Interlude: Molly Pemberley

The September breeze ruffled the grass at the cemetery.

She’d been here before. More than once, unfortunately; war was a fickle thing, its toll seen in places such as these. 

At least it was peaceful. 

Nicholas stood beside her, staring at the headstone. “Is that… him?”

She nodded. “That’s him. Or rather, where he rests. It’s … not who he was.”

“How so?”

“This is a quiet place. Peaceful.” She smiled. “I wouldn’t call Avi Goldman ‘peaceful’. He was a warrior’s warrior, a man who set out to be the sword and shield for those under his watch. If he was around today, he’d still be fighting with everything he had.”

“You admired him.”

“I respected him. And more.” A sly grin crept up her face. “Pretty sure it was mutual, too, or you wouldn’t be around.”

“Oh, gross,” Nicholas made a face. “How did you guys meet, anyway?”

“NATO training exercises, back before the Stratospheric Guard. He was part of the OpFor - the folks who pretend to be terrorists slash infiltrators to get into the base - and I was running aerial overwatch.”

“Did he catch you off guard?”

“Not in the exercise. Actually, I won that one - we lit up Snake and his squad, catching them in a simulated crossfire.”

“‘Snake’?”

“That was his nickname.”

“... Isn’t yours Mongoose?”

“Yeah. The squad found that funny, too.” 

Nick sighed. “I wish I could have met him. At least once.”

“I wish you could have, too.”

“So… is there something I have to do? Lay flowers, maybe?”

She shrugged. “You can do whatever you want. He was your father.”

Nick swallowed, then knelt at the gravesite. For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, unsure. 

“Hi, Dad.” 

The boy swallowed nervously, glancing back at his mother. Molly nodded in encouragement.

“Um, you never met me, but I’m your son. Nicholas. Though a lot of people call me Nick. I, er, I go to Sandhurst Prep. Year Twelve. I like guitar.” The words came tumbling out, as if a dam had given way. “Mum thinks I should go to music school, but it all seems so weird now, with the aliens and everything. I wanted to take up karate and someone told me you were good at it. Er - I’d like to meet my siblings someday, although I know why that can’t happen yet.” Nick placed his hand upon the grave. “I wish we’d gotten to meet. I’d have liked that.” 

Molly placed her hand on her son’s shoulders as he stood up. “He’d have liked to meet you too, kiddo,” she whispered. “Come on, let’s get back to the hotel.”

The ride back from Arlington to the Days Inn was short. Molly drove, mentally forcing her mind to reverse the directions and drive on the right side of the road, instead of the left (as any sane country’s traffic rules would mandate). 

Her focus on the mad American traffic was broken by a question from her son.

“Do I have to get circumcised?”

“What?” Molly nearly lost focus on the road in shock. “Why would you do that?”

“Avi Goldman was Jewish, right? So that means I’m also Jewish. Or half Jewish. Jewish boys get circumcised.”

“You’re not Jewish,” sighed Molly. “You can be if you want, but I’m pretty sure Reverend Smith would be a bit cross. Seeing as he baptized you and everything.”

“Okay.”

“How do you know about circumcision, anyway?”

“Benjy told me about it a few years ago. He said all Jewish boys get it done when they’re babies.”

Molly made a mental note to find out who ‘Benjy’ was and talk to his parents. On second thoughts, maybe some medical literature would help. “How about you think about what God means for you, instead of forcing yourself to pick out a specific religion? You can always make up your mind later.”

“Wouldn’t he have wanted me to be Jewish?”

Ah, there it was. The reason.

“Avi would never have pushed you into something you didn’t want,” she explained. “He wasn’t that religious himself, actually.”

“Did he believe in heaven?”

“I think so. I’m pretty sure he’s up there right now, smiling down on you.”

“Okay.”

“Nicholas,” she said. “I’m serious. You don’t need to do anything different to please him. Just - be yourself and be happy. That’s all he’d want for you.”

“Would he want me to join the Army or the Air Force, like you?”

“He’d want you to be happy, Nick. And you don’t have to be a soldier or a pilot if you don’t want to.”

“You do it, Mum,” Nick sighed. “He did it. Everyone wants to serve.”

“We don’t fight because we like to, Nick. We fight so that you don’t have to.” Molly squeezed her son’s hand. “You have the choice to live a life that doesn’t involve large explosions, giant monsters and angry aliens. I want you to have that choice, to be free and happy. Make music. Make a career. Heck, go around the world backpacking if you want. Just - be happy. That’s all he’d want for you.”

Back in their room at the inn, Molly checked her RAF smartphone for messages. The usual logistics mixups, e-mail wars between different department heads, and repeated reminders from Personnel about her missed sensitivity training seminar(s) were quickly ignored, but one message stood out. Two words from Edward Heath: “Please call.”

“Nick, I’m going to need to make an official call. No interruptions, please?”

“Okay. I’m going to shower.”

“Take your time.” She booted up her RAF tablet, plugged in the headphone - Bluetooth links were just too insecure - and dialled Heath’s ID.

The screen image lit up with Edward Heath in - a shadowy warehouse? “Ed, you want to turn on the lights?”

“I’m not sure I can do that, ma’am,” Heath replied. “I’ve gone to ground in a farm near Manchester. They don’t have electricity in the barn.”

“... gone to ground? What are you talking about?”

“Ma’am, this is important. I don’t know how much time I have before they find me, but you need to know.”

“Colonel Heath, I am still confused.”

“Ma’am, it’s about Belessar. I found his secret.”

“What secret?”

“He has more powers than he’s letting on. One of them is the ability to manipulate people through speech.”

Pemberley mentally filed that under the long, long list of Belessar’s highly dangerous powers, mentally assigning it a rank of #11. “And?”

“And he used it to manipulate the Raptors. That speech he gave - he was officially staking a claim to the Guthnar throne. By killing their leaders, he apparently gained the right to do so, and he’s used that speech to manipulate them into a civil war.” Heath swallowed. “He accused me of being an ultrahuman, too. I think he’s planning to silence any witnesses.”

“Witnesses - wait, he told you about this?”

“In his office at BAE-Firefly. I confronted him about it.”

There were moments in her career when Pemberley had felt like ripping off her uniform cap, hurling it at the wall, and screaming “I’m surrounded by idiots!” Only the fact that she was not in uniform - and, therefore, had no cap handy - stopped her from doing that.

“Colonel Heath,” she forced her voice to remain calm. “Tell me exactly what you said to Belessar, and what you did.”

Heath, oblivious to his superior’s rising ire, rattled off his conversation with Belessar. “After I told him he should have taken permission - either from the PM or from his own President - he got angry. Told me to get out of his office. Also accused me of being an ultrahuman.”

“Why do you think he did that?”

“Ultra on ultra violence is an accepted part of life. I think he may be planning to have me eliminated, and I don’t know who he’s watching - but you’re on the other side of the ocean, so he can’t reach you that easily.”

“So Belessar caused a civil war within the Raptors, and admitted as much to you,” Pemberley said. “And you got into a yelling match with him and… what? Stormed out of his office?”

“He kicked me out, ma’am.”

“And what did you do after that?”

“I left BAE-Dragonfly, ma’am. It was only on my way back to quarters that I realized how grave the situation was.”

“Really.”

“Yes, ma’am. I need to get word to Windsor and the rest of the staff, warn them about Belessar.”

“And why are you in a barn in Manchester?”

“I’m going undercover, ma’am, until we can mount an effective response to Belessar.”

“Heath,” Pemberley ground the word out in frustration. “Stop. Just stop.”

“Ma’am?”

“First, get the hell out of that barn and report back to HQ. Apply for a medical leave of absence - I will sign it.”

“But ma’am…”

“Believe me, if Belessar wanted you dead, hiding in a barn in the middle of nowhere isn’t going to protect you.”

“He won’t be able to find me, ma’am. I took the courses in escape and evasion.”

“Which is why your wits seem to have evaded you. You do realize that if Belessar wanted you dead from a distance, he’d simply tell Nanocloud to send a force of her invisible bots after you? And slice you apart before you even knew what was happening?”

From the look on Heath’s face, the thought had not crossed his mind.

“I want to further ask you a simple question, Edward. Why exactly did you think it was a good idea to confront Belessar?”

“Ma’am,” Heath’s face was mulish. “When I translated the speech the first time … I knew there was something wrong with it.”

“Yes, I remember the shiner you gave Luca. Which you still owe me for keeping out of the official record.”

“Ma’am, we needed to know exactly what Belessar was hiding.”

“Which we could have found out by simply asking him. Politely. And not offending the crap out of the most powerful ultrahuman on the planet.”

“He started a civil war among the Raptors. It wasn’t his decision to make, ma’am.”

Pemberley closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then opened them. “Lieutenant-Colonel Heath. If the decision to telecast that speech - and thus, I take it, start this Raptor civil war - was made by General Windsor, would you question him?”

Heath looked surprised. “Of course not, ma’am.”

“Or by General Xavier?”

“Well, no.”

“Then, Lieutenant-Colonel, I suggest you use what’s left of that brain of yours to figure out why an ultrahuman such as Belessar - who has led forces that brought down a Xeranai battleship - should be considered a peer to them, or a superior officer. Because frankly? Right now, there are half-a-dozen governments that would deck out Andrew Drake in more stars than he can count, just to get him on their side. And I’d agree with them.”

“Ma’am,” Heath’s protest was weak. “He doesn’t wear the uniform.”

“Right now, I’m grateful for that, or you’d be looking at a court-martial at the least. Now cut the spy crap and get back to work.”