AC: Michael held his newborn son protectively in his arms. The infant was now the newest baron in the family line. “He was born on the day I was raised to a dukedom. If that isn't an auspicious sign...”
Morgan stood stiffly beside him, his voice barely audible. “Perhaps. I think our time alone will become even more precious, by my choice.”
“We're alone, Morgan. You can relax.”
“Have you decided on a name?”
“Edward Peter David Wallace, 11th Baron of East New Jersey, heir apparent to the Dukedom of New Jersey, the Earldom of Morris, and the Baronetcy of New Morris.”
“Finley is rattling sabres again. He wants to re-annex New Jersey after you claimed it for the UK.”
“Finley must enjoy being hoist by his own petard. They can always just pay back what they owe.”
“If they could do that, you would not have claimed New Jersey before freezing the debt again.”
“The timing for the president-elect could not be worse. He's coming into an office with a cold war forming. And war with England is not what he'd want.”
“Finley could argue war with the Commonwealth of New Jersey is what he wants.”
“I would not want to see any army's chances against you. By the way, I'm naming you Marquess of North Jersey and the title is honorary because you'll actually be Security Counselor or Chancellor or whatever silly name Her Majesty's Service would deem appropriate.”
“Are you going to ennoble me the Earl of Hudson, too? Her Majesty's Privy Council grants you the power to issue letters patent in the Commonwealths of the Americas, which sounds odd in its own right, but that doesn't mean you're going to issue titles inappropriately?”
“No, but it means that I can soothe feathers by handing out non-peerages and a few real peerages, too. Big, fancy titles impress people and they'll carry them around like new umbrellas on a sunny day. Corzine will probably get the Marquessate of South Jersey.”
“Well, that might save me from... Would not Torricelli be better for that or is it a life peerage?”
“I haven't decided yet. Note that earls will serve as Lords Lieutenant for me.”
“You have spent a lot of this week thinking. We told you to rest.”
“What else am I going to do while I'm laying on my back bedridden?”
Little Edward awoke and started crying. Michael felt a tingle in his nipples. He let Edward latch on. Michael looked up at Morgan who still stood in a rigid position. “Are you truly afraid of me now?”
“No,” Morgan breathed. “I never expected to be a father. And I did not think this was how I would be. And I never thought I would do it again.”
March 13, 2009
March 11, 2009
Moment of Clarity
Morgan sat in his office reading a braille book. His fingers ran over the bumps at a leisurely pace. Margaret walked past and then looked back through the door. Morgan's head was tilted and would be looking up at the wall to his right if he were sighted. She stepped in and watched him. When Morgan got to the end of a paragraph he said abruptly, “Yes?”
Margaret startled. She hadn't imagined he'd heard her walk in. “I know someone's there. I can smell perfume.”
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you.”
“Margaret, while lilies and freesia. I'll have to remember that. Did you wish to talk?”
“Well, I hadn't expected to see you in here. But there is something I could ask you.”
Morgan slid a marker onto the page his hand was on and closed the book. “Go on.”
“Does Michael play around a lot?”
A look of confusion crossed Morgan's face. “You will have to speak more plainly.”
“Does he enjoy sleeping around with women?” she asked slowly.
“He does enjoy it. I am not sure how often he actually engages in sex when he is not home, but I know it happens.”
“Do you think he would give up casual sex for the right woman?”
Morgan hesitated. “No, I do not think he would, even for the right woman.”
He could hear her apprehension and a nascent infatuation. Since she wasn't aware of his ability to read thoughts, she wasn't muting them. He continued, “You may be the right woman, as you put it, but sex is recreational to him, divested entirely of emotional commitment. He is capable of love but it would not be expressed through sex.”
“It would be too much to hope to keep him to myself?”
“Yes, it would. Females have been offering him sex since we were twelve or thirteen. He lost his virginity at fourteen. He had fellatio before that. Sex is just a fun pasttime to him. And women are attracted to him at a frequency that scares him when he stops to think about it.”
Margaret startled. She hadn't imagined he'd heard her walk in. “I know someone's there. I can smell perfume.”
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you.”
“Margaret, while lilies and freesia. I'll have to remember that. Did you wish to talk?”
“Well, I hadn't expected to see you in here. But there is something I could ask you.”
Morgan slid a marker onto the page his hand was on and closed the book. “Go on.”
“Does Michael play around a lot?”
A look of confusion crossed Morgan's face. “You will have to speak more plainly.”
“Does he enjoy sleeping around with women?” she asked slowly.
“He does enjoy it. I am not sure how often he actually engages in sex when he is not home, but I know it happens.”
“Do you think he would give up casual sex for the right woman?”
Morgan hesitated. “No, I do not think he would, even for the right woman.”
He could hear her apprehension and a nascent infatuation. Since she wasn't aware of his ability to read thoughts, she wasn't muting them. He continued, “You may be the right woman, as you put it, but sex is recreational to him, divested entirely of emotional commitment. He is capable of love but it would not be expressed through sex.”
“It would be too much to hope to keep him to myself?”
“Yes, it would. Females have been offering him sex since we were twelve or thirteen. He lost his virginity at fourteen. He had fellatio before that. Sex is just a fun pasttime to him. And women are attracted to him at a frequency that scares him when he stops to think about it.”
March 10, 2009
Father Knows Best
Francis Michael Safeton was the son of Michael Wallace's mistress. Michael officially adopted him but did not impart upon him the family name. He grew up in the barony's village and while the powerful man who claimed guardianship over him did encourage him to follow his dreams, he was mostly satisfied with being an average kid with money. His mother had ambitions for him, but he realized that he didn't need them to any degree. All the other kids around were impressed by his 'station.' Surely, that would always be enough.
When he was born, Nicole was already being groomed to run Wallace Ltd. He would be given the chance to show eagerness or aptitude to work at the company, but he lacked the drive and divine grace at numbers that defined the Wallace family. Michael was content to let him find his own way or simply be a working cog in the company when the time came.
Michael sent him, like previous children of the family, to the local public school. When the choice came to either continue in school or switch to tutoring, Karen decided her son should go to boarding school. Frank actually liked the special club atmosphere of private school and went to Yale Prep. He didn't do well enough to earn admittance to Yale itself on his own merits, but was capable enough to manage a 2.8 GPA. Frank was convinced he should be allowed to attend the university. Michael had the money and prestige to force the matter but patently refused. “If your own merits don't earn your way, then find somewhere that deems you meritorious.”
“But, Krystie got in!”
“Yes, and she did so by impressing them. Nicole didn't have grandfathering when she decided on Princeton.”
“You could have bought her way in.”
“But I didn't. And I wouldn't. Through knowledge comes wisdom. From wisdom come power.”
“You stole that from that shield behind you.”
“I did not steal it. That's the seal of the Barons Wallace. It belongs to me by birthright.”
“Does that mean Chuck gets it?”
Michael patiently said, “Yes, Charles will inherit it. But it doesn't mean it can't be applied to everyone.”
“We have power, so why not just use it.”
“No, I have power. And just using it? That's abusing power. No one should have power he hasn't earned. It means he won't handle it with any sense of responsibility.”
Michael got up and walked over to a cabinet. He unlocked it and took out a handgun and a clip. “Wielding power is like holding a gun or driving a car. It seems like a neat or fun idea when you're a kid and some play with a child's verson of it, but it's not the same as having the real thing.”
He slid the clip into the gun and made sure the safety was in place. “Now if I hand you this, what would you want to do?”
“Shoot it, of course!”
“Why?”
“It's a gun.”
“If you shoot it in here, you could break something. Or someone. You could conceivably kill someone with it. Why would you play with something so dangerous?”
Michael chambered a bullet, then ejected the clip. He put the clip in his pocket and placed the gun on the table in front of Frank. “Go ahead. Pick it up.”
As Frank eagerly reached for it, Michael asked, “How much do you actually know about guns?”
Frank shrugged. “What everyone knows, I guess.”
“That doesn't exactly fill me with confidence.”
“Well, it's a gun. How much is there to know?”
He picked it up by the trigger, like a toy gun. Michael quietly incanted his skin to a stony toughness and watched carefully to jump in its path if it did fire. “I spent several weeks with a certified instructor teaching me to handle that correctly.”
The teenager flipped it about incautiously. “It can't be that hard to figure out.”
“Remind me never to loan you my Ferrari. Just because it can do 200 mph, doesn't mean you should. Cars kill more efficiently than guns.”
Frank put the gun down. Michael picked it up and released the bullet and let it fall out. Frank's eyes widened as it bounced off the tabletop. “Power is the same way. Get careless with it and you can hurt a lot of people you had no intention of hurting. No child of mine is getting any privilege without earning it first.”
When he was born, Nicole was already being groomed to run Wallace Ltd. He would be given the chance to show eagerness or aptitude to work at the company, but he lacked the drive and divine grace at numbers that defined the Wallace family. Michael was content to let him find his own way or simply be a working cog in the company when the time came.
Michael sent him, like previous children of the family, to the local public school. When the choice came to either continue in school or switch to tutoring, Karen decided her son should go to boarding school. Frank actually liked the special club atmosphere of private school and went to Yale Prep. He didn't do well enough to earn admittance to Yale itself on his own merits, but was capable enough to manage a 2.8 GPA. Frank was convinced he should be allowed to attend the university. Michael had the money and prestige to force the matter but patently refused. “If your own merits don't earn your way, then find somewhere that deems you meritorious.”
“But, Krystie got in!”
“Yes, and she did so by impressing them. Nicole didn't have grandfathering when she decided on Princeton.”
“You could have bought her way in.”
“But I didn't. And I wouldn't. Through knowledge comes wisdom. From wisdom come power.”
“You stole that from that shield behind you.”
“I did not steal it. That's the seal of the Barons Wallace. It belongs to me by birthright.”
“Does that mean Chuck gets it?”
Michael patiently said, “Yes, Charles will inherit it. But it doesn't mean it can't be applied to everyone.”
“We have power, so why not just use it.”
“No, I have power. And just using it? That's abusing power. No one should have power he hasn't earned. It means he won't handle it with any sense of responsibility.”
Michael got up and walked over to a cabinet. He unlocked it and took out a handgun and a clip. “Wielding power is like holding a gun or driving a car. It seems like a neat or fun idea when you're a kid and some play with a child's verson of it, but it's not the same as having the real thing.”
He slid the clip into the gun and made sure the safety was in place. “Now if I hand you this, what would you want to do?”
“Shoot it, of course!”
“Why?”
“It's a gun.”
“If you shoot it in here, you could break something. Or someone. You could conceivably kill someone with it. Why would you play with something so dangerous?”
Michael chambered a bullet, then ejected the clip. He put the clip in his pocket and placed the gun on the table in front of Frank. “Go ahead. Pick it up.”
As Frank eagerly reached for it, Michael asked, “How much do you actually know about guns?”
Frank shrugged. “What everyone knows, I guess.”
“That doesn't exactly fill me with confidence.”
“Well, it's a gun. How much is there to know?”
He picked it up by the trigger, like a toy gun. Michael quietly incanted his skin to a stony toughness and watched carefully to jump in its path if it did fire. “I spent several weeks with a certified instructor teaching me to handle that correctly.”
The teenager flipped it about incautiously. “It can't be that hard to figure out.”
“Remind me never to loan you my Ferrari. Just because it can do 200 mph, doesn't mean you should. Cars kill more efficiently than guns.”
Frank put the gun down. Michael picked it up and released the bullet and let it fall out. Frank's eyes widened as it bounced off the tabletop. “Power is the same way. Get careless with it and you can hurt a lot of people you had no intention of hurting. No child of mine is getting any privilege without earning it first.”
March 08, 2009
Healing the Healer
Georg's wife Anna called Morgan to attend him. Morgan shadowjumped to their subterranean home. Georg had never represented himself as human and, in truth, was not. He was a short, olive-skinned, dark haired man who could have passed for Middle Eastern, but he was a gemen. And not just any gemen, but an apexa and one of their 'blessed ones.' Those born at a specific point in a solar year or, perhaps, conceived at a specific point but that wasn't proven, are born neither male or female but a transient fusion of both. The child is always named Georg (a transliteration of gærg in the native gemeni tongue) to denote its special status.
Two to four times a year, a gærg is capable of conceiving as a female. Outside of these two week windows, they are functionally male. No one is sure why this happens, but it is quite unusual among humanoids. In fact, Georg was formally Georg Andiers Eduoard Gheunzielmein. And he was one of four siblings, three of which were born on that date. One other was a gærg, Georg Adalbrecht Heinrich and the other solely female, Katarina Esana. “Adalbert” had already produced two children by his own womb and was considered actualized by gemeni standards. Georg Andiers had tried multiple times to carry. After five miscarriages and stillbirths, Morgan flatly told him he was inhospitable for childbearing. Not that Georg shouldn't have realized that himself. He was an expert in biology. Adalbert was a specialist in physiology. Morgan was an expert in medical practices.
When his attempts continued to fail, Georg simply stopped informing his brother and his friend about his pregnancies. They kept pressuring him to stop trying. He kept losing them. So, Morgan found himself at Georg's bedside. Georg's fever was bad. So were the eclampsia-style fits he was having. Georg might have been at six months but he was puffy and distended. Morgan slowly wrung his hands, weighing the benefits of yet another lecture against the probability that he would be ignored. His hands glistened with an antibacterial gel that he was slowly coating on them. He heard someone else come into the room. By the acrid scent of after shave, he identified him as Adalbert. “So, how is Andiers this time?”
Morgan let out a slow sigh. “Stubborn to near incoherence. He refuses to let me abort. His blood pressure is far too high. His temperature is five degrees above normal. He seizes practically every twenty minutes. He will not tell me what he used to prolong his gravid state and the fetal heartbeat is dropping below seventy when he seizes.”
Adalbert spoke to his brother in gemeni. Morgan didn't know the language well enough to comprehend exactly what was said, but by intonation, he could tell it was a matter of “let us operate or you will die.”
The truth finally came out. A special fungus that is used to stabilize certain fluid levels was utilized, but Georg overused it and it rebounded badly. Morgan drained around his heart and kidneys and hoped that a neutralizer would help. Adalbert mixed the solution, but didn't hold out nearly as much hope. Gradually, his blood pressure and fluid retention eased. Katarina and Friedrich, the fourth sibling, arrived later and were quickly told that Andiers just might live through this.
Morgan returned two days later to find Georg up and about. “You should not be up,” Morgan stated coldly. “You have not recovered yet.”
“I'll be fine.”
“Self-delusion aside, where's Adalbert?”
“I'm not entirely sure. I'm not self-deluded.”
“It looks that way to me. I do not think you have the healthiest outlook about this.”
“I don't think you have the high ground to talk to me about healthy outlooks.”
“No, but I have the experience. Fetal heartrate?”
Georg's normally calm, soft-spoken demeanor was anguished and sour. He gave no reply, but Morgan could clearly hear his thoughts. They amounted to “Bite me.” Morgan frowned, but left the room.
When Adalbert returned, he started discussing certain floral solutions that might help with Andier's 'break with reality.' Morgan suggested psychotherapy. Adalbert thought this the solutions might help get him to the point where he would accept that suggestion. As the five of them discussed the situation, Morgan's ears picked up on a scurrying in the apothecary cabinets. “Does anyone here keep a familiar?” he asked.
A group of no's answered his question. He calmly stood and walked to through the tunnels to Georg's medicinal area. Andiers was busy searching for something in a near panicked state. Morgan's nose perked up. “He's not pregnant anymore,” Morgan said quietly. He grabbed Georg's shoulder and physically restrained him. He went with the gaggle back to a surgical bed and held Georg down by placing a hand on his chest.
Adalbert quickly washed his hands while Anna worked off Georg's pants. Katarina commented that he was almost completely down, which meant that he would start pushing soon. A gemen confinement lasts twelve months and Georg's infant was born almost six months early. It only took ten minutes, even with him fighting each contraction for the eight inch body to be born. The child cried weakly. Adalbert carefully placed it down on Georg's chest, placed a blanket over it, and then taped it in place to create a false womb. Morgan finally moved his hand. “Best we can do with the situation,” Adalbert commented, tapping Morgan with the side of a syringe.
Morgan took the syringe and carefully injected the cord near the navel and then through Georg's abdomen. “I might go as high as a twenty percent chance,” Morgan responded. “I am reading brain activity from the neonate. And it is responding to sensations.”
Georg could only cry. He'd denied in silence the first steps of partuition; then yelled in utter defiance the last minutes. Now, he was told there was a slight chance, despite his recklessness, that it would be all right. As long as the placenta was encouraged to stay attached, there was a fighting chance. It wasn't something that could be done for any other humanoid race, but crazily, gemen don't necessarily break the link with their neonates until the mother's body is convinced its ready. The body's definition of ready wasn't predictible, but it gave some preemies a chance at surviving.
Two to four times a year, a gærg is capable of conceiving as a female. Outside of these two week windows, they are functionally male. No one is sure why this happens, but it is quite unusual among humanoids. In fact, Georg was formally Georg Andiers Eduoard Gheunzielmein. And he was one of four siblings, three of which were born on that date. One other was a gærg, Georg Adalbrecht Heinrich and the other solely female, Katarina Esana. “Adalbert” had already produced two children by his own womb and was considered actualized by gemeni standards. Georg Andiers had tried multiple times to carry. After five miscarriages and stillbirths, Morgan flatly told him he was inhospitable for childbearing. Not that Georg shouldn't have realized that himself. He was an expert in biology. Adalbert was a specialist in physiology. Morgan was an expert in medical practices.
When his attempts continued to fail, Georg simply stopped informing his brother and his friend about his pregnancies. They kept pressuring him to stop trying. He kept losing them. So, Morgan found himself at Georg's bedside. Georg's fever was bad. So were the eclampsia-style fits he was having. Georg might have been at six months but he was puffy and distended. Morgan slowly wrung his hands, weighing the benefits of yet another lecture against the probability that he would be ignored. His hands glistened with an antibacterial gel that he was slowly coating on them. He heard someone else come into the room. By the acrid scent of after shave, he identified him as Adalbert. “So, how is Andiers this time?”
Morgan let out a slow sigh. “Stubborn to near incoherence. He refuses to let me abort. His blood pressure is far too high. His temperature is five degrees above normal. He seizes practically every twenty minutes. He will not tell me what he used to prolong his gravid state and the fetal heartbeat is dropping below seventy when he seizes.”
Adalbert spoke to his brother in gemeni. Morgan didn't know the language well enough to comprehend exactly what was said, but by intonation, he could tell it was a matter of “let us operate or you will die.”
The truth finally came out. A special fungus that is used to stabilize certain fluid levels was utilized, but Georg overused it and it rebounded badly. Morgan drained around his heart and kidneys and hoped that a neutralizer would help. Adalbert mixed the solution, but didn't hold out nearly as much hope. Gradually, his blood pressure and fluid retention eased. Katarina and Friedrich, the fourth sibling, arrived later and were quickly told that Andiers just might live through this.
Morgan returned two days later to find Georg up and about. “You should not be up,” Morgan stated coldly. “You have not recovered yet.”
“I'll be fine.”
“Self-delusion aside, where's Adalbert?”
“I'm not entirely sure. I'm not self-deluded.”
“It looks that way to me. I do not think you have the healthiest outlook about this.”
“I don't think you have the high ground to talk to me about healthy outlooks.”
“No, but I have the experience. Fetal heartrate?”
Georg's normally calm, soft-spoken demeanor was anguished and sour. He gave no reply, but Morgan could clearly hear his thoughts. They amounted to “Bite me.” Morgan frowned, but left the room.
When Adalbert returned, he started discussing certain floral solutions that might help with Andier's 'break with reality.' Morgan suggested psychotherapy. Adalbert thought this the solutions might help get him to the point where he would accept that suggestion. As the five of them discussed the situation, Morgan's ears picked up on a scurrying in the apothecary cabinets. “Does anyone here keep a familiar?” he asked.
A group of no's answered his question. He calmly stood and walked to through the tunnels to Georg's medicinal area. Andiers was busy searching for something in a near panicked state. Morgan's nose perked up. “He's not pregnant anymore,” Morgan said quietly. He grabbed Georg's shoulder and physically restrained him. He went with the gaggle back to a surgical bed and held Georg down by placing a hand on his chest.
Adalbert quickly washed his hands while Anna worked off Georg's pants. Katarina commented that he was almost completely down, which meant that he would start pushing soon. A gemen confinement lasts twelve months and Georg's infant was born almost six months early. It only took ten minutes, even with him fighting each contraction for the eight inch body to be born. The child cried weakly. Adalbert carefully placed it down on Georg's chest, placed a blanket over it, and then taped it in place to create a false womb. Morgan finally moved his hand. “Best we can do with the situation,” Adalbert commented, tapping Morgan with the side of a syringe.
Morgan took the syringe and carefully injected the cord near the navel and then through Georg's abdomen. “I might go as high as a twenty percent chance,” Morgan responded. “I am reading brain activity from the neonate. And it is responding to sensations.”
Georg could only cry. He'd denied in silence the first steps of partuition; then yelled in utter defiance the last minutes. Now, he was told there was a slight chance, despite his recklessness, that it would be all right. As long as the placenta was encouraged to stay attached, there was a fighting chance. It wasn't something that could be done for any other humanoid race, but crazily, gemen don't necessarily break the link with their neonates until the mother's body is convinced its ready. The body's definition of ready wasn't predictible, but it gave some preemies a chance at surviving.
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