Oh, sugar. I thought you'd never ask," she breathed sweetly, "C'mere. I have
a surprise for you."
"Do you now?"
I grinned, picked her up, and carried her to the bedroom, just like old
times. Rachelle's "surprise" pretty much wore me out an hour or so later, and
we fell into each other's arms, each snug as a bug under the covers.
===============================================================================
FEBRUARY MIRAGE
===============================================================================
"Thanks Stanley," a squeaky soprano sang through the house. "You're such a
dear."
"Ugh. Do me a favor," I said glibly, "and never call me that again."
"And why not?" Phillipa set her empty glass down, then tilted her head to
face me. "It sounds classy!"
"It sounds like we're married," I kidded her gently and shot her wry grin.
"You're always free to run the gauntlet and be wife number seven though."
"No thanks!" She became coy. "After your horror stories, I'm just happy you
can spare time for me. Besides, didn't California just ban same-sex marriage?"
"Ha-hah." I grew uneasy at her joke.
Phillipa's chromosomes said she was male, but she appeared to be anything
but. She stretched herself out on the fur rug, her alabaster skin blending in
with the white fur. I wanted to believe she was invisible, but since I could
see the pink soles of her feet, the shadow of her ass crack, and that fiery
mane of orange-red hair, I knew she wasn't engaging in any trickery. Her skin
was just that white and pale.
The red-head saw me staring at her and turned over, her gorgeous figure
tantalizing me. She beckoned sweetly with one finger while smiling like a shy
girl. Her pink nipples were erect from the fun we'd just had, and now, she was
begging for more. I deliberated for a moment before I succumbed to my lust,
and crawled to her side.
Damn, I was a monster.
At the time, Anthony's incident with Jillian hadn't happened yet, nor did I
think Andrew would get himself into so much trouble, so I had few qualms about
screwing around. Despite breaking off my affair with Rosalind, I was
fascinated with Mirage since our intimate encounter on the cruise liner. That,
plus I could let my guard down and relax, since I didn't have to monitor my
conversation and hide my activities as both a mind-reader and an NSA
operative.
And as luck would have it, she didn't mind. In fact, she made the next move.
Spring Break had barely arrived when Phillipa called me. She was coming to San
Francisco for the summer to scout some graduate schools in and around the
city, and was wondering if I could show her around.
"You know," she breathed softly, "like last time."
Of course, the last time I "showed" Phillipa anything, it was my cock right
before I proceeded to violate every available hole in her body. I took great
pride when I broke her in.
Well, not quite; I suspected I had sloppy seconds. Phillipa had problems with
male on female copulation, and I was just the right mix of cock size,
experience, and unfettered horniness to satisfy her desires. Her voice brought
a smile to my face; I reminisced briefly over our time together.
"Sure, no problem," I answered, then kicked myself for being a horny
rat-bastard.
From a practical point of view, Phillipa Roget was quite simply the perfect
mistress: she was tall, shapely, beautiful, young, and could never get
pregnant. Additionally, I didn't have to hide who I was, or what I did. It was
like I had won the grand prize from a sex lottery.
Still, I was careful. When I met Tseng for our annual Lunar New Year's chat,
I thought of everything and everyone except for the slender red-head. I had
reason to be cautious, given her closeness to my calculating mentor. I was
completely on edge the whole time, and did my best to reply normally.
Fortunately, Tseng didn't ask about Phillipa, or steer the conversation her
way. We covered the same topic we have every year: the well-being of Melanie
and Viktoriya.
When Phillipa finally arrived, I knew where I could go for some private time:
Red Rock.
It took a lot of money, and I had to do some of the work myself, but the
house at Red Rock was mostly ready for habitation a month or so after the
family's holiday in Hawaii. Some of the interior hadn't been finished (Gracia
was still being picky), but the pier had been in place since last year. This
meant workmen and I could take materials to the island and finish the job.
Now I intended to use it, if only for a quick fuck. The Department of Defense
story was pretty much my established cover, so no one questioned me when I
took off for a day or two. To stave off my lie being picked up, I only told my
'normal' wives: Janet, Shawn, Jamie, and Rachelle, then let them spread the
news I wasn't going to be around for a bit.
So far, so good. Next, I chartered a small boat and, paying in cash, took
Phillipa to Red Rock along with some food and supplies. The excitement of
being alone with her on an island got my juices flowing. I jumped the red-head
in mid-tour of the upper floor, and again once we were downstairs in the
half-finished kitchen.
We refreshed ourselves with some juice. I was still tired though. Having just
spunked twice in the past hour, I was ready for a quick nap. The young woman
though, had only just gotten started.
"Damn dude." A feral smile crossed her face. "You practically raped me
upstairs."
"Yeah right." I kissed her breasts. "You were screaming you wanted more."
"That was because you buzzed my mind near the end." Phillipa yawned and
stretched. "God, you're good."
"Glad to hear it," I said between kisses, "'cause I'm wiped out."
"Really?" She laughed when she saw my expression. "You don't seem like you
are."
"Believe it or not, I'm tired." I contented myself with rubbing her body.
"You just need a little pick me up." Phillipa slid between my legs.
The slim red-head kissed the insides of my thigh, then began working her way
up towards my groin. I glanced down and watched as she nibbled my cock and
tenderly kissed my nut sack. I became more relaxed around Phillipa than even
my dearest Viktoriya, with whom I shared similar powers, but who wasn't
totally privy to the things I had done.
Propping myself up with a pillow, I watched as Phillipa held my fuck wand
between her slender fingers. Her wet, smooth tongue flicked lightly over the
sides of my dick. Her green eyes sparkled mischievously as her tongue danced
slowly towards the tip of my cock. I practically licked my lips as I felt
Phillipa tickle the sweet spot on the underside of the tip. My body tensed up
as she pressed her lips to the side of the head. When she ran her tongue along
the crown of the glans, I couldn't hold back.
"Uhng-shit! God!!" I ejaculated verbally and otherwise. "Fuck, yeah. Oh, fuck
yea. Fuck yeah."
So much for not enjoying blowjobs, I thought wryly. Phillipa won me over with
her willingness to receive what filthy thoughts I had. Unfettered by anything
save the danger of frying her synapses, I simply fed out my sickest and
immediate desires, and she'd pick up on them instantly, knowing it was what I
wanted. Of course, this was all mutual...
Phillipa continued to tease and tickle my throbbing cock as I drained my
balls of fluid. She milked me slowly with her palms and fingers, coaxing the
last drops out of my cock before she eagerly swallowed my deflating dick. I
groaned, reached down, and held her head while I ground myself against her
face. When I had spent myself at last, I lay back, exhausted. However, the
slender ginger doll had other plans as she got up and pulled me to the shower.
Using desalinization and distillation tanks and the local sea water, the
house's showers had an unlimited supply of water when a lower salinity setting
was used (while clean, the water would taste saltier than usual). She set the
shower's faucet to that setting now. The weather was abnormally hot and the
room-temperature water was a welcome relief. Our bodies drenched under an
endless spray of water, Phillipa and I scrubbed ourselves clean.
"Oooh look." She giggled and grabbed my privates, "I think I see something!"
"Are you sure?" I wore a lewd grin. "Why don't you get me on-site
confirmation?"
Phillipa matched my grin and knelt down. We locked eyes as she kissed my
prick. I spread my legs slightly so she could reach under and cup my balls.
The red-head experimented slowly, taking her time to poke, prod, and pet my
penis. I was content with just this sort of light play for now, as I was sure
I wouldn't have much to offer my other darlings that night -- or even the next
day.
At the thought of my wives, I caught myself quickly as I watched the young
woman suck my dick. I'd better watch what I think or say, I thought, lest Vika
or Yu-Ching catch me in a lie and cut my balls off.
Thoughts of my women's group quickly dissipated as Phillipa slowly hilt her
face on my cock. That was pretty easy for her to do; I was only average, and
she certainly had a huge head. In fact, it was the size of my dick that let me
slip into her without much problem. Anything larger would've made her
uncomfortable. I heard her gargle and cough as my dick inflated in size. She
pulled me out, leaving white bubbles of spit on my veiny shaft.
"Too much?" I teased her, "For a big n' tall girl, you sure got small
openings."
"Shut up you," Phillipa growled and bared her wicked set of pearly white
teeth.
'Dare you.' I winked as she blinked in astonishment from my mental broadcast.
"Are you sure?" she asked meekly, "Won't it hurt?"
'I'll let you know.' I stroked her cheeks gently and added with audible
speech: "Just go for it."
"Oh, okay," Phillipa said nervously, "If you're sure about it."
She bit me gently at first. It was so gentle, one could hardly call it a
bite. Nips were more like it -- just like the ones I'd give to the kids when
they were misbehaving (and before they could talk). Phillipa followed every
nip with a quick kiss on the same spot, but it was hardly worth her effort. I
encouraged her to take progressively harder and harder bites until ...
"Aaah," I grunted with delight.
"Did I hurt you?" She looked up with concern.
"No," I whispered hoarsely and bade her to continue. "Keep doing that. It
feels damn good."
"Oh, okay." Phillipa bit down again. This time, I shuddered and threatened to
cum yet again.
"Oh yeah. Oh yeah, you do that."
I watched with fascination as she methodically masturbated me. She rubbed the
tip of my cock with her slender fingers as she took my balls into her mouth. I
twitched with delight as I felt her gently clamp down on each testicle. Her
eyes watched me intently, studying me, my face; between my body language and
the trickle of filthy thoughts I was broadcasting, the ginger-haired girl
pretty much knew what I wanted.
"You want some more love bites, don't you?" she asked as a grin spread over
her lovely face.
"Am I that obvious?" I smiled.
"Maybe later," Phillipa teased. "If you're good to me. I want to soak up some
more California sun, and you're going to help me."
The two of us stepped out from the shower and toweled dry. We headed to the
solar lounge, and Phillipa lay down on a beach towel.
"Here Stanley," she said and popped open a bottle of suntan lotion, "Make
like your codename and oil me up."
"I don't get it."
"Oh, never mind," she sighed.
"This is for tanning?" I asked as I fingered the clear oil between my
fingers, "Isn't it a bit -- clear?"
"I guess." Phillipa shrugged, "It says SPF-50."
"I forgot to tell you," I became apologetic as I knelt beside her, "These
windows might be UV-proof."
"You mean I won't get a tan?" she sounded annoyed.
"I'm not sure." I knitted my brow and tried to remember. "I'd have to look at
the specs."
"That's okay." Phillipa yawned as her voice drifted off, "It's so nice and
warm right now ..."
I put my hands together to warm them. Her back was a lean, sinewy showcase.
Only Viktoriya had a back that equalled Phillipa's, but my lovely brunette's
body was starting to feel a little soft, despite her strenuous daily routine.
I pushed the gloomy thought out of my mind and concentrated on the exquisite
beauty in front of me.
The ginger girl groaned as I pressed my fingers hard into her flesh. As I ran
my hands down her body, her skin reddened slightly from where my fingers had
been. Working my way back up, I smoothed those unsightly blemishes with the
heels of my hands.
She let out a pent-up breath, and I could sense she was becoming aroused. I
worked over her shoulders and back, savoring the smells of the fragrant oil
and her skin. As I worked my way lower and lower, I could barely contain
myself and decided to push things a little further.
Phillipa sighed absently as I began massaging that sweet ass of hers. Seeing
her pale skin redden as I slapped, cajoled, and molested her, I decided to
experiment. The girl seemed asleep when I poured oil down her ass crack.
Perfect. I began my attack by placing a tender kiss on the small of her back,
just above the top of her crack. The girl sighed again but hardly responded.
She gasped aloud though, when I pressed my face between her cheeks and flicked
her asshole with my tongue.
"Holy -- what the --? Stanley!!" Phillipa cried out in alarm.
I ignored her protests about hygiene and ran over the rim of her puckered
hole with the tip of my tongue. I wasn't stupid -- I wasn't going to penetrate
her backdoor. Not with my tongue, and definitely not without protection. But
just teasing the edge of her shithole was enough of a new sensation.
I could sense her fear and excitement as I alternately licked and kissed the
soft spots around her anus. Her whole body trembled when I substituted my
tongue with my thumb. Phillipa said little as I gently pressed against her
asshole; I was doing it gently and with a little discretion.
If I pressed too far, there would be one helluva mess to clean up. While I
teased her with one hand, I began running kisses and licks down the backs of
her thighs. The red-head shivered as I ran an oil-slick thumb over her
asshole.
Now I readied the coup-de-grace. I focused my telekinesis to take over for my
thumb; her anus crowned inward from the invisible pressure I was leveraging
even as I began massaging her legs. I tightened my grip over the backs of her
thighs and calves and twiddled the telekinetic "bulb" on her shit-ring until
she came.
"Oh wow, jeez." Phillipa breathed, "Th'hell was that?"
"Feel good, baby?" I chuckled as I propped myself over her.
"Yeah." She flipped around and studied me. "You -- you didn't just tongue my
ass, did you?"
"No," I half-lied, "But it sure felt like, didn't it?"
Phillipa blushed and gave me a wry grin. "You tricked me."
"So what if I did?" I grinned back. "I thought you wanted it."
"I--I did, but that was just a passing thought." Her eyes grew wide. "You
sick fuck. You were reading my mind."
My grin only grew wider. "Did it feel nice?"
"You know it did," she murmured shyly.
"Good. So, how 'bout your front?" I eyed her hungrily. "Want me to do that,
too?"
"Oh God, yes." Phillipa gave me a mischievous grin. "Please!!"
And I did. After coating the rest of her body with oil, I worked over her
shoulders, tits, stomach, and legs. By the time the sun was setting, my balls
were aching for release, and Phillipa didn't disappoint.
She emptied the oil bottle to lubricate her tight little cunt before she
impaled herself on my rock-hard fuck stick. I slaked my lust on her eager,
limber body. The oil made her insides slick and super-slippery, and it was one
of the tightest and most pleasurable cunt cruises I ever had.
"Ungh--fuck yeah," I hissed, "I'm cummin', cummin' now."
"Pull out," she begged, "Pull it out and spray me! I want to know how it
feels."
I barely managed to pull out when that familiar feeling washed over me. The
initial spray splashed against her swollen, bare cunt. Phillipa was breathing
rapidly as my balls emptied their contents. My cock was still hard though, so
I stuck it right back in, much to my delight.
"Geeeeeez," she winced from the renewed intrusion. Her eyes widened as I
began to pummel her again. "Again?"
I covered her mouth with my own before she could protest further. The
red-head, unable to get her point across verbally, whined incoherently as she
shimmered like a chameleon. I drew back just enough so she could speak; the
little rascal bit my nose instead. I grinned and nuzzled her neck so fiercely
she cried out for me to stop. Despite that, I didn't stop until I shot off
again, this time, inside her.
"Goddammit Stanley!!" Phillipa wriggled out from under me and zipped to the
shower, "I can't believe you spunked in me again!"
The next day, I drove her down to Palo Alto where she met up with a couple
who taught at Stanford -- friends of her aunt, Phillipa claimed. I was
wondering what, if any, was her plan, but she seemed content to enjoy herself.
Despite my anxiousness to go back home, I stayed with her until after dinner.
This was due to two things: one, I wanted to know who these people were; and
two, I wanted to defile Mirage once more before I left. The next I'd see her
would likely see the two of us on assignment with NSA-PSI, and there'd be
precious little chance of the two of us messing around.
I found out the couple were indeed who they were. Phillipa's Aunt Susan had
steered her academic career, and now Susan's friends were to try and persuade
the young woman into continuing her studies in journalism or something along
those lines. The couple didn't think too much of Phillipa bringing her
"friend" along. I simply kept quiet, acted modestly, and scanned them.
By simply thinking about what she wanted to say, Phillipa could have a
private conversation with me where I used thought-speech and mind-reading. In
a way, it was like what Viktoriya and I did, but I had to do the sending and
receiving, so it distracted me from probing anyone else if I wanted to have a
mind-chat.
At one point in the evening, the red-head finally gathered why I was staying,
but she didn't mind, although she did tacitly "warn" me not to ejaculate in
her again. I found that while she could never become pregnant, Phillipa didn't
like it when I shot my gunk inside of her.
Aside from the time she needed to clean herself out, she didn't want cum
dribbling out later, ruining her clothes, soiling her panties, or -- in the
hours right after she was picked up by Susan from the New York harbor last
year -- running down her thigh when she wore a skirt or dress in public.
'You're so damn lucky my aunt isn't a hard-assed Catholic like the nuns at
the orphanage, Stanley!'
'Er, sorry, baby?' I turned my attention to Phillipa, and in doing so, had to
decrease my focus on the couple across the table.
'She thought it was lube from a vibrator, so she gave me a wet wipe and told
me to be more careful in the future.'
I picked up the rest of her thoughts as I reflected on my own unabashed
horniness. I knew she was also thinking about punching me in the balls if I
did that to her again without warning her, or cleaning her out. I humored
Phillipa with thoughts about using a novelty Q-tip, but she found it quite
unfunny.
'How about I stick a straw in and slurp the stuff up instead?' I
thought-spoke.
Gross. That was Phillipa's first thought. Then, as her mind began picturing
me doing that, she was shocked at the level of my perversion. Finally, I
mentally dared her to punch me in the balls anyway -- the pain she'd inflict
on me was likely nothing after the five fucks I gave her at Red Rock. My nuts
were pretty damn sore, and the prime reason I was so quiet at the table.
Now _that_ made the young woman stifle a giggle. The couple wondered what was
so funny, as some serious business was being discussed at the time. No matter.
I nudged the topic (and the mood) back on track as the red-head composed
herself. Unfortunately, we didn't get much time alone. Since Phillipa was
staying as a guest with Susan's friends, and I had to go back home. I bid them
all a good night and settled for a demure peck on Mirage's cheek.
===============================================================================
SPRING FEVER
===============================================================================
Andrew's overseas assignment wasn't the only problem I had to deal with. Soon
after Phillipa's surprise visit, I was faced with another potential threat to
the family peace. The cause of my frustration was Melanie's brother, Anthony,
or as he's better known as: Yu-Wah or Wah-jai*. [* Cantonese: Equivalent of
'Sonny' or 'Junior' but specific to an individual]
At the time, he was in his junior year of college, and sailing through his
classes with an ease that made even my First green with envy. There was no
doubt that Anthony was a bright boy, but one day, he took things a little too
far with Jillian and one of her friends.
Let me go back just a bit: one of Jillian's school chums, Jessica Ga, lived
just around the corner of our block. In fact, anyone looking out the windows
in our building's west side (the units belonging to Shawn, Jamie, me, and
Viktoriya) could see the Ga family's home.
Being quite a bit older than her siblings, Jillian found she had more fun
with others her age. Young Jessica fit my stepdaughter's wants to a "T". The
two hit it off at the elementary school, and stayed friends when they entered
middle school -- the same year Viktoriya left for New York ('06).
Naturally, I was so preoccupied, I took little notice of Jillian's new "BFF"
(best friend forever) until Viktoriya came back. By then, Jessica had grown a
bit and possessed a body of a girl who was a bit older, although she and
Jillian still hung out (we are talking about eighth-graders here).
After I introduced myself to Jessica as Jillian's father, my dusky Russkie
surprised me by boasting how she knew more about the middle-schooler than I
did; I had a nagging feeling Viktoriya was checking out Jessica and deciding
whether or not to dyke grind one of the girl's female relatives.
My vixen from the Volga had come up to drop off a sweater she had borrowed
from Jamie, and I used the chance to invite her in for a quick bite to eat.
While I readied dinner and conducted mind-chat with Vika, the two kids were
playing with their Nintendo DS Lites in the living room (it was practically
the only videogame system Jamie allowed her daughters to play).
Viktoriya had her soup and bread, then headed out to teach her class. She
gave me a not so gentle telekinetic nudge as she left Jamie's place.
'Stanislav, you have a one-track mind.'
'Yes, and the train's derailed. But am I right, lyubimy?'
As she rode the lift down to the garage, Viktoriya stood in a spot so I could
make out her reflection in the lift's vanity mirror.
'Very funny, old man!' She stuck out her tongue deliberately so I could see
her beautiful face through mind-sight. She then gave me a devilish smile that
made me groan inwardly.
'Please don't do anything crazy.' I reflexively broadcasted.
'No, rodnoi. Not me. Never.' She teased her reply with giddy mirth that made
my heart skip a beat.
Viktoriya deliberately winked in the mirror as she stepped off the lift. 'But
I think one of her cousins is about Melanie's age and size.'
'Oh boy.'
I gave up trying to dissuade her, but then I knew I could count on her to be
careful. My Cossack cutie understood the unwritten rules about the empire; she
was simply careful by nature. Anthony though, wasn't, and he made his move
when I least expected it.
Jamie was busy setting up a new network for her company, hence she was coming
home late. However, she allowed Jillian to invite Jessica to come by when it
suited the two; this was after the two of us met Jessica and her parents. My
Asian angel surprised Mrs. Ga, who was older than Janet, with her relative
youth, and I found Jessica's family was fairly pleasant and -- more
importantly -- had nothing special. No agency ties, no gifted individuals.
They were 'normals'.
With Jessica coming over so often, I had been staying at Jamie's place to
fulfill my role as her father. While "Aunt Melanie" was always convenient (not
to mention the rest of the women in the building), it was hard to explain why
there'd be a different adult checking on Jillian each time; so to keep things
normal, I had to be there, which suited me fine.
On that particular day though, I had to stay at the office a little later
than usual (projects I can bring home, but I couldn't skip meetings).
Normally, Laura would've lent a hand, but she was busy with Jules that day
(more on that later). My pumpkin was with me (it was a meeting with the
Delancey Project people).
Rachelle wasn't available, since she needed nearly an hour to weave through
the traffic home from LucasArts. Likewise, Janet had other clients to meet
with before a dinner with people from her health insurance case. And Viktoriya
had to leave to teach her private students in the evening. So, that left
Melanie to deal with the children.
Since Little Chen needed to pick up the younger kids, she thought to ask her
brother to check on Jillian. Anthony obliged and showed up almost uninvited.
Jillian greeted her "Uncle Tony" and let him in, and passed him off as a
relative. At that point, things got a inappropriate; from what I could piece
together through thought-mining, I formed what I believed to be an accurate
account of what happened:
Jillian and her friend Jessica were done with their homework, and they were
nearly bored from talking about boys, clothes, and make-up. They were also
done giggling over fake nudes of the Twilight cast. Jillian was busy erasing
their Internet history and re-activating Net-nanny so Jamie wouldn't find out
about her web forays. My stepdaughter was a bright little bulb.
Since she was little, Jillian dimly remembered a time when she called me
"Uncle Stanley" instead of just "daddy." It happened around Father's Day,
2001; my stepdaughter was looking at me curiously when I visited Jamie. When
Jill shuffled up to me with a small gift in her hand, I picked on what Jamie
had done: she had explained to her daughter that I was her father.
Of course, that didn't jive with reality. Besides, Jill also remembered her
mother dressing up before going out to "work". As she got older, Jillian
suspected that her mother had done some "bad" things and gotten into
"trouble". It was all still a mystery to her since Jamie and I didn't talk
about it. However, nothing really could explain why Jillian had Eurasian
features like the twins, Kady, and Milhail, while her own sister Jenny was
like our other homogeneous Chinese children.
So, a few days after Jillian experienced her menarche, Jamie felt it was time
to tell her daughter the truth after having the "sex-talk" with her. Jill
fidgeted endlessly as her mother did her best to explain things. I just sat
there and did my best to appear serious. I was simply relieved we hadn't taken
up Viktoriya's "recommendation" to show Jillian a couples' porn movie instead.
"It would be a lot faster," Jamie said, "But I don't think she's thinking
about that yet. Heck, I don't even want to give her ideas!"
Viktoriya nodded outwardly, but inwardly, I could hear her thoughts: 'What is
this thinking? Does she think Jill and Jen will stay children forever?!'
I could only smile, sigh mentally, and broadcasted to my Cossack cutie to
respect Jamie's wishes. Viktoriya was miffed, and steered clear of us for a
few days, choosing to focus her attentions on her students and Milhail
instead.
Immediately after the sex-ed chat, it was my turn to speak. Jamie noticeably
tensed as I fed Jillian a highly sanitized version of how we met all those
years ago in Las Vegas. Fortunately, Jill was a confidant young lady, and
wasn't traumatized by her parentage. Unfortunately, during my stay, I made the
mistake of explaining to her that the "fireman's pole" in Jamie's condo was,
in actuality, a dancer's pole.
"You mean like Mommy Vika?" My daughter beamed brightly while I kicked myself
for having such a big mouth.
"Yes. Kinda like that."
I breathed an inward sigh of relief; Viktoriya had seen Jamie's pole when the
condo was being built, and requested a similar one for her own use at her
place. Luckily for me, my Slavic siren was open about her affinity for dance
and movement studies, so the kids understood where the pole could come from.
This explanation though, also put some misconstrued ideas in Jillian's
innocent little head.
"Hey, you wanna play with my mom's pole outside?" Jillian nudged her buddy.
"I guess so." Jessica was indifferent. "I thought we were gonna watch TV. And
I thought you said you got a Shiny!!"
[** Author's Note: A Shiny refers to "shiny pokemon", a variant of the same
creature but with a shiny, glossy, sheen. Considered a collectible in some
circles.]
"Maybe later. My mom hid my game again until our tests are done, so I'll get
it to you then."
"That's like, next week!" Jessica blurted.
"Yeah." Jillian shrugged. "But it won't matter much anyway. My dad will want
me to help him cook when he come back, so we might as well goof off now."
"Oh, all right," the other girl relented.
The two girls headed out into living room where Jamie's pole stood in the
corner. Like the one at Viktoriya's, it had plenty of room for someone to
twirl around. To hide any suspicion that the darn thing was anything _but_ a
dancing pole, Jamie stored her exercise gear nearby. She only moved the stuff
out of the way when she used the pole -- which was becoming less often as
Jillian became older.
That was probably why Jamie and Viktoriya were so close, because Jay began
using the pole in my Russian bride's condo instead. The bisexual brunette was
practically dancing on cloud nine over Jamie's voluntary excursions. Viktoriya
also didn't hide the fact she could pole-dance as well as any stripper
(something that would no doubt cause Milhail embarrassment when he'd get
older).
The two girls managed to push the machines and stuff out of the way so they
could access the pole. At first they climbed the thing like it was a rope in
gym class, but after a while, they were having a ball just twirling around
like kids in a schoolyard; they were like daredevil cyclists racing inside a
metal sphere, except they were whirling around a Maypole until they got dizzy
and sick. Jillian was on the ground, nauseated, excited, and laughing
hysterically as Jessica spun 'round and 'round when Anthony knocked.
Wah-jai found it strange that the girls had a strip-club pole in Jamie's
condo. When he visited, it was to see his sister, Melanie, as none of my other
darlings ever knew him well enough to invite him into their units. With the
girls still giddy from their fun, he decided to up their "fun" factor by using
a marshmallow gun (someone had left theirs at Jamie's) and trying to aim his
shots into their mouths as they spun around.
Then he crossed the line. Anthony asked each girl to sit in his lap so he
could be their "turret pilot" while the girl was the "gunner", aiming
marshmallows at the second girl twirling around the pole. All this physical
exertion and horseplay made the teens sleepy, run down, and -- most
importantly -- sweaty. And it was the sweet smell of young teenagers that got
Anthony excited.
He just couldn't help himself as he lay down with both Jillian and Jessica in
the living room sofa, his arms curled around their bodies and his palms on
their underaged asses. My sleazebag brother-in-law still had a smile on his
face and a cock bulging under his trousers when I came home. He couldn't rouse
himself fast enough to cover his tracks, nor could he really lie to my face.
I asked him to stay for dinner so I could dig into him a little more, but the
little bastard declined. I physically caught him by the shoulders outside the
condo and instantly knew what he'd been thinking. Somehow, Yu-Wah knew it too.
He and I had it out outside while Jillian supervised Jessica in the kitchen to
pre-boil a pot of broth and wash some veggies. Making dinner together was
something Jill and I had done since we first met.
"What the hell were you doing in there?" I hissed at him.
"It's cool, Keurng-guo* [* Cantonese: Brother Keurng]," Anthony babbled,
thinking I was worried about the polygamy being discovered. "Jill's friend
thinks I'm just an uncle."
"It's not that." I held him tightly by the arm. "What were you doing with the
girls in the room?"
Melanie's brother winced; he'd heard rumors about my unnatural strength. He
had also heard about my bad temper (most likely from his sister Yu-Ching, who
put up with much of it) and he was keen to avoid it.
"Nothing! I swear! Nothing happened!" Anthony was getting loud, so I hauled
him around the corner and into the stairs.
"Do not bullshit me, Tony," I growled. "That's the same line Boy Scout
leaders and Catholic priests use."
"But that's the truth!"
"You want to lie?! That's fine!" I was positively livid. My voice though, was
cold as ice.
"Wak-jie lei-ge jie-jie yieu-teang-ha lei-ge kgoo-jaei*." [* Cantonese: Maybe
your sister would like to hear about your story.]
"Please don't!" Little Chen's brother swallowed hard, his eyes wide. "She
wouldn't like it."
"You're damn right she won't," I seethed. "Neither will Jamie. You know what
they'll do to you if this gets out?"
Wah-jai was trembling, blubbering, and coming to pieces as I roughed him up.
The two of us were on the landing between floors, mostly out of sight from the
floor above. I was fortunate Melanie hadn't come back yet, so the two of us
weren't seen scuffling in the hallway. As Anthony crumpled to the floor
whimpering, I heard him protesting weakly.
"But Keurng-guo, y--you were seeing Ching-jie when you were my age!"
I hauled the little ratbag up by the belt, half-expecting that accusation. It
was true: I had done something similar with Melanie, although when I met her,
she and I were both children. However, I hadn't taken interest in Yu-Ching
because I found her sexually attractive, but rather for her most curious
gifts. Our love came to us later, when we both had grown.
And age aside, there were still boundaries of family one shouldn't cross.
Anthony's case goaded me, especially since Jillian was his niece through
marriage. To me, that relationship, coupled with the age thing, made it
unwholesome.
"Don't you dare compare yourself to me," I growled at him unkindly.
Yu-Wah whimpered as I continued to menace him. "Please stop! I -- I won't do
it again!! I swear."
"You're damn right you're not. If I ever see or hear that you're alone with
Jillian again --" Through passive mind-sight, I could see through Anthony's
eyes that my face had twisted into a vicious snarl, "-- I swear that what I do
to you will be _nothing_ compared to what the women will do."
The weasel nodded quickly and slipped back into his sister's condo without
looking back. Knowing how protective Melanie was, I was sure she would be
reliable in carrying out my bluff. As for Jamie, that illegal .32 Beretta of
hers was still somewhere in her condo. I was dizzy with rage, caught off guard
that something like this could happen under my nose. And I was sure that if
Jamie found out, she and Melanie would have a bad, bad falling out.
I had to do something. An adult man trying to bed an underage neighbor girl
was already a scandal in the making; that he'd try to sexually molest his
equally underage niece as well was too much for me. All of that would make
sensational headlines if news of it got out.
So, what to do? I stewed over my options for a few days while I looked after
Jillian (Jenny was staying with Shawn and Kady in the interim). Just plotting
weighed heavily on my mind; I had not taken such heavy handed action against a
family member since that business with Shawn's father some years back.
There was a difference too: George Horten had already done his dirty deed,
but Anthony hadn't. It simply his word against mine. The only one who'd
believe me would be Viktoriya, and that meant I had to expose my plans to my
Russian lover.
Believe it or not, that would've been the easy part. The hard part would be
getting her to believe me, or even to even agree with such strong-armed
tactics. And with Melanie's ability to hear things, this mess could get
messier if she realized what I intended to do.
When I thought I was at the end of my rope, it was Viktoriya who came to my
rescue. By now, if I didn't want her to know anything, I'd consciously
"forget" something, only to recall it later with a pre-determined symbol or
icon I'd have on a post-it note tacked on my bedroom closet's door. The icons
were meaningless to anyone except me. This let me keep secrets that may prove
threatening or dangerous from my Russian darling's occasional mental probing.
However, Anthony's problem was something so immediate and concerning, she
picked it up before I had a chance to file it away, or think of anything more
detailed than an intention to beat the living shit out of Yu-Ching's brother.
That, or have him meet with an "accident" near San Francisco State. 19th
Avenue and Holloway was a busy intersection, and fatal accidents were not
unknown ...
'Stanislav, that's awful!'
She communicated with me in our silent tongue while the two of us were having
dinner at Jamie's. With Jillian's friend gone, Viktoriya brought Milhail
upstairs so we could have a quiet evening together.
'Tell me about it. I don't know what to do.'
I ate silently as I snuck a glance at my son. Milhail was surprisingly well
behaved when his half-brother, Michael, wasn't trying to lead him into
trouble. Jillian in the meantime, was pestering Viktoriya about how-to do
this-and-that motion she saw on "So You Think You Can Dance?" or some other
pop-show. This so she would not look foolish at her upcoming school dance. My
dance-loving darling answered her step-daughter verbally as we continued our
mental meeting.
'But honestly, Stanislav, if Anthony was one of us, would you care?'
'This is Jillian we're talking about.' I thought-spoke sternly. 'Don't joke
about that.'
'Well, I ask hypothetically.' Viktoriya audibly scolded our son in Russian
when he began turning around in his seat to watch the television.
'And if someone like Cristobel or Freya tried something similar with
Milhail?' I pinged back.
My Baltic beauty wrinkled her nose at the suggestion. 'Point taken, dorogoi.
Although neither of them are like that!'
'Fair enough. But I didn't think Anthony was like that either.' I turned my
attention to Milhail and asked aloud, "You want to watch TV and eat?"
"Yes sir," he mumbled and snuck a look at his birth-mother. "Can I?"
'You spoil him too much.' Viktoriya thought-spoke with disapproval, but kept
her expression nonchalant. "You may, if your father agrees."
"Okay buddy." I nodded and got out of my seat. "But at the table. Switch
seats with me. I don't need you making a mess in the living room."
Milhail positively bailed out of his seat, eager to switch sides. Now he
could see the TV, and I could be next to Viktoriya.
"Daaaaa-aaaad!!" Jillian whined, "Now, you're in my way!"
"Don't you wish I could turn invisible?" I flashed her a tepid grin.
My daughter frowned unhappily as my Mirage joke fell flat. Thankfully,
Viktoriya picked up on none of it. She was still excited over her new teaching
studio. In an effort to help my dance-loving wife, I rented a stall in a
shopping complex on Masonic, near where my weapons locker was.
This would let Viktoriya teach her students in the afternoons and evenings.
Parking was ample, and she'd drive my car so she'd commute to and from work,
just like a 'normal' person. As proud as I was of her new success, I brooded
over my current problem and motioned to my two kids to rotate the table a bit.
'Honestly, sweetheart.' I continued my private conference. 'I'm at a loss
about Tony. I don't want to break this to Melanie, and it would be his word
against mine.'
'Well I have an idea.' My brunette lovely pinged back. 'What are Anton's
plans for the next few days?'
'Why do you ask? What do you have in mind?'
Viktoriya proposed a simple plan: 'Well, there's a daughter of one of my
students. She is flirty with all the boys in the class, but I know she's
single.'
'A set-up?' My thoughts became wry. 'Oh. You were thinking about seducing
her, weren't you?'
'Yes.' She flashed me a grin to mask our 'normal' conversation (both of us
were making autonomic responses to Jillian and Milhail) and she tenderly
grasped my hand on the tabletop. 'But that got me thinking. She is about
Tony's age.'
'You mean set them up?' I thought the obvious.
'Of course! He can play with someone his own age, and that'll be that!'
'That sounds like it could work, Vika.'
'Well, it better!' She passed me a curious glance as she audibly chided me
for spoiling Milhail. 'Otherwise, what else can be done? It would be awful if
we needed to gather evidence first, no?'
I knitted my brow at her turn of thought, but she paid me no heed and went
on. 'And besides, it would break Melanie's heart, wouldn't it?'
'Yes, it would.' I thought-spoke. 'Thank you, Vika.'
'You are most welcome, Stanislav.'
If she was surprised I became so relieved, Viktoriya didn't let on. The two
of us orchestrated the whole thing, but I had to let her do most of the
foot-work, as I had alienated Yu-Wah with my outburst. It was just as well --
seeing how my Russian darling resolved this family spat provided keen insight
into how she operated.
===============================================================================
EVERY MOTHER'S DAY ...
===============================================================================
Many people say that once a person is married, they fall into a "comfort
zone" with their spouse. Their activity levels adjust to meet their partner's;
that or the pair often compromise. This was one reason why married people got
fat or thin together.
While I was never one for physical activity that wasn't sex or having other
fun with my darlings, I realized that as I grew older, I needed to stay fit
(if not trim) if just to have a plausible excuse to exhibit my faux kung-fu
(or as I sometimes referred to it: Jung-fu; little psych joke there).
I wasn't an expert fighter, but I knew I could take down a skilled combatant
easily. And it didn't matter what he trained in, or for how long. It didn't
matter if he employed Brazilian jujitsu, Israeli krav maga, or Russian SAMBO
(samozashchitya bez oruzhiya), proximity was their enemy. Once my attacker
came into contact with me, his synapses would get fried.
When I deployed my gifts in combat, I only did so with one purpose: to kill.
By now, any reservations I had about holding back when I was threatened had
gone. All those years doing the "odd job" had turned me into a no-nonsense
realist, and the various tasks I'd done for the agency had dulled me to any
sense of pity or compassion for strangers.
That was why I was extremely grateful Viktoriya had intervened with Anthony
when she did. I was going about it with a cold, calculating, ruthless approach
that scared even me -- I was almost like Tseng.
The thought of my mentor made me uneasy. The fact that he was not around as
much now meant much of the daily burden of keeping track of upstart empire
citizens was falling on my shoulders and taking up my valuable time. Luckily,
Richard Herman (up in Eureka) and Darrell Carson (in Los Angeles) were able to
take on some of the burden, despite their brevity as empire citizens.
Although I didn't include Rick in my raids (he was too much of a risk, due to
his penchant for smoking marijuana, although he knew quite well if he uttered
a peep about me or the empire, he wouldn't live to see the next day), both he
and Darrell performed to my satisfaction. Carrie-Ann Wilson (in Monterey) was
only an empath, and she was happy with her cetacean research. Nonetheless,
when she "felt" someone was psychically sensitive, she'd notify me. Between
the four of us, we pretty much had the west side of California covered.
"Hey." _smack_ "What's the matter?"
"Sorry pumpkin," I groaned as I began my push-ups once more.
Shawn's kiss was a friendly reminder I wasn't alone. Just as spring bloomed,
my plump petunia came down with a bad case of hay fever. Her face puffed up
and she could hardly breathe. I finally traced it to the massive bloom of
pollen on the rooftop from one of Yu-Ching's new side projects. With Shawn's
condo right below, there was no doubt what caused her allergy.
Strangely, Melanie (like Janet, Jamie, and I) didn't get fazed much by
pollen, although we were allergic to other things, like shellfish and (for
Jamie) large amounts of roast duck (Jamie's allergy caused Melanie no small
amount of guilt, although we later found Jamie could eat small amounts without
breaking out).
Viktoriya and Rachelle were more susceptible to dust and pollen, though not
as much as Shawn. My doughty darling was getting so stuffed up, she moved in
temporarily into the unit her mother had used while I made some calls to have
a new filtration system installed in her condo. This though, didn't solve all
her problems as the first-floor west unit was close to the front yard.
The condo's front yard was half-paved and half-padded (recycled rubber from
tires) but any vegetation there were weeds or dandelion puffs. Since I was
young, I'd hated weeding my parents' yard so when I was building my home, I
wanted as little vegetation as possible.
Melanie could have her garden, but that frontyard was to be clear of as much
plant life as possible. Still, there were the occasional weeds that sprung up,
so Shawn had to keep her windows shut. With no other alternative apart from
staying at Janet's (which didn't sit well with either woman for some reason),
my doughty dumpling imprisoned herself inside first-floor west with a portable
HEPA filter while workmen re-worked her condo.
You'd figure being cooped up in condo and tele-commuting for a few days would
be fun, but it wasn't. Shawn was lonely since her daughter and mother weren't
around. Being bleary eyed and tired meant she wasn't up to the task of looking
after anyone.
Sweet, sanguine Jenny would be staying with Rachelle for a while so she could
socialize with the twins. In the meantime, stubborn little Kady would be at
Melanie's for a few days. I was positive the rambunctious four year-old was
more than eager to teach Norman her own brand of mischief. As for Mother
Benton, she was staying at Alamo Square ever since she started seeing Jules
Fontana.
Don't get me wrong; I was all right with the old man being a mentor to both
Shawn and me. However, things definitely became more personal after Laura met
the widower at the Green-Haus office. They didn't hit it off right away, but
the occasional phone call, the little notes, and the nightly absences became
increasingly prevalent until it was an open secret.
I, of course, already sensed it fairly early when Fontana texted a message
during a meeting to confirm a date with Laura. I wanted to ask him about it,
but he'd made it a point to keep his nose out of my business, so I gave him
the same courtesy. Shawn suspected nothing until the two lovebirds officially
broke the news to us a few weeks before.
Now it was all weird. Technically, Jules wouldn't be my father-in-law even if
he married Laura, although I'd be remiss in my manners not to treat him as
such.
Regardless of how I saw him, Shawn would have a step-dad and little Kady
would be right in calling him "gramps" if Jules and Laura got hitched. My
pumpkin was pleasantly surprised at first, but then she began feeling a little
betrayed, if not downright creeped out by how things turned out. So, to cheer
her up, I decided to pay my darling dumpling a visit before dinner. Shawn was
more than happy to see a familiar face, and began talking my ear off,
especially about her mother's new boyfriend.
"You know it's been a while," I said, "So, it's bound to happen sooner or
later."
"I know." She leveled a frown. "But of all people! Jules? Really?"
"Would you have preferred it to be someone else, pumpkin?" I chided her
gently.
"I don't know." Shawn dimpled her pudgy cheeks, but I sensed her frustration,
so I sought to comfort her.
"Well, Jules is kinda like the office dad."
As soon as I said that, my Anglo angel whined -- almost like saying,
'Eeeewww' -- but it was an incoherent noise only Shawn could make and sound
adorable doing so. I chuckled and gave her a reassuring hug. To get her mind
off things, I suggested she nap on me, so I could use her weight while I did
some push-ups. She got comfortable once I began broadcasting a weak mental
feed of mathematical problems I had mulled over with her when we were still
students.
From Shawn's point of view, these memories suddenly surfaced and she began
heckling me about never having solved them. I took it all in stride, smiling
wryly as she whispered how she could probably use Rachelle's henna kit to ink
the solutions all over my body. At least my pretty petunia was out of her
slump and feeling better.
"Hey, I'm done," I announced as I lowered myself to the floor.
The guest condo unit had grown more spartan as Laura began moving out. The
place was covered in white dust sheets and the few sources of light were from
Shawn's tablet, a work lamp that spotlit her easel, her desktop, and the
room's soft LED glow. My Anglo angel had a small suitcase of clothes so she
could change (anything more she needed, she got from her place while wearing a
pollen mask). It was all very cozy.
Shawn heard me, but she still didn't budge. Rather, she clung on and kissed
the back of my neck again. I shivered reflexively from the attention she was
giving me. I got the feeling that she was being aroused from my exertion. Her
airways cleared after spending a few days in isolation, my Anglo angel was
enjoying not only my company, but the scent of my body. I could feel her touch
as her fingers crawled over my sides, arms, and shoulders.
"Stanley?" she murmured, "Sweetie? D--do you wanna do it?"
Her shyness, even after all these years, was always refreshing. I chuckled as
I gave her a soft squeeze.
"Sure, baby. C'mere."
Shawn slid bashfully under me, her chubby cheeks pink from both embarrassment
and excitement. I kissed her face lightly before I began nuzzling her in
earnest. My bubble-bummed muffin sighed and lay herself out under me. Then, I
got a wicked idea.
This condo had been her mom's residence for the past few years, and it kinda
felt like doing it in her parents' place. I had to be careful though -- Shawn
had estranged herself from her father, and I didn't want to dredge up old
hurt. But this was earnestly too good of an opportunity to pass up.
"Hey, let's go to your place." Shawn's tug pulled me back to reality.
"I got a better idea," I said and ushered her to the bedroom.
"Wait! Here!?"
"Why not?" I pulled her close so I could whisper, "Let's do it quick before
your mom comes home."
At that, Shawn blushed. While the locale was different, it _did_ seem like we
were back in high school. I could feel her body heat rise as her gaze dipped
to avoid mine. I stroked her chin and neck, then I lifted her blouse up,
revealing those massive mammaries I'd grown to love. Shawn mewed as I began
fondling her, softly flicking her nipples and gently tickling her tummy. I
broadcast a thin stream of lust, but held back; with my doughty darling, I
didn't need to do much persuading. Shawn Ellen was a natural when it came to
sex.
By now we had both tumbled onto the bed (Shawn slept on a futon near the
filter and her work station, much like she did in Japan). I lifted up her
breasts a bit and sniffed; although she hadn't exercised, she was a little
sweaty just from her effort of staying on top of me when I was doing my
push-ups. I nuzzled the underside of her boobage and topped her sensitive pink
nips with loving licks and kisses.
"Oh God, Stanley," Shawn gasped and grabbed me gently by the hair.
I tweaked one nipple while I bit gently on the other. I wanted to go behind
her now, if only to place my hand on her love button and buzz her. Lovemaking
was usually not as complicated with Viktoriya; she'd buzz herself with
telekinesis, or let me do her (same method) from any position. With my other
darlings, I had to be more careful in deploying my gifts but the result was
all the same: fan-fucking-tastic.
When we finished, Shawn lay on top of me, exhausted and sleepy. I felt her
soppy, wet hole twitch as my hard-on slowly softened inside her. Her boobs
were pressed nicely against me, our bodies sticky with sweat from our amorous
activity. I felt her warm drool on my chest as she nodded off; Shawn looked so
damn cute, I fought the urge to pinch and cajole her as I usually did.
Instead, I busied myself by planning out the rest of that night. Mother's Day
was going to be tomorrow and unlike past years, my darlings voted unanimously
to have one large gathering rather than individual celebrations throughout the
week.
Besides the time it took, things simply grew more complex over the years.
With six mothers and even more grandmothers, we were practically killing
ourselves keeping up the appearance of several nuclear families. And since the
whole family pretty much gathered at my parents' house around Mother's Day (as
the paternal grandmother, my mother was pretty much the final stop in
festivities) we reasoned it was simpler to bite the bullet about the polygamy,
at least in terms of certain celebrations.
Aside from the stress and time involved, the nuclear family charade was also
getting the younger kids confused, since they couldn't tell who among our
family acquaintances was trust-worthy. Ultimately, we came clean with most of
our parents, if only to cut down on the complications. We did it slowly and
gently, and we didn't do this with everyone. For example, the Lychenkos lived
nowhere near us, and Viktoriya and I were able to keep them out of our
business most of the time. We'd have ample warning when they wanted to visit,
so that wasn't much a problem.
Things were different though, with the parents of Rachelle, Jamie, Janet, and
Melanie, all whom lived in the city. Jamie's estrangement from her parents
proved to be a blessing in disguise; they seemed to dote on their
granddaughters, but paid almost no attention to their own daughter. Jay and I
decided to leave them out of the loop. Actually, it was this lack of parental
affection from Mrs. Young which prompted my own mother to start nagging me
about, "looking more after Yeung Tse-Kei's* interests."
[* Cantonese: Tse-Kei was Jamie's given name using Wade-Giles, but she and I
never used it, chiefly because she never knew about it, let alone read or
pronounce it. We only found out about Jamie's name when she found an old box
of her things at her parents' and took it home. Melanie found the name
inscribed on a jade bracelet made for Jamie when she was a newborn; Yu-Ching
took it directly to my mother for safe-keeping and afterwards, began
occasionally calling Jamie "Kei-jie" out of respect, while I got away with
calling her "Kei-kei".]
Jamie caught a little bit of it but didn't fully comprehend what was being
said. For a short time, my Asian angel even thought my mother had complained
about her, and sought desperately to mend a break that didn't exist. Luckily,
Janet explained what had been said before things got out of hand. My first
wife may have been the jealous type, but she was also very fair and earnest;
Janet didn't take kindly to Jamie's parents or their treatment of their
daughter.
And as for Jamie, she became rather embarrassed being singled out for
attention. She got along well with my mother, Aileen. Tse-Kei even began
learning how to cook a bit of the traditional dishes when she joined Melanie
and my mother in the kitchen when everyone could spare a weekend. The downside
was that Kei-kei picked up Yu-Ching's love for idle gossip.
Still, Jamie was happy to be learning new things with people who cherished
her company. For me, that was all that mattered. Despite what Amy Tan's "Joy
Luck Club" might have lead many Westerners to believe, not all Chinese
mothers-in-law were harpies, and not all Chinese husbands, ogres.
In the case of the Hollisters, we had to be a bit more subtle or we'd have a
blow-up like the one back in '04. For them, I simply stuck to the story that
while I was with Rachelle, I was remained good friends with Janet.
"How good a friend?" Mrs. Hollister asked me with an odd tone.
"Good enough that she and Rachelle are friends too," I had replied.
My mocha-skinned mate was mortified we were coming clean at last, although
she stood by in quiet support. Rachelle's parents were surprisingly
understanding, despite their earlier opposition against me. I suppose time,
and the presence of grandchildren, had mellowed them out.
Things became interesting when Janet swung by with the children for play-time
with the twins. Freddy and Kady sped right to my black beauty, screaming,
"Ma-maaa!" at the top of their lungs (the kids all knew my brown sugar spoiled
them the most). Rachelle unsuccessfully tried to hush them as the twins joined
the cacophany.
Rachelle's father nearly dropped his glass while her mother clutched her
chest. For a moment, it seemed like she was going to have a heart attack, but
she was just overwhelmed all this was happening. Still, I knew they wouldn't
take action against me, because I peeked into their minds.
As for Melanie, her parents were let in on the secret last. Little Chen was
ready to faint when I told her parents, but the Chens were true
traditionalists, and understood why I did what I did. Yu-Ching's mother only
asked that I'd look after her and Norman, to which I readily (and happily)
reminded her I had agreed to do so when I wedded her daughter.
Of course, I couldn't forget my Lady Wu. Her parents were the first to know
(excluding my own parents and Laura) when Janet had the Christmas party at her
house last year. Mr. and Mrs. Wu were less than thrilled, and more than a
little shocked when they heard the news. They were wondering why the hell
there were so many kids and "single mothers" at a family Christmas party. My
dad suggested that the other fathers were all looking for parking spots, but I
put that to rest with a menacing scowl.
"This is no joke," I snapped unkindly.
The icy treatment I gave my own father was enough to silence the chatter
around us. Thankfully, Rachelle was nearby to get things back into gear.
"Oh, don't mind him, Papa Chen. Stanley's just stressed!" My chocolate cutie
quickly mixed a spicy cocktail and presented it with both hands. "Here, try
this. I love it myself!"
My father stiffly took his drink, murmured something, and slipped away. I
wasn't sorry to see him leave. That incident aside, things went smoothly. Not
only Janet's parents were let in on the secret, but my First's brother, James,
as well. He had flown in with his family (Janet's half-sister didn't get along
with either the father or mother, I forget whom) and he only shook his head at
the new development.
"You mean to tell me all that in Hong Kong was a lie?" James had asked me.
"Not exactly," I said quickly.
With the Wu family being the first "outsiders" to know our family's secret, I
took nothing for granted. My gift was working overtime to nudge everyone in
the right direction. Luckily, I had assistance: Viktoriya (willingly) and
Melanie (unknowingly) were working the crowd. The older kids knew something
serious was going on, but Laura managed to shoo them away with some light
clean-up duty while we laid things out.
"Think of it as a family mixer," I spoke genially, "It's all paperwork
anyway."
"Good lord." The man took another sip of his drink, and I noticed his hands
were trembling.
Janet's sister-in-law was also in a state of shock, but she managed to cope
without the alcohol. I think Brenda suddenly realized she had to get gifts for
all those nieces and nephews, while trying to wrap her mind around how the
hell Janet became a polygamous wife.
All in all, it was better than we'd hoped; neither Janet's brother or her
parents harbored any animosity towards me as George Horten had.
===============================================================================
... NEEDS A MOTHER'S NIGHT
===============================================================================
So, that Mother's Day weekend would be a trial run of sorts, although I
wasn't the least bit worried. It was late afternoon when Shawn and I showered
and readied ourselves. We met the others, packed the kids into the mini-vans,
and headed to the Toong-Kwong restaurant on the district's main boulevard. It
was an upscale generic Asian place which catered primarily to foreigners.
Given that half my brides weren't Chinese, it fit the bill. The restaurant's
signs and menus all had English translations, and they ordered what they liked
without feeling uncomfortable or ostracized.
That Saturday night got pretty interesting. It being Mothers' Day, my
darlings relaxed and unwound at Janet's place while I put the kids to bed.
Since we all had to get up tomorrow to meet the grandparents, I decided to get
the kids bathed tonight, then grouped them into a boys' and girls' sleep-over
(Jillian helped with the girls). I had just put my sons to bed in my condo
when Kady began making trouble at Rachelle's place upstairs.
While Jillian was readying for bed at Jamie's, Kady roused her sisters into
having an impromptu "bun-bun" party (to this day, I have no idea what that is,
and the girls have no recollection of it) by taking their stuffed toys into
the hallway, and running around noisily until I checked on them.
Kady managed to rally the twins and Jenny into making some demands from me
before they'd head back inside. I had to read them an extra bedtime story --
or should I say, stories -- one for each of them, since I was (somehow) being
unfair by putting the boys to bed first before the girls.
I was wondering how much I could buzz the little rascal without lasting
damage when Jillian came out to see what was going on in the hallway. She did
her mother, Jamie, proud when she threatened to have Kady stay with Jenny and
her for a month so "Mother Shawn can work with Dad in peace." Knowing Jamie's
zero tolerance for misbehavior, Kady whined bit before becoming grumpy and
sullen.
As usual, I struck a compromise: I told the girls a longer story, then tucked
them in for the night before I thanked Jillian for her quick thinking with
disciplining her siblings. Then, my stepdaughter decided to extract a promise
from me that I, rather than Jamie, would take her, Jessica, and their dates to
their eighth-grade graduation dance (it would be Jillian's first, for doing
well in school).
"Because, dad," she pouted unhappily, "you know how mom feels about this
stuff."
I rolled my eyes and sighed. "Yes, sweetie. I promise. But just in case I
can't, I'll make arrangements, okay?"
"Thanks daddy!" She brightened up and kissed me on the cheek before slipping
into Jamie's unit.
By the time I headed back to Janet's house, I saw my women's group had
gathered around my First's gigantic plasma television. The table before them
was chock full of open bottles and several trays of liqueur candies. Saturday
Night Live was on, and I caught a feeling of wistful nostalgia from Viktoriya
when I entered the room.
I smiled wanly as I poured myself a glass of water. It was only a few months
ago she had been lezzin' out with Freya at a live taping of SNL. Still, I
guess the Slavic siren couldn't complain with the women available to her now.
I thought I saw a wicked gleam in Viktoriya's eye as she patted the spot next
to her.
'For you, dorogoi.' She pinged me.
"Thanks." I sat between Viktoriya and my First.
"See? I told you."
At the corner of my eye, I saw Melanie whisper something in Shawn's ear, and
the two giggled.
"Huh? What is it?" I asked.
"Nuh-thing!" Yu-Ching replied sweetly with a deliberate, cheeky pause between
syllables.
Curious, I reflexively reached out with my mind, and encountered a mental
hush around not just Melanie, but Shawn as well. It was a weird feeling not
being able to pick-up clear thoughts from my dumpling at this range. I wasn't
too concerned, but it was certainly a little more than odd. I didn't dwell on
it though, as the Digital Short was starting to air.
"Oh hey, I recognize them!" Jamie called out.
"The 'Dick-in-a-Box' guys, right?" Rachelle piped up.
"Yar, now shush. I wanna listen!" Janet waved for everyone to be quiet before
she downed another shot of liquor.
For the next few minutes, my darlings and I listened to one of the most
hysterically funny and offensive songs to date: Timberlake's and Samberg's
"Motherlover". I cocked my head and wanted to say something, but I didn't. I
wasn't sure if the song was meant to be satirical, or gross comedy.
There were quite a few laughs, guffaws, chortles, "Omigods!", and one very
loud, "Ha-ha-ha! That was some funny shit!" (it was Janet, who already started
to get tipsy).
From the corner of my eye, I spied Melanie and Shawn giggling like wicked
little children. They were whispering about something, but since I couldn't
read Melanie very well, I could only pick up some hazy thoughts from Shawn:
'Tee-hee.' 'They're totally gonna be surprised.' 'When?' and 'How 'bout after
Weekend Update?'
It was late, but my six darlings drank a few more shots and finished the
liqueur chocolates. While the women took in every kind of drink under the sun,
I stuck with a splash of Scotch diluted with a can of Mountain Dew -- I hedged
a bet the caffeine would offset the alcohol.
As SNL wrapped up, I excused myself to use the restroom and used a hand towel
to wash my face and other parts of my body that got sweaty. I tossed the towel
into the hamper and rinsed my hands. By the time I came back out, my wives
were huddled around Melanie's laptop. That was weird, as I knew Yu-Ching
seldom brought her MacBook anywhere. If she needed to surf the web at work,
she'd do it from her smartphone.
The women were doing a mix of chatting, gagging, or laughing. I knitted my
brow. That was strange indeed. Some classical music was playing, and I was
wondering what the hell they were watching. I knew most of my darlings would
be bored out of their minds if they had to sit and watch Masterpiece Theater
or Agatha Christie's Poirot. When I peeked over their shoulders, it was
apparently some sort of fetish _scheisse_ movie.
"What is this I don't even!" (sic) Janet was laughing drunkenly and not
making much sense as she gulped another shot.
The movie showed two performers engaged in some serious scat play. I watched
-- horrified (but oddly fascinated) -- as one girl shat into a glass cup,
before the second girl began licking its contents. Things only got worse from
there. Aside from the shit-filled lesbian lip lock they engaged in, one of
them eventually stuck a finger down her throat, gagged, and vomited on the
other. Her partner reciprocated just seconds later. I winced as Rachelle
hurriedly pushed past me.
"Oh God, I think I'm going to be sick."
Despite the dimness of the living room, I could see my black beauty had
turned several shades of green. I confirmed she wasn't feeling well hearing a
dry retch from the restroom. I watched her swig several mouthfuls of Listerine
before she came back out, a little shaken, but otherwise okay.
"Jesus, Yu-Ching," I turned around and scolded her, "What the hell is this?"
"Two girls, one cup." Melanie and Shawn both quipped. [Author's note: If
you're going to look it up, do it at home. The term is 2girls1cup. Have fun.]
Between their giggles and gagging, they both couldn't stop watching as the
clip ran its full length (then looped). I gave my two youngest darlings a
disapproving look. This was ridiculous. First, they were sharing Pokemon. Then
they moved onto MP3s. After the kids were born, they swapped baby stories and
nursery rhymes. But now they were swapping fetish porn? I didn't know where to
start.
"What the hell?" I asked.
"Kei-jie showed us!" My little darling pointed.
"Jaaaay?" I started slowly.
"It wasn't me! I just forwarded it!" Jamie wore a sick, lop-sided grin. Her
eyes bespoke a mixture of horror and fascination as hid behind Janet.
"Well that's just as bad." I reflexively pinged, "So, who sent---"
"I showed them," Viktoriya said good-naturedly.
"Vika? You found this?" I was shocked, more so since I hadn't picked up on it
earlier. Her mental defences gave away slightly and I realized she was saving
it as a surprise for me.
'Some surprise, Vika!'
'Don't you get mad at me.' She thought-spoke. 'You got me started by
suggesting that I give you a Cleveland Steamer, then chickened out.'
'No, I didn't.' I thought back.
'Yes, you did!!' Viktoriya winked wryly and spoke aloud. "Well if you MUST
know, I was wondering what you said about 'Cleveland Steamer' so I looked it
up."
"What? Oh God!" Janet glared at me, her tone suddenly sober. "Stanley? What
the fuck!? You asked Viktoriya to shit on you?!"
"No, I didn't," I repeated my thought. I wanted to correct my dusky Russkie's
little white lie, but she quickly jumped in before I could finish.
"He made fun of me," she whimpered convincingly. "When I didn't know what it
was, he -- he told me to look it up."
"Stanley, you bully!" Shawn punched my arm unkindly.
"Hey!" I rubbed my arm. "Ow!!"
Viktoriya continued her charade by feigning a sniffle. "And there were all
these _other_ links. I felt I had to share them."
"Share, Vika. Not scare," I admonished her weakly as more videos played on
the laptop.
I grimaced as the second clip (2Girls1Finger) was quickly followed by more
awfulness (4GirlsFingerpaint). The final clip had twice the number of
performers, but the outcome was exponentially worse -- the "paint" was a mix
of human feces and vomit. I thought I had seen some gruesome things before.
Coprography wasn't sexy (not to me anyway) but I found the situation rather
comedic. This was due to the music being paired with something so visually
awful. By now, even some of my more jaded darlings had to turn away, or dull
their senses with more alcoholic drink.
"Oh! I almost forgot to ask, Mel." Shawn nudged the petite woman. "Show me
that other one you said you found. I haven't seen it yet."
"Oh, yeah. Okay, Shawn Ellen. Just don't say I didn't warn you!"
"What is it?" Rachelle stood beside me.
Despite what she'd seen, she had rejoined our gathering, her curiosity
piqued. My dark beauty wore a puzzled look as Melanie stopped the movie
player, then pulled up another movie file.
"Kids ... in ... a sandbox?" Rachelle knitted her brow. "Is it like stuff on
Break dot-com?"
"No." My youngest darling glanced at me slyly. "Not really. Prepare
yourself!"
"Oh jeez. Is it something with shit again?" My mocha mate began to
hyperventilate, so I took her by the hand and did my best to calm her down.
"No, no. It's not that." Viktoriya looked at me with detached amusement. "But
it's something to think about if Stanislav misbehaves."
'Uh-oh.' I pinged. 'What're you planning?'
My vixen from the Volga only averted her eyes and pushed me away from her
thoughts with a sly smile. I relented digging further (not that I was trying
my best anyway) and sat down to watch "kids in a sandbox" -- which was
anything but.
The video was another web clip, culled from a longer film. It lasted about 30
seconds, but the scene was pretty over the top: a man and woman were in the 69
position, except the woman had a small dildo in one hand and not giving oral
sex. Instead, she proceeded to slide the device's entire length _into the
man's urethra_ and began working it in and out as fast she could.
What was more, I could hear the guy's groans of pleasure from the furious
assault. Although his cries bordered on the threshold of pain, he sounded as
if he was enjoying himself as the plastic toy stretched his piss-hole to a
diameter so a golf ball could roll through. Naturally, the video looped so we
could all watch it again.
"Hole-leee shiiit! GODDAAAAAAAAMN!!"
Janet's expression was priceless as she began laughing hysterically. It
quickly got to a point where Jamie had to steady her. The leggy Asian mother
herself could hardly tear her own eyes away from the sight. I think my jaw
must've dropped in disbelief at some point, because I felt Viktoriya gently
lift my chin and close my mouth before she draped her arms over my shoulder.
'Amazing isn't it?' She thought-spoke with mild disgust. 'I didn't know you
men could do that. Or that you enjoyed having that done to you.'
'Me neither.' I pinged back. 'I think I'd die.'
'Well, I believe you.' Viktoriya seemed proud of herself. 'Even Cristobel and
Marcello thought it was awful.'
'Good God, Vika.'
'Well, the others don't seem to mind it though.' Her thought-speech was laced
with mischief.
'Don't give them any ideas, you rascal.' I didn't bother to hide my disgust.
'Why Stanislav!' Viktoriya smiled and suppressed the urge to laugh. 'You look
positively aghast!'
"Jeeesus CHRIIIIST!" Shawn looked between the computer screen and me, one
hand over her mouth. "Is that for real?! Can you do that?"
"I don't know," I said with a frown, "Frankly, I don't want to know. And
don't any of you EVER dare try that."
That wicked little imp, Melanie, stuck her tongue out before she stopped the
movie player and started a virus scan.
"Now hush, sugar," Rachelle was feeling better, and now sought to comfort
_me_. "Just treat us all nice and that won't happen. Am I right, ladies?"
"DAMN STRAIGHT, STANLEY CHEN!!" Janet finally topped off her liquid courage.
"Oh Cripes, here she comes." Jamie flashed a bright smile as she moved out of
the way.
My flirtatious First purred drunkenly as she ran headlong into me and bowled
me over. Viktoriya managed to cushion me, herself, and Rachelle as we fell.
Thankfully, the living room had a thick carpet. My dark skinned darling
quickly recovered as my Russian darling helped her back up.
"Jeezis Jan!" I barely had time to utter a protest before my drunken First
let out a loud whoop, pulled down my pants, and proceeded to manhandle me in
front of the others.
Janet gripped my slowly hardening dong, a wild look in her eyes. I caught
sight of her wicked grin as she squeezed my erection with one hand, and poked
dangerously at my pee-hole with the pinkie finger of her other hand. I tensed
up as I caught a whiff of the ideas floating through her mind: she was
wondering if she could insert a finger into my urethra, just like in the
video.
"Hey!" I propped myself up on my elbows, my eyes wide. "I wasn't kidding
about that!"
"Oh my God. Janet!? What are you--?" Rachelle's mouth hung open, and I could
see her eyes widen from the scene unfolding before her.
My devilish First winked at her former rival, then turned to face me. Janet
grinned wickedly and teased the rim of my cock with a lacquered nail. I
shuddered not from fear, but from the scrape of her sharp nails against the
sensitive head of my dick. I sensed Janet was playing -- she had no intention
to actually _attempting_ that awful thing we just watched, but she was trying
to bluff me into thinking she would.
Inwardly, I was relieved; outwardly, I played along.
We locked eyes as Janet began her slow tease. I noticed that having an
audience seemed to get her a little more aroused. As she lowered her lips onto
my junk, I noticed Viktoriya had knelt quietly a bit away, and looking on in
quiet amusement. She was telling me to be calm, and enjoy what was going to
happen.
"Hey! Help me strip him!" Melanie laughed as she hopped off her barstool.
I shot Viktoriya a wry glance as the rest of my clothing was pulled off and,
from her thoughts, instantly gathered what she had been up to. The drinking,
the weird porn -- all of it was suggested by my dusky Russkie through a
combination of 'normal' chat and some subtle nudges -- had riled up my
darlings and loosened them up.
'Remember what I said the night we were finally all married?' She smiled
broadly as she spoke right into my mind. 'There are SIX of us now, kisa.'
'I remember, sweetheart.' I shivered as Janet curled her tongue around the
tip of my cock. 'But are you okay with taking turns?'
'I will be okay just watching, but I don't mind a ---' Viktoriya closed her
eyes a bit to fish for the term Janet had used. '--- Guy Rodeo.'
I had to smile as my First got on and rode me; unlike the first time all
those years ago, my Lady Wu was totally unhinged. Viktoriya contented herself
by drifting from one girl to the other, toying with, and teasing them until
they gave in to her wiles. Well, she didn't need to do much to get Melanie to
go along. As much as Little Chen didn't like kissing girls, she didn't mind
getting cunnilingus from one.
Jamie was more permissive, while both Shawn and Rachelle put up some
resistance, preferring to just watch and wait for their turn. All that went
out the window once Janet hopped off my cock, slurred drunkenly at Rachelle,
"It's Sat'idy! Time ta' fuckin' unwind, bitch!!" and pounced her with
unrestrained abandonment. My brown sugar let out a horrified screech as my
First held her down and practically tongue-raped her puss.
'Wow.' Viktoriya held back a smile as she pinged me. 'Just like that night
after the club.'
'No wonder you butter up to her.' I thought-spoke accusingly. 'You knew Jan's
a wild one, didn't you?'
'Everyone has secrets, Stanislav.' She left it at that. I was about to ask
her about it when Jamie, seeing me unoccupied, crawled on top and straddled on
me.
"Hope you don't mind, Stanley," my luscious Asian angel said sheepishly. "But
it's kind of a free-for-all."
I grinned, held her steady by the hand, and pulled her close to give her my
answer. Viktoriya enjoyed herself too. She coddled the others before she tried
anything, making them more willing to accept her advances. Even Shawn, whose
conservative upbringing pretty much frowned on same-sex anything, gave in and
partook in the orgy.
Viktoriya's big score though, was with Rachelle. Warmed up by Janet, my
dark-skinned darling quickly came again when her Grafenberg spot secretly got
TK-rolled by me and Viktoriya. My black beauty let out an incoherent cry as
she splashed her love juice on my Cossack cutie's face. Vika barely had time
to recover before my First jumped her as well, licking her face like a bitch
in heat. Of course, I was a little busy to notice much detail, because I was
finishing up with Jamie.
Nearby, my darling dumpling was helpless as Little Chen spoon-fucked her.
Yu-Ching's fingers were glistening with juice as they slipped effortlessly
into Shawn's cooze. Melanie hadn't held back at all once Janet made it clear
there were no holds barred, and she quickly cozied up to her plump companion.
I barely had time to enjoy the show because Jamie clawed at me desperately.
Her eyes were rolled back as she came in a low-pitched, sex-induced wail that
nearly drove me over the edge, and drew some cat-calls and whistles from some
of the others. I managed to pull out of the convulsing Asian hottie before I
crawled on top of Viktoriya.
If that wasn't enough to start a psychic Bacchanalia, then having a wild
little empath certainly was. By now, Melanie was getting her cunt eaten out by
Janet. The next thing I knew, the combined lusts of Viktoriya, Melanie, and me
were being transmitted to the other women. With Little Chen's emotions running
full blast and my dusky Russkie lost to her sapphic desires, I had more than I
could handle, and I did what I could to control the event that was about to
unfold.
When I pulled out, my Slavic sex-pot convulsed from both physical and mental
euphoria. Rachelle, dazed and overcome with unfettered lust, pushed me down
and impaled herself on my rock-solid cock. She didn't let up until she
practically blew a gusher all over me. The rest of the night went by in a
blur. I knew I fucked all six of my wives, though I lost count of how many
times (and with whom). I had enough to do just simply staying hard and in
control.
Finally, just when I thought I was ready to explode, my darlings clamored for
me to squirt. They surrounded me, licking, pinching, kissing, touching what
spots on my body they could get to. I couldn't hold back any longer and
happily shooting off a thick stream of cum amidst my wives' six eager, gaping
mouths.
It was probably the best orgasm I had ever had. The psychic "stacking" that
Viktoriya and Melanie were unconsciously doing meant I felt a magnified sense
of euphoria (which quickly spread to the others -- it's a vicious cycle). I
personally "felt" the orgasmic high of everyone else, as they did mine.
Remember what comedian Steve Martin once said about an extended orgasm? It
was like that. For a few brief minutes, we all felt like there wasn't anything
better; all seven of us were buzzed out of out minds, and it was fuckin'
incredible.
Exhausted, I collapsed in the center of the living room surrounded by my
wives, like a sultan in those Arabian fantasy tales. It was amazing that we
were all able to wake up on time the next day. We managed to clean up and take
the kids to meet the grandparents at Fisherman's Wharf.
That was Mother's Day weekend, 2009. A week later, we got the news that
Andrew was missing in action.
===============================================================================
JUNE GAMBLE
===============================================================================
It has only been mere hours since I fell into the roadside ditch ... or was
it a bomb crater? I couldn't remember clearly, but I knew I was in trouble. I
had done the one thing Viktoriya had warned me not to do: wander into a
warzone.
After I slipped onto a mercenary speedboat and illicitly entered Iraq through
Az Zubayz on the coast, I hitched a ride with a U.S. convoy towards Basrah,
posing as a journalist who was lost. That was a careless move on my part,
because the soldiers took me into custody for not having the proper
credentials. I suppose I could've flew, but I wasn't going to telekinetically
levitate myself in broad daylight in the middle of a desert; such a feat of
showmanship would've welcomed instant discovery.
In any case, I didn't stay an American prisoner for long -- an explosion
destroyed the lead vehicle and the rest of the convoy was shot up in a
roadside ambush. I took advantage of the chaos to mentally knock-out my guard.
He was a thin, lean, mean fighting machine, but he was no match for me. As
soon as I put my hands on him, his body was no longer his to command.
It didn't matter much if the marine knew who I was, for a hand grenade landed
nearby. For sake of survival, I used the poor sap as a human shield and
bolstered my fleshy wall with as much repelling force I could muster.
The explosion was deafening, but I was protected; it was the shockwave that
knocked me senseless. The insurgents managed to kill the entire patrol and
capture me. For a bunch of untrained assholes who were heavily addicted to
khat and hasish, they certainly worked fast. Within minutes of my grab, the
thugs had confiscated my wallet and phone, along with anything else they
thought valuable.
And why was in this damn predicament? I was looking for my idiot little
brother who had disappeared somewhere in this god-forsaken country. Andrew had
been doing what he volunteered for: perform preliminary diagnoses of potential
problem soldiers and psych-discharges at a well protected base. The more
serious cases were shuttled back to Germany or the States, but the soldiers
who "faked" their symptoms and the troublemakers would be retained in rear
echelon duty -- digging trenches, cooking meals, and supporting the frontline
infantry.
For the first few months, he was fine. Ah-Pung sent e-mails detailing his
day-to-day routine (all of it boring). He only failed to write home once, when
he was too tired one night, and both our mother and Ami raised hell about it.
He immediately wrote back and apologized, but one day his email correspondence
stopped.
A few days later, I got a frantic call from Janet to meet at my parents.
Ghost Light had just transported me back to the Green-Haus office from an
interrogation in Afghanistan (an extended lunch was my cover), and I didn't
carry my phone with me (I didn't need its GPS tracker placing me out of the
country).
Fearing the worse, I rode a cab back, and found it curious that my parents
were panicky, but alive. I found Ami's car in the driveway, along with a few
other of my darlings' cars. Wondering what the hell was going on, I knocked on
the door.
To my surprise, it was a young army officer who greeted me. Almost all my
darlings were present (except Rachelle, who was working late at LucasArts; I
thought it was just Ra-Ra avoiding Shawn when possible. Since Rachelle landed
her job, my pumpkin would bug the older woman about anything related to Star
Wars).
My wives were in the living room, all of them helping an anxious Ami console
my sobbing mother. It was then I learned that Andrew had disappeared while
off-base nearly a week ago. He didn't return from a "fishing trip" near the
outskirts of Umm Qasr. The town was in the delta region which formed the
border between Kuwait and Iraq. When the party came back to the compound, he
was missing. No explanation was offered.
The army officer had shown up at my parents' house and delivered the news
about Andrew. From there, the news spread quickly and Janet got a hold of
everyone else, including Ameena and Sachiko. Needless to say, we were all in
shock.
"He was so careful." Ami dabbed her eyes with her hijab when she and I were
alone with Janet in the kitchen. "What could've happened?"
My First put on her best face and looked to me for answers. I could only
shrug.
"Don't think about it all right?" I soothed her. "Maybe he did get lost."
Or maybe Andrew was already dead, although I didn't sense it to be true. No,
something weird was going on. I could sense him, but not precisely, like my
youngest wife. It was like Andrew had suddenly developed mental masking on his
own. That was disturbing on its own, but hardly detracted from the immediate
fact that he was MIA.
Just days after the news broke, Sachiko dropped by my parents' place as I was
seeing Ami on her way out. My stomach knotted at the thought of what would
happen, but things didn't blow up as I expected. Instead, both were more than
amicable, with Sachiko taking Ameena aside and talking to her in private. They
spoke in low whispers as if to exclude me, but I picked up enough of their
thoughts to know that the two were simply talking about Andrew.
Officially, Sachiko was visiting her sister, Gracia, in the city. Deep down
though, I sensed her underlying guilt about my brother's situation. I found
out later that despite my warning NOT to speak to the Japanese firebrand after
their blow-up, my brother shot her a vindictive and heated text in response to
her latest verbal barrage.
Essentially: 'You want me to go to hell? Fine. I'll go.' The next day, Andrew
put in his papers for the volunteer assignment. Sachiko made nice with my
parents, but things got weird when she asked to see his old room.
My brother still hadn't moved out as he worked at the Veterans' Affairs
Hospital on 42nd Avenue. My brother's ex asked to have a moment alone there.
My parents understood and left, but I lingered just past the door.
I knew what she was thinking. For Sachiko, Andrew being MIA pretty much meant
he was KIA. She was going for closure and cutting him out of her life forever.
All of a sudden, I realized that the woman was alone and vulnerable; I formed
a plan on the spot and sprung into action. Knowing what I knew about Andrew, I
took a gamble for my brother's sake.
"He never stopped loving you," I said quietly.
Sachiko turned, surprised to see me standing in the doorway. She was a tall
for a Japanese girl. Her sister Gracia was a shade shorter and appeared more
plain than Janet. Her attire was one of unfettered professionalism -- black
dress, white blouse, and dark pumps. In almost every way, she was very much
like Janet when she was back in college, but with a much prettier face. I
chuckled inwardly at that; Andrew did look more imposing and was more handsome
than I, so he did deserve the lovelier ladies.
"What are _you_ still doing here?" she asked, annoyed as if I didn't have the
right to be in the same room as she.
"Just keeping an eye on things," I replied simply.
Sachiko sniffed and turned away, as if she could hide her thoughts just by
doing so. I sensed she didn't want to hear whatever it was I had to say. But
in turning away from me, she found herself facing his dresser, which (for a
guy) had a lot of knick-knacks and other stuff.
I couldn't blame him as Ami had started staying here (to get a break from her
parents) but he kept that one important memento of Sachiko's. I immediately
sensed her pain when she saw the engagement ring. From the brief flash of
memories I picked up, the last she'd seen it was the day she found him with
Alexia. Sachiko had screamed at him, tossed the ring, and stormed out.
Andrew hadn't done much with it. He couldn't return it or give it to someone
else since the band had Sachiko's name engraved. So, he kept it around and he
was about to pawn it to a scrap metal dealer when things got interesting with
Ami. She kept him busy up until Andrew got his marching orders.
Now, I needed to persuade Sachiko that he'd been thinking about her still.
She was standing before the dresser, staring at that ring when I placed a
gentle hand on her shoulder. Despite her objection to my presence, she didn't
immediately shake me off.
I "nudged" a small illusion into her mind. Sachiko saw a thin strip of rice
tissue paper, barely a 1/8th of an inch wide, curled around the circumference
of the ring. It was so thin and light, she barely noticed it was there before
(because it wasn't). I let my hand fall away, my illusion running its course;
Sachiko picked up the rice slip, and saw two lightly penciled words which
moved her deeply: FORGIVE ME. It was enough to cause her eyes to well up.
The emotional boo-hoo aside, I needed her to cry so I could cover up my
tracks. Predictably, she wiped her eyes with her hands, and the diaphanous
"paper" on which Andrew had supposedly written an apology vanished,
"dissolved" when it made contact with the girl's tears.
When the illusion played itself out, Sachiko let out a strangled cry, and
took a step back, casting her gaze about the floor. I played innocent, and
asked her if she'd lost a contact lens.
"Damn it!" she was frantic, "That little ribbon. Did you see it? Where'd it
go?!"
I shook my head. "Sorry. Didn't see anything." I lingered for a moment more,
and left, satisfied that something had gone right for my little brother.
===============================================================================
NIGHT DEPARTURE
===============================================================================
No more than a week passed when I decided to use a project as a smokescreen
to look for Andrew myself. One of my current projects at Green-Haus was to
draft construction plans for solar collectors and piezoceramic floors in
housing complexes in Dubayy in the United Arab Emirates. The project had been
conceived before the real estate bubble burst, and despite the current
economic climate, the project was going to be completed.
I simply had to transmit the plans and get paid. However, I concocted a wild
scheme to personally hand deliver the plans to the building supervisor. And
while there, I figured it'd be easy to slip into Iraq by air or mental
trickery. Hopefully, I could find Andrew before my absence raised flags with
the agency. As it turned out, the NSA was the least of my worries.
When I brought up my impending business trip, my First scolded me for being
foolish. Apparently, Janet had done her homework on my project and she
immediately confronted me about my itinerary. I wondered what precautions I
should've taken; while Shawn meant no harm, my plump pumpkin was also pretty
oblivious to the subtle means Janet went nosing around my business.
My First may not have had Viktoriya's ability to mind-read, or Melanie's gift
of empathy, but she was quite capable of digging things up on her own. When I
mentioned I would be out of the country on business around her 38th birthday
(not to mention her 20th high school reunion) Janet became suspicious. She
dropped in on Shawn at the office and got her talking. Correlating that
information with what she gleaned from Gracia and Jules, my First concluded I
was trying to pull a fast one on her.
Janet threatened to reveal what she knew to my parents, if only to get me
from leaving. I got so angry over her threats and constant beration, I stopped
talking to her when I spent time at her place. I helped with Michael's
homework, and doted on Freddy, but gave Janet simple, monotonous responses.
At first, my stubborn Lady Wu played cool, as we had fought many times
before. I'd either go and try to persuade her, or wind up agreeing with her.
This time, things were different: Janet was really riled up and refused to be
swayed, and I was adamant on finding Andrew myself; I could sense he was
alive, but something was throwing me off-track, so I couldn't pin-point
Andrew's exact location.
As my departure date neared, Janet grew ever more anxious thought she never
showed it outwardly. But that wasn't the worst of it. Despite my best efforts,
Viktoriya managed to get the gist of what I was planning to do (although she
confessed later it was like pulling teeth to see what I was thinking) and she
was pretty unhappy about it.
The night before I left, my darlings gathered at my condo to spend some time
with me. Between Janet and Viktoriya, the others more or less got the message
I was going overseas to "do something". My First ate and spoke very little
throughout dinner. Afterwards, she excused herself and retired to her unit,
leaving our sons with me.
I could pick up the children's growing unrest over Janet's behavior, so I
entertained them with the story of the three little pigs. It wasn't the
traditional story; I used some creative license and told them how the pigs'
different building systems (straw, wood, and masonry) were used to foil the
big bad wolf and the Forest's Zoning and Planning Commission's plan to seize
the pigs' property.
"And so the three little pigs stuck together and helped each other keep their
house. Just like you all should look after one another, understand?"
The younger kids looked at me with bright, hopeful eyes, while my two older
boys nodded as they took in the lesson. Jillian was nowhere to be seen; she
had heard this story when I told it to her years ago, and was over at
Jessica's place that evening for a school project.
'I've never heard that one before.' Viktoriya thought-spoke wistfully when I
finished. 'I can't wait to hear what you did with Hansel and Gretal.'
'I haven't thought that far ahead.' I admitted over thought-speech.
With storytime over, the kids were now content to play a bit before bed.
Having learned to walk, little Norman began racing around our little circle
while Kady and Freddy ran after him. The toddler proved to be Melanie's
bouncing baby boy when he ran headlong into one of my inflatable exercise
balls I used for telekinetic practice when no one was around. Normie fell flat
on his ass with a loud SPLAT that made his mother's heart skip a beat;
however, the tot promptly got up and began running at full tilt again,
squealing with excitement from the chase.
"Ha-hah!" Rachelle grinned from the sidelines. "He's a real tough guy, just
like his pop-pop."
Jamie, Viktoriya, Shawn, and Melanie exchanged nervous glances as the mulatto
went back to braiding Jenny's hair. My daughter was miming her step-mother
with the jumbo doll that had once been Jillian's. I brightened inwardly as I
remembered last Christmas; Jillian had started to accumulate "stuff" from her
art lessons with Shawn, music lessons with Melanie, and dance lessons with
Viktoriya. She had so much stuff, Jamie finally gave her the order to clean
her room of unwanted things.
Among the items Jillian reluctantly parted with was that giant doll I had
bought her for our first Christmas years ago. Wise to her mother's wishes, my
stepdaughter decided to present her doll to her little sister, who had begun
pestering everyone to be her playmate. With the twins being possessive about
their own dolls, and Kady doing her own thing, Jenny felt a little left out.
Jillian's gift let her keep the doll around, placate her little sister
(incidentally making the other girls jealous), and make nice with her mother.
Eventually, Jill's attachment to her dolly waned, although she checked in now
and then to make sure it was still in one piece. It was rather humorous (to me
anyway) to watch Rachelle style Jenny's hair while the girl, in turn, fiddled
with the doll's hair. It was like one of those Russian figure-in-a-figure
toys.
"See here?" Rachelle finished tying up a braid and held up a mirror to show
Jenny. "You can wear it like this ... or this!"
"Please don't give her too many ideas, Raych," Jamie sighed and slid off the
couch.
"Oh, Jay." Rachelle shook her head and sighed. "She'll be fine. Don't worry."
The Asian beauty scratched my shoulders lightly and nodded towards the clock.
I glanced at the time and nodded. It was late, and Jillian wasn't home yet.
"Want me to come along?" I asked.
"No, I'll go," Jamie said. "You just be careful, okay?"
"Gotcha." I gave her hand a squeeze.
"Mommy?"
We both turned to look as Jenny got up and walked towards her birth-mother.
"Mommy is going to pick up your sister, then come home." Jamie gave our
daughter a tender hug. "So, you be good at Mommy Rachelle's and play nice with
your sisters, understand?"
Jenny nodded happily, gave my angelic Asian honey a kiss on the cheek, then
skipped back towards Rachelle. My black beauty waited patiently until the fey
girl sat down once more before she resumed her hair-braiding.
"She'll be in good hands, hun." Rachelle smiled broadly. "Just have fun with
Jill."
"Thanks, I will." Jamie waved.
"I think I'll come along." Viktoriya stood to leave. "I could use a stretch."
"Now?" The lovely Asian mother was flustered. "You know I'm taking Jillian
home, right?"
"All the more for me to come along." My Ukrainian uber-cutie smiled warmly.
"It is dark out there!"
"I'll bet."
Although Rachelle muttered it under her breath, it was loud enough for
everyone to hear. I sensed embarrassment from the others while Viktoriya only
wore that mischievous smile we all recognized.
'No craziness now.' I warned her mentally. 'I have enough to worry about.'
'Why Stanislav!' She gave Milhail a hug as she broadcasted to me. 'Of course
not! I will wait until we come back and the children are tucked in first ...'
"Goodnight, Mily," she spoke normally, "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
"Yes mama," Milhail quickly turned back to his building blocks.
I sighed as the two women slipped out the door. Viktoriya was trying her best
to appear casual and predictable; I got the feeling she was absolutely
terrified about my impending departure. Danielle mistook me for being bored
and handed me another fistful of building blocks to sort.
"Isn't that a little too much?" I pinched her arm playfully. "How about
asking your brothers and sisters for help?"
"Okay, da-daa."
The tan-skinned girl tottered over to her sister, Janelle, and neatly set
down her bricks. She then came back to me with an expectant look. I scooted
over and proceeded to help the two girls sort their bricks by color and size.
While I did, I looked over and saw Freddy was content to follow Michael's and
Milhail's lead in building a massive tower in the middle of the room while
Jenny sat quietly on the sidelines, focused on her massive doll. Kady,
typically unrestrained, drifted between nosing about her older siblings'
business, being pushy with her sisters, and actively chasing baby Norman
around the room.
I was keen on watching how the kids interacted. Given their widely different
backgrounds and physical features, I was concerned how they'd treat one
another. Their mothers and I had made an effort to raise them correctly in an
international household.
Jamie, Melanie, and Janet often took the lead on discipline, so I was afraid
that the kids would have their upbringing skewed with some sort of racial
bias. However, Viktoriya, Shawn, and Rachelle had confidence in the others;
race was hardly ever an issue -- just how much punishment the kids got.
Of course, if the kids thought they were unfair, they'd come clamoring to me.
Being what I was, I knew immediately if the kids were truly misbehaving or
not. I was glad that most of the youngsters had concrete thoughts I could
pick-up; Norman was the last blank slate, at least for now.
My darlings were chatting on the side of the room. I could hear them talk
about mundane things, from groceries to school events. Here and there, I'd
catch my name, but only in relation to scheduling. Their thoughts though,
betrayed their complacent chatter. I could sense their anxiety, but there was
nothing more to talk about -- my mind was made up.
When the children began yawning, we knew it was time for bed. I helped Shawn
sort the kids out while Rachelle and Melanie finished the dishes. Jenny was
staying with Rachelle for a few days; she preferred playing with the twins
more than her other siblings. With Janet so worked up, I sprung a surprise on
Michael and told him to stay with his brother Milhail in Viktoriya's place for
the night.
"Really?" he perked up, "Can I really, dad?"
"Sure thing," I replied. "Just behave yourself. Both of you. And remember
what I said about that Goldeneye game."
"Yes sir," the boy nodded solemnly. "It won't happen again."
"Good."
Last year, Andrew had given our Nintendo 64 to his nephews as a Christmas
present, along with his ancient library of games. One of them was a game
titled "007: Goldeneye", based off the James Bond movie of the same name.
Unfortunately, the enemies in the game were Russian soldiers.
Michael got it in his head to insult their poor accuracy and lousy dialogue.
He even got Milhail into the game, much to the displeasure of his
birth-mother. One night, my oldest son gave her quite a shocker at the dinner
table by saying, "Russians can't do anything right!"
Viktoriya was not amused; in fact, she was beside herself with anger when
Milhail began laughing from his brother's outburst. I quickly intervened
before my Cossack darling really lost her temper, or worse, catapulted Janet's
rambunctious son clear across the city with telekinesis (I must admit it would
be pretty funny if it wasn't my kid).
For that outburst, Michael was grounded for a week and tasked with
babysitting Norman under Melanie's supervision. Milhail got a similar sentence
helping Shawn with her routine adjustments on the building's solar wall. Both
had to assist Yu-Ching and me with getting rid of the weeds in the roof
garden. All other things considered, I chalked up the boys' punishment as a
"win" for the parents.
Although the older boys were old enough to put themselves to bed, we took no
chances; Melanie took them and Freddy downstairs to Viktoriya's while the rest
of us managed the girls.
"You should go see her," Shawn scolded me after we left Rachelle's.
My chocolate cutie was going to be busy the next day, caring for Jenny and
the twins. She and Jamie arranged it so the latter could focus more on
Jillian. We were headed back to the top floor -- the workmen had finally
finished modifying Shawn's ventilation ducts just a few days before.
"Do you mean Jan, sweetheart? I will," I tugged a drowsy Kady up the stairs.
"C'mon tootsie, you were lively before; are you tired?"
Kady didn't bother to answer as she gripped the handrail and my hand, slowly
negotiating the stairs. Shawn, seeing her daughter struggle, sighed and picked
her up.
"She's big enough to make it herself, you know." I gave my plump wife a look
of disapproval.
"So you say, Stanley," Shawn murmured as Kady nodded off in her arms. "But
she's still a baby to me. You pretty much wore her out before bed."
"That's the plan." I chuckled and slid my arm around her waist. "How else can
I get some time alone, sweetie?"
"You're terrible." She shifted under the weight of our growing daughter. "But
seriously; Janet seems really angry."
"She'll get over it."
"You think so?" Shawn shot me a stern glance. "You're making things more
difficult than they need to be, Stanley."
"You too, pumpkin?" I frowned. "I thought you'd be the most understanding."
"Don't play dumb with me, you dope." She dimpled her cheeks. "I know you
don't need to go to Dubai."
"Of course I do. I need to check my work," I cut her off. "Besides, Jan only
knew because you let her into my office."
"Are you blaming me?" Shawn's baby blue eyes flashed.
"No, pumpkin." I held her with both my hands. "I'm not blaming you. But look,
things are kinda messed up right now. I just need to take things a step at a
time. Jan's temper isn't helping."
Shawn grunted under Kady's weight again. I easily took the snoozing girl into
my arms and walked my Anglo angel into her condo.
"Seriously baby-doll," I said and put Kady to bed, "I'll try and text you
when I get there, but given how great laws about the Internet are in the UAE,
I may only be able to email you."
I paused, thinking about how the Internet cafes were filled with spammers and
con-men.
"And if not, I'll try and call if I can, okay?"
"If you can?" Shawn lowered her gaze as I stepped back outside. "Can't you
just --?"
"Hush." I hugged her gently. "The earlier I get things done, the earlier I
can come home, okay?"
I soothed my plump petunia with comforting thoughts, but it was difficult.
She was agitated and earnestly worried. Although Shawn wasn't privy to the
things Viktoriya knew about me, she had seen me take down a sword swinging
maniac years ago. Over the years, the gossip the women created could've filled
a book.
Between Janet's suspicions, Viktoriya's gossip, and the others' firsthand
experiences of what I was capable of, my darlings pretty much had me figured
out as a part-time government spook. While that suited my cover fine in
regards to the invisible empire, it still brought no joy to maintaining my
cover with the agency.
When I came back to my condo, Little Chen was there waiting for me. Yu-Ching
had gotten childcare down to a science; the boys dared not get unruly while
she was around. I was always amazed how quickly she got them to do what she
wanted.
At times, I wondered if she was unknowingly using her latent gifts to "guilt"
them into doing things. I noticed Norman was fast asleep on the sofa and
covered with a small blanket. The petite woman hopped to her feet as soon as I
closed the door.
"Ling-jie's worried about you," Melanie said softly. "Can't you just send the
plans, and not go? Nai-Nai wouldn't like it either."
"It'll be just a quick trip." I kept my tone and my thoughts neutral. "Should
be routine, unless someone fucked up."
"Teiju-lei-ba houw-ah*," [* Cantonese: Watch your language] Melanie sighed,
"We've got enough trouble with the boys acting up now that Viktoriya's back.
She's so impetuous sometimes!"
"Yes, I know. And I'm sorry," I said. "Look. Don't worry about it. Janet --
she'll get over this. And it'll be fine."
"I hope so." Little Chen embraced me. "If something happens to you, what will
we do? How could we go on?"
"A day at a time?" I barely finished when Melanie caught and twisted my ears.
"Wo-nghm-hai hei-do kwong-xui-ah!!*" [* Cantonese: I'm not here to joke
around!] she hissed. "I only work part-time! And what about Viktoriya? She
just moved back here because of you!"
I winced uncomfortably, surprised Melanie had erupted into a such a
firebrand. I took her hands into mind and slowly calmed her nerves.
"Easy there, sweetie," I murmured, "Everything will be all right, okay? Just
trust me, got it?"
Yu-Ching didn't answer, but I felt her becoming more relaxed, if only
reluctantly. It was late and I had plenty to do the next day, but the
closeness of Melanie was something I hadn't enjoyed for a while.
Since Norman was born, my littlest darling had been busy with the children
and taking up daily domestic chores that she and I barely had the time to be
intimate. Not counting that Mother's Day weekend, Yu-Ching and I had been so
busy on our days together, we hadn't had the time to really be intimate. Now
that I was walking into a warzone though ...
Melanie must've felt, or -- in her words -- "heard" me, looked up at me with
her round, doe-like eyes. She tip-toed and kissed me on the bottom of my chin.
I kissed her back, my hands quickly groping her buttocks.
"Ungh, Stanley," she panted, "Ugh, ungh, oh!"
"Not so loud now," I whispered, "Or you'll wake him."
Melanie fell silent, but she clutched me tightly as I carried her to my
bedroom. I shut the door and placed her on the bed. I turned on the bathroom's
light, and closed its door; this gave us just enough light to work with, but
did nothing to spoil the mood. In the dimness of the room, I could see Little
Chen's eyes grow wide.
"Wait, Stanley. We haven't washed up yet!"
"After," I said hoarsely. "I want to taste you."
"Er, no!" she tried to struggle, but I pushed her down gently. "It's dirty
down there! Yuck!!"
I ignored her protests and kissed her hips and the spot on her stomach just
above her patch of unkempt hair. Melanie shivered uncontrollably and lay down,
enjoying my attentions. I pulled off her pants and inhaled. Despite what she
thought, Little Chen's body odor was a huge turn on. I shuddered with delight
as I took in her fragrance. My cock was starting to harden, and I quickly
disrobed. My little darling regarded me with apprehension as I slid beside
her.
"Are you sure?" she asked. "What about Ling-jie?"
"Don't worry about her," I murmured and rubbed the length of my finger along
the crease of her legs.
Melanie took in a sharp hiss of breath as my other hand cupped her breasts. I
began playing with her body, one hand twisting her nipples softly, the other
gently rubbing the smooth, little pearl that she had for a clit.
"Ummm-hmmm." My darling wife reached back and ran her fingers through my
hair. "Oh, Stanley. It's been such a long day."
"I know." I kissed her absently. "So, let me make you feel good."
Melanie gasped as I secretly TK-rolled her G-spot. When that wasn't enough, I
buzzed her a bit. I felt her give way to my intrusion slowly, and without
complaint. I hugged my little treasure dearly as we fucked quietly in the
dark. When I tired of spooning her, I crawled atop her and fucked her, slow
and deep. She took my hands and urged me on, our fingers intertwined as our
hips came together.
Odd as it was, I didn't shoot off. I stayed hard (with telekinesis, it's
easy) and stayed with Melanie until she had come quite a few times. A small
wet spot sprung up where I had pounded her petite ass. I found a dry spot on
the bed and left her there. She slept snugly under the covers while I quickly
wiped my body with a damp wash-cloth.
I dressed, grabbed my bag, and slipped out of my condo. I missed Janet, and
despite our recent fight, I still wanted to see her before I left. When I
stepped into the lobby, Jamie and Viktoriya had come back with Jillian in tow.
"Whoa." I stopped and gawked. "You guys just came back?"
"Jessica's mother and I got to talking," Jamie started before Jillian shot
past her and hugged me tightly.
"Hi Daddy!"
"Hey, princess." I gave her a peck on the cheek. "You guys finish your
project?"
"Almost!" Jillian immediately launched into a presentation detailing what she
and Jessica were doing. I nodded along, listening to her prattle. I was also
planning on how to do my cover job in Dubai, getting intel on Andrew, and
making notes on what improvements my daughter may want to make with her
homework. Then, almost as an afterthought, Jillian leaned over and whispered
in my ear.
"Who's going to take me and Jessie to the dance?"
Despite my busy schedule, I remembered my promise to Jill. Viktoriya was more
than eager to fill in, but she had private lessons that night. So, I spoke to
Jamie the day before, and she finally agreed to let Yu-Ching take Jillian and
her friend to their dance.
"I didn't forget." I patted her on the back. "Mother Melanie will take you
guys, okay?"
Jillian pursed her lips -- Melanie was as much a disciplinarian as Jamie,
although the younger woman wasn't as strict with boys. However, I got the
distinct feeling my stepdaughter was unhappy about the choice of chaperone.
Melanie's youthfulness meant she could monopolize attention at the dance if
she was inclined to dress provocatively. But, beggars couldn't be choosers;
Jill asked me for a favor, and I got it done.
"Jillian, honey," Jamie spoke up. "It's getting late. You need to rest. Your
father --" I sensed a surge of pride from her "-- needs some rest too. Go
upstairs and wash up, okay?"
"Yes'mum. G'night daddy."
"G'night." I gave Jillian a final hug before she took off, book bags and all.
"Going out?" Viktoriya asked.
"I'm going to see Jan."
"All right."
My Baltic beauty was unusually tacit; normally, she would be broadcasting
left and right, berating me for being bullish and stubborn, or bragging what
she was going to do to Jill's mother, but not tonight. I soon realized that it
was her equivalent of a "normal" holding back one's verbal opinions.
"You be careful, all right?" Jamie stood erect, her lovely eyes studying me.
"Call us when you arrive?"
"Aye-aye ladies."
The two women smiled meekly, unsure of what to say to keep me from leaving.
Sensing their distress, I gathered the two in my arms and gave them a
heartfelt hug. That's when I heard Viktoriya's thought-speech: 'Don't go
Stanislav! Or at least let me come with you!'
I patted both women and sent them on their way before I headed out. As I did,
I mentally broadcast to my one darling who could clearly hear me: 'No. Just
stop worrying. I'll be fine.'
There was a brief silence before I caught her response.
'Kisa, please ... stay safe. For all our sakes.'
'Will do, sweetheart. Just look after Michael until Jan feels better. Okay?'
'I will.' Viktoriya thought numbly. 'And, you need not worry if he
misbehaves. I won't do anything rash, my love.'
'Thank you, sweetheart.'
And that was the end of it. I suppose Jamie and Viktoriya had talked about
making me change my mind during their brief walk, or maybe they knew I was
dead set about my decision and simply gave up. From the way Vika was thinking
and acting, I could tell she was at a loss on how to persuade me short of
physically restraining me.
By now, I had arrived at Janet's front door, and thoughts of my other
darlings receded as I began to focus on my incomparable First. Not wanting to
disturb her, I let myself in and dropped my bag off by the door.
The house was dark but I felt my way around until I reached the bedroom. I
saw Janet, still dressed, snoozing atop the covers. The moon was bright enough
that I could see her white pillow case was streaked with ugly black marks. Her
mascara may have been water resistant, but I guess not tear-proof.
Seeing my First fall asleep in such a distressed state made me uncomfortable.
Gingerly, I picked her up in my arms. Using telekinesis, I pulled back the
covers, then put her back on the bed.
Janet groaned and with a lazy hand, swung about drowsily at some imagined
annoyance. I heard her murmur something softly. I leaned close to make it out,
but couldn't understand what she was saying. I dared a peek into her mind and
found she was dreaming.
Well, sort of. She was having a "peaceful" nightmare. In it, I saw my
darlings all dressed in traditional black, heads bowed, and mourning. As she
looked through the crowd, I sensed she was trying to find me, but couldn't.
Each person or group Janet came to simply smiled and consoled her.
By the time she had gone through the crowd, Janet was on the verge of being
hysterical. I didn't need to be a genius to deduce whose funeral this was for.
My First swung her arm out again, this time crying out my name unabashedly.
It was a creepy thing to see, as I was right next to her. It was as if I was
actually dead, and I was a ghost visiting her in the middle of the night. I
glanced down and scratched myself, as if to reassure myself if _I_ was real,
and not a dead man paying a visit to his living kin. The white streak left by
my nail on my skin seemed reassuring enough.
I sat by Janet and held her hand. I concentrated a bit and soon "mind-hopped"
into her dreamscape. She was at the start of another funeral (or the same one
again). Her heart at her throat as she began her search for me anew. This
time, I sought to soothe her.
Briefly, I wondered whose funeral should it be if it weren't mine. Ah, fuck
it. It didn't matter. I just wanted Janet to stop worrying herself into an
early grave. This time, when she began her search for me, I simply popped into
her dreamscape and called out to her softly.
'Ling-lei ling-hui zhoumeyah?*' [* Cantonese: (figuratively) What or who are
you looking for? (literally) Why are you twisting about? It is a
quasi-homonymous play on the last syllable of Janet's given name with the word
'ling' which means turn or twist, although the verb and Janet's name do not
quite share the same tone.]
Janet got a glimpse of my face and instantly jerked awake.
"S--Stanley?"
"Yes, darling?"
"Wei-Keurng? Haei-mai jun-haei li-a*?" she whispered. [* Cantonese: Is it
really you?]
"Kgun hei-le. Zhung-you bien-guo*?" [* Cantonese: Of course. Who else?]
I reinforced my reply by stroking her cheek. Janet reached up and clutched me
tightly.
"I just had the strangest dream." She sniffled loudly as I felt her body
tremble.
"Really?" I murmured. "Want to talk about it?"
"No."
I heard her sniffle again and I kept quiet. Janet's breathing was steady, but
I could sense the gloomy sadness in her heart. As much as I wanted to nudge
her feelings, there was very little I could do to keep what she was feeling
from her, because I was feeling rotten about leaving. But, I could have a
little heart-to-heart with my First, and at least soothe her rage before I
left.
"Hey," I whispered, "I'm sorry. For whatever you're mad at, Kam-Ling, I'm
sorry."
Her lips were quavering and she avoided my gaze, but she didn't budge when I
held her close.
"You should know better than that now, Stanley."
"Know what?" I asked her absently.
"Chen Wei-Keurng." Janet pulled back and gave me a petulant look. "You've got
a skull as thick as Xieu Ching's steaks."
I stifled a chuckle as my First tried some of her off-beat humor. It was a
good sign she wasn't as mad as I thought she was.
"That job you do part of the time doesn't make you invincible," she went on,
"You can't just go around fixing problems just because they annoy you."
"I know I can fix this one." I gave up lying about the agency. "It's just a
quick sneak and peek."
"And you couldn't do that with spy satellites?"
I felt Janet relax both in mind and body immediately when I told her what I
intended to do. It was as if a great burden had been lifted. Odd, I thought.
Why was she so obsessed over what exactly I was doing? What a silly girl ...
"It's better if I check things out myself," I explained. "It's more accurate
and up-to-date than relying on signals and passing photos."
Janet swallowed but remained quiet. We held each other for what seemed like
an eternity, and I was starting to feel tired.
"Hey, I got about maybe six hours before I need to head out," I said. "Can I
stay here?"
She looked up, and sniffed. I saw her cheeks were still wet but she quickly
composed herself and nodded. We showered before we took to bed again. Though
still fresh from our fight, Janet easily anticipated my urges. It didn't take
long for my unspent erection to reawaken.
Janet understood and took me to bed. She spread herself out under me,
generously letting me empty my lust in her. She didn't complain, and even
encouraged me to take my sweet time. I lasted a little over a minute.
Afterwards, Kam-Ling curled against me as we slept. The warmth from our
bodies kept each another so toasty, we only needed a thin sheet that night. It
was the first time in a long time I had spent time with my incomparable First,
and I was glad I did.
===============================================================================
P.O.W.
===============================================================================
After my arrival in Dubai, I scheduled things so that I would appear to be
busy for a full week's time; setting it all up wasn't as hard as I thought
with the right connections. I was glad I could read minds and work for the
agency.
No matter how much information the NSA wanted to hide from me, I could use my
ability to nab the bits I needed for my own use. Thus, with my alibi taken
care of, I began looking for transport into the area where I suspected where
Andrew had vanished.
With the mysterious mental static around him, I couldn't clearly see where my
brother was; all I was able to do was narrow the area I needed to search. So,
I followed his trail.
After the convoy ambush, I was brought to a hot, dingy house in the middle of
nowhere. The dry heat was very much like Tecate, but the locals spoke Arabic,
not Spanish. And now, I was likely scheduled to die. Had I been "normal", I
probably would've opted for death over another day with the heat. The sand,
the dust, and the heat made a powerful combination -- it was enough to torture
those who disliked high temperature, and could easily drive a person mad.
"Get. Up."
The heavily accented command jerked me from my thoughts. I sat up blindly, my
captors guiding me where to go and how to sit. They had put a sack over my
head to keep me in the dark, but once in close proximity, the minds of my
kidnappers became vulnerable to my probing. I sifted through their thoughts
quickly, and spied my surroundings through their eyes.
In a few minutes, I had learned all that I needed from this band of bandits.
They had attacked the convoy I was in simply because it was there; these guys
were hungry for glory, and they'd gotten away with their surprise attack.
These guys -- martyr minded ideologues -- also had no idea who Andrew was, let
alone where he was.
I decided I had wasted enough time and needed to leave. Unfortunately, that
proved a bit of a problem. After a few more verbal barks in Arabic, someone
said something I could understand.
"You. Who are you? You are American?"
I sensed the presence of three men in the room. One stood next to me as a
guard or custodian, while another stood a back with his weapon casually by his
side. Those two were the muscle and it was the third man who was fluent enough
in English to interrogate me.
"No," I managed a low growl, "Not all American. Chinese-American."
"But still American?"
"A little," I gave a half-assed reply.
There was a quick burst of chatter between my interrogator and one of the
gunmen. I sensed there was some confusion over how I identified myself. After
few more rapid-fire commands, I sensed one of the gunmen leave the room.
Probably to get his boss or something. I was still curious about how it would
play out, so I asked a question.
"Hey, what are you guys?"
I sensed the remaining two terrorists' interest in me increase. The one who
didn't understand English murmured something to my interrogator, who in turn,
said something back. I blanched though, when I picked up some thought-imagery
from the response: a guy with a big-ass knife standing over a hooded prisoner.
Nice. I just walked right into a pack of shit-for-brains ragheads who enjoy
uploading decapitations to YouTube.
"You quiet." (sic)
I winced as someone pulled the hood off of me. My mental surveillance proved
accurate. I was in a small room with sunlight filtering through the slats in
the roof. The two men in the room were exactly as I had pictured after
mind-hopping through my captors: lean, mean, and with swarthy beards and
mustaches.
Presently, the door opened, and in stepped a gaunt-faced Arab wearing an
olive drab military jacket. Despite my hands being restrained, I tried to
stand up, but only get halfway to my knees before the man squatted to my
level.
"You speak only English?" he asked.
"Yea," I said. "Who are you?"
The man's eyes flickered over me; he registered some mild confusion. Almost
all of the mercenaries working for Uncle Sam were white men. My looks must've
gotten some attention. It certainly gave him a start when he first laid eyes
on me.
"Yusuf." The man pointed at himself, then pointed at me.
"Stanley," I replied simply.
The scruffy looking man frowned and then said something to the interrogator.
The English-speaker squatted beside us and listened.
"Yusuf says," my translator spoke haltingly, "You work for America?"
Man, he had awful English, I thought. If I wasn't a mind reader, I probably
would've misunderstood his line of query as an accusation.
"Yes." I decided to play nice for now. "I _work in_ America. My family is
_in_ America. Not for, 'in'. I like to keep my money."
Nice going smart-ass, a part of my mind snickered at my attempt at a tax
joke. The interpreter scratched his head and recited what I said to his boss.
Yusuf immediately asked another question, and I looked expectantly at my
interrogator.
"Uh, he say: You are army?"
"I am a builder. Not army," I shook my head. I never learned the Arabic word
for architect.
Yusuf spoke in his native tongue, his gaze not leaving me. I could sense he
was wondering what to do with me. A shout outside though, caught his attention
and he stood to leave. The interpreter also stood, and he unholstered his
pistol -- a bad sign. The door closed after Yusuf barked a few orders, and I
was alone with my captors in the small mud shack. I shifted my concentration
and pinged my surroundings. I unsurprisingly got the sense that the terrorists
were worked up over something.
By the time I mind-hopped to the perimeter guard, I got the gist of what was
going on: a second party of armed rebels were demanding that Yusuf's captive
be turned over to them for beheading. It seemed the patrol that had picked me
up had just ran through another area and shot a few of the men in the second
band. Yusuf though, was unsure of the ramifications of executing a Chinese and
were trying to dissuade the angry individuals in the second group.
This was quickly escalating past a point I wouldn't be able to contain, and I
definitely wasn't going to sit and wait to see what would happen next. I
needed a way to get out of this, and concocted a plan on the spot. Already,
the leader of the second group had sent three of his men towards where I was
held all while he was arguing with Yusuf.
Aside from the interpreter and my armed guard, one of Yusuf's men was
outside, guarding the entrance. I quickly pinged the three fighters coming for
me, and executed my escape plan. Yusuf's man greeted the three fighters from
the second group. After some loud haggling, the sentry allowed the three men
to step inside -- and "saw" two American Marines in full regalia, armed and
waiting.
Almost instantly, pandemonium erupted. The man who had been the interpreter
screamed as the second group's point man raised his weapon and fired point
blank, killing my guard. The interpreter fired back, killing the man who had
shot first. Seeing this sudden act of hostility, the sentry immediately blazed
and caught both of the second group's remaining fighters in a long spray of
lead, but not before one of the dying men fired back and killed both the door
sentry and the interpreter.
My little prison wasn't the only place of violence. As soon as gunshots rang
out, the second group's leader and Yusuf took cover. Once they realized the
gunfire was coming from the prison, they immediately traded blows. I urged on
the fracas by mind-hopping from the perimeter guard into the second group's
turret gunner, a boy manning the heavy gun on a Technical belonging to the
second group. I tricked him into seeing an American flag patch on Yusuf's
collar, and let chaos take over.
Gunmen on both sides opened up and I pressed myself flat on the ground,
shifting my concentration to repel things around me. A few times, the bullets
pinging and whizzing by the shack were a little too close for comfort, but I
got through unscathed. Once the firing died down, I easily broke my bonds, and
surveyed the carnage. Dead men were littered everywhere, just like in my old
jaunts south of the border.
I grabbed my personal effects from a box in the corner, then pinged from the
safety of the room. What thoughts I could pick up were on their way out.
Surrounded by death, I stepped outside and followed the bootprints in the dirt
towards the Technical. The fighters were better trained than the banditos and
gang bangers I had dealt with, for the truck was mostly untouched by gunfire.
A crack in the windshield here and a bullet hole there, but the vehicle was
in good shape. The only disturbing mess was the gunner; he was shot in the
head, and now his body lay bent over the sides of the cargo bed, a dark pool
of maroon coagulated in the desert dust where he fell.
While I could take the vehicle and give my gifts a rest, the mounted gun
worried me. I didn't need a nosy armchair pilot in the Air Force to drop a
Hellfire on me because he was bored and thought I was a terrorist or a
gunrunner. I used telekinesis to unscrew the damn thing and threw it over the
side. I grabbed a headscarf from one of the dead men and wiped the blood off
the side of the truck as best I could before I drove off.
===============================================================================
VAGRANCY
===============================================================================
By the time I left the insurgents' campsite, it was already dark. There was
no compass in the vehicle and no GPS. I could only use the rising and setting
of the sun as a rough guide, but that wouldn't help me locate what I was
looking for. Instead, I drove towards my brother's last known presence, using
my gift to guide me.
Since I had no idea where I was, I was simply driving. I then realized that
with no one around, I could probably put the truck in neutral and push the
fucking thing with telekinesis. I did so to save on gasoline, and found the
experience quite satisfying.
I reached something like a road in the middle of the night. Given my last
experience with Iraqi roads, I steered clear of it and kept going. I finally
came upon an abandoned checkpoint of sorts. It had been quite some time before
I had eaten, so I was starved. I rummaged around the checkpoint, hoping to
find something edible, but there was nothing to be had.
I began cackling madly. I was going to starve to death if I stayed, but if I
started flying to save myself, I was going to get caught by Tseng and killed.
Damned if I do, damned if I don't. I was pretty out of it when I sensed a
presence that was both at once strange and familiar.
'Are you Stan Chen?' The thought-speech I didn't recognize, but it was
comforting all the same.
'Who are you?' I wanted to peer into the darkness, but instead, I reflexively
pinged. There was something here. Something very hard to detect ...
'I am Halah.' Came the reply. 'Follow.'
Follow what, I thought. Almost as in response, a ghostly robed figure
carrying a lantern beckoned in the distance. I hesitated until the light from
figure dimmed -- no, it was eclipsed by the turn of the body -- who ever it
was, she (I got the sense from the thought-speech that it was a woman) was
turning to leave. I turned to look back at the truck I had stolen. The figure
was going off the road, but wouldn't it be easier to drive?
'No, Stan Chen. Use your gift.' I picked up the gentle thought at once.
'Without the machine, you are harder to find from the sky.'
That was true, I thought. I forgot about the spy satellites. So, TK-skating
it was. I picked myself up and began pursuing the figure in the distance. Each
time I thought I'd catch up to whoever it was, she'd vanish over the top of
the hill. When I crested the top, she'd already be on the next rise and so
forth. This was impossible, I knew, unless she was a displacer like the
fuck-wit Reese, or someone was putting an illusion in my mind.
'You are right.' The mysterious woman seemed ruffled at my suspicion. 'I
cannot go where I wish like your djinn friend. You follow an illusion, but it
will be to safety. Please. You are headed in the right direction.'
'I'd like some answers, Halah.' I pinged back. Despite the admission that my
unknown empire citizen was using illusions on me, I got the distinct feeling I
could trust her -- for now.
'Soon.' She answered my first question, then my second: 'Yes. For now.'
Halah was more in-tune to reading me than I was of her. Then again, she
wasn't devoting a lot of mental attention to telekinesis. I "skated" over the
rocky badlands for a few more meters until the ground became more and more
sandy. It seemed to me I was heading inland, away from the road, and along
with it, any easy navigable markings. The lamp-carrying figure just kept
going.
'How much longer?' I pinged. 'I will go back the way I came if I do not see
you in ---' I picked a measurement a desert dweller might use. '--- seven dune
crests.'
'Twelve.' Halah immediately pinged back. 'I am sorry Stan Chen, but I cannot
make exceptions for you.'
I got the feeling she was telling the truth, or as much as she believed she
was.
'Twelve crests then.' I thought-spoke and began consciously counting so she'd
know I stood by my word.
'You are ...' Halah seemed to stumble for words. 'Very unforgiving.'
I ignored her. If she was trying to distract me or lure me into chatter, I
could easily be distracted from my current task. By the sixth crest, I noticed
the ground was almost all sand. It was also night and dark as hell. The
illusory figure in the distance cast no light, but the moon did. By the eighth
rise, I could make out nothing but sand.
When I arrived at the twelfth rise, the figure seemed to have vanished.
However, I suspected that whoever this "Halah" was, she was likely in the
small collection of mud huts (or what appeared to be; Masquerade herself was a
tricky -- and skilled -- little bitch) at the base of the dune. A dim orange
glow came from one of the windows, and almost immediately, the person called
Halah thought-spoke.
'You see where I am? Where the glow is.'
'I see you.' I replied in our silent tongue. 'You are one of the invisible
empire?'
I sensed Halah's mild amusement as she answered me.
'Not quite. But we are more kindred than you and your master.'
'Tseng is my mentor.' I pinged back. 'He does not dictate what I do.'
'Believe what you wish.'
A shadow bulged from the side of the mud hut with the glow. It was the door
opening. A robed figure, much like the one I had seen crossing the dunes
effortlessly earlier, came out and beckoned me to enter.
I stopped a few paces away, allowing my senses, both physical and mental, to
adjust to the stranger who stood before me. At this range, we were in close
enough proximity to probe one another far more easily. A woman was hidden away
under the burqa. While the clothing made her appear like a mobile yurt, I
could sense the figure under her covering was very sensual and inviting.
'I see you are awake and well.' Halah thought-spoke with a wryness as soon as
I made out her figure.
'Sorry.' I fidgeted and thought of something else.
'Inside. Quickly! Before we are found.'
I obeyed, and slipped past her. The light inside the mud hut was a wick
floating in camel lard, and there were two others inside: a nude man was
sitting with similarly nude young girl rocking on his lap. Despite the dimness
of the light, I recognized him instantly.
"Ah-Pung?!"
===============================================================================
WANDERING
===============================================================================
I hated traveling at night. It conflicted with my sleep cycle, but I had to
do it. Halah insisted on it, as it was the safest method to travel in a
warzone. It allowed them some measure of cover from the "ifrit" -- Halah's
name for unmanned aerial drones -- and the death they wrought.
'It will be light soon.' She thought-spoke. 'I pray we arrive at our
destination.'
Her destination was no secret to any telepath within 10 meters, or to those
who were probing her. My question though, was about --
"Ann-druu?" Halah's contralto was quiet, yet sonorous.
"Yes, he's my brother." I cast a look back.
He and the young girl, a teenager a year or so older than Jillian, were
walking quietly together. Andrew didn't recognize me one bit. In fact, he took
my greeting as some sort of foreign cheer (or jeer), promptly switched
positions with the girl in mid-coitus, and kept up his amorous activity until
Halah came inside and told us we were leaving.
"What happened to Andrew?" I asked, "What've you done to him?"
'Nothing that he did not ask.' Halah stopped and pointed in the distance. 'We
go there. Quickly! Before there is light.'
"There" was another ramshackle gathering of mud huts in the middle of
nowhere. While we were on foot, the lone camel which carried supplies made our
journey a little easier. By now, I had figured that Halah was a gifted
individual who had no particular skill with psychokinesis, but she was adept
at obscuring presences, much like Melanie.
The girl who was fucking Andrew was not Halah's daughter, although the two
women shared some sort of bond, as she obeyed orders without question. Last
night, when Halah gave the order to depart, the girl gently pushed Andrew off
and dressed, leaving my brother with an unspent hard-on.
I suppose that was why they were walking side-by-side now. Cute. Any
questions I had though, needed to wait until we arrived. The sun was peeking
over the edge of the horizon as our party approached the village. Halah wasted
no time in leading the three of us through a maze of small, wretched alleys to
an unmarked house.
Once there, she did not knock, or make an audible sound. Instead, I could
"hear" the mental chatter between Halah and another person -- a woman. The
door to the house opened, and I saw a pair of eyes peek past a burqa.
'Sister!' The woman in the house opened the door opened wide to let us in.
Halah embraced our host briefly before business took over.
'There is water and grass. Forty doors down.'
'Forty?' Halah's thought-speech was incredulous. 'Things get worse and
worse!'
'I will take him.' That was the girl in our traveling party.
'No, Alima.' Halah was adamant. 'You stay here. Stan Chen? I must ask you to
accompany me.'
'What for?' Normally, I would've responded aloud, but it seemed like I just
walked into a nest of fellow citizens.
'It is nearly morning.' Halah responded glumly. 'If I am to walk the streets,
I must be accompanied by a man.'
'Fine.' I looked at my attire. 'Won't we draw attention?'
'Here.' The woman from the house pressed a neatly folded white street robe
into my hands. It was a little large, but I dressed quickly and followed Halah
and her camel down the street.
'No, no.' Halah's impatience was evident. 'Walk ahead of me. And take the
reins.'
'For the record, I only tamed an animal once.' I confessed as I took hold of
the leather strap. 'And that was a horse, years ago. I think if I did
something like that now, I'd kill it.'
'I am sure you can. But Farid is a humble servant. He will not disobey.'
'Farid?' I didn't look back, but I managed to broadcast that I quirked my
brow.
'The camel.' Halah explained. 'My camel.'
'Ah.'
We walked down the street to a stall full of other camels. It looked like a
pen, or maybe it was the Iraqi version of the used car lot. In any case, I had
doubts about leaving Halah's ride there.
'It will be all right.' Halah thought-spoke. 'We will be leaving again
tonight.'
'Again?' I asked her as we walked back towards the house. 'You haven't said
much about yourself. Or answered my questions about my brother.'
'Yes again.' The woman plodded a few steps behind me. 'I give you my word as
one of the kingdom.'
That was -- interesting.
'Kingdom?' I pressed. 'You mean like Saudi Arabia? Or an emirate?'
'No. I mean the hidden kingdom.' Halah thought-spoke. 'What you and your
master call the invisible empire.'
===============================================================================
COVEN
===============================================================================
I found I could sleep, despite the awful heat, the bright light, and the fact
that I had just found my brainwashed brother in the clutches of a mysterious
band of women who had an idea of what the invisible empire was, but called it
by a different name. Still, I had up all night traveling, and I was bone
weary. I had questions, but I needed rest. I was as guarded as I ever was, but
I could only be wary when awake. Once asleep, who knows what kind of crap
these witches would do?
'We are not like that, preying on you when you sleep.' That was how Halah
greeted me as soon as I awoke.
'I suppose not.' I thought back as my mind woke up. 'Was that how succubi
came to be?'
'Perhaps so, Stan Chen.'
It was early evening, and the house was nearly empty. I saw Halah was
kneeling by a cooking fire, the pot bubbling with a fragrant broth of lamb.
Her burqa removed, I could see she was quite lovely. She wore only a short
chemise. The rest of her body was bare. Her long tress of black hair was
loosely braided, wrapped around her neck, and the tail end hung between her
pendulous breasts.
But it wasn't the transformation from a walking tent to a sensual woman that
surprised me. I did not see the other woman who greeted us earlier, nor did I
see --
"Andrew!" I leapt to my feet, and Halah did the same. "Where is he?"
'Stop!' She thought-spoke with fear and alarm. 'Make no noise! Can you not
speak with your mind!? Or are you that clumsy?'
'Where's my brother?' I sensed Halah's fear as I advanced menacingly towards
her.
'Don't you hurt her!'
I stopped and glanced at the new presence that slowly revealed itself behind
me. A slim girl, older than the one Andrew fucked last night, had snuck up
behind me, a sharp little dagger pressed to the side of my body. It was
difficult to gauge her age, but I hazarded that she wasn't much younger than
Rosalind. She was dressed casually, in a T-shirt and loose jogging shorts.
It appeared I was caught in a bind, but I had learned a few things over the
years. Unfortunately, at that range, I had very little time to commit thoughts
to action. As soon as I thought about what I was going to, Halah broadcast a
warning, but it was too late. I quickly bent the tip of the dagger with
telekinesis, then turned and grabbed the girl threatening me. To insure her
cooperation, I emitted a typical brain-buzz I used to restrain someone.
I felt a psychic assault emanating from Halah, but I lashed out with
telekinesis. Only her gifts saved the witch from certain death. Unlike a
'normal', I needed time to breach another citizen's mental defences, and I
couldn't do that if they were dead. I pulled mightily on the garment Halah
wore, and spun her around to the floor.
Around this time, I felt a numbing pain on my arm and looked down. The girl I
had gripped was biting my arm down hard enough to draw blood. Buzzing her had
apparently done nothing, so shifted my concentration a bit, shrouded my arm
with as much "repelling force" I could muster, and clutched her neck tightly
until she began to gasp for air.
"You stop your struggling and you can breathe," I snapped. "Don't make me
break your teeth, then your neck."
The girl choked, sputtered, and clawed my arm uselessly until she finally
grew limp. By now, Halah had got to her knees before I had come to grips and
held her tightly in my grasp.
'Have you gone mad!? Let us go!!!' Halah struggled to no avail.
'What have you done with Andrew?!' I roared in her mind. 'If anything has
happened to him ...'
'Nothing has happened to him!!' The woman gasped for air. 'We meant no harm!'
I pressed both of them down to the ground, and placed their hands behind
their backs. Halah's coil of hair made for a fine restraint; I tied her wrists
together with her hair, then used my own belt to bind the other girl.
'That's fine.' I thought-spoke. 'I don't want to hurt you. I just need to
rummage a bit to find out about Andrew.'
'Wait, Stan Chen. You don't understand.'
I stopped and gathered my concentration. I knew Halah was trying to persuade
me, and I shook her off. I knew I didn't want to stop what I was going to do.
"Stop Stanley!"
I blinked, and saw a doppelganger of Janet writhing on the ground, trying to
work free her bonds.
'I'd tell you to get out of my mind, but you won't will you?' I
thought-spoke.
'No.' The thoughts were unmistakably Halah's, despite the fact "Janet" rolled
herself into a sitting position.
The earlier squeal was unmistakably Ling-Ling's, and would've fooled any
'normal' or even a citizen if he or she weren't wise to illusory tricks like
the ones Bethany could do. Thankfully, I was. I stood my ground, unfazed and
unbelieving.
'Then a bargain: tell me about Andrew.' My thoughts were sober. 'And I won't
tear your throat out for impersonating my wife.'
The illusory form of Janet disappeared, and Halah quickly assumed her own
appearance once more.
'Agreed. Now please, untie us.'
===============================================================================
KINDRED
===============================================================================
We stayed in the village that night. That allowed me some semblance of rest
and put my mind at ease as I methodically pinged and scanned all the
inhabitants. Wherever it was, it had no name I recognized from agency intel.
It didn't matter though; after my little chat with Halah, I think I needed a
place to stay and sort things out.
'It's not what you thought, was it?'
I saw her watching me over the dying embers of the cookfire. A wick candle
was providing what light the small hovel needed. Halah and her companion were
unharmed, although the girl gave me a swift kick in the shin once she was
freed. It hardly hurt because I dulled the impact of her blow, but I fidgeted
as expected -- I did the same when the boys got a little rough playing
"tackle-ball" (a mix of catch and touch-tag) so they'd know they were roughing
up their old man.
My sons got a kick out of getting one up on their office-dwelling dad, but
this girl didn't. She knew I was faking my response and simply turned on her
heel in a huff. We ate in silence while she gave me nasty looks over the
cookfire. Once the sun had set, the girl had donned her burqa and slipped out
to check on Farid, leaving me alone with Halah.
'It wasn't what I expected.' I answered in thought-speak.
The mysterious desert woman was a wildly exotic creature. She was a mix of
Turkish, Greek, Asian, and the various Semitic tribesmen who migrated over the
shifting sands of the Arabian Peninsula, and about my age. But as mixed-up as
her lineage was, it was nowhere as mixed-up and bizarre as the story she
related to me after she clarified what happened with Andrew.
Halah had met him near Umm Qasr. As part of their order's creed, she and
Alima (her travel companion) had been searching for suitable men on the delta
when they felt some sort of "psychic aura" -- likely me when I mind-read
Andrew -- and they engaged him in some chatter to find out more about him.
Well, one thing lead to another, and before Halah knew it, Andrew had put
forth the story of Sachiko and Ami. He then added that even though he was
happy with Ameena, he was more than happy to forget about Sachiko and
everything about her, even at the cost of long-term memory loss. Alima was
attracted to him, and she eagerly granted him his wish, much to Halah's alarm.
Since then, the two had been inseparable, although Halah admitted it was not
unusual for one of her order to enslave a normal man for a few months. She and
her peers were considered to be a witches' coven, or nymphs of old; the
various stories of men who disappeared in the wilderness were rooted in the
activities of her order in times past. And that was just the tip of the
iceberg she was unveiling: there wasn't an invisible empire.
Or at least, not any organization I was lead to believe. It was a goddamn
free-for-all. There were a bunch of powerful gifted individuals taking hold of
power, forming alliances as required, and "living" like an anarchistic
commune. Halah had a name for our kind's civilization, the hidden kingdom, or
more precisely, "kingdoms" as there seemed to be more than a few groups in
existence.
I suppose Halah could have lied, but it was difficult to disbelieve her as
opposed to Tseng. For one, when my enigmatic mentor told me of the empire, I
took his word for it. Not only was I was young and impressionable, but Tseng
was impervious to mental probing.
In Halah's case, she took my hands in hers and opened her mind to me. As I
had shared with Viktoriya when we made physical contact, Halah did the same
with me. The "invisible empire" was a convenient lie Tseng had impressed upon
me for reasons all his own.
'He lied from the moment he met you.' Halah thought-spoke as she studied me
carefully from across the small room. 'But I believe he meant well.'
That was true, I knew. Strangely enough, I did not feel betrayed, only
shocked, for out of all the lies Tseng had spun, one thing remained unchanged
regardless whether the empire existed or not: discovery meant death. That
prime dictum -- that one rule -- didn't change, and it didn't matter what we
called ourselves.
Fear of discovery was one of the reasons Halah and her order traveled at
night. They were a modern incarnation of the Dionysian cults that pre-dated
Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Halah, her history of the order being
limited, believed it to be more ancient.
From her tale, I knew why the coven was so secretive: they were capable of
making very accurate predictions, using a combination of mind-reading and
advanced mathematics. It wasn't pre-cognition, but it was damn close. This
made them highly sought after through the centuries by men and women of power.
Highly sought after also meant "hunted". The wild revels were another
extension of truth -- few outsiders knew about their order.
'Why show me?' I asked Halah.
'Because you are ...' She struggled for the right thoughts. '...
trust-worthy. I sense that in you, Stan Chen.'
I didn't ask her to explain. Tseng had said something along those lines to me
years ago. With the invisible empire a lie, I didn't know what else to think.
I didn't think I even cared. For a moment, even with such an earnest
revelation, I still dared to doubt her word.
'What has he done to you?' Halah thought-spoke, my mistrust reflected in her
gaze.
My response was instant and succinct: 'Nothing.'
'Or so you believe.' She shifted slightly and began rummaging through her
travel bags. 'Stan Chen, I cannot persuade you that what I tell you is truth.
But know this: in due time, you will be faced with a choice.'
'What kind of choice?' I grew curious.
'One of love and loyalty.'
'With whom?' I thought-spoke, then I became apprehensive. 'And when?'
'I ... I cannot say.' Halah shut her eyes for a moment. 'But do well to
remember, for it has great meaning for you.'
"One of your calculations?" I spoke in a hushed tone.
'Yes.' Halah seldom bothered to speak normally. 'One that I did as soon as
Alima seduced your brother.'
'Interesting.' I thought-spoke.
She cast a side-long glance at me. 'I had to know what lay before them.'
I managed a pained smile as to her reasoning. 'And Andrew? What of him?'
'He is your brother. A man.' Her response was to-the-point. 'As much as Alima
wants him to stay, he cannot.'
'I meant his future.' I thought-spoke, but Halah was dismissive.
'For now, he will be fine in Alima's hands.'
I'll say, I thought privately. Not to mention her company. It was irony, I
thought. After the incident with Melanie's brother, my own damn brother was
sleeping with a girl no older than Jillian.
But at least Tony was happy now. That young woman in Viktoriya's dance studio
had proved to be quite the little bizzo. Melanie was shocked (and less than
pleased) to find the two fucking in _her_ bed after coming home early from
work one night. Thankfully the kids were with me at Janet's (which I suppose,
was the whole reason for Anthony using his sister's condo as a fuck-pad).
I watched as Halah pulled out an old National Geographic map and spread it on
the ground. She did not need a lot of light to read, for she was employing
biointroscopy. Presently, the girl came back in. From my time with Halah's
thoughts, I knew it was her daughter, Noorah. The young woman slipped off her
burqa once she was safely indoors.
'Mother? What now?'
'Hush child.' Halah brushed her off. 'The night is still young. Speak with
our guest. Do not anger him again.'
As quickly as Noorah hid her distaste for me, I knew she was miffed from how
her nostrils flared. From Halah's tale, I knew her order were comprised only
of women. It wasn't sexual discrimination as much as it was a practical method
to keep their organization's members limited. A man could sire many
descendants with different women, but a woman, in control of her body, could
elect to birth any number of children she desired.
For Halah's order, their practices mandated each woman to birth at least one
child, preferably two, and both of them girls. This meant the coven controlled
who had access to their secret mathematical formulas that allowed them to make
their eerily accurate predictions.
While not every girl thus born was gifted, the calculations being made could
be done by 'normal' individuals; calculus and hypergeometry were teachable
subjects, unlike psionics.
Male offspring were given away to adoptive parents where possible; exposure
was a last resort (and generally reserved for gifted boys). In the case where
one of their order could not (or would not) give up her son, she would be cast
out, her knowledge of the order and its formulas forcibly erased through a
combination of mental contamination and mind-altering drugs.
The order also replenished its ranks in a very controlled way: when a woman
reached her early thirties, she would take journey with a young girl as a
companion and go out seeking a suitable mate. This companion may sometimes be
her actual daughter, or a niece, or a friend's daughter. The young companion
would be impregnated, and occasionally the chaperone would be knocked up as
well. This was the preferred approach, as the outcome of the coupling did not
always produce girls.
From this outing, the coven would hopefully get their next generation of
acolytes. Halah was doing precisely that with Alima when they encountered
Andrew. Normally, the coupling would've taken a few days or so at most (to
insure impregnation), but Halah's charge became enamored with my brother's
good looks, and decided to keep him around for a little while longer.
Halah, more methodical and in control, did not want Andrew around. In fact,
she was wondering how to return him to the outside world when I showed up. My
battle at the insurgent compound hadn't gone unnoticed, and my careless
psychic pinging practically screamed "I AM LOOKING FOR ANDREW CHEN. HAVE YOU
SEEN HIM?!" Almost instantly, Halah and the rest of her coven were alerted to
my presence.
'She is young.' The desert beauty caught my anxiety and reassured me once
more. 'She will tire of him.'
'When? He has a woman waiting for him at home.' I thought back.
At that thought, Noorah scoffed audibly. Her mother hushed her again while I
ignored the moody girl and proceeded with my exercises. As I slowly raised
myself into a handstand with some telekinetic assistance, I picked up some of
their chatter: 'His brother is just like him.' 'Do you mean his wives?' 'Of
course! When will men tire of that practice?' 'It is not our place to say,
child.' 'I do not like him.' 'Temper, Noorah. Please do not think such
rudeness; it's no secret he can hear us.'
I was standing on both hands now, my telekinesis slowly waning, allowing my
body to physically work itself. I understood Noorah's anger wasn't necessarily
at my polygamy, but rather at how I represented the Westerners rampaging
through her ancestral home.
I apologized to them both, though I kept mum about my business with my
"interviewees" at the detention centers. I'm sure though, that they both knew
what I did already. At this range, the only secrets I could keep were the ones
I weren't thinking of -- and there were precious few of them.
'That is all right.' Halah's voice spoke chimed softly in my mind. 'You must
understand Stan Chen, most of us live here. It is our home.'
'Tell me about it.' I responded automatically.
The desert seer didn't seem to pick up on my reflexive response and
continued: 'Our youth know about the past, see the present, and are angry
about the future. They have no outlet save the militias.'
'All run by men.' Noorah added with contempt.
'Yes.' Halah put a gentle hand on the teenager. 'They need to understand that
the rest of the world does not hate them; they just do not understand why we
suffer in silence.'
'Motherrrr ...'
I chuckled at the by-play between Halah and Noorah. It reminded me of the
disagreements Jillian and Jamie were starting to have as my stepdaughter
approached womanhood. As soon as I thought it, both mother and daughter picked
up on it.
Halah's mouth twitched as Noorah shot a shock of surprise at her. The girl's
eyes flashed angrily at her mother, then at me before she quickly averted her
gaze. I caught something -- a twitter of embarrassment -- before I sensed
nothing again from the two women in the room.
Having ate and with nowhere to go that night (we were too late to start off
to another safehouse), I continued my exercises until the sun rose. I wagered
that we'd be leaving the next night, so I'd best grab what sleep I could in
the day. I was right.
===============================================================================
THE PAINTED DESERT
===============================================================================
I accompanied Halah north (I think). As already noted, she and her sister
"seers" (or witch-seers, for lack of a better term) moved from safehouse to
safehouse at night, avoiding using the same place for months, even years at a
time, in order to keep those people who wanted to pursue them confused.
The only time they would stop for a long period of time was in the late
stages of pregnancy, and for a few years or so after giving birth. During that
time, it was to either survey a family and give the boy up for adoption, or to
train and strengthen the girl so she may take on the rigors of constant
traveling.
With their mental ability to shroud themselves, the sisters could move
amongst the gifted who knew to seek them out. As much as I could "read" Halah,
I didn't know how many of my kind knew about the order. Her mental shrouding
prevented me from digging deeper. I could read Noorah more, but she didn't
know much. I suppose it was an OPSEC (operational security) procedure. While
coupling, the younglings could accidentally yield information to the man she
was fucking.
'Vulgar.' The desert woman admonished me. 'But correct.'
Halah might've been preoccupied with keeping an eye on me, Noorah, and her
camel, Farid, but she caught onto my curiosity about the similarity between
her mental shrouding and Melanie's latent abilities.
'She may be like us.' Halah thought-spoke simply. 'But she would not be
trained. Does she ---?'
'She hears the occasional thought.' I responded, and left it at that.
If Halah wanted to comment more on the brooding thoughts I entertained, she
kept to herself. The desert beauty had enough to do as she plodded along,
deeply concentrating on a mental meeting with her fellow sisters on the issue
of Andrew and Alima. It was rude of me to eavesdrop, but being so close, it
was almost impossible to keep me out.
I picked up enough to know Halah was true to her word: Andrew was to be
returned to "normal" and dropped off. The problem was that he was MIA/AWOL so
long, it would be hard to explain his extended absence without arousing
suspicion in the military establishment.
I suggested to Halah that I should explain what was to be expected. This way,
there would be any undo suspicion to threaten revealing her coven. When the
witches kidnapped a man, they ditched him after erasing his memories. In
recent times, they've found themselves hard-pressed to use "magic" and the
"supernatural" to explain these lapses in memory.
Drugs were a possibility, but apart from the fact Andrew wasn't a substance
abuser, I didn't want that stigma attached to him. I suggested a more
plausible excuse for his prolonged absence.
The nomad witch was suspicious, but she knew my words matched my intentions.
With her introduction, I injected myself into their conversation, and
suggested that Andrew be "found" by a patrol in the hands of some insurgents.
Almost immediately, the idea was rejected.
'Those you call "terrorists" are our brothers, fathers, uncles, nephews,
cousins, and sons.' One of the witch-seers thought-spoke curtly. 'I would not
ask you to put your family in danger for the return of one of our sisters.'
Those mind-linked to the meeting were about to eject me, before I proposed a
compromise solution.
'How about your enemies?' I pinged quickly. 'Halah tells me there are those
hunting your order; are there any who may be also enemies of my country? Maybe
I can arrange a trade -- I take care of your enemies, and I get my brother a
plausible method to go home.'
'He speaks like one of them.' I sensed a snide thought from one of them; I
had a feeling it was either Alima or Noorah, but I wasn't sure.
There was a generally hub-bub of suggestions and names I never heard of
before one thought came through.
'Yes. There may be one.'
Presently, the face of a man I didn't know came to me. He wasn't familiar,
but he bore the same swarthy countenance as the bandits and dealers I had
dealt with on the Mexican border. Soon after I "saw" this man, a location came
to me.
I could innately sense Alima was leading Andrew towards the man's compound,
while Halah was leading me to the same destination. Apparently, a decision had
been reached, and our party would arrive at the place before night was out.
The witches were offering me a deal: I was to do them a favor, and in return,
I would get my brother back. I snickered inwardly, but at the same time,
wondered if I was being manipulated by powers greater than I. I didn't dwell
on it much; I had a task to do.
===============================================================================
THE LONG WAY BACK
===============================================================================
Alima called me every filthy name she could think of in her broken English
before her mother, the woman who met Halah at the safehouse a few days ago,
took her away and scolded the tearful teen. As bad as I felt for the girl, I
was glad I got my brother back.
The cost to Alima were a few more weeks of passion, and possibly a child my
brother might have sired but would have no knowledge of. I knew it wouldn't
matter: Alima and her mother (or another chaperone) would find another
candidate.
For Andrew, he got his memories up to the moment when his mind was wiped at
Umm Qasr; from there on out, it took a combined effort between me, Halah, and
Alima to fabricate his kidnapping by a mercenary and his band of cut-throats.
My brother wouldn't remember much apart from being snatched, then stuffed in
the base when "something" (i.e., me) happened on the place and killed everyone
there.
The mercenary leader was literally beside himself by the time Andrew was
secured inside the compound; I made sure of that myself by wrapping the
bastard's midsection with a hand grenade and shoving him out one of an upper
story window. The four witch-seers did not accompany me into the base, and for
good reason. They would've only gotten in my way as I engaged in my slaughter.
I didn’t escape entirely unharmed myself, and had taken a bullet-graze on the
arm. The shooter saw me because I was a little rushed, but he didn't get
another chance before I snapped his neck and puppeteered his body to clear out
the rest of courtyard.
Dead and broken men littered the place, and I bore a heavy heart that my
brother would awaken to such carnage. But I had little choice in the matter.
That in mind, I did my best to mitigate the carnage, and arranged it so that
it appeared two factions had slaughtered one another, absolving Ah-Pung of any
potential guilt.
I also did one more thing -- I "placed" (or implanted) the memory of Sachiko
and the slip of rice paper. I had to be careful, or not only I'd do lasting
damage to my brother's brain, but also screw up my plan. All Andrew remembered
was that he had, in a moment of great misery, wrote an apology on a little
slip, put it on Sachiko's ring, and intended to give it to her before she
moved to Seattle.
That seemed logical to me: I caught Ami slipping out of Andrew's bedroom
around November last year, and they had met during Rachelle's party for her
new job. My black beauty had started her job at LucasArts in mid-October.
I found myself grinning despite what had just happened. If there was one
thing about the Brothers Chen, it was that they were able to bed their women
quickly. With my little plot in place, I gathered some items I needed from the
compound's supply room: some water canteens, towels (more like rags or
kiffiyah), and some toilet amenities.
Although Halah and her sisters weren't nearby, they did do one thing while I
was away on business: they contacted a military commander and "suggested" to
him to send a patrol towards the mercenaries' place to look for missing
personnel. They would find Andrew, and hopefully, that would be that.
Unfortunately, this presented other problems as well: I wasn't supposed to be
in Iraq. Although I wanted to stay with my brother and make sure he was safe,
I knew I couldn't squelch enough minds before the military would create a
report about the incident. Once that occurred, the agency would catch wind of
me.
And I had ruled out the displacement option. I had grown leery of contacting
Ghost Light ever since Masquerade could do some light mind-reading. With the
"invisible empire" being Tseng's concoction, I wouldn't be too sure if I could
keep this little jaunt a secret.
I wasn't sure whose side was Bethany on. Even if she didn't blackmail me, she
could let it slip and the agency, or Tseng, would have something more about
me. I wanted no trace of this, and for that, I had to rely on my new found
"buddettes". I contented myself with staying back a bit (about six miles away)
and using mind-sight and mind-hopping to insure my brother's safety.
Only when a squad found him and ran his ID card (Alima had kidnapped him with
all his papers), did I relax. Andrew would probably get a chewing out for
wandering around on the delta, but he'll be safe. Some soldiers would get some
medals, and if the lunk-head had his memories done right, he'd be exonerated
of any complications in his disappearance, come home, and make nice with Ami
and Sachiko.
I lingered until sundown, mentally shadowing my brother. I only relaxed when
the convoy wrapped his dehydrated butt in a spare flak jacket, sat him in a
Humvee, and zipped back to base.
'You care deeply for your brother.' Halah thought-spoke the obvious.
I knew she knew that I did, so I only sagged against the dusty wall of our
temporary abode, my mind tired and my body worn. The bullet had left an angry
welt on my arm where its flight had singed my shirt and seared my skin.
'What now?' Noorah thought-spoke.
The teen was still haughty, though she tip-toed around me now. After seeing
what I was capable of, I could see the fear just behind her pretty
sun-bleached face.
'Yes, Stan Chen.' It was Halah. 'What now? Why did you not go with your
soldiers? Go home?'
'It's complicated.'
I didn't want to think about the complexities of maintaining the fiction of
the empire anymore, but I had done it for so long, it came naturally. The
invisible empire. My gifts. My family. My darlings. Viktoriya. The agency.
Mirage. Masquerade. Ghost-Light. Tseng.
All of that swirled in my head as I realized that I had a part in
perpetuating Tseng's lie -- Richard, Darrell, Galen, Kari, Carrie-Ann,
Cristobel, Feodor -- were they all in on the lie? Or were they duped as I was?
For the first time in a long time, I felt lost. I didn't know what to do.
What did it all mean? What was the invisible empire? Was Tseng planning
something? What was he doing? Heck. Fuck that. What was I doing? Who did I
work for? Was I furthering someone else's goals all along?
"Here."
I blinked and looked up at the sound of the hushed voice. It was Halah, who
held out a small canteen made from a goat's bladder. I made a face as she
mentally scolded me.
'I know what you are thinking: that the water here is dirty. But it may
surprise you to know that I had boiled it yesterday. It is safe to drink.'
'Sorry.' I took a grateful swig of the lukewarm water. Compared to the heat
outside, it was pretty damn refreshing.
'We will need to stay here today, but there is not much water.' Halah
complained.
'The --' Noorah thought something in her native tongue, denoting weasel,
sell-out, and criminal '-- fortress had a well, I think.'
I shook my head and thought-spoke. 'Won't do you much good. The well's
polluted.'
'Why would the well be polluted?' Noorah was incredulous.
'Because I tossed a body in there.'
'Imbecile!!' The girl was furious. 'Do you know how precious fresh water is
in the desert?!'
Halah was annoyed -- although I wasn't sure if she was annoyed with me or her
hot-headed daughter -- and did her best to calm the situation as I continued.
'It wouldn't be a good idea to go back. There will likely be aerial
surveillance thanks to this patrol. If we leave, we should be careful.' I
thought soberly.
The desert sage "listened" carefully as I explained how the agency's drones
and satellites worked (and were networked, thanks the lessons the agency
learned using ECHELON). Although the witch-seer had some knowledge of the
"ifrit" (UAVs) and their ties to ground spotters, she wasn't aware that
satellites were constantly monitoring the Gulf region and other hot-spots
around the world.
'My God.' Halah's eyes grew wide. 'I thought they could not see us in the
dark. Even the ones in the sky.'
'The tech's changed over the years. Night, day, bad weather. They can do it.'
I thought-spoke. 'And since I work for them, I might be considered another one
of their systems.'
She studied me curiously. 'You -- you harbor a disdain for them. I feel it.'
I shrugged. Agent Cox wasn't one to instill loyalty out of respect. He was
more of a closet blackmailer, which suited the agency and the likes of me just
fine.
'Motherrr ... what do we do now?' Noorah's universal cry for attention was so
common for teenaged girls, it made me chuckle inwardly.
Halah knitted her brow, thinking. After a few moments, she came to a
decision.
'We head back. Same house as yesterday.'
===============================================================================
THE MORE THINGS CHANGE, THE MORE THEY REMAIN THE SAME
===============================================================================
It was unusual for the two women, to go back to the same safehouse --
especially one so spartan -- they had used just days before. However, it was a
strangely welcome sight for me, and I gladly went around town, grabbing the
little things we needed for the cookfire.
We ate lamb again, although this time, Halah had found some beans and lettuce
from a vendor. Knowing how farmers in this region generally used human feces
as fertilizer, I made sure the foodstuffs were boiled thoroughly before I
partook in the meal. There was almost no water left in the pot by the time I
actually ate. The meal was one of the blandest I've ever had, but I didn't get
sick.
Halah and I discussed how we could proceed back towards the UAE, preferably
through Kuwait, so I could hire a boat and go home. For the desert seer,
Kuwait -- especially Kuwait City -- was not a place she considered "safe".
She was more comfortable with small villages in the desert, away from the
bustle of people. However, in exchange for the information I had given her
about some agency operations, she felt a mild sense of obligation to at least
accompany me towards the border (which, strangely enough, was marked by a
small gathering of mud-huts on the outskirts of Umm Qasr).
We talked until the sun rose over the horizon. Everything in this alien world
of endless sand and rock fascinated me. The endless wars, the vicious
militias, and political back-stabbing were done by people in power.
Sheiks, warlords, and strongmen reigned with a free hand, and the weak were
mercilessly dealt with. The witch-seers were more subtle in their approach.
With male "prophets" being prevalent, it was unusual to hear of the order,
unless one was truly, deeply educated about the shadowy world of the "hidden
kingdom".
As much as I learned from Halah, she found me equally fascinating. The
high-rises and cities she sought to avoid, both thrilled and frightened her.
It helped that my visit to the housing tower I had helped draft the plans for
were still fresh in my mind; the skyline on the 96th floor was particularly
impressive, especially at sunset, and I told her thus. Nevertheless, Halah
personally feared cities would make her too vulnerable.
'Too many people to hide from.' She thought-spoke. 'Too much death.'
The constant attacks on hears on television were done by rural people against
urbanites. Those with nothing much to live for, desperate to sell themselves
to those in power so that their families would not starve. In a land where a
person's body was his (or her) most valuable asset, martyrs came cheap by
agency standards. Nonetheless, I showed her what I could of the cities. The
new methods of agronomy, housing, sanitation, travel -- all the little things
I had taken for granted all my life.
'You could live quite comfortably in one.' I thought-spoke. 'You need not
deny yourself.'
'No. The old rites were held away from the city.' Halah responded. 'You must
understand Stan Chen -- we cannot risk everything for a few creature
comforts.'
'So, you predict the future.' I countered. 'I don't understand why it would
be taken as gospel. You already say that it is neither perfect, and it is not
immutable, as you figure things out with what's being done now.'
'But can you imagine it?' She shot me an angry look. 'Those in power would
keep things the way they are. And change things to thwart the futures they see
as unfavorable to them.'
Halah remained adamant as she continued. 'Do not neglect the power of faith.
You may lack it, but it does not mean others do.'
I scratched my head. That was indeed true. Given a chance, I probably would
affect changes to insure a future that was favorable to me. And dogmatic
religion did have an allure to the uninitiated. If the agency's bosses had
this kind of thing going for them, who knows what they'd do?
Heck, who knows what the various churches would do as well? Maybe use the
witches to create a new messiah. Or several competing ones. Now that was a
frightening thought.
Halah managed to draw me into talking about topics I generally didn't discuss
with my darlings: chiefly politics, religion, personal beliefs, society, and
people in general. I avoided those topics simply because I knew them to be
shams, although I did manage to learn enough to bullshit my architectural
clients.
Having been able to read minds from a young age, and growing up in a secular
household, I found politics and religion the most ludicrous of human concepts.
I found it more odd that each had more ardent followers than other pedestrian
interests -- like American Idol or Monty Python's Flying Circus.
The desert woman chided me, playing to my sense of cynicism. Unlike covens,
she maintained, cults were one good example of mixing belief with actions that
encompassed a larger meaning.
'Did you know that some of the great and infamous leaders of old were men and
women like us?' Halah thought-spoke.
'You mean like Alexander the Great?' I responded.
'Likely yes.' She cast a sideways glance at me. 'Though they are not called
as such. Only now, with this Internet, can we record our scriptures.'
'You kept records?' That was interesting. I wondered how much it would
compromise the empire -- or the hidden kingdom.
'It will be complicated to break the cipher.' Halah explained. 'And we only
keep records in iconographics, much like you!'
I had to grin at her realization of how we encoded our memories and messages.
'My sisters and I record as much as we can.' She continued. 'Since we are
nomadic, we cannot keep large libraries. Your country's Internet and computers
have helped us greatly. Some of us are keeping our records in a new way.'
'See, we're not all that bad.' I mentally joked.
'No, not always.' Her response showed some mirth. 'But then again, we are not
all --' Halah used a term that was a strange mix of Arabic and Hebrew
(probably Aramaic), but I got the gist from her thoughts: "We're not all of
one mind / good or bad, either."
I glanced at her oddly and asked her to explain.
'Some tyrants and despots have been acute in their ability to read others,
because they possess our gifts. Not necessarily the sisterhood's formulae, but
simply being able to pick up on others' intentions.'
'Any examples?' I wondered.
Halah took a few moments before she responded.
'The one you call Adolf Hitler was probably one like us. He was very
persuasive.'
'I don't know about that.' I countered. 'Much of his mythology came after he
died.'
Halah shrugged. 'I can only guess from what was recorded. I have never met
him to read his mind.'
That's disturbing, I thought. A mind-reader in a position of 'normal' power.
I wondered how it hadn't happened yet. Was that something Tseng was plotting?
Or was he up to something else?
'You feel it to be true, don't you?' Noorah thought-spoke.
Both Halah and I looked at the teen. She had sat quietly by and listened to
both of us mind-chat through the early morning before, and the early evening
now as we packed and readied to head to the border.
'I'd rather not think about it.' I started my thought, but the girl quickly
avoided my gaze and stepped outside with her pack.
Halah, embarrassed by her daughter's dismissiveness, motioned to me that she
was ready to leave. I threw on the robes, picked up my things and followed her
outside.
It took us another day to get to get past the dunes. Normally, something that
insignificant I used TK-skating to navigate. Unfortunately, Halah and Noorah
had to walk. I should've swiped some camels from the village, but the
olive-skinned woman had forbade me from doing so.
'Those creatures are not for us to take.'
So, I plodded along at a snail's pace, and seethed. I calculated that by the
time I made it back to Dubayy, I'd be more than a week overdue. This would set
off alarms for my wives, and likely, the agency too. By the time we reached
what passed for a road, I found the truck I had abandoned a few days earlier.
No one had come by to steal or inspect it.
Damn. Parts of Iraq _were_ a wasteland straight out of a Mad Max movie. No
wonder Faraz's family left for the United States.
'Who is Faraz?' Halah's voice chimed in my mind.
'A friend.' I thought-spoke back. 'C'mon. Into the truck you two. Even if
you're used to walking, I'm not.'
'But Farid!' The desert seer protested. 'He cannot be carried can he?'
Shit. I forgot about that camel of hers. Halah wouldn't budge and I wasn't in
a position to make anyone do anything. So, I stuck by the two nomadic women
and plodded on towards the border.
===============================================================================
DESERT VISION
===============================================================================
We reached our destination after another day or so. I was exhausted, despite
using telekinesis to help with my travel. My injury from the battle was
bandaged, but the constant chafing from the robes weren't helping. Halah did
her best to egg me onward; although she had no reason to accompany me to
Kuwait, she thought it helpful to break away from the usual pattern she was
accustomed to.
'To throw them off our tracks.' She explained in thought-speech.
Besides politics and religion, Halah also found time to badger me about
Faraz, so I told her about him. Although both of them were Iraqi, the desert
woman and her daughter didn't care for Faraz's excesses in Vegas, or his
choice of career in finance. Noorah in particular, was especially spiteful.
'See what my mother means about city dwelling?' Noorah was disdainful. 'It
changes people.'
'Not like it matters now.' I thought-spoke.
'How come?'
'Faraz is long dead. He was at the World Trade Center when it was hit.'
Halah hushed Noorah before she could agitate the discussion further. Along
with the sudden rush of mental imagery the two women got from me about 9/11,
there were other things tied to it too: Andrew's happiness with Ami, the dirty
business of bio-terror, the rise of domestic terror, and the deaths of
Jon-Peter, Faraz, and Aurora. Halah picked up those thoughts, silently chided
Noorah to behave.
'I offer my sorrow for your loss.' The woman's thought-speech was reserved.
'As do I.' I thought-spoke. 'There's been too much of it, lately.'
'There's always been misery.' Halah corrected me. 'More people know of it now
thanks to your machines. The more people know, the more our order is aware,
yes?'
I felt a slight chill down my spine. More records. More awareness. Halah was
thinking very much like Tseng.
'Not completely.' The desert beauty thought-spoke. 'He differs from us.'
'How?' I dared to think the question.
'Your master is not what we regard as "psionic".' She thought-spoke the only
term that we both understood.
I sat up with interest. 'What was that?'
"Your master," Halah spoke aloud but softly, "He is not like us at all. He
mimics our powers."
I focused my telekinesis and gouged a finger-wide gash in the rough stone
floor.
'I learned this from observing him.' I thought-spoke.
The dune-hopping beauty could only shrug. 'However he is doing it, it is not
how we do things. And it is not how _you_ did that, despite what you think.'
'That's impossible.' I shook my head. 'I _know_ I can. It's telekinesis.'
'No, Stan Chen.' Halah seemed to sigh. 'It's not. Whatever you are doing, you
are doing it because of your affinity to mimic as he --' she seemed to pause
'-- or your proximity to another.'
Viktoriya? I wondered. That could be. She was the only psychokineticist I had
not only touched, but been physically intimate with. Despite my interactions
with Tseng, I had shaken his hand but once, the second time we met, and he had
been wearing black patent leather gloves.
Halah's dark eyes glimmered with curiosity as she read my mind. 'This is why
you cannot find him as easily.'
'Because I never touched him?'
She nodded in reply.
'Wait. I don't get it.' I thought back. 'I can barely locate you and Noorah
--' the girl perked up slightly at being mentioned but contributed nothing '--
and that doesn't explain what you did to hide Andrew from me. Plus, I can
sense you now. And what about my wife, Melanie?'
Halah paused a bit before she elaborated in a quick mind-burst of imagery and
explanation: her orders of witch-seers could extend her mind-shroud to another
by altering his or her thoughts. By "not thinking" like the person did before,
the mental-marking would be undone if the citizen tracking the target wasn't
aware of the change.
'Alima did so when she erased your brother's memories.' The desert rose was
as fascinated with how the incident played out as I was. 'Perhaps you are in
tune with his thoughts before, but were waylaid when they were changed?'
'Interesting.' Given my frequent lapses in tracking Andrew, it made sense.
I pinged, and found that the explanation was tolerably plausible. I could
easily locate Wei-Pung now. He was back in the base near Al-Basrah, being
looked over by medical staff, and being chewed out by his army liaison for
wandering away during his outing.
'And my wife, Melanie?' My questions about Andrew answered, I pinged forth my
other question.
Halah looked thoughtful, but her mind was a mental mask, much like my little
Lady Chen. I could barely sense that she was trying to form an answer, but
before the older woman could, Noorah thought-spoke.
'So trusting, you are of us.'
I looked to the side and saw the teen was kneeling quietly by the other
corner, her slim form leaning against the dusty wall of the mud shack. Seeing
her turn her gaze away, I chuckled, drawing a quiet -- almost imperceptible --
mental barb from Halah that was meant for her daughter.
I glanced at Halah oddly, and she stared back at me with a cool, level
glance. Despite the nomads' preference for the desert, they weren't above
taking a bath at the river delta. In the early pre-dawn morning, there'd be no
one to see two naked women and a man scrubbing themselves clean with the salty
seawater. It wasn't something I relished, but it was better than having no
bath at all. I washed and rinsed myself after emptying my waste away from the
water's edge.
Now, the three of us were in an abandoned house near the border. It was a
"temporary" safehouse Alima and Halah had used before they found Andrew
standing quietly at the delta's edge, not really fishing, but just
day-dreaming about home, Sachiko, and Ameena. Noorah was oddly quiet.
I knew that the girl harbored a dislike for me since I half-choked her the
day we met. The dislike morphed into disdain and fear after I sacked the
outlaws' base. However, apart her one angry barb over what I had done to the
well, Noorah remained quiet and reserved around me.
Tonight though, the girl kept to herself. When I had glanced at her earlier
in the evening, I noticed she always had her gaze at the fire, or the wall, or
the window. Basically, anywhere except me. I thought she'd grown tired of her
game from either being scolded by Halah, or because I simply ignored her when
she tried to provoke me.
I remembered when Kady was going through her "terrible twos", she'd scream
and scream until Shawn picked her up. When that little hard-head was with me
though, I didn't care for that, so I let her cry herself hoarse (much to
Shawn's consternation) and ignored Kady (I wore earplugs) until she could
communicate her wants by tugging me and pointing, or by using her baby words.
I wondered if that was how Noorah was behaving now, the little brat ...
At that thought, the girl whipped her head 'round to glare at me. Strangely
enough, she wasn't all mad. In fact, her cheeks reddened and I "felt" the rush
of blood to her head as her heart began pounding. My thoughts of my family
jarred the two's normally disciplined mental defences. And as soon as that
happened, a small sliver of Halah's thoughts crept through to me -- and gave
me the shock of my life.
Halah was trying to find the best way to ask me to impregnate her daughter. I
did a double take, and shifted my concentration. I quickly closed off my own
senses and tried to defend myself, but it was a little too late.
'Stan Chen.' Her voice sang through mind, sonorous as a lullaby, and as
smooth as silk. 'I do this not simply because of my order's vows, but because
I find you ... handsome.'
'You -- you what?' I blinked, my mind was slow as molasses. Damn! How the
hell?! I hadn't felt like this before. Somehow, I knew I was being persuaded,
or at least subjugated, but I earnestly couldn't do a --
'Do not resist.' The desert woman crept slowly towards me on all fours, like
a jungle cat. 'I am earnest with you; I mean you no harm ... and I think you
will enjoy this small pleasure.'
"Ha--Halah. Stop," I tried to stand, but only managed to remain on all fours.
Somehow, I found the ground more satisfying, and decided to lie down.
Bad mistake, dumb-ass. Somehow, the well-trained part of my mind found the
time to chide me for being a stupid dip-shit.
I had let my guard down and grown complacent around two fairly hot women who
were gifted in ways I didn't know. They'll probably chop you up for dog-meat,
or what ever the hell eats meat around here. Thoughts of my wives weeping and
wailing over my absence came to fore, and I struggled to regain control.
Halah picked up my thoughts and inner desires. She quickly slid over me,
greatly magnifying her power over me. She was nude now, her short slip having
long been discarded in a heap next to me. I could see her sinewy, strong
muscles glisten with what little sweat had not evaporated in the dry desert
air. The cookfire was still burning, and in the red afterglow, I saw the sun
weathered skin of the witch-seer.
She was beautiful, but the harshness of the desert and the region wore on
her. She wore a proud nose, much like Ghandia, and Hala's eyes were dark and
brooding as they bore deep into mine. I had a feeling of what she was trying
to do -- either erase my memories, or filch them. I fell back instantly on my
mental training, and hit back. Halah warded off of my attempts to buzz her and
thought-spoke.
'Do not fight me, Stan Chen.' She seemed a bit annoyed. 'I am only trying to
set you at ease for what we are about to do.'
'If you've gone through me enough, then you know that I need no trickery to
do that.'
The wandering witch wore an expression of brief confusion before she stumbled
onto my memories of the illicit affairs that I had. Before she could recover,
I seized her tightly by the wrists, then (with the aid of telekinesis) flipped
her over on her back, with my body pressing down on her.
"Mother!!!"
Those were the first words I had heard Noorah utter aloud in 'normal' speech
since I met her, but as surprising as that was, I did not waver in my
concentration.
'Be still, Noorah!'
The woman, despite being in a position where she could be raped, exhibited no
fear. Clearly, Halah was the more dangerous creature in the room. Noorah
remained at a distance, trying to hammer past the defences I put up, but I
remained unswayed.
I felt the olive-skinned beauty's body stiffen as I held her down. For a
brief moment, I thought about simply getting up and leaving -- after all, I
had what I came for, and I had out-stayed my welcome. But where the mind was
willing, the flesh was pretty damn weak.
Halah, nude and splayed helpless under me, was too much to deny. I dared a
quick sideways glance at the witch-seer's daughter, and saw that she was
curled up, sitting with her arms around her shins. I could sense Noorah was
nervous, her heart racing, and her mind all a jitter. I looked at the woman I
held under me with a firm, determined look, and spoke into her mind.
'It is not customary for me to take a woman by force.' I was a little dizzy
and disoriented, but I was otherwise fine. 'Just tell me what you want of me.'
'Very well.' Halah relaxed, if just a little. 'I wish for you, Stan Chen, to
bed me and my daughter, so we may bear children for the Order of Sybaris.'
===============================================================================
OASIS
===============================================================================
Needless to say, I was unabashedly friendly with both women for the rest of
my time in Iraq. For a "temporary" safe house, the place got to be quite an
oasis of pleasure. Between the three of us, we managed to "persuade" a few of
the nearby villagers to drop off a small portion of their labors for the day:
some wood, coal, and oil for the fire; water for cooking; meat and vegetables
for our meal. It was theft, but that was how Halah and her sister witch-seers
survived.
One of the items Halah insisted we steal was honey. A small jar (about six
ounces) of honey for the women to sweeten the taste of my cock before they
slobbered on it to lube up. It was either that, or using a little of the
melted lard for lubrication.
As weird as that was, it was nowhere as weird as that first night (or was it
day?) when Halah invited me to take her. Once she informed me of her
intentions, I took her up on her offer. I fucked the desert blossom as her
daughter watched us.
In return for keeping my memories, I went and pleasured Halah slowly. By
resting one of her legs firmly against my chest and shoulder, while I
straddled her other leg, my cock could penetrate her while she lay on her
side, allowing Halah to instruct Noorah while facing her.
'See here, daughter.' Halah tried remaining cool despite her situation. 'You
see a man aroused and taking me. The pain will be brief, but he will be
quick.'
Yeah right, I thought dourly. Bitch, the last time you fucked, gasoline was
selling for less than $1.50 (U.S.) a gallon.
I decided to throw a little monkey wrench into Halah's plan. Even a stern,
disciplinarian like my First couldn't control herself when I applied my
telekinesis adroitly. Despite being a gifted citizen, the nomad woman was no
exception.
Halah's eyes went wide with surprise and alarm as I "fattened" up and rocked
her body. She cried out -- not from pain -- but from the incredible feeling
that was building up in her gut. Noorah, cringed, her eyes wide as she watched
us fuck in that desert hut. She heard her mother's cries, but the thoughts
flowing from her were not that of fear or pain, but that of pleasure.
Halah, her face flush, her mind ablaze, and her loins on fire, yielded to me
as I seized her by her ankles, and pinned them by her head as I pounded her
funky, fishy, fuck-hole. Her dark eyes locked onto mine, shining with anger,
surprise, and unbridled lust as I pummeled her with slow, powerful strokes.
Slowly, I could feel her hole dampen and widen. Her wide hips were just what
I needed to spew forth the pent-up lust I'd been harboring for the past few
days. Halah let out a low, hoarse wail as she orgasmed -- likely the first
time in her life.
I felt her cunt chute clamp tightly over my raw cock like a Chinese
finger-trap. Her pussy milked my rock-hard fuck-stick, begging me to
relinquish control and spurt in her. However, I refused to give in that
easily. I pushed away from the twitching, convulsing woman and focused on her
daughter.
Noorah saw me coming, my mind just thinking of one thing, and I could see her
neck go taut as she swallowed. As delirious with lust as I was, I remembered
how hard it was for virgins, and gently collected her into my arms. She
squeaked timidly as I lay her down and slid beside her. Tenderly, I worked my
fingers over her budding breasts and nubile body.
For a youngling witch, Noorah was old by her order's standards for her first
foray. She had been quite a troublemaker while her mother had been away, so
nearly none of the other witch-seers wanted to take her on the journey.
However, her youthful appearance gave me pause. Sensing my trepidation, Halah
quickly let it be known Noorah was born the day before Saddam Hussein began
his ill-fated invasion of Kuwait. I did some simple math and, relieved I
wasn't going to break in a child, let my hands slip between her legs.
She was young for sure -- even younger than Rosalind -- and was a slim four
years older than my stepdaughter. I hesitated only briefly before I climbed
onto her.
Noorah whimpered as I pierced her hymen. Her cunt was tight, but I could feel
her insides gradually relax as she caught my thoughts. I clasped her to my
bosom, feeling her hands on my back and sides, and her tan slender legs
pressing against my waist. Her tight warmth, complimented by my recent fuck
with her mother, easily pushed me over the edge.
I lurched forward with a grunt, and ground my hips against hers. Noorah,
already a twitter with her new found sense of womanhood and my mind-buzz, let
out a soft cry at the sudden interruption of our activity. My cock was coated
with her blood as I sated my unspent lust on her youthful body.
Halah rinsed a damp rag from two buckets: a large one to store water we
carried from the delta, and a smaller one where a bit of the precious
substance was apportioned for cleaning tasks. We washed ourselves thus
afterwards, and slept for a bit before I awoke to Halah sucking my cock.
'What time you have with us is precious.' She thought-spoke. 'I sense your
urgency to leave, no?'
'That's right. I'm sorry.' I responded.
'As am I. But let us make the most of it.'
I shivered as she bit down slightly. I felt my bloated dick squeeze between
Halah's teeth, and grew excited from the wet warmth of her mouth. Beside me,
Noorah was asleep, her burqa draped over her nude form. It wouldn't do to wake
her -- not just yet. I turned to Halah, who crawled on top of me.
'Rest, Stan Chen.' She grimaced slightly as she impaled herself on me. 'I --
I can -- I can do --'
'Sure you can.' I took hold of her hips.
"Ungh!" she gasped aloud as I penetrated her.
I groaned as I felt Halah's warmth surround my dick. I was in hog heaven as I
let my lusts take over. The woman's breasts bounced and jiggled as she bounced
happily on my cock. Soon, Halah was hit again by a combination of a mind-buzz
and a telekinetically enhanced G-spot roll. I rolled her onto her back, her
mouth lolling, and her mind delirious with desire, before I rolled on top and
fucked her once more.
Awakened by our amorous activity, Noorah awoke, saw us, then picking up her
mother's jittery thought-speech, climbed onto my back. The girl picked up one
of my love-making sessions with Shawn, and sensing what I wanted, she kissed
the nape of my neck. I groaned and threatened to cum, but I held back.
It wasn't what Halah wanted, but it was what I had conditioned myself to do
all these years. I slid a hand behind the woman's skull, and lifted her head
slightly so I could kiss her. Halah hardly resisted as I tenderly bit and
teased her lips, chin, and nose.
As I pumped her, I turned her head to the side, nuzzling her cheek and
nibbling her ear lobes. The nomad witch cooed as I did so, her fingers gliding
through my hair, tickling my scalp. Soon, I felt her birth canal pulse and
quiver as her fuck musk permeated the air. Halah was having another orgasm,
albeit a quiet one. Any doubts I had was quickly erased by the trickle of
thoughts I was picking up from the woman squirming beneath me.
Noorah in the meanwhile, hadn't been idle. When she tired of kissing my neck
from behind, she started a trail of kisses downward. I shivered when the dune
blossom placed a kiss on the small of my back before she clambered back up
top.
Sensing I was holding back, the girl clamped down on the skin of my neck, her
warm, wet tongue lapping the spot she sucked on. With the weight of the
teenager and her soft breasts pressing on my back, I sank deep into Halah like
a man drowning in pleasure.
The desert seer had spread her legs far, far apart, and I could only grunt
and groan as both women began feeding me their deepest, darkest desires:
'Elope with us.' 'Take me daily.' 'Take me nightly.' 'Take us where you like.'
'When you like.' 'Oh mother, he feels so good.' 'Daughter! Open wide your mind
and your legs. Let him take you ...' 'He may! He can! Always!'
"Auugh! Ungh!!" I grimaced as I felt my buttocks clench and my cock spasm.
Halah let out a pent-up sigh as her fingers rubbed and cajoled my sides and
shoulders. Exhausted, I nearly collapsed on top of her. I barely had the
strength (and presence of mind) to roll over. Noorah barely scooted out of the
way before I nearly crushed her.
'Stan Chen?' It was the girl, Noorah. 'When you gather your strength, bed me
again.'
"Sure, no problem," I murmured as I settled in for a quick nap.
I slept soundly for what seemed to be a minute, dreaming of home and my
cherished darlings, when I felt a familiar tug around my cock. I opened one
eye and saw Noorah over me. She was grinding the top of her slit against my
hard-on. I understood why: aside from slathering warm, pungent lamp oil to
lube me, she was pleasuring herself by rubbing her hairless slit up and down
my shaft.
Seeing her skinny, nubile body writhe roused me from my stupor. I eagerly
clutched at her, and the girl got the message. She slowly settled over me, her
youthful cunt stretched and took in my dick with little effort. The two of us
let out satisfied sighs as we got going.
Halah lay beside me, her lips pressed against my chest, her tongue flicking
one of my nipples. I groaned, my body aching from the sex I had just moments
before. But try as I might, I couldn't resist the temptations around me.
Noorah bounced on my cock, her eyes closed, her face a mask of pleasure as she
bounced on my sex sausage.
Soon, I ejaculated in the girl before I took her mother again. Then, Noorah
once more. Before long, it was a regular marathon. It went on for quite a
while ...
===============================================================================
HOMEFRONT
===============================================================================
"WOW!! Look at this place!!" Melanie was as excited as the children, if not
more so, as she held onto two and-a-half year-old Norman and went roaming
around the House at Red Rock.
"Melanie! Xieu-xum-ah!*" [* Cantonese: Be careful!]
"Careful --!!"
Viktoriya and Jamie both stopped, looked at one another, and smiled brightly.
It was nice to see both of them getting along. The Asian mother had improved
her command of her native tongue since hanging around Yu-Ching and my mother;
that was hardly surprising. What was surprising was that both Tse-Kei and
Viktoriya had become such fast friends.
'So ... is this something I should know about?' I thought-spoke.
'Are you jealous, Stanislav?' Viktoriya chided me gently.
'Just wondering if this is what you want, Vika.'
We both knew who we were referring to -- Freya. Neither of us mentioned her
by name, and I wisely edged around the subject.
'Jay is sweet, kisa. And she doesn't mind the occasional kiss.'
We both left it at that. It was mid-July, just about two weeks after I had
come back from the Emirates. I was lucky that I hadn't missed my flight, or
that my schedule hadn't been closely examined by anyone (though I found that
to be not completely true).
Upon my return, I had not heard from Halah or Noorah, although the girl did
ultimately allow the chill between us to subside. Noorah kissed me tenderly on
our last night, and used the brief physical contact to send me a quick
message. As I've mentioned before, physical contact increases our gifts'
potency; with such exposure, the girl could send me a mind-burst that went
unheard by Halah.
I was surprised, not from Noorah's sudden warming up, but by the message she
delivered: 'If I bear a son, I will depart the order to be with you.'
Great. Just what I needed -- another wife and kid. I suppose that was why I
felt guilty enough to show my family Red Rock. Gracia and her contractors had
finally finished the furnishings the week I came back. All of the inspections
and approvals had been signed and met, save one: my family's.
So, I borrowed Franky's yacht on a nice day ('borrow' is a loose term, since
I generally paid to clean the damn thing up afterwards) and brought my family
to the island. I watched my darlings and our children with amusement as they
explored the house and the grounds. The kids I knew would be safe, thanks to
the new barrier I commissioned.
Gracia and I had decided to surround the house with a traditional fence in
the style of 19th Century wrought-iron. The material though, was definitely
better, being a polymer compound weaved and thermally bonded around corrugated
steel. It was airy enough to allow what vegetation I allowed to thrive around
the house to aerate, and it was high enough (about 16 feet) to deter all but
the hardiest of trespassers ... or the likes of Ghost Light.
The kids were happy to have free reign in the house and grounds and Rachelle
was giddy both from having the twins off her hands and being able to enjoy the
magnificent view of the bay in the solar lounge. The place was stuffy despite
the vents being wide open, but that hardly deterred her from basking lazily in
her bikini. I know, because I was there to oil her up with help from Dani and
Jane.
The twins thought it more fun to make a greasy mess on their Osh-Kosh
overalls than on their mother, but enough was left for me to give my ebony
darling coverage from head to toe. With their mother snoozing, the twins and I
headed back downstairs to clean up. Afterwards, Danielle opted to play tag
with Kady and her older brothers, while Janelle played quietly with Jenny in
the living room.
Meanwhile, Shawn fascinated herself with the solar wall installation. My
pretty dumpling was bright enough to understand the systems without me
explaining a thing. In fact, she accompanied Melanie on her rounds and made it
a point to take a picture of different spots for future reference, as well as
making notes for further improvements to the roof garden.
About the only person who remained quiet was my incomparable First. After the
initial tour, she retreated to the kitchen, which I had temporarily stocked
with drinks and treats in a jumbo dry-ice chest. Although there was a
refrigerator at the house, I didn't plan to store anything in it save water,
emergency rations, and some first-aid kits.
Janet was sitting at the kitchen counter, and dressed rather humbly in a
T-shirt, windbreaker, shorts, and tennis shoes. Her hair was wind-blown and
she wore no make-up. Her disgruntled look didn't help her appearance. I gently
reached out with my mind and checked on her, and sensed she was pissed about
something.
"Something the matter?" I asked and helped myself to a box of Vitasoy.
"How much was it?" she asked.
"This?" I gestured around the place.
"What else, Stanley?" Janet glared at me, her two hands holding a glass of
water.
"Affordable." I flashed her a grin, but she looked away.
My First appeared tense, and I sensed something. I wondered if it was me
screwing up her plans for her 20th high school reunion; Janet had been going
on and on about taking me along long before Andrew's incident overseas. My
sudden departure definitely made her unhappy.
Janet had stayed home instead, and in doing so, let her frustration get to
her. She came to butt heads with Viktoriya over Michael's and Milhail's
shenanigans. In a vain effort to coax the problem out of her, I decided to
extend the truth a bit.
"I did some finagling at the agency."
Janet shot me a "Yeah right!" look and pursed her lips. It was a tactic of
mine we'd grown accustomed to over the years. I'd lead her on with an open
chat and ultimately nab the answer from her. Being a mind-reader only made my
task easier.
Still, I didn't want to press things too far. I didn't need to mind-read her
to know she was suspicious about the purchase of an island, at least, not on
the salary I had. All the mental powers in the world wouldn't be able to hide
financial impropriety of this magnitude.
"It's just a house, Jan," I said slowly as I surreptitiously applied my gift.
"I needn't keep it if money's tight."
Janet still refused to budge and kept her mouth shut.
"C'mon sweetie," I put a hand on her shoulder, "What's bothering you? Even
Jamie's having fun, and she runs a tighter ship than you."
We both looked over and saw Viktoriya and Jamie playing good-naturedly with
the younger kids. Just past them, we could see Melanie was gesturing wildly
and talking rapidly just past the window. Janet thought it was just Yu-Ching
being herself, but I suspected it was because she was excited because of the
kids' emotions.
That was cause for some worry -- what would happen to Melanie when the kids
got older? I relaxed a bit when I saw Shawn toddle past, her DSLR camera in
hand. As goofy as my doughty darling was, she was quick-witted and observant.
If Yu-Ching got too loopy, I was sure my pumpkin would have immediately called
for help.
I glanced back at Janet and saw she had kept silent as her mind was working
how to answer me. She peered at her water glass, her mood silent, her mind
brooding. I was about to mentally fish for the answer when she suddenly spoke.
"I -- I think I'm pregnant again."
The world slowed down for the briefest moment, and I felt my temples throb.
My ping reflexively snatched the answer from her mind, and I was at a loss for
words.
"Say again, hun?"
"You heard me." Janet sighed unhappily, then her sarcasm took over. "I can
see you're as thrilled as I am."
"Are you sure?" I asked, my voice a bit shaky.
Fucking hell. It must've been that night before I left. In our hurry, we
hadn't been practicing safe, as we had all these years. I simply plugged Janet
raw and thought the pill would handle it. While I knew Yu-Ching would be happy
with another baby, all my other darlings seemed to be content with the
children that had been born already. Janet had rattled on a bit before I
turned my attention back on her.
"... and at my age." My First's tone was sober. "At my age, I -- I don't know
if I should go through with this."
"You're only 38, hun."
"Exactly." Janet shot me a stern look. "I shouldn't be doing diapers and
burping, unless it's to help the others, or Xieu Ching."
It was my turn to be thoughtful. I sat and did some quick mental
calculations. Almost all of us were in our mid-30s now, with the exception of
Shawn (at a tender 32) and Melanie (at 27). My affairs with Rosalind,
Phillipa, and (most recently) Halah and Noorah not withstanding, I should be
more at home as a family man, not a playboy. And yet ...
At the thought of Mirage, I cracked a small smile. She'd never have to
experience this. As great as it was to fuck her and jizz inside her, Phillipa
would never be able to bear children naturally. Her clan's "gift" seemed to
have ended with her -- a sterile product in a long line of invisible men.
"Th'hell are you smiling at?"
I blinked and looked at my First.
"Sorry, say again?" I adopted an apologetic look.
"So, what do you think?" Janet glared.
"What do I think about what?"
"The baby!" she hissed, "What else? Are you day-dreaming again, Wei-Keurng?!"
That outburst caught the attention of Jamie and Viktoriya, and I quickly
caught my Slavic siren's thought-speech.
'What's Janna's problem NOW, Stanislav? She's been really distracted this
past week and a chore to be around.'
'She thinks she's pregnant again.'
'Whaaaaat?'
Despite having our silent conversation, Viktoriya turned away to teach
Janelle and Jenny another word in Russian, pointing at the different furniture
in the house. Jamie passed an impartial gaze over us, and guessing it wasn't
her business, turned her attention back to the children.
'Is she sure?' The Baltic beauty wondered. 'It's not like she can read those
tests very well.'
'I can only hope.' I thought-spoke before I caught myself.
'You'd best not let her hear THAT.'
Now that Viktoriya was settling into a stage of domesticity, she prided
herself in chiding, admonishing, or otherwise correcting me for my numerous
_faux pas_ I'd commit while using thought-speech. It was enough to make me
batty; I suspected it was a ploy of Vika's to excite me into chasing her once
more. If so, she was right on the money, because I was rather frisky with her
when she retired to her quarters.
By now, I had encircled my arms around Janet, and soothed her as best I
could. She was shaking, not just from anger, but from fright and concern. My
First was right: at her age, she should not be bearing children. While I was
sure she could, there were potential complications, and not just for the
mother.
Children born to women in their late 30s and after tended to have
abnormalities. My father's sister was one such an example, having developed
Alzheimer's from being born when my father's mother was in her late 30s or
early 40s. Rather than live like a cripple and burden the rest of her family,
she had quietly taken an overdose of sleeping pills, and passed away shortly
after Kady and the twins were born.
"Easy there now." I put my drink down and rubbed Janet's back. "It'll be all
right."
As I held her, I realized that her possible pregnancy wasn't the only thing
she was worried about. Janet was worried the whole time I was away, and nearly
lost one of her minor cases when she "misspoke" during pre-trial. Luckily, she
managed to cover up her mistake and carry on, winning the case.
The scare from it though, hounded her constantly even after news of Andrew's
safe return. The army called my parents, who quickly spread the word that
Ah-Pung was coming home (and relieved of TDY, although he was still employed
at Veterans' Affairs). Janet remained highly anxious all through out until, a
few days later, I returned innocently from my "trip" with a few cheap
souvenirs from the Dubayy airport for the kids.
Janet was reserved when I came back, but now, she could barely hold back her
emotion. She was practically beside herself the time I was gone. I took her
upstairs to one of the bedrooms and let her lie down on the bed.
'Will she be all right, Stanislav?' Viktoriya mentally called to me.
'Give us a moment.' I thought back. 'May you please look after things for a
bit?'
'Only for a bit.' She responded. 'Come back soon, kisa! I need you. We all
do.'
'I will. Thank you, Vika.'
'You are most welcome, Stanislav.'
I closed the door, alarmed at the state of my sensible, logical First. Janet
cried quietly, her body trembling with each sob, and I sensed why. She was
thinking about an abortion. It was a sensitive thing, even for a couple as
progressive as we were. Having been so careful all this time, I'd never
"accidentally" gotten a girl pregnant. In fact, Janet was the one who taught
me safe sex.
Every child born in the family was more or less planned. The few exceptions
were the twins (Rachelle and I were banking on just one -- we didn't count on
the zygote making a full division) and Kady, whom Shawn and I would've gladly
have had a bit later (though we still loved the little rascal). Now though, it
seemed there'd be a new addition whether we wanted to or not.
Shit. I stopped as I realized the full gravity of what I'd done in Iraq.
Somewhere out there, I would have two other children -- boys or girls I would
never know -- and with whom my current sons and daughters may never meet.
I suddenly realized what Halah had been trying to do in the desert safehouse.
She hadn't been trying to dig through my memories, erase them, or mind-control
me, but she did do something to me. Now I knew what -- she mitigated the guilt
of my extra-marital affairs, and eased me into fucking her and the girl in the
desert. Sweet, kind Halah understood where I was coming from, and that
soothing was part of her way of "making things right."
Oh, I was more than willing. Me being who I was, I was sure what I did to
those two women in Iraq was of my own accord. It was the aftermath that Halah
focused on. But something about this bothered me. There was a similarity
between this and something that had happened before ...
I slowly made the connections and realized some uncanny similiarities between
me and a man I considered an enemy. I might've had unwanted children just like
my hated father-in-law George Horten. The only difference was I had done so
with a willing partner -- or partners -- Halah hadn't sent me any news of her
or Noorah yet.
Still, was it any better for the as-yet to-be-born children? What of them
when they become older? Would they seek me out, or I, them?
I sat on the bed beside Janet, mulling over the kind of man I had become.
Presently, I felt a tug on my hand. My First had calmed down, and was only
sniffling instead of sobbing now. I lay beside her on the bed, our faces side
by side, and I tenderly held her hands.
Fuck it, I thought. My misery was one thing, but Janet's was another. It
wasn't just her psychological health I was concerned about now, but her
physical health. I couldn't do much to alleviate the physical aspect of her
possible pregnancy, but I knew I could do something to ease her anxiety.
We said nothing as we lay there, gazing into each other's eyes. I bumped
heads with her and gave her a soft kiss on the nose and gently applied my
gift. Janet's eyes dipped, and I immediately felt her thoughts kick into
overdrive: 'Omigod. He's going to ask me to keep 'im.' 'Or her. Whatever.'
'Geeez. I never planned on having so many kids.'
She took a moment to look back at me again. Sensing she was about to speak
and wreck the moment, I rolled my sweet Lady Wu into my arms, and did my best
to put her mind to rest. My First stayed silent as I hugged her gently.
"Stanley?"
"Yes?" I asked.
"What should we name him?" she whispered, "Or her?"
"Anything you like," I replied softly, "so long as you're fine with it."
She didn't reply, but gently stroked my hand with her delicate fingers. Soon,
I heard Janet's light snoring, and my eyes were growing heavy as well. We
snoozed for a quite a while, because by the time one of the others woke us, it
was nearly dark. We got Franky's yacht back in its slip at the San Francisco
Marina well past nightfall.
===============================================================================
COLD WINTER
===============================================================================
If I didn't know Viktoriya as well as I did, I would've said she had a gift
where something would come true just because she said so. It wasn't so, but my
dusky Russkie was on the ball about Janet being mildly distracted during my
absence.
'She may have misread the test again, milenky.' She thought-spoke from home
while I accompanied Janet to her OB-GYN. 'Remember what happened _last_ time?'
Yes, I did. That was nearly ten years ago, when I was with my Moscow minx in
the Big Apple. Janet thought she was preggers when she wasn't. Her ensuing
panic put us all in a heightened sense of expectation. But that was quite some
time ago; hadn't technology advanced?
'And if she didn't read it wrong this time?' I thought-spoke to my
psychically sensitive wife.
'Bet your weekend, kisa.' Viktoriya's mischief was obvious as she stretched
before the big mirrors in her condo. 'Your whole weekend now, Stanislav. Not
just your off-day!'
'Sure.' I lifted my magazine a bit to hide my grin from the people in the
waiting room. 'If it's not, I won't have much time alone for a while.'
'I understand, my love.' She grew thoughtful as she hummed a few bars of a
lullaby and stifled a yawn. 'But come what may, we will ALL help Janna.'
'Spasee baa, Vika.'
Five minutes later, Janet came out with a strange look of relief and
disappointment on her face. I picked Viktoriya's mirth and similar sense of
relief as the news spread over our mental broadcasts and mobile phones; as it
turned out, I would owe my Slavic siren two fun-filled days at the Yerba Buena
Center for the Arts (it was New Age ballet set to modern pop and reggae).
My nit-witted First had misread the pregnancy test again (which calls into
question how the hell she passed her BAR exam in the first place), and her
anxiety had (again) lead her into thinking she was sick with child, when in
fact, she was just sick and missing me. Stress was the oddest damned thing to
diagnose correctly for 'normals' and citizens alike.
At the thought of the term 'citizen' I frowned.
Despite what Halah had told me about the invisible empire, I wasn't wholly
sure if I could trust her. After all, she had done something to me in that
damned desert house. While it wasn't mind control, it was some sort of
temporary mental adjustment. Still, she had done me a great service by
increasing my knowledge about our kind.
To be honest, I had seen little of the empire, despite all the years I had
known about it. Apart from my mentor, Tseng, and the few individuals
(Cristobel, Galen, Kari, Rick, Darrell, and Carrie-Ann) who exhibited
telepathic abilities, I hadn't encountered many more citizens apart from the
ones I identified for Feodor to psychically neutralize in the wake of
September 11th.
Of course, there were the _true_ oddballs -- the ones who had very little to
do with psionics: Ghost Light, who could teleport to any spot he can think of;
Masquerade, who was able to not only project her illusions, but also able to
slightly alter her facial features (texture and color, not mass); and Mirage,
who could become invisible to the visible spectrum.
And me? Where did I fit into this? Was NSA's PSI Division something Tseng
created? Or was there another agenda?
The answers escaped me, even though the eerie prediction Halah had given me
back in Umm Qasr gave me much to think about long after my return home. While
I pondered about the existence of the empire, other good things began
happening for the family: Andrew reconciled (somewhat) with Sachiko.
Despite that, Ami was still seeing my brother. She understood what it was to
be polygamous. Her parents, once they met Sachiko, were _not_ happy to see
their daughter being my brother's second wife. Thankfully, that hadn't
happened yet as the Japanese woman hadn't fully come round to our way of
thinking. Gracia's sister still had her job in Seattle, but she was at least
talking to Andrew once more.
Meanwhile, Anthony was busy seeing Clara (the student from Viktoriya's dance
class). I didn't see him loiter around Jillian or her sisters any more, and he
kept his distance at any family function he showed up in. Melanie was
blissfully unaware how dangerously close I had come to silencing her brother.
All that though, was dwarfed by what happened in the last days of November,
2009.
At the time, I was still mulling over Halah's revelation, wondering what it
all meant. Tseng may have been living with Susan in New York, but I wasn't
about to come out and confront the man about his lies; I wasn't sure what he
was capable of, nor was I wholly sure I'd get a satisfactory answer. I decided
to make discreet inquiries on my own.
With my empire associations (all of them co-opted through Tseng, or who were
newbies), I had to be careful. I soon realized that _I_ was perhaps the most
experienced amongst my circle of empire citizens. That was a curious
development, especially since I only dabbled in the empire's business on a
part-time basis.
Regardless, I had more to worry about that November night. Rachelle gave my
hands a hard squeeze in the limousine, and her touch quickly drew me back to
reality.
We were in Washington D.C., having accepted an invitation to a state dinner
party.
Douglass Simmons, Craig's father, had kept in touch with my dark darling
after the younger Simmons' demise. Their relationship was cordial, although I
suspected there was a bit of effort on the congressman's part to keep the
family's dirty laundry under wraps. I suppose that was why Doug wrangled two
spots for us to that function.
The invitation though, stirred up some jealousy amongst my darlings. First
off, it was a highly visible affair. That meant I couldn't just show up with
six wives in tow, even if I wanted to. Secondly, the dinner was being held on
Thanksgiving weekend. We managed to celebrate turkey-fest early with a big
family party on the eco-condo's rooftop, with Melanie's and Shawn's condos
acting as the kitchen and indoor lounge, respectively.
Ah-ha! Now I remember -- that was when Rachelle knocked herself silly against
the vent pipe in Melanie's unit when she was chasing Kady and Dani around. No
sooner than Melanie began voicing her complaint when my mocha-skinned mate
slammed the side of the pipe (incidentally making quite a dent). Despite all
the fun we were having (and Janet scolding me for daring to laugh at
Rachelle's accident), some of my wives had to work during Thanksgiving
weekend.
Janet, as much as she wanted to go and hobnob with politicians and lobbyists,
couldn't attend the event as her health insurance provider case wasn't going
to arbitration. She had to stick around the office and do some research. On
top of that, my First wasn't the one invited; the invitation was addressed to
Stanley and Rachelle Chen.
Likewise, Jamie couldn't go. Tse-Kei was going to pull in a bonus for being
on holiday call, and she was interested in making the extra dough. The
nest-egg I had given to Jamie after we left Vegas had remained in escrow in
her name, and was untouched once Kei-kei started her job. With the economy
being all doom and gloom, Jamie only increased her frugality.
As for my plump petunia, Shawn, she was working on (yet another) re-design
Fontana had started on for solar cells (this time, it was for the Treasure
Island redevelopment). With Gracia's assistance, the three of them were making
cheap, flexible solar cells with modular fittings for housing on the former
naval base. I only managed to temporarily escape that project's drudgery, I
would be the one drafting the plans for fitting and installation once the
planning was done.
So, that left me, Rachelle (who was excited to be meeting the president, I
think it was a black guy at the time), Melanie, Viktoriya, and just a few of
the kids free. We didn't want to seperate them, but the younger ones were too
young to enjoy the experience. Additionally, they wouldn't be able to do what
I expected them to do (describe their trip in a written report or visual
presentation). This was to going to be both an educational experience and a
vacation.
Melanie hardly cared about the state dinner (she was in one of her smug
moods, saying she could out-cook the chefs at the White House) while Rachelle
was positively aglow about the upcoming dinner and was smiling the whole time.
Only Viktoriya seemed distracted, for we were so close to New York (and Freya)
without dropping by.
In the end, our group travelling to DC consisted of me, Rachelle, Viktoriya,
Melanie, and the older kids: Jillian, Michael, Milhail, Jenny, and Frederick.
We all spent two days (Saturday and Sunday) together, taking the kids around
various landmarks in DC. Between their constant barrage of questions and
requests to go to the bathroom, we had plenty to do, but they didn't give us
much trouble. The children back in San Francisco were doing all right, and the
seven of us had a conference call on Saturday night to check in with one
another.
"Having fun in DC, guys?" Shawn's mellow contralto came through the speaker.
"Hi Shawn Ellen! We sure are!" Melanie replied. "How's Normie? Is he being
good?"
"He sure is." Janet answered as we heard some noises. "C'mere little guy,
don't you recognize mommy?"
"Xieu-di-di," Little Chen held her phone like a walkie-talkie, "Mama hou
gwa-jue lei-a*." [* Cantonese: Little one, mommy misses you!]
Norman made a few gurgles (and one audible 'ma-ma') but he was earnestly a
bit young to recognize his mother over a cellular phone. After a minute more
of Norman slobbering over the line, someone (probably Janet) pulled him away
so we could chat.
"How are the girls doing?" Rachelle asked.
"Hi ma-ma!!" One of the twins spoke up. "I wuv you!"
"Me too," my brown sugar replied, "But are you Dani or Jayne?"
"Jayne, momma," Janelle's baby lisp cam through, "Dani's playin' wif' Kady."
I was about to correct the girl's pronunciation but I didn't; it would be
another thing to do once I got home. Her mother, Rachelle, certainly didn't
think anything was wrong. In fact, she thought it adorable.
"Oh, I see," Rachelle spoke with a happy look, "Ma-ma will be home soon,
okay? Love you and to your sister, all right?"
"Yes ma-ma!"
"Oh yeah, Rayche," Jamie cut in, "I hope you don't mind, but Shawn and I are
taking the twins with us over to Janet's to learn swimming when the weather
warms up."
"What?" Rachelle's face tensed briefly, "Oh right. Sure, you guys emptied a
bit of the pool, right?"
"Yeah." Shawn chimed in. "And don't worry. It's mostly just wading an' stuff.
Get them used to being wet."
"And cold," I added. Through Viktoriya's mind-sight, I could see myself frown
and I sensed her mirth throughout the family chat.
"It's only nippy in the mornings." Janet interjected. "Those dish heaters we
bought are great, Stanley."
"Glad someone got good use for 'em," I said.
"But they're so wasteful, Jan!" Shawn complained. I could picture her cheeks
dimple as she did.
"Michael?" Janet came on again. "Are you listening to your dad?"
"Yes, mom," our eldest boy promptly replied.
"And Freddy?" she pressed.
"He's been good," I replied. "Don't worry about it."
"While we're on that subject," Jamie piped up, "You behave as well, Jillian.
And look after your sister."
"Okaaaa-ay, mo-om! I am!!"
And on and on it went. The kids and their mothers chatted a bit more before
bed. The three hour time difference meant we had to keep our conference brief.
On Sunday, Rachelle went to get her hair and nails done while Viktoriya,
Melanie, and I took the kids on more sight-seeing. That night, Rachelle and I
were chauffeured to the White House by limousine. Melanie and Viktoriya were
to baby-sit the kids. We were cutting it close with the children's school
schedule, but we were sure it would all work out.
Congressman Simmons and his date, a strikingly handsome woman by the name of
Erica Bene (she was a pharmaceutical lobbyist from San Diego), stepped out on
the red carpet first. I composed myself, and took Rachelle by the arm as we
swept past the crowd of flashbulbs at the entrance of 1600 Pennsylvania
Avenue.
I was both nervous and intimidated. I hadn't been to a really big function
since the wedding, and the last time I intentionally took Rachelle to
something ostentatious was over a decade and a half ago, at our school's
Winter Ball. There were no paparazzi there, and a lot fewer people.
That was the other thing that bugged me. The cameras. I was going to have my
picture snapped and my face plastered who knows where. If someone recognized
me or Rachelle, questions were bound to crop up. Still, to put on a show, I
simply smiled and ignored the cameras. I did my best to put my black beauty
between me and the mechanical lenses.
"Oh, sugar." I heard her whisper loudly in my ear as we stepped up to the
security checkpoint. "We've arrived!"
I controlled my exuberance and returned a smile before replying, "We sure
have, Ra-Ra. Let's enjoy ourselves."
"Of course! Definitely!" Rachelle smiled back, her eyes brightly.
A well-dressed young woman in a conservative black suit looked up and asked,
"Mister and Missus?"
"Chen," my mulatto minx beamed radiantly. "Stanley and Rachelle Chen."
The female agent (she was Secret Service, as was the other operative lurking
in the background, weapon nestled under his coat) ran her pen down a
checklist. Hardly a second look, I thought. A mere decade and a half ago, the
notion of Rachelle and I being an item would have fallen into a variety of
categories, none of them pleasant.
Now, it seemed to hardly faze anyone. In some ways, DC was much more
cosmopolitan than San Francisco. We fished out our photo IDs and we were
registered and waved in. An usher lead us -- Simmons, his date, Rachelle, and
me -- through the maze of halls to one of the larger dining rooms.
The White House, I observed, was really cluttered and overflowing with crap.
Several times on the way to the reception, Rachelle and I had to go single
file to avoid brushing against the velvet rope.
"This place is more cluttered than Jan's place after a soiree," I muttered
under my breath.
"Oh, sugar. Don't complain." Rachelle wrinkled her nose at my joke, but she
was smiling all the same as she literally dragged me to the party.
The room was buzzing with light chatter, broken by the occasional laugh, or
hearty greeting. I recognized a few politicians there, but made no attempt to
engage them in banter. I had more than enough to do just keeping my mind aware
of my surroundings and looking 'normal' while doing so.
If I were inclined to sell secrets, what I could unearth just from shaking a
few hands was probably worth quite a sum to interested parties. Luckily, I was
just there to relax, and to play my part as a 'normal'.
Any introductions were made by Doug Simmons -- for the most part, I stuck by
Rachelle as she floated from one group to another, mingling and chatting away.
I did pick up a few snide thoughts about Rachelle that I dared not repeat
aloud: 'Is she Alpha Kappa Alpha or is she Links?' 'Doesn't look either; she
seems to be with that Asian anyway.' 'Probably another brain-washed,
light-skinned Black girl.'
I cast an eye around the room and the thoughts seemed to be emanating from a
small group of well dressed, but grim-faced black women on the side of the
room. Seeing my stare, they huddled together and turned their backs to me.
Snubbed, I returned my attention back to my chocolate sweetheart. Seeing her
so at ease (and at home), I drifted off towards the hors d'veure table and
looked over the (horrible) sampling of Western snacks.
"It'll start late, like any Chinese banquet." Melanie advised us earlier.
"EAT something, you guys. Just in case!"
Now I wish I had taken up her suggestion to eat a bit more than an
over-priced plate of fish and chips before I came. I didn't because I was
helping the kids with their reports about the trip.
I surveyed the spread before me and decided to help myself to something that
looked like meat paste on a cracker; I wasn't so sure about my choice, and
readied a napkin so I could spit it back out without making a scene.
As I reached out, my hand nearly collided with someone. I glanced up and saw
a reedy, tan-skinned man in a black tuxedo and buzzed, squarish haircut. He
seemed about my age or at least older, a pleasant demeanor, and wore a rather
bemused look on his face.
"Sorry." I drew back and bade him to grab his appetizer first.
"No, no. My fault for thinking you were going to zig instead of zagging." The
man flashed me a smile. "Please help yourself."
"Naw, I'm good. Just trying to stifle some munchies." I smiled back, if only
out of habit.
I had seen this guy somewhere before. And he was definitely a VIP of some
sort. There were two goons standing just a step or two away, their thoughts
instantly focused on me. I could see their earbuds and instinctively "felt"
the compact machinepistols hidden in their shoulder holsters.
The other man caught none of this as he laughed softly and grabbed his snack.
He downed it in two quick bites. I decided to help myself to another dish,
something that turned out to be over-roasted green peppers stuffed with a mix
of rice and some sort of tasty goop (veal probably). The brown skinned man was
about to speak when a well dressed black woman got his attention.
"Excuse me. Please enjoy yourself." He gave me a quick grin.
I nodded back and dismissed him with a curt wave. Accompanied by the
bodyguards, he and the woman strode off to another group of dignitaries. The
veal-stuffed peppers were pretty damn good, so I nabbed another. I as swirled
the contents in my mouth, making quick notes for myself and Yu-Ching, I felt
someone tap me on the shoulder.
"Stanley? Sugar?" Rachelle was standing by me, a drink in hand.
I could sense something was up though, not simply from her mental excitement,
but her hand holding the wine glass was trembling.
"Hey, hon." I gave her a quick grin. "Try these pepper thingees; Yu-Ching's
gonna ---"
"Were you talking to him?" Rachelle interrupted me.
"Who?"
"Him." She motioned deftly with a nod. "You know. The president?!"
"Really?" I turned around to locate the man I nearly made physical contact
with.
While I hadn't touched the man, his presence was fairly easy to track down
due to our recent proximity to one another. Our fearless leader, along with
his lovely wife (in a rather plain purple evening gown), were talking with a
group of diplomats a few yards away.
Ah, I thought. That explains the bodyguards. I was so occupied with how weird
the food was that I wasn't psychically pinging as much as I should be.
"Huh," I came off rather casual. "I guess I was."
"And you didn't think to introduce me?" Rachelle sounded annoyed.
"Sorry honey," I was apologetic. "We were just grabbing appetizers."
"Likely story," she sniffed. "But we're here, let's at least shake his hand."
"Sure," I replied coolly.
Inwardly, alarm bells sounded off in my head. I knew the instant I make skin
to skin contact, I'd likely stumble on a few state secrets I wouldn't normally
be privy to. If Brian Cox, or any agency spook who knew about NSA-PSI, were in
the room when I shook the man's hand, I wondered what kind of problems there
would be.
Rachelle and I slowly approached the president and his little group. I sensed
his bodyguards's thoughts instantly. Almost immediately, I knew a background
check was likely being run on me and my mocha mate. Naive to the core,
Rachelle's insistence that we personally meet the "leader of the free world"
just exposed me and the family to uninvited probing by the U.S. Secret
Service.
"Ah, Mr. President!" It was Simmons.
The congressman came up with his date, and both shook the man's hands warmly.
Rachelle was practically walking on cloud nine as the elder Simmons introduced
us as his late son's friends. Although Craig's death had been over a year ago,
it was fresh enough that soft condolences were whispered between the Commander
in Chief and Representative Simmons.
I was still wary of shaking the president's hand, so I suggested we take some
quick pictures. To minimize my own exposure (and avoid touching anyone I
didn't need to) I offered to be the camera man, and snapped several shots of
the president, the First Lady, Doug, Erica, and Rachelle.
By now, I didn't have any other socially plausible excuses to prevent Erica
from taking a picture of me with the rest of the group, so I knuckled under
and did what I could to minimize the damage. I stayed on the edge of the
picture, using my wife as a physical buffer.
That photo was going to be annoying if Rachelle decided frame it. Not only
would it likely rile up jealousy from Janet, but it could be something used
against the family.
I was thinking about how to mar that photo without damaging the rest of Miss
Bene's pictures when a well-dressed butler announced that dinner was being
served ... in some room in another wing (I don't remember where exactly).
"Well, it's nice meeting you."
Rachelle held her breath as President Obama's hand hung in empty air, waiting
to meet mine. Now, it wasn't that I didn't like the guy, but I had to find
some way of not making skin-to-skin contact.
It wasn't simply for my own good, but his too. I would have done the same for
the previous C-in-C (what's his face -- George "Dubya" Bush -- or whom Melanie
often mockingly refer to as, 'The Presidential Dunce', though that doesn't
compare to Shawn's Indian moniker for W., which was 'He Who Follows White
Lines').
So, I decided to go clever (or what I thought was clever) and opted for a
traditional Chinese greeting (one hand in a fist, the other an open palm, both
brought together) instead of a Western handshake.
"Congratulations on a brilliant start, sir. May things be this easy for you
in the months and years ahead."
The man was suave, and passed it off with a laugh and a broad grin, although
it was easy for me to pick up his surface thoughts: 'Wow, that's ...
different.' 'I wonder if he's just being quirky, or just rude to his wife.'
'Or maybe he's a Chinese attache or a spy ...'
I maintained my best smile, although Rachelle looked at me oddly. I managed
to nudge her suspicions away by explaining that I had just slobbered over my
hands at the appetizer table, and didn't want to pass on my germs (or the
kids' germs) by shaking someone's hand.
"He has kids too, you know!" she whispered as we sat down at our table.
"I know, but they're older right?" I whispered back, "Around middle school?"
"Yes, but still, that was a little rude. And you're not shy about touching
me; what about that?"
"Well, you're different," I began to nudge her thoughts elsewhere, "You don't
have a country to run on Monday, right?"
"I guess ..."
"And besides," I paused to give her a sly wink, "I think I slobber over you
enough at home to give you my germs. You should be immunized from them now."
"Oh, sugar! You're such a joker!" Rachelle blushed as Erica and Doug laughed
softly at our by-play.
So, I managed to eke by as a strange little 'normal' for a bit longer. Too
bad it wouldn't last the night.
===============================================================================
MIND STALKERS
===============================================================================
It began with an innocuous question.
"Yu-Ching?" I asked, "Where's Vika?"
"Huh? I dunno."
Melanie was busy packing while Jillian and Jenny were playing with their
Nintendo DS'es. The boys were watching some mindless action flick on HBO (or
ShowTime). Rachelle and I had come back to our three rooms before 11:00. My
mocha mate hopped into the shower while I sought to wind down; the dinner was
pretty mundane, if boring affair.
Everyone seemed to be at the hotel, save Viktoriya. Nothing seemed out of the
ordinary, and the kids didn't remember their Russian momma behaving weird or
strange. Since I had brought up her absence with Melanie, I decided to follow
through and did what any "normal" husband would do. I brought out my phone and
dialed Viktoriya's number.
Hearing Vika's ringing phone in the adjoining room didn't help. I hung up and
reflexively pinged as I snatched her phone from the table. I got an eerie
sense of mental static; it wasn't quite the dead silence, but it was very
familiar. Almost like the same sense of misdirection Viktoriya had back in
2001.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my face impassive as I rummaged through Vika's
call log. Seeing me do so prompted Melanie to speak up.
"Stanley," her tone approaching a whine, "should you be doing that?"
"No," I replied promptly and held up a hand for quiet.
There weren't any numbers I didn't recognize already: Jamie, Janet,
Cristobel, and a few other friends of Viktoriya's from her institute days. A
few were her students, and there was a short call from Freya just earlier that
evening.
Could that have been it? An argument perhaps? If so, then Viktoriya might
want time alone. Still, it wasn't like her not to vent to me about that Dutch
girl. Melanie must've sensed my discomfort, because she began trying to make
me feel better.
"Maybe she stepped out to get a drink or fresh air or something," Melanie
said softly.
"Maybe she did." My instincts though, said otherwise.
Viktoriya wasn't answering when I pinged her, but I felt she was still
"around". It was just like with Andrew and Iraq again. Rachelle was still in
the shower, so I decided to look for her myself.
"I'll see if I run into her downstairs." I gave Little Chen a peck on the
cheek and headed out.
The hotel was pretty damn quiet, save for the muffled noises in the rooms.
Occasionally, I could hear sounds from a television, or a dull thud of someone
bumping into furniture as they stumbled to the bathroom.
All the while, I mentally pinged for Viktoriya, and got the strangest
feedback. Just like on 9/11, I knew she was alive, but her presence was murky
and unclear. Only this time, there was also something else -- like an
over-presence blanketing the entire area.
Was it Tseng? I wondered about that, and mulled over Halah's warning: 'He is
not like us at all. He mimics our powers.'
If he was, he was doing a fine job of it; it was also scary to me how he'd do
that. I took the elevator down to the lobby, wondering what was going on.
Viktoriya wasn't in the lobby but I caught a sliver of her mental
after-presence near the night-clerk.
We exchanged pleasantries as I shifted my concentration. I focused on her
psychic trail and headed outside, to a cab driver helping some passengers with
their luggage. This was getting to be quite a nuisance.
Was Viktoriya doing something? Experimenting perhaps?
'Vika?' I broadcasted. 'What are you doing? Where are you?'
I followed the next after-presence, and not finding her, went looking for
another, and another, and another, each target was a person who my mysterious
Baltic beauty must've made contact with. By now, I was in some park in the
middle of Washington DC in the dead of night. Not exactly the brightest move I
made in my life.
I was quite deep in a park, alone, and in near pitch darkness. Whatever this
game Viktoriya was playing, it wasn't much to my liking. I was sure I was
going to have a serious chat with her when I found her. It was then when an
uneasy feeling passed over me. It felt like an after-presence, but it was
coming towards me.
That was odd. Up until now, each of the after-presences had been loitering
and not roaming about. Was I being watched? Followed? Or set-up?
I decided to err on the side of caution. I spotted a low building in the
distance; a public restroom. I saw the doors were locked when I got close, but
that was no impediment to me. I cracked the tumblers and headed inside. Unlike
some of the public bathrooms in San Francisco, this one had a light. Once I
stepped inside, the motion-sensor turned it on.
Damn, I thought. Now whoever was trailing me would know where I was.
Fortunately, it turned out to be one of the better choices I made that night.
I looked up and found there was a dark spot on the ceiling I could hide in; I
telekinetically lifted myself there, and remained quiet. Soon enough, a
non-descript man in a dark suit came in. At first, I thought he was an NSA
agent sent to tail me, but then I recognized him as the Secret Service agent
who had checked me and Rachelle in at the White House's entrance earlier that
evening.
He appeared off-duty, but there was something about the blankness of his mind
that was unnerving. I could sense Viktoriya's after-presence on him, but there
was something else. Looking back, I realized why. If he was a "normal" then I
would've picked up his intent all along. As it turned out, I could barely
sense his intention from the get go.
I geared myself up both mentally and physically for a confrontation.
Viktoriya's mysterious disappearance had certainly set me on edge, and it was
far too coincidental for Secret Service to pop up right now.
I had already begun mentally blanking out myself as I floated silently over
the man below. I wanted to know who this guy was, so I decided to take him out
with a brain-blast and began gliding in to make my attack. Almost too late, I
forgot about that damned light. My shadow crept over the floor when I was on
top of him. The agent, for some reason, hesitated; I didn't. I dropped right
on top of my target without another thought.
It was surprising then, that the man didn't succumb immediately. The amount
of effort I was putting out to brain-blast the guy would've floored most
people. I had radiated an intense field laced with thought-hate once I had
come to grips, but the Secret Service agent wasn't fazed. Instead, this seemed
only to infuriate him.
I was momentarily stunned when I got slammed against the toilet stall's
walls, and a steady string of blows began raining down on my head, neck,
sides, and back in an effort to subdue me. Thanks to my gift, I didn't go down
easily and I did my best to be a difficult opponent. During all this, I
managed to peek into my assailant's mind.
A blank. That was what he was. This morning, he was Aaron Pritchet, Secret
Service agent with a wife and two kids. Now, he was tasked with killing me --
nothing else mattered.
All of his other memories were purged, altered, or otherwise suppressed to
get this task done. And incidentally, it was this 'blank' state of mind that
made him nearly impossible to detect; only my intuition, suspicion and
training had alerted me to this guy.
I had enough. I shrouded my right hand with telekinesis, and let him have it.
One moment, the man was pummeling me within an inch of my life, and the next
he was a silent heap on the ground.
My head was pounding as I stumbled to the counter and cleaned myself up. I
sported a few cuts and bruises to my face but nothing looked broken. I was
sore though. I wasn't used to receiving this amount of physical brutality.
The man who attacked me was silent. When I checked on him, I knew why. My
blow had crushed his throat -- the normally tight stretch of skin over the
front of his neck was now blackish blue and puffy. I saw his body twitch, his
eyes slowly glaze as he slowly suffocated on the ground.
I rifled through his pockets and found a ballpoint pen. I unscrewed the two
halves, disposed of the ink cartridge, and punched the sharper half through
his neck. Blood and a sharp hiss of air shot out of the metal tubing, and I
immediately got a sense of relief from the downed man. Still, I wasn't in an
ebullient mood. The asshole had tried to kill me.
"Do not fucking move," I snapped quietly.
Agent Pritchet could breathe better if he lay down, so I rolled him onto his
back. I canted his torso at a slight angle with his coat, and relieved him of
his firearm and mobile phone. All the while, I scanned him, infuriated at who
the hell programmed him.
As I finished restraining the agent, I found the one glaring memory which
gave me chills: it was Viktoriya.
Her wonderful, waspish figure silhouetted against the glow of the floodlights
of some war monument we had gone to the day before. Her back was turned at
first, then I noticed she was getting bigger because someone (was it
Pritchet?) was walking towards her. The memory vision faded as Vika turned
around, a look of surprise and -- was it recognition? -- on her face.
The Secret Service man could only breathe raggedly as I studied him. There
was no way Viktoriya knew Pritchet -- heck, even I hadn't seen him until
tonight. So who was it that my Russian sweetie saw?
"Blink rapidly if you can hear me."
Pritchet blinked several times.
"Good," I felt my face harden as I spoke, "You know the drill: once for
affirmative. Twice for negative. Close your eyes for a half-second so I know
it's not a reflex blink, understood?"
The injured man wheezed through the blowpipe and slow-blinked once to show he
understood.
"Do you know who I am?"
He closed and opened his eyes twice.
"Do you know why you attacked me?"
Again, a no.
"Do you know who is Viktoriya Lychenko?"
Another no.
Fuck this, I fumed. I wasn't going anywhere and I knew I needed help. So, who
to call? Tseng? Or Cox? Or both? Or were they in on this? Why was I targeted?
I wasn't getting anywhere and with so little to go on, I needed to
prioritize. The monument I saw Viktoriya at was about five minutes or so away
(walking), but I had another concern back at the hotel.
My family. I felt my stomach tighten. Were people after them as well? And
what to do? If these assassins were "citizens" of the empire ... who'd protect
Melanie, Rachelle and the children?
And another worry. Melanie. Had her gifts been growing to a point where they
cannot be contained? Did she inadvertently give herself away? Little Chen's
mental masking and empathy were always mysteries to me and Viktoriya.
Fuck. Aside from me, Viktoriya knew about Melanie. Perhaps that's why she and
I were targeted, because of Melanie's gift. Damn. This night was quickly
becoming a nightmare.
===============================================================================
WHEN SOMEONE ASKS IF YOU'RE A GOD, YOU SAY, 'YES.'
===============================================================================
As bad as I felt leaving Pritchet bleeding in the bathroom, I felt worse not
physically checking in on Melanie, Rachelle and the children in the room.
While it was efficient for me to telepathically monitor them, that assured me
that they were safe -- not the other way around.
I caught Rachelle's panicky thoughts when she emerged from the shower, only
to be way-laid by Melanie's explanation of Viktoriya's absence as well as my
own.
Thoughts of: 'God damn it. Those two are always sneaking about. I thought
this weekend was supposed to be for us.' and 'If he and Viktoriya are out
partying, he's going to get a piece of my mind!!!' came to me.
As I focused on the task at hand, I wondered if I had grown complacent. I had
done so much dirty stuff of the years, I was amazed I hadn't been caught.
Maybe the bubble had finally burst. After all, my carelessness had lead to
Norman's and Milhail's kidnapping. Now, I wondered what the hell I'd done --
or worse yet, what Viktoriya or Melanie may have done -- to warrant such a
response.
For a brief moment, I even harbored the suspicion Pincelli had somehow gotten
himself some gifted or talented assets. That would be problematic; he and his
mob squad would go after me and my family without hesitation.
Still, messing around with the Secret Service was too much of a high-profile
act; if Tseng's hold on our kind was as iron-clad as he made it seem, the
"citizen" who committed that act would soon be dead or dealt with ...
Then again, I soured as Halah's words came back to me, Tseng may not have as
much control as I was lead to believe. It was times like these that I wanted
the invisible empire to be real. There'd be some measure of organization and
control then.
I left Pritchet in the restroom. In his injured state, he'd be lucky to
survive without some sort of medical assistance. I dialed 911 on his cellphone
once I had what I needed. As soon as I got the operator on the line, I simply
gave the nearest intersection to the park, and the words, "Park bathroom.
Attempted mugging. Pierced throat."
I tossed the agent's phone next to him and headed for the war memorial where
I'd glimpsed Vika. As I got nearer, I noticed her jittery psychic
after-presences before Pritchet ambushed me were concentrated in one spot. And
I could feel there was something there, something odd; I cannot put it into
words, but it was definitely out of place.
When I reached the memorial, I noticed someone was waiting for me. It wasn't
Viktoriya, but a rather an all too familiar face.
"Champion."
My tone was stale as I stopped a few paces away from the hulking NSA agent.
Brian Cox had his back towards me and he was starting at the massive stone in
the center of the plaza. When he finally spoke, he didn't even turn around.
"How are we this evening?"
"Could be better, Brian," I said simply.
"I sense you are in search of answers," Cox turned around.
Even before he did, I could sense there was something strange afoot.
Normally, Brian's mind was open to mine, despite what lies Tseng and I had
told him (that we needed physical contact to initiate a mind-reading). Tonight
was different; Agent Cox's was a complete blank, although I sensed something
malevolent lurking underneath his mask of mental tranquility.
"What's going on?" I decided to play dumb.
"Did you think you can get that close, that deep into the system?" Cox said
coldly.
"I don't know what you mean, Champion," I replied carefully. Whatever was in
control here, it had just raided the agent's memories and had access to what
Cox knew about the NSA.
"Oh, we know about your little trip to Iraq," the big agent said tonelessly.
"We also know that you stayed for a few days longer than what you needed to."
"Again, I have no idea what you're talking about," I maintained my innocence.
"Don't play a fool," Cox's demeanor changed, "You don't think they watch you?
That we watch you? Where you go has never been a secret for long, from Mexico
to the UAE."
"Maybe I should ask Ghost Light for lift," I joked, "You couldn't stop him
before."
Cox's face twitched. Despite the mental blank, I could sense that he was
trying to process what I had just said by rifling through Brian's memories.
That reinforced what I had already suspected: someone had subjugated my
handler's mind.
And I had a second suspicion, too. It wasn't Tseng, but rather someone else.
If it were my mentor, he wouldn't have hesitated to lambaste me for
associating so closely with the teleporting David. So, it had to be someone
just as powerful. This could be bad news ...
"So, were you the ones responsible for Pritchet tonight?" I slowly took out
the Secret Service man's sidearm; Cox didn't react as I expected him to.
Another bad sign.
"He was ..." the big agent seemed to search for the right words, "... a
test."
"Some test." I ejected the magazine, then drew the slide back. I tossed the
gun, now empty, onto the concrete. I kept the magazine and the ejected round.
"If it were not," Cox sounded lost in thought, "you would be dead."
"NSA makes it a point to kill assets?" I managed a wan smile as I paraphrased
something the big man said years ago. "I thought there was a hands-off policy;
look but don't touch."
"If you only knew." Brian certainly sounded like himself; for a few moments,
even I doubted my own judgment and went along with the illusion.
"If only." I sniffed and caught the whiff of something familiar.
Viktoriya's favorite perfume. It was some exotic concoction she only donned
on special occasions or, in fits of depression, to 'cheer me up, kisa.'
Almost instantly, I felt the hairs of my neck stand up. Was Vika close-by? If
so, why was Cox here as well?
"You have been up to no-good, son." Cox's face turned into a snarl. "All that
crap you did down there has primed Mexico to become a warzone."
"Oops?" I maintained my quasi-innocence.
"And now you to walk right into a disputed region?" The big agent flexed his
hands as if he intended to strangle me. "What were you doing in Dubai?"
If Cox knew about my side-trip to Umm-Qasr, he didn't seem to let on. Not
being able to pick up his thoughts as I usually did, I answered cautiously.
"Had to check up on some building plans," I replied casually. "You know.
Architecture stuff."
"Of course you did."
Uh-oh. I knew I was in a bind. Without any telepathic reception from my
target, I was no better than a "normal", and probably less so, since I had
relied on my gifts since I was young. Still, I wagered, I wasn't completely
defenceless. I still had my telekinesis ...
As soon as I thought of it, Viktoriya stepped round the corner of the
memorial's center piece. My heart skipped a beat; almost immediately, I knew
something was wrong.
"Vika?"
She didn't answer as she walked slowly towards me, her vacant stare seemed to
pass through me. Viktoriya stopped when she came abreast of Cox.
As I studied the strange scene before me, he too, seemed to have a blank,
vacuous look. While he spoke, his face didn't seem to be as "lively" or
"lifelike" although he made attempts to put on a show with a few expressions
and body movements.
Suddenly, it hit me. When Tseng and I had puppeteered those Mexican gangsters
down south, I bet we spent more time fighting the mind of the controlled
person and focusing on manipulating their bodies than putting on any sort of
believable show.
Now, I was on the receiving end; someone was puppeteering Cox, and
unbelievably, my darling Viktoriya. I had thought she was potent enough to
defend herself from ...
'Something like me?'
The thought-speech was harsh, but unrecognizable. It wasn't Tseng, but how it
tingled in my mind -- the whole "feel" of it -- was very similar. And the
choice of words, "something" instead of "someone".
There was laughter, but neither of the two before me were making it. It was
in my head, my mind.
'You are a troublesome little mite.'
'Who are you?' That was my first thought. My second was more practical: 'Are
you of the empire?'
The Thing in the ether scoffed. A mental sign flashed briefly in my mind: a
mix of disdain, regret, and obsolescence -- all directed towards the invisible
empire. That was its answer, and in it, a brief window of vulnerability.
Whatever force now possessed my wife and my handler, it wasn't tangible in
any physical sense. It was disembodied. Non-corporeal. How the hell could I
fight this?
'Fight me?' The Thing seemed amused. 'You could barely fight _her_ --' a
brief image of Halah came to me '-- although you didn't seem to mind.'
Interesting, I thought. So the Thing knew about Halah, but mentioned nothing
about Umm-Qasr. I chanced a look at Viktoriya, who swayed a little bit bit
before being still once more. I reflexively pinged, and found whatever force
held sway over her also kept me out of her mind.
'What do you want?' I broadcasted my thoughts outwards.
'Want? I have many wants, just as you do. My wants simply outlived me.'
Interesting. As I mulled over the Thing's words, I slowly began to realize
what it was. Some sort of psychic poltergeist, or a possessor. Paranoia began
coming over me; how long had it been around? Was it lurking inside someone all
this time, or simply floating out there, waiting for the right mind or minds
to invade?
I didn't get the answers I sought as the Thing thought-spoke again.
'I need your assistance, Stanley Chen. I have been aware of you for some
time.'
'How long?' I thought.
'Long enough to know you will do anything to save her.'
Viktoriya didn't move an inch as my gaze instinctively shifted towards her.
'... and the others, if you could.' The Thing finished.
I made no reply as I began nudging all attention away from myself. As
concerned I was for Viktoriya's safety, I knew that I was being mind-probed. I
fell back to my most basic gift -- it was survival. If I was incapacitated, I
could do nothing for her then.
'I ... want ... you ... to aid me ... inhabit others ...' The Thing's
thought-speak became jittery as I sought to desynch my train of thought and
hide -- too bad it could still see me through the eyes of its pawns.
It quickly realized my efforts, and it was not pleased. Hence, it was no
surprise that I was attacked, but it was startling to see where it originated
from.
As soon as my lovely Slavic siren's face twitched, I leaped out of the way
just in time to avoid being smashed by the telekinetic force she hurled my
way. It was certainly enough to crack the concrete of where I was just a
split-second before.
That was weird, I thought. Even with telekinesis, I wasn't able to move that
quickly. I didn't dwell on it more; it simply felt that I thought about
getting out of Vika's way and the next moment, I was.
I could sense that the Thing was furious. It puppeteered Cox, and I saw him
pull out a gun. I reached out with my mind and snapped the firing pin. As an
after-thought, I snatched Pritchet's gun back. One less thing to worry about.
'Jesus, Vika!' I pinged. 'Snap out of it! It's me, Stanislav!'
I sensed nothing from Viktoriya as she sent out wave after wave of invisible
barbs towards me. I had all I could handle just keeping myself in one piece
and uninjured without carrying out the obvious solution of killing her.
Thankfully, the Thing seemed to have its efforts divided between controlling
Cox, and having Viktoriya use her telekinesis. While I had shown Vika some of
the things I learned over the years, a lot of it was intuitive; if she didn't
grasp the idea, or didn't see herself using it, she dismissed it and went
doing other things.
All this made Viktoriya's telekinesis rather clumsy, especially if someone
else was making her do something she didn't want to. For a brief moment, I
harbored the notion she was fighting to take back control of her mind,
although there was no way for me to know for certain.
Then, there was the very fact that I posed as much a threat meant it had to
be on the look-out for what I would do as well. With my efforts in nudging
away any mental detection, I was now well hidden from any psychic scrying;
however, through Vika or Cox, the Thing could see me easily.
The last telekinetic blast sent me tumbling head over heels, but I managed to
slide myself behind some hardened cover. I could hear the Thing's cackling
thoughts as I pressed myself to the ground. The solid, stone granite slab I
was using was affixed to the ground. Too bad it wouldn't stand long against
the wrath of Viktoriya's power.
In all this chaos, I thought I heard a whisper of someone. Before things came
apart, I had been wholly focused on the situation before me. The faint buzz at
the edge of my awareness had a signature that didn't seem to be Vika, Cox, or
the Thing in their minds, so I ignored it. Suddenly, I felt something tug me.
Fearing it was Viktoriya's telekinesis, I nearly got up when I heard a
familiar voice whisper in my ear.
"Shut up and listen, Snake Charmer."
I was so stunned, I could barely contain my surprise. "Phillipa?"
"Hush and LISTEN." It was Mirage again, completely invisible and on top of
me. I clamped up and stayed low as my cover was being ground to dust.
"Just do as I say," she hissed softly in my ear, "Try not to think about her,
or him, or whatever. Do whatever it is you do to avoid attention. Got that?"
"Got it."
"Okay." Mirage remained in her fade. "Now just carry me. We can move out
together, got it?"
"How?" I grimaced as the stone let out a loud crack. "I'm not invisible."
"Trust me."
I felt the unseen ginger's lips press onto mine as she pulled me on top of
her and we rolled out into the open. I thought I was as good as dead, but I
then realized that my hands, arms, and sleeves had vanished, along with the
rest of me. The world fell into a grayish gray, and a lot of the lights seemed
to have dimmed in luminosity.
"Pick me up," Mirage ordered as she held onto me for dear life.
I did as she commanded, and it was good timing too. The rock that had hid me
from Viktoriya's furious attacks was now in a dozen smaller pieces, although
it was difficult for me to tell in the haze. She didn't move when the Thing
had Cox take a few steps closer for a look.
The night was silent, but every sensitive psychic in the area could hear the
disembodied presence roar furiously over thought-speak. Viktoriya and Cox both
stood around with blank stares as the Thing hurled insults at me. It capped
its mental fury with a icy cold threat.
'LET US SEE HOW LONG YOU WILL LAST WHEN I HAVE HER RIP APART EVERYTHING
AROUND HERE!'
Viktoriya took a step forward and I heard stones and metal cracking as the
Thing goaded her into applying her gift on every piece of cover before her.
Cox, in the meantime, was used to deliver some verbal threats: my darlings in
San Francisco were under surveillance, and the team there would be given
orders to apprehend and detain them. It was also a matter of time before the
rest of my family would be found in DC as well.
All of this was worrying, but I did my best to ignore those rants while
carrying Mirage. She whispered for me to head straight ahead, then turn a bit,
so we'd wind up behind the big stone in the center.
"What the hell's going on?" I asked, my voice low.
"We got an emergency deployment a few hours ago," Mirage whispered back,
"Someone called Majestic said Champion was going to go rogue."
"Majestic?" I grew curious. "Never heard of him."
"Basically Brian's boss or something. I dunno. I didn't ask."
"Why not?"
"Because," she murmured, "he said you'd be the target, Stanley."
"Oh."
Despite the two of us being visually transparent, I felt her nuzzle my neck
slightly.
"Phillipa," I scolded her. "Not now."
"Sorry," she whispered back. "It's just -- I can feel you growing hard."
"Yeah, sorry."
Great, I thought. One more reason Viktoriya should kill me now, even if she
was possessed. The two of us plodded behind the center monument, and hoped it
would be enough to keep us safe for the time being. Mirage did her best to
fill me in on the rest of the details.
The person calling himself "Majestic" had deployed NSA-PSI in an interdiction
role. Something clearly a violation of our mission (NRO Directive 10-77) to
"see but not touch". Ghost Light had displaced Mirage to DC, while he moved
Masquerade to infiltrate the team in San Francisco.
Majestic then briefed them on how to deal with Cox: try not to think of what
you're going to do, and use whispers to get your instructions across. Ghost
Light also handed out some strange trinkets: pieces of lodestone assembled
into a metallic collar. Everyone was to wear one, and Mirage placed one on me
now.
I was wary, but noticed that the collar was loose fitting and had a simple
latch. I could undo it, even without resorting to telekinetic lock-picking.
Apart from finding me, Phillipa was instructed to pull me out of whatever I
was doing in DC and wait for instructions. I felt her hug me again, and I
reacted the only way I could, by cupping her shapely ass. I could feel her
body tense up, but she soon relaxed and held onto me tightly.
The two of us were still invisible but I knew it probably couldn't last.
Researching her ability, I suspected Mirage wasn't turning invisible as much
as she was phasing, or shifting, out of our dimension. This explained why
she'd never show up in photographs (spectrographs, on the other hand, went
bonkers).
Mirage had remarked she often grew very cold after being invisible for over
30 minutes. If she had an energy bar or something to eat, she could push an
hour, but anything beyond that made her drowsy -- like if she was suffering
from hypothermia.
"How long?" I whispered.
"I dunno," Mirage replied softly, "Just until we get the go ahead."
"From whom?"
"Dunno," she repeated apologetically, "I guess if you kept me warm, we can
stay like this longer."
I shifted a bit and asked, "How did you --?"
"I took a cue from Ghost Light," she murmured, "He said it'd be a good idea
to practice more."
"Ah." I soured a bit from the explanation.
I had inadvertently "inspired" Reese to explore his teleportation when I
dryly commented I could probably take up flying with my (then secret)
telekinesis. That was nearly a decade ago. Now, this young woman caressing me
was using that same advice. Man, did I feel old ...
_CRACK_
The monument we were using as cover was shuddering. Mirage hopped onto my
back and we began moving out and away from the center stone. We both could see
that Viktoriya had done a fantastic job leveling the war memorial's sitting
stones and benches; now she was being directed to attack the last remaining
thing standing in the plaza.
As Mirage and I staggered away from the ruckus, I picked up a buzz in her ear
receiver, followed by a brief flash of thought-speak from Bethany: 'Homeplate
is safe. Majestic says play ball.'
Mirage perked up as well, for she must have been sent the same message. So, I
thought, I guess Bethany had informed the team of her abilities. Not that it
mattered at the moment.
The issue I had now was how do I "play ball?" I wasn't sure what to do. Since
Mirage told me to go silent, I had relied on my gift to push away all
attention from both of us. That meant I hadn't pinged Viktoriya to find out
her state of mind, but I had a feeling she wasn't right in the head.
I needed to be sure though, and to do that, I needed to get close to her
without either of us getting hurt. That, and I didn't need the possessed Cox,
or whatever the hell was controlling him, interfering while I did my scan. I
needed a distraction, and Mirage was all I had at the moment.
"Take the mag and gun in my pocket," I whispered to Mirage.
"You sure?"
"Yes," I rasped softly as I formulated something far too half-assed to be
called a plan.
"Got it." I felt Mirage's hand slide into my pocket and relieve me of
Pritchet's weapon.
"Okay. What do I do then?"
"Wait a sec," I spoke softly as I began circling around Viktoriya and Cox to
buy time, "How long can I stay invisible once I stop touching you?"
"I -- I don't know," Mirage whispered, "I never tried that."
"Well, that's great." I quickly decided to try my plan, despite the risks
involved. "After we get close, you head to the park, got that?"
"How's that going to help?" she asked confused.
"From far off, load up and fire a few rounds into the dirt. Into the ground,
understand?" I whispered. "Get their attention, then hide."
"When should I fire?" Mirage asked.
"As fast as you reach some soft earth," I paused, "but think it. Think of
trying to hit Brian in the leg or something when you shoot. Got it?"
I could sense her trepidation but she kept that to herself.
"All right," she finally said.
"Good. Let's go."
Mirage and I wound up behind Viktoriya, who was listless once more, and a
rather animated Cox, who was beginning to ape more and more of the Thing's
mannerisms. The ginger girl slipped off my back, and slinked away, cat-like. I
could sense her recede -- unfortunately, at this range, and without my gift in
close proximity to Mirage, so could the enemy.
"Well, well, someone else is here? You're a naughty one --" Cox's hand came
up with a second handgun, "-- wh--what?!"
The invisibility I shared with Mirage slipped away within a few seconds of us
parting contact. That I came into view so suddenly was no doubt alarming to
anyone not expecting it. As Mirage had surprised me back in Rochester, I did
so now with the possessed Cox. Without hesitating, I lunged forward, both
hands shrouded in telekinesis, and grappled Cox's gun arm.
The big man fired his back-up weapon once, twice, thrice -- all into the air
(and at an angle). My grip on his arm was tight enough that when the Thing
puppeteered Cox's arm wildly upward, I was lifted off the ground. That suited
me fine, as I brought my shrouded knee up to the agent's chin.
_WHACK!_
The blow was enough to imbalance the big agent. Down went Cox, and I along
with him. I slid my telekinetic grip up towards his second gun and squeezed.
Barrel bent, slide wrecked, and internals broken. The only problem now was
that the Thing didn't need a gun to kill me -- he had something much stronger
available.
'Vika.' I pleaded one last time through thought-speech. 'Don't.'
Viktoriya quavered as she dipped her head, her body language dangerous, but
her gaze was one of both fear and loathing. What the hell was she seeing, I
wondered as I grappled with her. I quickly risked mind-sight and found out. I
was Milhail's kidnapper, or at least donning his face. The mob man who
bludgeoned Melanie at the zoo was also the one who had tossed Milhail into the
van.
The disembodied presence must have found this from a lingering memory in
Vika's mind, and used her feelings against me. And it was strange. The only
way Viktoriya could've known what the kidnapper looked like was from Melanie.
It was then I groaned inwardly. Vika and Mel would've only mentally hooked up
for a little lesbian fun.
The sex aside, those psychic events were going to be the death of me.
I had pinned Viktoriya's hands, but it was already a bit too late. There was
no way I could move fast enough to prevent her from applying her telekinesis.
I felt my grip loosening as Vika slowly "repelled" me; she was slipping
through my grip and I couldn't muster enough effort to brain-blast her, or
even tell her to stop.
Just as everything looked its bleakest, I caught a break. The first thing
that clued me in that something was wrong was that Viktoriya's telekinesis was
fluctuating so wildly, I could recover some of my grip. Behind me, Cox had
must've been directed to grab me and throw me off, but he bumped into me
instead, then lurched away as if drunk.
When a gentle wave of invisible force flattened Viktoriya, me, and Cox to the
pavement, I knew it was over, one way or another. I scrambled quickly to my
feet, my head abuzz with new presences, and my heart pounding. I noticed that
Mirage's gunfire hadn't occurred.
That was when I heard approaching footsteps, followed my a familiar tinny
voice.
"Take them now," Tseng rasped. "Quickly."
===============================================================================
WHAT DOES NOT KILL YOU ...
===============================================================================
It was surreal -- Tseng, Feodor, and a half dozen (or so) soldiers armed with
nightscopes, combat armor and tasers closed in on our little group. I noticed
their weapons were trained on me, Viktoriya, and Cox.
The light from the memorial's floodlights reflected in the granite dust from
the destroyed stones, and those black shapes, while an impressive display, did
little to clarify the situation.
"You," I coughed from the dust thrown up by all this movement, "Talisman.
What's going on?"
"At least you remember some things," Tseng said tersely. "Are you all right?"
"Yes. No. I don't know." I blinked, and rubbed my eyes.
"You sound as you always do," the old Chinaman quipped to his side,
"Indecisive. I think he's fine. Check the others."
"Fuck you," I hissed. Then, "Where's Vika?"
It was then I noticed Feodor standing over her.
"Get the hell away --"
I barely took a step when two of the armed goons leveled their weapons at me.
I was almost certain they would've fired save Tseng raised a gloved hand to
maintain the peace. The same hand made a waving motion, and both the armed men
and Feodor gave us some space.
"See to him first," Tseng pointed at Cox, "I want him purged."
Feodor, never one to talk, obeyed but gave me a silent glare as I passed him.
Viktoriya was lying on the pavement, her hair and clothes both soiled and
chalky. I took her into my arms, and picked up her presence, just dimly. At
least she's alive, I thought.
But what about on the inside? Who was she? Was she all right? Or still
enthralled?
"You wonder too, don't you?"
I looked up and saw Tseng had knelt down to our level. His normally stern
face now seemed to have a trace of something. Was it compassion? Or regret?
"Who was that?" I asked.
"A danger to the empire," Tseng said laconically.
'I was told there was no empire.' I slipped into thought-speak as I naturally
did around my enigmatic mentor.
The old Chinese looked around, barked some orders, and the armed men made a
large perimeter. This left me, Tseng, Feodor, and both the unconscious Cox and
Viktoriya in speaking range.
"It was necessary," Tseng said quietly. "In due time, you will understand
why."
I knelt there, silent and brooding, while I held my comatose wife in my arms.
"He will need to see her." Tseng was referring to Feodor.
"No, he won't," I tightened my grip on Viktoriya. I felt my eyes sting. I
didn't realize it, but I was crying.
"It is a precaution," my mentor's voice hardened, "At the very least she will
not lose her life."
Despite my dislike for Feodor's methods, I let him approach. A brief moment
passed before the trenchcoat wearing, muzhik-bearded giant stood up once more.
"Cox is ee'n z'hock," Feodor spoke in heavily accented English, "He v'ill be
lucky to remember h'ees nayme."
Tseng nodded at the sleeping Viktoriya, and Feodor continued.
"Z'he is in g'ut z'haype, but her m'hind ..."
I saw my mentor darken as Feodor trailed off, and I felt at my wits' end.
"What do you mean?" I asked. "Is she okay?"
"When something like this occurs," Tseng explained, "the host mind may not
survive the inclusion of new synapses."
He paused for a moment before continuing in thought-speech.
'It's not like a person with multiple personalities -- this is a case of two
residents fighting for the same room; sometimes, one of them just leaves.'
"What does that mean?" I feared the answer.
"She would be clinically brain-dead, Snake-Charmer." Tseng placed a gloved
hand on my shoulder and finished in thought-speak.
'The person she was would be pushed out by the invader. Even if her gifts
remain, she would not be who she was.'
'No.' I turned back to Viktoriya's sedate form as Tseng continued his
explanation.
'Sometimes, just sometimes, the host mind withdraws, and saves enough of
itself to survive. But the chances are greatly decreased as contact is
prolonged.'
So, Viktoriya might still have a chance. I wasn't sure how long my Slavic
sweetie was possessed, but she appeared to be fine when Rachelle and I left
for the White House about six or seven hours ago ...
'There is a chance.' I heard Tseng's thought-speech in my mind. 'Reach her,
if you can. You did us a great service today, Stanley.'
'What service?'
'To our kind.' Tseng was matter-of-fact. 'And hence, to me. Thank you.'
I didn't answer as I cradled an unresponsive Viktoriya. I found a spot on her
arm and held her tenderly. I reached deep into her mind and found, to my
horror, very little activity. Bits and pieces of her life in the Ukraine, and
then in neighboring Moldava, after the evacuation.
I dug deeper, finding Viktoriya's mental defences completely gone. Bits of
her life in America came up: her days in ESL class to be followed by dance
studio. A glimpse of a lanky Chinese fellow, whom I recognized as me. And her
Dutch lover, Freya too. The fun times they had at the Bronx Zoo, Battery Park,
and a few other places abroad.
As I raided her deepest recesses of her mind, I realized that it was futile
to dig up more secrets. If the woman I knew was mentally "dead", then what
then? What of our life together? What of our son, Milhail?
'Vika, Vika, Vika.' I pinged endlessly with no response. 'Please come back.
Please, I need you. I love you.'
I noticed the wind had gotten colder as the night wore on. I looked up and
saw black-clad soldiers had drawn a cordon around the site. Paramedics were
loading Brian Cox on a gurney. An officer, wearing the same body armor as his
men, but having eschewed his balaclava for a beret was giving orders now.
Tseng was now nowhere in sight, nor was Feodor. Mirage was though, and she
put a wool blanket over my shivering form, her grayish bodysuit smeared a bit
here and there with white chalk.
"Snake-Charmer," her green eyes regarded me with a mix of sadness and
longing, "I have to go. Catch up later?"
"Yeah."
Phillipa removed the metallic choker I was wearing -- I noticed she had taken
off hers as well -- and slipped them in a black velvet pouch. She gingerly
touched Viktoriya's forehead before speaking again.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, "I couldn't run fast enough."
'Not your fault.' I thought-spoke.
The red-head managed a sad smile, then departed, leaving me in the middle of
the wrecked memorial. It was a depressing, but fitting scene, I thought.
A memorial. Or at least another one. A part of me began heckling me, just out
of sheer malice. Just what I needed, because losing Aurora wasn't enough. And
this time, it wasn't some dipshit 'normal' fanatic, but one of my own kind
with an agenda.
It was enough to make me kneel there in the middle of a cold DC winter and
burn with a silent rage. My despair over Viktoriya might've done something, or
maybe it was the physical contact I had with her. Perhaps, it was her inner
strength, or it may have been something else entirely. The moment Viktoriya
stirred, I nearly shouted with joy.
"Vika?" I shook her gently. "Are you all right?"
The next words she uttered was one that made me happy beyond belief.
"S-Stanislav? I just had the strangest dream about Pyotr."
===============================================================================
IN MEMORIUM, PART ONE
===============================================================================
'It wasn't what you thought it'd be was it?'
Tseng's words came back to me unbidden as I stared blankly at the ceiling of
the cabin. The hum of the jetliner's engines were still pretty deafening
despite being far ahead of them, but that didn't matter to me.
All that mattered now was Viktoriya had calmed down now, and was sleeping, if
fitfully. It had been nearly a year since that night in DC, and I was still
edgy not just from that experience but from the encounter just days before.
Despite the chaos of the past few months, everything had been neatly
explained away to a point where even I was amazed.
Viktoriya's absence? That was a mugging gone bad, or at least that's what I
managed to tell them. Vika, a bit dazed and confused, understood the need for
the excuse and only nodded, allowing me to extend the cover.
Melanie and Rachelle were nearly beside themselves when they heard me out; it
seemed bad luck had struck again. It was enough that Yu-Ching began studying
Taoist sooth-saying when she got back, then bugging Janet and the others to
make a trip with her to the local temple in order to, "ensure good fortune."
Agent Pritichet? He underwent surgery after paramedics found him at the park.
From what I heard, most of him came through intact. Tseng never told me what
happened to him, but I hazarded that Pritchet was either released from duty or
reassigned to the currency protection division due to his injuries.
As for the destruction suffered by the war memorial, that was a bit harder to
explain. It was a minor enough of a memorial that its defacement escaped the
news. DHS (Department of Homeland Security) sent out a feed claiming that a
lone wolf was experimenting with water gel and peroxide explosives. Nothing
could really explain the lack of residue -- Vika had taken the whole place
apart with her telekinesis alone.
And at NSA-PSI, things were in a mild uproar. Brian Cox was permanently
retired for health reasons, and at least on paper, our office was re-assigned.
The vacated spot of Field Operations Liaison was quickly filled by none other
than "Majestic" -- the fellow who claimed to be onto Cox.
We never met face to face, but I had a suspicion I knew who it was: Talisman.
Speaking of my mentor, Tseng, it was he with whom I had seen with Viktoriya
just two days before. It was an odd, out of the blue sort of thing, much like
my meeting with him years before.
Shawn and I were booked to attend a seismic safety convention in Tokyo when I
got a sudden mental transmission: 'Cafe shop. Next corridor. Now.'
It was an uninvited mindburst from Tseng. I was at the table with my pumpkin;
we had about an hour or so before the next lecture, and we'd planned on having
lunch together.
We shared only a few conferences until the convention let out, so we didn't
much time together in Tokyo. Nonetheless, the message was urgent enough to
give me pause.
"Something wrong, Stanley, darling?" Shawn looked at me with her bright,
beautiful eyes.
"Huh?" I shrugged off the summons, if only for a while. "No. Nothing's
wrong."
My Anglo angel nodded cheerfully and resumed chatting about her plans to
visit the nearest Pokemon Center (yes ... Pokemon ... sigh) to buy some
stickers, plushies, and knick-knacks for Melanie and the kids. Before she
could say more, my phone rang.
"Excuse me." I pulled out my mobile -- it was a blocked number -- and
answered. "Hello?"
"The cafe, hurry up, man." I recognized Ghost Light's nervous twang. "Millie
and Grif are waiting for me back home."
"I understand," I said simply and hung up.
The look Shawn gave me was not as painful as the one I gave her, but the
thoughts in her head betrayed her unease.
"Stanley?" she murmured quietly, "Do you have to? Now?"
"It'll be quick," I put my best face forward. "Hopefully, I can make it back
for dinner."
With Reese, it better be quick. Shawn was hardly in a position to know how
fast, but she nodded just the same.
"I'll see you back at the hotel," I squeezed her free hand, "but don't wait
up."
She was about to say more, but settled for a quick kiss. I headed down the
corridor, made a turn, and saw Ghost Light standing by the service entrance.
The Caucasian didn't stand out as much as one expected, the convention being
host to designers, engineers, and building industry tycoons all over the
world.
When David saw me, he left through the service exit, indicating that I should
follow. As soon as I went through, Ghost Light displaced me to, of all places,
to a bathroom.
"Where the hell am I?" I asked once we arrived.
"Kagoshima Airport." David handed me a sealed packet. "Here. I was told to
hand this to you. That's all."
I took the yellow envelope. "How much time?"
"Two maybe three hours," he seemed impatient. "Just have to take the wife and
kid to see 'Despicable Me'."
"How late is it there?"
"About 9 o'clock at night."
"Isn't it a school night?" I asked absently.
"You too? Christ, you sound just like my wife."
I managed a small smile, but soured inwardly. As much as I didn't like David
Reese, I seemed to be stuck with the bastard. I wished him and his wife good
luck with their newly adopted son.
"Thanks. See you in a bit." David waved once, then vanished.
For him, it was back to Stillwater, New York City, or wherever the hell he
was living with his family now.
This was unusual, I thought. I was generally greeted by a foreign agent or
someone from the agency. The fact that there was a puffy envelope was unusual.
I only required a pencil and a steno pad. I opened it and found there was a
storage locker key inside, along with a locker number.
KGC-5335. I located the locker and opened it. Inside was a black bag. Within
that, was a rather thick manila folder. I grabbed it all and thumbed through
the contents.
They were medical files of two people. One, a Jyunko Kosugi, I didn't know.
The other record though, gave me pause. It was Tseng's file. I snapped the
files shut, looked up and nearly jumped out of my seat. It was Viktoriya.
"Hallo kisa," she spoke naturally, her face relaying astonishment -- she was
as surprised as I was.
"Vika?" I hopped to my feet immediately.
We embraced in the middle of the airport, and quickly established our mental
chat.
'I thought you were in Tokyo!' She thought-spoke.
'I thought you were back home!' I thought back.
Before we could share more, a squat, thick-necked Japanese driver came up to
us, holding a sign that read: CHEN - LYCHENKO.
"That would be us," I said and gestured at me and Viktoriya.
He waved to follow him, and we did, both my Russian bride and I full of
questions. I managed to get her side of the story: the day after Shawn and I
left for our seismic summit, someone had dropped a letter at Viktoriya's
studio.
She didn't see who dropped it off (I had a feeling it may have been David)
but she opened it. Inside was a brief note that invited her to an airport she
never heard of in Japan.
Despite what she had gone through in DC (I had related to her about her
experience after), Viktoriya felt compelled to go, especially since there were
tickets in her name. That, and it seemed like it was something I'd do -- she
thought I had sent it.
'I didn't know what to say, Stanislav.' She thought-spoke in the car. 'I'm
sorry I didn't ask. I should be more careful.'
'That's all right, Vika.' I snuck a glance at our driver.
He was full of thoughts. Family, what was tonight's dinner, maybe a drink
after work. No blank state. I sensed he had no intention to cause us harm, so
I relaxed, if only a little.
Viktoriya and I rode in the car for about 20 minutes or so. The countryside
became greener and more rural; we were leaving the city. Our driver turned off
the road and stopped at a small, nondescript house at the side of a grassy
mountain.
"Your stop," the driver said simply and turned off the engine. "I have orders
to wait."
My Slavic darling and I got out, with me carrying her carry-on and the bag
from the locker, and Vika her purse. An old woman (at least in her 80s or 90s)
had seen us arrive. She was sweeping the front of her door, and kindly ushered
us into her home before she left, closing the door behind us.
In the dimness of the room, I could see Tseng with another woman. I
recognized the woman as Jyunko from the medical file.
"You look better than when last I saw you," my mentor greeted Viktoriya
audibly.
Tseng didn't turn around to acknowledge us. Viktoriya gripped my hand tightly
as we knelt side-by-side in the cramped room after I set our things down. He
wasn't wearing his usual attire of dark clothing and gloves; instead, he was
garbed in casual robes befitting a Japanese peasant.
And he wasn't making tea, but busy tending to Jyunko, who remained quiet
throughout. She seemed to be in her late 50s or early 60s -- almost the same
age as Tseng. He spoke to her, but she said nothing back, silently eating the
food being spooned to her by the old Chinaman.
'Who is she?' Viktoriya thought-spoke to me.
'I have no idea.' I responded. 'I think her name is Jyunko.'
I thought to tell my Slavic sweetheart to be a bit more prudent, as Tseng
could hear us, but it was too late. Having finished his feeding of Jyunko, he
turned to face us, appearing more haggard than usual.
"I suppose you are curious why I ask you here?" Tseng spoke aloud.
"You're not very talkative," I replied.
Viktoriya said nothing, but I could sense she was brimming with many
questions. One paramount question though, was in regards to Pyotr and if the
old Chinaman knew him. If Tseng was her brother's killer, she did not
recognize him. Tseng looked at us, then cast a sideways glance at his charge.
When he finally spoke, it was to both of us.
"It has been quite some time since I told anyone of this." Tseng rolled up
his sleeves. "Give me your hands."
Viktoriya didn't hesitate as I did. I only put forth my hand when Vika looked
at me expectantly. As soon as my hand made contact with my mentor's, I
blanched. Tseng was telling us his tale:
In the early 1970s, he had met a young woman who had traveled from Japan to
study abroad in the United States. Jyunko and Tseng had fallen in love.
Despite my mentor's wanderings, he had always been a kid from California.
'Just like Stanley.' Tseng's thoughts rung through our heads.
Then, Jyunko had caught the eye of a telepath, or what appeared to be a
telepath. In the struggle, the woman was robbed of her mind. Tseng found
Jyunko alive but comatose when he came home.
From then on, he had dedicated his life locating that presence, that "psychic
ghoul", and eradicating it. But where to begin? With no body of knowledge
about our gift, Tseng investigated on his own.
Through his experimentation, he found there were gifted individuals who could
do many things. The one who attacked Jyunko hadn't been a person at all, but a
noncorporeal telepath who survived many years by leaping from mind to mind.
Ever hear of multiple personalities? Or the true Jekyll and Hyde disease?
It's sometimes a symptom of psychic possession.
Along the way, Tseng uncovered a method for disrupting telepathy -- hard
radiation. Raw, unshielded, high energy radiation in large cancer-causing
doses. That was the case until my mentor made acquaintance with Feodor in the
late 80s. Feodor could do the same thing, with emitting hazardous radiation.
Tseng's research with the radiation did have one beneficial application:
electromagnetic discharges had an effect on psychics as well.
'It jumbles the mind's signals you see.' He revealed plainly.
'And the metallic necklaces last year?' I managed to interrupt him.
'They are weaker, but when charged and deployed, they diminish the effects of
psychic gifts.'
Tseng continued his tale. He was not one to give in to trial and error, at
least not with radiation. So, he tested his theory on gifted individuals. The
Three Mile Island meltdown in 1979? That was his preliminary test. He had
chased his target to the East Coast, where he thought he had cornered it.
'Or so I thought.' He paused to chuckle audibly. 'I was, regretably, wrong.'
His quarry wasn't there, but there was another gifted citizen who was doing
his own thing. The Son of Sam Killer wasn't one person _per se_. It was a
psychic psychopath using different bodies to commit murder around the Big
Apple. Tseng zoned in on the maniac, and fried his presence by triggering a
radiation leak. Viktoriya shifted uneasily as my mentor continued.
The presence Tseng was looking for had skipped across the Atlantic, and the
old Chinaman had to put in extra effort to chase it down. When he finally did,
he found it living inside an orphaned Romani boy, a few miles south of
Chernobyl. He had tricked a drafting technician at the local offices into
keeping him.
'This boy.' Tseng spoke as he leveled his gaze at Viktoriya. 'Was Pyotr.'
Almost immediately, my Ukrainian bride doubled-over and dry-retched. Tseng
withdrew his hands, his point made. Despite breaking physical contact, my
mentor's thought-speak still droned on in our heads: as "Pyotr" the Thing was
as hedonistic as it always was, preying on those who worked in the dwellings
around the plant.
Thankfully, it tried nothing with Viktoriya or the Lychenkos -- it knew
enough not to draw attention to itself by engaging in debauchery so close to
home. Fear was one driving factor; survival another. Tseng suspected it made
plans to pass from Pyotr through Viktoriya's children once she had grown.
'In this way,' Tseng intoned, 'there may have been instances of such things
living for decades, if not centuries.'
Whomever it was before, my mentor did not know, but more importantly, he
didn't care. He chased the possessed thing to the plant, and triggered the
meltdown.
"I had thought it was finally over," Tseng said, "and then I found the agency
had been preyed upon."
The CIA had been experimenting with mind-altering substances with Project
MKULTRA. Two of its subprojects, MINDFLIGHT and WHITELIGHT, were experiments
in psychic sensitivity, telepathy, and the whole caboodle. Everything I had
been researching on my own in my youth were being tested and recorded in these
programs.
Unfortunately, one of the test subjects from WHITELIGHT hid his progress from
his testers. As he pushed the boundaries of his powers, he became more aware
of his potential.
"And as he did, he became more deranged," Tseng explained, then slipped into
thought-speak: 'If you wondered why I was busy the past few years, boy, I was
engaged in tracking down this -- problem.'
The NSA, not satisfied with handling ELINT, SIGINT, TECHINT and MASINT, had
expanded into the CIA's domain of HUMINT (human intelligence, or informants
and spies) with our program of sensitives under directive 10-77. Someone,
seemingly out of the blue, extended an offer from the CIA to the NSA to bring
the two agencies' efforts together.
"If you are wondering," Tseng clarified, "it wasn't I."
Ah, I thought. That would explain the old Chinaman's piqued interest in that
sort of thing. If Tseng or one of us wasn't in control ...
'Then it is of our interest.' He finished my thoughts. 'For the empire, if
nothing else.'
'Kisa?' Viktoriya, having recovered a bit, was shocked at the thoughts being
tossed around. 'Is it always empire this, and empire that?'
'Vika, it's hard to explain.' I started the thought, but Tseng cut in and
told her how things were in the invisible empire. I gulped as Viktoriya's eyes
widened and her lips quavered a bit, but she didn't cry. I crawled to her side
and comforted her as Tseng continued.
As it turned out, the contact was made by the test subject, who had
subjugated some of the research staff. Through them, he extended his control,
toying with them and delving into their most perverted desires. One of the
staff, thought to have been driven mad, killed the subject, then himself, but
that only made things worse.
It was the test subject who spawned subproject BLACKLIGHT -- the CIA program
to have a joint NSA and CIA office for using psychic powers. Tseng made
himself available to the NSA for the purpose of cover, and for monitoring
things his way. And BLACKLIGHT in turn ...
'Became NSA-PSI.' Tseng finished. 'Officially we do not exist, since we never
did.'
'And Stanislav?' Viktoriya dared to interrupt. 'Why your interest in him? And
in me?'
'In you, a legacy of a threat --' The Baltic beauty visibly recoiled at the
coldness of his thoughts, '-- but in Stanley, a viable potential.'
Tseng lowered his head, but his gaze never left us. 'He -- has an affinity
for mimicking the gifts of others.'
'And?' Viktoriya dared to egg him on as I stroked her arm gently to reign in
her anger and loathing. I felt a little weird hearing that about me.
I thought I was a pisonic; now Tseng just explained I was like Kirby from
that Nintendo game ... or a freakin' xerox machine.
'He survived infestation, because he had help from the little one.'
There was no doubt who Tseng was referring to: Melanie. He grew quiet once
more as he looked at the serene woman beside him.
"She is beautiful, is she not?" he commented aloud.
"She is very regal," I said.
I had long since tolerated his occasional segueways, if only to get him to
talk more. Then, remembering Vika's question from earlier, I spoke up again.
"Who is she?"
"Jyunko, is Melanie's mother." Tseng's answer gave me the shock of my life.
"But I met Yu-Ching's mother," I said, "That's not ---"
"Possible?"
Tseng held out his hand, palm upturned, so Vika and I could touch him. Once
we did, we knew he spoke the truth.
"The little one is her mother's daughter," my mentor seemed more irritated
over airing some distant past than anyone's well-being. "She has her mother's
playfulness."
That explained the medical records in the locker bag. I felt dizzy as
Viktoriya, having composed herself, held my hand. If Jyunko's records were
there because she was Yu-Ching's mother, then Tseng's records ...
The old Chinaman's eyes met mine. Son. Of. A. Bitch.
He revealed that in the brief lull between Three Mile Island and Chernobyl,
he had come to some sort of acceptance with Jyunko and her family. She had the
mind of a child, with much of her self-identity was gone. Instead of feeling
sympathetic, I grew incensed.
"When was this? If her mother was like that when you --"
"I had -- grown lonely searching for my quarry before finding him in the
Ukraine," Tseng admitted, "Jyunko's sister had given birth to her first child
a few years earlier, and she and her husband were planning their second to be
born in the U.S."
"And you decided to hook up with a woman with half her mind?" I was sick to
my stomach. "Ghost Light's right; you are a monster."
"Cool your heels, boy," Tseng bade me to sit, "When Haruna took her daughter
to visit her mother, Jyunko experienced a rare moment of lucidity; one that
I'd been hoping for."
"And?"
"And it didn't last," Tseng held the mute woman's hand as she smiled stupidly
at my mentor. "She gave a faint sign of recognition, then nothing."
The old Chinese stroked her hand and grew thoughtful.
"Her sister, Haruna, was naturally angry; anyone would be in that situation,
so I did the next best thing. I arranged for the baby to be adopted by my
mother's cousins in the city."
'The Chens.' Both Viktoriya and I thought at once.
Tseng nodded. A thought immediately came to my head.
"You -- and I, aren't ---?"
"No," came his reply.
For a moment, I felt a great sense of relief. I tried to focus, but it was
hard with so much being revealed so quickly. So, Jyunko's sister was Haruna,
and the family last name was Kosugi.
That sounded rather familiar, I thought. Andrew had mentioned Gracia's and
Sachiko's mother's name was Haruna, and she was originally from the island of
Kyushu. Their family were burakumin, a class of Japanese who were unofficially
shunned and discriminated against due to family registration (the koseki).
The Kosugis weren't rich or poor, but their father managed to emigrate to the
U.S. to give the two an American education. Gracia had confided to Janet and
me a few times that her mother wanted to sponsor her mother (Gracia's and
Sachiko's grandma) to move, "if only she wasn't so damn stubborn!"
"It's a complicated mess," Gracia had admitted, "but it's because my aunt is
mentally challenged, and grandma takes care of her."
I felt mild unease come over me. Jesus ... were the Kosugi sisters Melanie's
cousins? Any further thought about this was cut short when Tseng leveled his
gaze at me once more.
"When I found you were where you were, Stanley, I knew you could be the one
to help her."
Viktoriya sat back with a look of worry and surprise.
"As I said before, Stanley, you are special. A catalyst for other gifts,"
Tseng explained, "With that in mind, I began preparing."
And what preparation. I was both a potential target, and a means of
confounding any such perceived threats. With me boosting someone's powers, a
telepath could've easily mind-hopped into several people at once, instead of
doing them one at a time.
But to make sure I wasn't subverted myself, I had to be trained and prepared.
Hence, Melanie's companionship. My prolonged contact with her, Viktoriya, and
others allowed me to take on their gifts, however temporary, and augment the
ones I already had.
"And that is why your own gifts," Tseng added, "became more potent over the
years with these two by your side."
I rested on my haunches, stunned, and a little embarrassed that Little Chen
and Vika were rightfully the keys to my success. Viktoriya took my hand and
squeezed it gently, in an effort to comfort me.
"Melanie," I croaked, "what is she? She can't be just be a simple empath."
"No, not exactly," Tseng said simply. "You already noticed that I am not like
you. As was mentioned to you before --" he was nebulous in his wording, but he
was referring to Halah.
"And?" I was getting impatient.
"My gifts passed to her, after a fashion," the old man went on. "While she
cannot do the same things we can, she is quite a point of contention among our
kind."
Viktoriya and I waited patiently for him to explain himself.
"The girl is an archive, a repository. She retains the gifts she has come
into contact with. Because she is my child, she seemed to have inherited my
mental formidability and masking."
We let that sink in as we did our best to chat on our own.
'That ... sounds implausible.' Viktoriya was trying to wrap her head around
it.
'Does it?' I wondered.
"It is that power," Tseng had gone on despite what else was said in the room,
"that makes her extremely valuable while alive."
Viktoriya swallowed, worked up her courage, and asked, "She can't use any of
that herself?"
"No, not the ones she wasn't born with." Tseng's answer was abrupt and firm.
"Only someone she trusts can draw those gifts from her."
"Boy, am I glad I stayed on her good side," I blurted before I could stop
myself.
'Kisa!' Viktoriya gave me a quick shot in the ribs with her elbow. 'Be
serious.'
Tseng fell silent once more. 'Indecisive' was what I got from him.
'Smart-ass' was another. I nearly jumped up in surprise. I could read him. I
was finally able to sense something from the man who mentored me all these
years.
'I guarded myself from you all this time, because I needed you to decoy that
damn thing.' Tseng thought-spoke.
'And now?' Viktoriya and I both thought to ask at once.
'Feodor found no trace of it.' Tseng thought back. 'But that doesn't mean the
nightmare is finished.'
'It's still out there?' Viktoriya's question sounded more like an admission
of failure.
'No, but another can take its place.' Tseng looked at us. 'You and Stanley
have the ability to invade another's mind.'
'I wouldn't do that!' The Slavic siren immediately became incensed. 'Neither
will Stanislav!'
'Are you sure?' My mentor managed a bland smile. 'Death is a potent
motivator.'
"Are you saying you'd try that?" I asked.
Tseng didn't reply, but only said, "It wasn't what you thought it'd be was
it?"
Both Vika and I knew he was referring to the invisible empire.
'The rules,' he lectured, 'are older than I, but there is wisdom in
structure. So long as it serves those who dwell in it, it has utility.'
Tseng knitted his brow as Jyunko began pulling on his sleeve. I winced as I
sensed the reason why: she needed to go to the restroom and needed him to help
her. He got up without another word and shuffled Jyunko out of the room. But
just because he had gone, didn't mean the lecture ended, for he continued his
thought-speech:
'In every empire, there is a leader, a person of vision who is tempered by
humility and morality. You, Stanley, embody those traits.'
"And?" I asked my question aloud, knowing he could easily hear me.
'I am old ... and every empire needs new blood.'
I didn't say more as I stood to leave. Viktoriya though, urged me to stay.
"Why?" I asked, "I think we're done here. I don't want any part of this."
'No, milenky. No.' She pulled me back to sit with her. 'You -- he's right. I
-- I know you have no love for him, nor I! But the reasons are sound.'
'Vika.' I studied her closely. 'What are you asking me to do?'
'Not I.' She placed my hand on her bosom, her eyes pleading. 'For us. For
Milhail, and for the others. Please stay and listen ...'
===============================================================================
IN MEMORIUM, PART TWO
===============================================================================
Viktoriya and I left Tseng's place at Kirishima, and the driver (a hired man,
not an agent) took us back to Kagoshima Airport. My Russian lover's thoughts
synched with mine as we milled about the waiting area, waiting for ... well, I
wasn't sure what we were waiting for now.
She had a return flight, but it wasn't for a few days. The meeting with Tseng
wasn't simply revealing for Vika, but in that brief moment when she and I had
merged with the Chinaman's thought-stream, the artificial barriers we had
erected over the years fell away.
Viktoriya immediately knew of my secret relationships with Phillipa, Halah
and her daughter, and Rosalind and her band of Berkeley bizzos. She was
amused, if not a little miffed, that I had left her in the dark.
Likewise, I knew of Viktoriya's longing for Freya. The only thing I had to
compare to that was losing Aurora. Despite all that I could do for her, I
couldn't alleviate that part of her loneliness.
'Vika?' I thought-spoke.
'Yes, milenky?' Viktoriya was being chatty about Milhail and her students,
but oddly reticent about that one sore spot in her life.
'Come back to Tokyo with me.'
'Oh you.' She thought-spoke. 'Are you sure? Wouldn't it spoil your little
convention with Shawn?'
'It'll be just like old times.' I pinged back. 'Remember?'
Viktoriya permitted herself a happy smile as we both reflected on the good
times we had in the old room of mine.
'Well ... if you don't mind,' she started, 'and if Missus Dumbo doesn't
mind.'
'She won't.' My grin vanished as Reese stepped out from behind a pillar in
the lounge. I was sure that Tseng, as "Majestic", was giving orders to Ghost
Light. With only me in the know, I made it a point David would never find out.
Tseng had said that I had the affinity for mimicking the gifts of others.
Well, I hadn't spent much time with Ghost Light, but I had managed to read his
mind more than once over the years; what little physical contact we had only
accelerated what I could pick up.
Cognizant of my gift, perhaps I could "learn" how to displace myself. I'll
either succeed, or wind up a nasty mess at my intended destination. Perhaps
that was how I evaded Viktoriya's telekinesis back at the memorial -- I may
have inadvertently teleported a short distance.
If so, that was a neat development. My Baltic beauty instantly caught onto
what I was thinking and she quickly thought-spoke.
'Stanislav? Are you sure?'
I probably could, I thought, but Viktoriya was not having any of it.
'Please don't.' She shot me worried look. 'Don't show off, kisa. I have
enough to worry about already.'
'Now you know how I feel.'
Viktoriya relaxed once I made clear my intention not to try jacking Reese's
gift and trying to teleport myself. She clung onto my arm, much like when we
first started dating, as we got up and walked over.
David balked a bit when he saw the woman I was with was Viktoriya, but he
said nothing. I nodded his way and he nodded back. A few minutes later, we
were at the Tokyo hotel where Shawn and I were staying, and Reese had taken
off once more.
While Vika showered and cleaned up, I made some calls to our airline and made
some changes. When the time came, we would be on a flight to New York City,
with Shawn heading back to San Francisco.
Shawn was hardly jealous, but she was curious what brought things on, not to
mention being very surprised at Vika's sudden appearance. My muffin wondered
if the call I got at the convention was, in fact, Viktoriya asking me to pick
her up. I had no good excuse, but my dusky Russkie took the blame to protect
my cover.
"I'm sorry," Viktoriya said in a low hush, "but I was selfish; a friend and I
had an argument, and I needed to talk to Stanislav face to face."
After a little more explanation of who Freya was, my pumpkin gave Viktoriya a
big, hearty hug.
"You be strong, okay?" Shawn's baby blue eyes were on the verge of tears,
"Just remember, we'll all be here for you!"
"Why thank you," Viktoriya's ears reddened from embarrassment before she
quickly returned her affection.
She kissed the plump woman full on the lips. Shawn was barely able to muffle
a surprised yelp as my Cossack cutie put on one helluva lesbian show in the
middle of Tokyo International Airport.
That was about eight hours ago. In a little while, Vika and I will be in New
York's La Guardia, and whatever happens with Freya will happen. Viktoriya
must've caught a bit of my thoughts, because I felt her hands on mine.
'What's wrong, Stanislav?' She thought-spoke. 'You're keeping me awake.'
'Sorry. Just thinking, that's all.' I mentally responded and instantly caught
her mental sigh.
'You're worrying about me.' Her tone was accusing. 'Please don't.'
'How can I not? Knowing what we do now?'
'Well, if you worry too much, you will turn me into a babushka. And Freya
would definitely not want me then.'
'In that case, I'd better stop.' I rubbed her soft skin between my fingers.
'Thank you.' She thought back before murmuring, "Goodnight, my love."
Viktoriya gave my hand a squeeze and I relaxed, as much as I could allow
myself to do so, for the first time in a long time.
===============================================================================
THE PRINCE
===============================================================================
So, the Thing was gone, or as much as Tseng and Feodor believed it to be
gone. This would not happen again, unless others were to commit themselves to
the same path.
Still, I couldn't help but shake the sudden, utter responsibility my mentor
had given me before we parted ways. I couldn't avoid it, because he sent me a
mind-burst when I was at work, away from Viktoriya's mental prying.
As it turned out, Tseng's "position" at the agency existed in a shadowy gray
area; there was paperwork for something, but the budget, the logistics, and
authorization were murky at best.
His instructions to me were that he'd meet me at a usual spot. I thought he
meant the Java Island coffee shop, but I was wrong. Instead, he sent me
encrypted instructions at the Columbarium on the 9th anniversary of the 9/11
attacks.
It was a Saturday, and I had gone out early to visit Aurora's shrine before I
headed home to pick up Melanie for our grocery shopping. When I got there, I
found someone had left a small bouquet in her flower holder.
A small note buried in the bouquet told me to meet again at a Federal
building in San Francisco. It was the same one where he and I had met Cox all
those years ago.
Viktoriya had been made aware of the empire, Tseng explained to me. She would
no longer be allowed to stay on the sidelines, and she would be called to do
work where it was required.
'She's not trained.' I protested.
As fun as it sounded to have Viktoriya on a mission, I knew that she wouldn't
willingly engage in the type of operations I had grown accustomed to. And
seeing me do those terrible things would not endear me to my Cossack darling.
Thankfully, Tseng knew it too.
'Have you forgotten?' He relented. 'We only look. We do not touch.'
I wanted to say, 'Yeah right,' but I didn't. I knew we easily crossed the
lines when required, simply because our kind could. If the likes of Pyotr, the
Son of Sam killer, and the test subject were any indication, our kind were
more dangerous than normal, because our abilities were weapons built into our
bodies.
I think Tseng already knew that. For me, I now faced a hard choice: to step
forth and take control of the tattered remains of NSA-PSI, or let someone else
-- a "normal" -- threaten our kind once more by becoming a target for mental
infestation.
'It is not an easy decision.' Tseng thought-spoke. 'You will find yourself at
odds with those powers that be, but working separately them will brand you a
criminal, much as Ghost Light was before we contained him.'
"I'll say," I muttered under my breath.
Taking this new position meant I'd have to devote myself to it full time. I
could no longer be an architect or a draftsman.
'I will give you a week's time to decide.' Tseng dismissed me. 'No more. We
will need to act by then.'
The day after FDR died, it was said that President Harry Truman wrote: 'Last
night, the weight of the world fell on my shoulders.'
That was the precise feeling I had after I got back to the firm's office. I
locked the door, took no calls, and brooded.
That was a few days ago. Now, it was the start of October, and I was on the
roof of the condo's garden because I couldn't sleep. I was worrying over not
only about Tseng's offer, but other things as well. I couldn't even talk to
Viktoriya about it, since I didn't want her to worry.
In the chill of the morning, I marvelled at the dew gathering on the frost
covers Melanie had put over the plants. The air was still damp from the
grayish fog, and the sweet smell was delightful. Because of how Melanie
arranged the plants, there was a lot of open space in the middle of the roof,
making it a favorite for my wives to gather after a long day.
I considered the delightful morning a belated bonus for my birthday. I was
still ecstatic over my gift from my six darling treasures: it was a fan made
from fragrant wood, but it wasn't one of those cheap store-bought things. True
to each of my wives' natures, they had all contributed a portion in making it.
Melanie laid out the framework, while Jamie took an inking I had made of my
darlings in traditional garb and Photoshopped it. This let Shawn get my
drawing reproduced on high-grade fabric. With my drawing on one side of the
fan, the other side featured a poem Janet had written. It was done in
traditional calligraphy (something about love in a garden of four seasons and
six delights; far too complex for me to translate).
That done, Melanie took the two pieces and sewed them by hand onto the fan's
frame. Rachelle and Viktoriya picked out the box and its trimmings, and on the
night before my 35th birthday, I was one happy man.
Shawn and Melanie had even treated me to a pleasant tune by a crooner from
the 1970s named Sam Hui; those two re-scored his vocals on flute and zither,
much to my delight.
As my eyes flitted over each of my wives' portraits, I thought about the
little rascals sleeping in late on a Saturday and immediately felt a twinge of
guilt. I had not heard again from Halah or Noorah. I did not know what to
think.
Perhaps they had gone and born daughters, but were forbidden from contacting
me. I feared I'd never know. I was still brooding when I heard the rooftop
door had opened.
Out popped Jillian, who ducked back inside to holler, "Dad's already up
heeere!!"
That was quickly followed by Jamie's, "Ssssh! Not so loud! It's unladylike!!"
Freddy, Kady and Jenny cleared the steps, quickly followed by the twins, with
Shawn bringing up the rear. The older kids were busy helping with the exercise
mats, but I had a suspicion the boys were fixated on the pretty newcomer --
Freya.
The younger children decided to have an impromptu race, with me being the
finish line. My plump muffin and I nearly had a heart-attack when Kady slipped
on a turn and skidded against a planter box.
Luckily, the rubber padding on the roof softened the impact. Before anyone
could ask if she was okay, the little rascal got back up and sped towards me,
reaching me just as the others tagged me.
"DADDY!!!"
I nearly lost my balance as they swarmed around me, all clamoring for
attention. One stage of their competition completed, they proceeded to make
faces at one another until Jamie came up and gave Jenny a gentle swat on her
behind.
"What did I tell you about making those faces?" she growled.
"But Kady --!"
"Easy there, Jay." I gave her mind a quick nudge as I brushed off the dirt
from Kady's bottom and checked her for injury. "They're just having fun with
one another."
Jamie pursed her lips and was about to protest when I added, "Just as long as
you don't do that to strangers and friends. With your brothers and sisters,
it's different; they're family, understand?"
"Yes, da-da," Jenny mumbled and took off with her sisters back the direction
they came, with Freddy in hot pursuit.
"Viktoriya's so right, Stanley. You spoil them," she said as I stood back up.
If Jamie was displeased, she didn't sound like it. Instead she was wearing a
rather bemused look.
Uh oh, I thought. Something was up.
"So, who's this Freya girl?" Jamie asked in a low voice. "Is she someone you
know?"
Oh right, I thought. That.
"Not exactly ... she's just one of Vika's friends from New York."
"Oh, I see."
The two of us looked over at the now populated rooftop. The kids and their
mothers were coming up for their morning exercise: Janet herding the kids past
Rachelle, Viktoriya, and a pregnant Melanie.
Jillian and the boys helped Shawn put down dry exercise mats so people could
do sit-ups. Freya, who had flown in a a couple days ago, was staying in Vika's
place for a while.
The Dutch girl's sudden appearance raised a few eye-brows, but since I was
rarely around her, Janet (and the others) didn't have much to say. Only Jamie,
thinking her friendship with Viktoriya was being intruded upon, thought it was
rather out of the blue.
"Don't worry about it, Jay." I grinned, "She's mostly harmless."
"Hmph. I bet."
Jamie hardly got the Douglas Adams' joke, but I did my best to allay her
fears and nudge her back into positive territory. As I did, I caught a ping
from Viktoriya.
'Thank you, kisa. With all the excitement lately, I'd forgotten about Jay.'
'No problems. Kei-kei does cherish the time she spends with you,' I
thought-spoke, 'Maybe you three would like to go out?'
'That's an idea. Or all of us,' Viktoriya was mirthful, 'Janna's been
complaining about work again. I know exactly what she needs.'
'Oh boy.' I fought the urge to roll my eyes. 'Please sweetie, lighten up on
the partying. Melanie's pregnant.'
'Oh, I haven't forgotten.' She was full of mischief. 'Don't worry, Stanislav.
It'll work out.'
'I'm sure it will.'
Janet and Rachelle, both in sweat pants, began organizing our little boys and
girls into a line so they could get some exercise.
"I'd better join them, or I'll set a bad example," Jamie murmured, "You're
coming right?"
"I will be, after I put this stuff away," I patted the small of her back,
"You go on ahead."
I put the fan back in its box, then gathered it along with some sketches and
notes I had been jotting down. I turned and bumped against Melanie's bulging
belly.
"Ow, hey, watch where you point that," she grumbled and rubbed where the fan
had poked her.
"Sorry." I drew my hand back and looked at her with concern, "Are you all
right? I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"No, it's just like a kick," Melanie rubbed her belly. "What were you doing
up here so early?"
"Just couldn't sleep," I said. "You sure you'd want to be up here in your
condition?"
"Of course!" she huffed, "If I didn't rouse these sleepy heads up, they'd
still be in bed."
I had to grin at her remaining a busy-body. "That's my girl."
"Hmm, shek-dam wo xeen-a*!" Melanie stuck her cheek out expectantly. [*
Cantonese: Kiss me first!]
"I start doing that, and it'll be a competition," I scolded her gently, "You
know that."
"Don't I know it!" Little Chen refused to budge until I did as she asked. I
relented and gave her a quick peck.
Almost immediately, Viktoriya thought-spoke: 'One for me too, kisa! But
after. And make sure it's when Freya's not looking.'
She was next to the skinny Freya, both of them doing stretching routines to
the gawks of my older boys.
'Not you too.' I groaned inwardly.
My Slavic siren only beamed brightly at me, and winked as she helped Freya
pirouette on her toes.
"Oh hey. I think she felt that last poke," Melanie tugged my hand. "Feel her.
Here."
She guided my hand towards her belly and I felt a little kick.
"It's Suzy," she looked at me triumphantly, "She's awake and saying, 'Hello,
daddy. Why'd you knock earlier?'"
I was going to say something, but thought the better of it. With Little Chen,
my serene Second, looking so lovely and content, I could only smile in her
company. It was then, in the midst of my wives and children, I knew what I
needed to do.
===============================================================================
COPYRIGHT: 2009. THIS WORK IS CONSIDERED PRIVATE AND ITS DISTRIBUTION IS
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AUTHOR: MAXIMILLIAN ZHANG
EDITORS: FERMAT and VOYER
E-MAIL: GREY228 [ON] HOTMAIL
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