State of Time: Beginnings Series Book 6 Page 30

  “I hoop so.” Forrest tried to give a good smile clutching tight to the briefcase.

  “Good.” Joe laid a guiding hand on Forrest’s back. “Thought I’d give you a little tour before the meeting. This way. I’ll try to keep you away from some of the louder, scarier people in town. You’ll get enough of them at the meeting.”

  Sandwiched in a walk between Joe and Jason, Forrest moved slowly and with fright.

  The moment they turned the bend into the main hall, Joe stopped. He looked at Jason then cringed. “Forrest. Don’t be frightened.”

  Jenny Matoose, arms folded, moved in a hostile walk to Joe. “Joe,” she said with edge, “I need to speak . . .”

  “Jenny.” Joe interrupted. “I would like you to meet Forrest. Forrest this is Jenny Matoose. Jenny is our school mistress. She shapes these young lives. Jenny is a very well-known woman in the community and liked. Just don’t discuss her with my daughter.”

  “Ah.” Forrest widened a grin at Jenny. “Jennifer.”

  Taken, Jenny tilted her head to the side, flipping her red hair. She clasped Forrest’s hand. “Oh Dr. Caceres it is so, so great to meet you.”

  “Such beauty.” Forrest brought her hand to his lips. “Such a beautiful woo-man to tuck on de honor of shipping young lives.”

  Jenny lowered her head, trying to blush. “You flatter me.”

  “Your part in dis new world flutters me.” Forrest smiled again at her.

  Joe had enough mush. “Let’s move on. Jenny, bullshit with him tonight.” Joe grabbed hold of Forrest and began to walk out. He stopped when he heard the calling of his name by Jenny. “Yes Jenny, what is it. I complimented you, now let me leave with the man in peace.”

  “No, Joe.” Jenny hurried to him. “What about that problem?”

  “Not now Jenny,” Joe scolded.

  “No, Joe now. There’s a social event. Ellen . . . she wants to dance with me. Talk to her Joe, we can’t have lesbians running around Beginnings. Tell her to go straight. The men won’t like it.”

  Smacking Jason who snickered, Joe hunched. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll talk to her.”

  “Thank you,” Jenny said in relief.

  Hurriedly and hoping for no more interruptions, Joe led Forrest from the clinic. The last thing he wanted was for Forrest to be thrown into a Beginnings frenzy before he even stepped foot outside. “About what Jenny said . . .” Joe tried to chuckle it off as they passed through the clinic doors. “My daughter has a sick sense of humor.”

  “When wheel I gut to meet your daughter Josef? You specked of her often when I wuss in de clinic.”

  “Soon Forrest.” Joe walked with him.

  “I luck forward to it. I will bet she is a very chumming woo-man like Jennifer, no?”

  Ignoring Jason’s laughing, Joe sputtered some in his words, “Charming. Um, uh . . . no.”

  ^^^^

  Probably it was something Ellen really needed…a laugh. Unsuccessfully she tried to get into the skills room, but it was locked. She could have worried, but the assured calls from Diane that they were only trying to ‘right a wrong’, made Ellen feel like they were planning some sort of annulment party for her to cheer her up.

  Ear to the door, trying to hear, Ellen snickered at the shuffling and the muffled voices. She felt the tap to her should then looked to her right to see Oscar standing beside her. “Hey Os-Oscar.”

  “El-Ellen, I have a fav-favor to ask,” The little man stuttered. “Sin-since you and F-Frank broke up. Would you li-like to g-go on a d-date with me-me?”

  “Oh.” A fake smile replaced the real one. “Oh, Oscar I’d love to, really I would but I can’t. Maybe some other time. I have to go.” Hurrying into a get-a-way before he asked again, Ellen turned and saw Dean right behind her. “Hi.” She moved by him.

  Dean followed, one hand in the front pocket of his baggy jeans, the other on the back of his neck. “El.” He shook his head. “You broke his heart. Sorry I wasn’t around when you got to the lab.”

  “I understand. Come to my office with me?”

  “Yep.” Dean walked with her. “So, how are you? Did you sign the papers?”

  “Yep.”

  “And did Frank?” Dean asked.

  “Yep. It’s over.”

  Dean stopped walking, he smiled, he smiled big-time.

  Ellen realizing he wasn’t with her, looked back before she walked into her office. “I cannot believe you’re smiling about this.”

  “Sorry.” He fought to look serious. “I’m heartbroken.” He let the smile back out when she disappeared into her office. He walked in, she was plopped in a chair, her feet extended, her eyes closed. “You’re upset about this. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have . . .”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I have the worst tension headache right now. Plus my stomach is upset. It’s been a hell of a day.” She sat up some leaning forward.

  “Here. Sit up.” Dean walked behind her, and moved her hair off to the side. Gently he placed his hands to her neck and with a firmness, moved his thumbs in a circular motion at the base of her skull. “How’s this?”

  Ellen moaned slightly closing her eyes. “Don’t stop.”

  “I love when you say that to me.”

  “Dean,” She smiled.

  “So, besides me coming to see how you are, I came for another reason.” He took a breath. “I have the kids tonight. I’d like it very much if you’d have dinner with us. I know you were coming over, but I’d like to make an evening of it. A family thing. What do you say?”

  “I don’t know, Dean. Seems awfully convenient you asking me when I just signed them annulment papers with Frank.”

  “Purely coincidental El. Purely.” Dean leaned closer to her ear. “I’ll give it two more weeks before it isn’t.”

  “You’re giving me a grieving period?”

  “Who you?” Dean whispered. “It’s not like you and he were living in wedded bliss when you broke up.” He kissed her cheek. “Dinner with me tonight?”

  Before Ellen answered, Frank’s huge voice barreled in the room. “I don’t fuckin believe it. Two hours and seventeen minutes. Two hours and seventeen minutes we’re broke up and already you’re hitting on her.”

  Dean stood up some looking back at Frank. “My God! I waited that long?”

  “Ha, ha, ha.” Frank walked in the room. “You could at least give her some mourning time over the loss of our marriage.”

  Dean snickered in sarcasm. “What do you want Frank?”

  Ellen turned to look at him. “Yes Frank, why are you here?”

  “I came to get lover boy and bring him to my Dad’s office. It’s that Forrest meeting. And we all know how absent minded Dean is. So I am here as his reminder.”

  Dean continued rubbing Ellen’s neck. “Now Frank?”

  “Dean.” Frank brought his hands to his temple. “I’m not going to speak to you while you molesting her. Now, are you coming? I’ll ride you up.”

  “Yes.” Dean followed. “I’ll talk to you later El.”

  Ellen nodded and slowly moved her head side to side. She chuckled when she heard Frank’s post-annulment time announcement as he buzzed him and Dean out. Then Ellen stood. Headache or not, that surprise in the skills room was what she need.

  Walking from her office she saw Diane. “Oh, is it done?” Ellen asked.

  Diane nodded. “Just know Ellen,” her voice quivered. “We tried to revert it.”

  Ellen’s expression dropped in confusion. Her eyes shifted totally lost. “Revert it? Revert what?”

  Diane only pointed,

  Realizing that no gift or party was to be had to cheer her up, Ellen anxiousness to see in the skills room turned to fear. Having to face it she walked in. The moment she stepped into the skills room, Ellen let out a blood curdling scream. She spun and flew back. Breathing heavily she stopped in the hall with a scolding face to Diane and a point backwards. Her voice graveled so deep it was as if Ellen were possessed. “Who . . .” She huffed out a bre
ath. “Who made my dog into a man!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Former Quantico Marine Headquarters

  “Fourteen injuries.” Sgt. Hemsley slammed a folder down on a long table. His voice was hard as he spoke to Jess Boyens who sat in a chair. “Fourteen physical injuries that will prohibit her farming for one week.”

  Jess kept his stare forward, the blood that had poured down his face was still there, dry and cracking. “That wasn’t my doing. She was running from what she saw.”

  “You let her get away.”

  “I stepped aside.” Jess kept his voice firm.

  “She gave a struggle.”

  “You shouldn’t have chased her.”

  Sgt. Hemsley blasted, “And since when is it your decision?! It is not.”

  “It’s wrong!” Jess blasted back making brief eye contact. “It’s wrong! Can’t you people see that?”

  “You didn’t. How many times have you gathered women for farming and breeding?” Sgt. Hemsley opened the folder. “How about I refresh your memory. Thirty two captures. Our highest accredited soldier.”

  “And I was just as wrong,” Jess spoke strongly. “After today, after that massacre, I don’t want to do it anymore.”

  “It’s your job.”

  “I don’t want that job. Put me somewhere else.”

  “Can’t do that.” Sgt. Hemsley walked around the chair. “It is what you do. There are no changing jobs within the society.”

  Slowly Jess looked at Sgt. Hemsley. “Then I want out of the society.”

  Sgt. Hemsley lifted the folder from the table. “Can’t do that either.” Saying no more, Sgt. Hemsley walked from the room, instructing the two guards to stay in the room with Jess.

  Seated behind his desk, Sgt. Doyle looked up to the knock on his office door. “Come in.”

  “Have a minute?” Sgt. Hemsley walked in.

  “Sherman. Yes.” Sgt. Doyle sat back.

  “My name isn’t Sherman.”

  “I know. It’s a joke.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Sherman Hemsley? Get it?” Sgt. Doyle gave up. “What do you need?”

  “To sign these.” Sgt. Hemsley dropped the folder before Sgt. Doyle. “I need your approval to move an insubordination to immediate cyborg enhancement.”

  “Lange gets these.” Sgt. Doyle pushed the folder forward.

  “Not in this case. Special subject.” Sgt. Hemsley pushed the folder back. “He’s a . . . what do you call them in those handbooks you wrote, Class ‘A’ recruit. So you see I can’t let it get passed you until you acknowledge that you are surrendering his old world skills to the cyborg enhancement..”

  Immediately Sgt. Doyle snatched the folder up. “Jess Boyens?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sgt. Doyle opened the folder, sat back and smiled. Lifting the folder to his eye level he nodded. “Jess Boyens.”

  ^^^^

  “Jess Boyens.” Sgt. Doyle dropped the folder before George. “I believe it was a sign that we talked about the infiltrator this morning, especially since he was brought to our attention. Take a look.”

  George swiped up the folder. “Go on.”

  “Thirty-seven year old male more fit than a twenty-one year old. Look at his specifications. We found him in a small farming town in Canada. He was living there with, get this, his two brothers. And . . . his father had recently passed away. That was the first I heard of that many of one family surviving the plague.”

  “Yeah, well, the Slagel clan proved that even death, plague, and the end of the world can’t destroy even the most arrogant and testosterone filled families. Continue.”

  “Eleven years in the Canadian Army. Highly skilled, trained, infiltration specialist. With flight time qualification. Captain Jess Boyens was part of the special forces.”

  George reviewed the file. “Why is this man in the farming division if he is so highly qualified to be elsewhere? You said yourself you need men to help you train.”

  “Yes, I do. I’m working on that. Jess Boyens was an early willing joiner. He was put where most needed. Training divisions weren’t fully established at that time.”

  “So how did you rediscover this Mr. Boyens?” George asked.

  “He wants out of farming. He nearly let a woman escape.”

  “Well.” George rubbed his chin in thought. “Reprimand him then move him to training.” He handed the folder back.

  “No, sir you’re missing my point.” Sgt. Doyle said. “I don’t want to move him into training. I want to prep him then move him to . . . Beginnings. This is our man.”

  ^^^^

  Bowman, North Dakota

  If Elliott had to sing and play, “Hail Holy Queen’ one more time he swore, to aggravate Fr. O’Brien, he was going to break out into the Sister Act rendition of it. Lifting his hand from the last chord, Elliott sat up some, ignoring the pain in his backside from the hard bench and peered up to Fr. O’Brien. He felt so much like that same ten year old altar boy who used to wait for the approval of Fr. David at St. Joan of Arc.

  “Well?” Elliott asked.

  A look of drastic debate was on Fr. O’Brien’s face, then finally he shook his head. “No. You can do better Elliott. Keep practicing.” He gave a firm swat on Elliott’s back, genuflected before the altar, then moved down the aisle. “Oh and Elliott. Try something else. We wouldn’t want to annoy our Blessed Mother anymore by vocally souring a good song about her.”

  Elliott’s mouth opened. Fr. O’Brien had to be joking. Vocally souring? Shaking his head and thinking for sure it was a sick ploy of the Captain’s to get him to break, Elliott stood up and reached into the box of sheet music. There had to be something in there really annoying. He debated on the sheet music to The Wizard of Oz, but passed it up. Then he saw it and Elliott smiled. There was nothing more annoying,--at least in his mind--than that. Smiling at the thick Best of Barbara Streisand Collection, Elliott lifted the book from the box. As he did a single folded piece of sheet music fell to the floor. With a grunt Elliott bent over and picked it up. When he saw what it was, when he grasped it in his hands, Elliott sat back down at the piano. He didn’t know what it was that inspired him to play it. But he started with a single chord, simple, unlike what he had played before.

  The flap of the flag brought about a huge grin to the Captain. “Don’t let it touch the ground. This is our first colors.” He looked to a group of four men. “Good job on this.”

  Young, naïve, and sometimes sarcastic, Craig pointed to the flag. “Why does it only have one star? It’s supposed to be an American flag.”

  “That’s correct,” the Captain said. “This star represents North Dakota. When we’re strong, when we start securing states, then we will keep adding a star. As for now . . . Let’s raise it.”

  Hand prepared to connect the flag to the rope that dangled from the flagpole, the Captain along with everyone else, stopped.

  They had listened for hours to Elliott sing. So much so that he faded like elevator music to the rear of their attention. But with the strike of that one chord, with that one line, upon the song, all activity froze.

  Oh, Beautiful, for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain.

  The Captain’s eyes shifted down to the flag then to his men. A simple nod without words was his order to raise it high. Elliott’s singing was the sign that it was meant to be.

  So simply Elliott sang, differently than all the other songs he had played during the day. The Captain focused, and walked through the gathering men toward the church.

  They halted what they did and silenced entailed. The town became captured by the tones not only of the piano but of Elliott’s singing. Graveling with guts, his intensity increased with each verse he ensued.

  Oh, beautiful for heroes prove, in liberating strife. Who more than self their country loved. And mercy more than life.

  Heart pounding with each step he took, the Captain opened the door to the church and slipped unnoticed into the back. He
was mesmerized, and taken. If asked, the Captain wouldn’t have been able to speak. Elliott didn’t sit behind the piano. He stood. If his singing didn’t tell the Captain enough, Elliott’s face did. Eyes closed, seeming lost in the song, Elliott belted out so emotionally that the song seared through the soul deeper and mightier than any weapon could.

  Oh Beautiful for patriot dream, that sees beyond the years. Thine alabaster cities gleam, undimmed by human tears.

  Up the aisle the Captain moved, eyes focused and heart locked into Elliott’s performance. It was a song not heard in years, nor sung, or thought of. And appropriately it should have been. It struck the Captain that the one man who seemed to lack the patriotism that everyone else had, right then and there reminded everyone what patriotism was.

  Elliott finished. His head jolted up to the steady clapping, but it didn’t make him spin in surprise as much as the applause and cheers that seeped through the church from outside. Elliott hunched in embarrassment and covered his face. “I guess they were glad I stopped playing Hail Holy Queen.” He widened his eyes and turned to the piano to gather the music. “I didn’t realize I was that loud.”

  He swallowed first then the Captain took another step, He spoke nearly in a daze. “In a world without sound, you can’t sing and not be heard. But I have a feeling, Elliott, you could have whispered that and everyone would have tuned in.” Breathless he walked to Elliott. “My God. I knew you could sing. But . . .”

  “Captain stop.” Elliott chuckled, his back still to the Captain.

  “No. Any singer can sing from their diaphragm but it takes someone with heart to sing from the soul. Why . . . why did you sing it like that?”

  His hand released the music and Elliot peered out before turning around. “Honestly?”

  “Honestly.”

  “It didn’t start out that way. I started . . . I started playing it because it just seemed right. But Captain . . . the more I sang, the more I heard the words. And I knew why that song was written. For the first time since it was composed, the first time, this country is in the same parallel. And as I sang I realized . . . what am I doing?” Elliott shook his head. “I believe I called it an impossible dream. I . . .believe I . . .”