The Legacy

August 1949

Mia looked through the old storage room that held the detritus of generations of rulers.  Most of the items were of no use to her, even though any reputable, or especially any disreputable, Incan scholar would have given his eyeteeth for the least of the artifacts that Mia carefully but casually put aside as unusable for her current task.  She wanted something to help her say goodbye to the young, beautiful lady who had been so gracious to her these past two years.  Amelia, Lady Windon was soon to return to her native Great Britain, that land of cold winds and dreary fogs and Mia wanted her to take something to remember her time in Peru.

Ahh, now there was a possibility.  Mia spied a small wooden box in the corner behind a carved stone statue of one of the old gods.  Crossing herself and saying a quick prayer, she moved the small but heavy idol and fetched the wooden box.  It was perfect.

“Mia, you did not need to do this, my dear.”  Standing tall and elegant in front of the window framing the Andean mountains lit by the light of a full moon, the young Lady Windon took the beautifully made wooden box from the native girl who had served her so faithfully.  

“Yes, mum.  But I wanted to.  Please look inside.” Lady Windon looked at her. Mia knew she had a small smile on her brown face and that her strong, square hands were restless in anticipation.  The lady picked up the box stamped with the sigil of The East Indian Tea Company and slid back the lid.  She breathed in the delightful scent of tea leaves coming from under the protective cover of waxed paper but her face was plain to read...a thoughtful but unnecessary gift.

“Open it, mum.”

Looking quizzically at the young Peruvian girl, Lady Windon opened the waxed paper and gasped with surprise.  Packed as tightly as could be was skein after skein of beautifully dyed wool.  Red, yellow, cream, blue and black; a veritable rainbow. Lady Windon touched the amazingly soft yarn. “Mia, they’re exquisite.  From your animals?”

“Yes, mum.  The black and white are natural, but I dyed the others myself.”

“I recognize this… from Winston, I believe?”  Lady Windon ran appreciative fingers down the white yarn.

“Yes, mum.  And the black is from Eleanor.  Her first shearing this fall. The others came from Elizabeth and George.”  Mia was delighted at the response from the reserved Lady. Then to Mia’s utter surprise, the proper British lady took her in her arms and hugged her. 

“Thank you, child.”

November 1998

Amelia sighed putting down the mostly unread stack of condolence cards.  She didn’t know what she would do without Jeremiah.  There had been no children so they had leaned on each other through all those years serving overseas in the Foreign Office. They had been married over fifty years and now he was gone. 

She sat down in the old, well-padded highback chair by the fireplace and thought of their life together, of how frightened she had been to go to that first posting in Peru not so long after the second World War.  But, she rather surprised herself and had taken to the life of a diplomatic vagabond and had actually been quite content.  The memories of Peru seemed to tickle in the back of her mind, what might be causing that…?   Amelia pushed herself out of the chair slowly, her arthritis making it difficult to move easily in London’s winter chill, and turned to go down the hallway to the room she had long ago set aside as storage for all those items accumulated over the years.  Jerry had been the right pack-rat and had never wanted her to throw anything away. 

Turning the glass knob and giving a little shove, the old door gave way.  Amelia entered the cold room and looked around.  At least Jerry had been a tidy pack-rat.  Everything was organized by place of origin.  It was the work of but a minute to find the Peruvian section and the old wooden box with dove-tail joinery and the slide back lid that had been a gift from that long-ago maid.  She would need one more thing… Amelia looked about the tidy room and saw them in a small, thin bundle in the Asian section, just where she recalled putting them several years prior. Amelia picked up the box and the small, thin package and tucked each under her arm as she turned to go back to the warmth of the sitting room.

Once again seated and comfortable, Amelia put the smaller bundle on the table by the cards and worked back the box’s lid with effort and with a small splinter as her reward.  Sucking her bleeding finger, she saw the waxed paper she recalled, still slightly redolent with the faint smell of tea coming from the contents beneath.  She folded back the paper… and sighed with disappointment.  While the innermost skeins of wine red and deep black were as she remembered, the whites, blues, yellows and creams had been devastated by moths.  Still, there might just be enough to make something.

Amelia looked over to the side table with its collection of several days’ post.   Pushing aside the cards she picked up the thin letter from her favorite nephew.  Victor had sent word just last week letting her and Jerry know that he was once again headed back to Alpha in a few months.  That period of ignominy after the failed Ultra Probe mission apparently washed clean given the need for his rather peculiar knowledge.  Amelia sighed again.  It seemed the vagabond genes bred true.  She picked up the small bundle next to the remaining cards and unwrapped the thin bamboo sticks.

Maybe Victor would like a nice scarf to help stay warm.  She had always meant to make something from that yarn, but had always seemed to push it off to the nebulous ‘later.’  Well, there would not be much more ‘later.’  Her arthritis was a problem to be certain, but she thought she could still just handle the small bamboo knitting needles.  It wouldn’t take all that much time to make the yarn into something that would be useful and enjoyed.  She knew Victor would like it given his whimsical appreciation of the finer things in life.  After all, she thought with a small smile, not everyone could claim to have a scarf made of honest Peruvian llama wool.

December 1998

Lawrence Benes approached the old Victorian house where his friend was renting a top floor flat during his brief sabbatical at Oxford.  Reaching the old, peeling door he stopped and pushed the button to announce his presence.  As he waited for the door to be unlocked, he noticed the package by the front steps bearing Victor’s name on it.  The writing was in an old style and elegant he noted with approval.  Finally hearing the click that unlocked the door, Lawrence scooped up the small package and walked up the two flights of stairs.

“Welcome, welcome!  I am so very glad you came by, Lawrence.”  Victor was smiling broadly as he closed the door behind him.  Victor absent-mindedly took the package held out to him without looking at it and put it down on the small foyer table behind him.

“I will never understand why you insist on living on the edge of civilization in this run down old mausoleum without a proper lift.  Even if you don’t mind climbing all those stairs, you might have some consideration for your aging colleagues.”  Lawrence puffed a bit as he got his complaint out.  In truth, he was rather pleased to find himself barely winded, but to admit that would defeat the point he was endeavoring to make.

“Ahh, but then I would not be able to find a place with access to the roof so that I can watch the stars whenever I wished.” Victor walked to the small kitchenette and returned with a pot of tea, cream and sugar.

Lawrence snorted in mild derision.  “Victor, you’re as bad as Sandra and Diane.”  Both his daughter and wife had a morbid fascination with star gazing.  He much preferred his stars tidily documented and organized by the local observatory with the data available at the command of a computer keystroke, thank you very much. 

“Probably.  But, now, what can I do for you, Lawrence?  You could just as easily have called at my office on campus, or by telephone.  I detect a small mystery.”  Victor smiled at his colleague as he tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially. He rather liked the curmudgeonly Dr. Benes, although the students held him in mortal fear, and knew his cantankerousness must hide a deeper concern.  Lawrence was renowned for his invention of the interstellar transmitter that was in no small part making the Meta Probe project feasible, and almost as renowned for his phobia of flying.  And Victor knew why.  He had met Elisabeth Benes a few times before her untimely death in that plane crash prior to the Global War.  Lawrence had not willingly flown since.

Lawrence sat in the proffered chair, took the cup of hot, fragrant tea and sighed.  “It’s Sandra.  The Lunar Commission has requested that she return for a third tour on Alpha.  You know I don’t approve of her leaving Earth, and why she feels it needful…”

“Now, Lawrence, you know you can’t keep the chick in the coop once she has discovered her wings.”  Victor rather liked the young woman he had worked alongside for the past few years.  She was a sharp girl and seemed the sensible sort.  “Lawrence, she’s a big girl now, but…” he responded to Lawrence’s silent protest by lifting a restraining hand, “I’ll keep an eye on her.  Never you fear.”

Lawrence nodded in acknowledgement.  He then looked inquiringly at the box he had toted up.  “And who is Amelia, Lady Windon.  An admirer of yours?”

“Eh?”  Victor looked over at the forgotten box in surprise. “No, my aunt.  I just received notice that she had died the other day. I was planning on attending the funeral tomorrow.”

Both men stood and walked over to the box.  Victor tidily cut open the brown wrapping paper to reveal a wooden box, dark brown and dinged with the patina of many years.  He slid back the lid and picked up the folded card.  Lawrence watched Victor read it and then looked at him with a raised eyebrow in question.

“The old thing wanted me to have this as a gift. Said it would help keep me warm on Alpha.” 

Lawrence snorted, as well aware of Alpha’s climate controlled environment as Victor. He watched Victor open the old fashioned waxed paper and take out what appeared to be a red and black striped scarf.  That smelled of tea.  Lawrence sniffed again.  At least it was a reputable brand.  Not the dreadful bagged Lipton sort.

“Well, well.  I think I rather like it.”  Victor placed it around his neck and then tossed one end over his shoulder.  “Yes, just the thing to liven up those drab uniforms, don’t you think, Lawrence?”

“Yes, rather.”

Victor took off the scarf with a chuckle and carefully returned it to its box.  He placed it on the table next to the scientific apparatuses he was dismantling to accompany him on his return to Alpha next week.

“You don’t intend on actually taking it, do you?”  Lawrence asked in frank amazement.  Sandra had told him of Gorski’s dictate to wear regulation uniforms at all times.

“Of course.  It was Aunt Amelia’s dying wish after all.”  Victor smiled guessing at his friend’s assumptions.  “And as for Gorski, well ...” Victor waved his hand in a gesture of blithe disregard. “They asked me to return.  Gorski will just have to put up with a few eccentricities.”

“Quite.” agreed Dr. Benes sipping his tea with the utter confidence of one Nobel Laureate to another.

 

 

Breakaway + several months

It was a pity, really, that it should all end like this thought Victor.  But then again, who would have ever imagined them still being alive at all?  Victor sighed.  Although Alpha had suffered unimaginable losses, deep down, if he were forced to admit it, it had all been rather exciting. 

Victor shivered and ran his hands up and down his arms.  Well, back to the task at hand.  He needed some warmer clothes.  He walked over to the clothes press and rummaged through what little there was.  An extra pair of socks, yes…  perhaps the quilted jacket he had requisitioned for visits to the chilly outlabs… he had always meant to provide some sort of more efficient heating for those poor researchers, ahhh… yes…  Victor picked up the small box he had put in the top drawer upon his final return to Alpha, and of which he had then promptly forgotten.  Pity, he had never remembered to wear it around Gorski.  Another lost opportunity.

Victor pushed open the lid and pulled out the red and black scarf.  He looked at it and fondly remembered its creator.  Aunt ‘Melia had always been one of his favorites.  She had always sent postcards from wherever she and her husband had been assigned.  He remembered the corkboard in his childhood bedroom carefully filled with pictures from France, Egypt, India, Burma, Australia, Peru, Mexico and many more besides.  He had always envied her her travels.  She had worried about him taking a chill here on Alpha and could never be convinced that never occurred.  Victor chuckled ruefully.  Aunt ‘Melia had been right in the end, hadn’t she?

Victor sat on the side of his bed to put on the extra socks, and then had the thought that the flight suits would provide better insulation than the jacket.  Yes.  He would get his, and John’s, and then return to Main Mission to keep John company until…

Poor John, he was beside himself over his concern for those he had sent off in the survival ship to flee the Black Sun.  Well, over Helena assuredly.  Victor slipped his shoes back on, grabbed the black bag holding the old brandy and glasses and flung his scarf about his neck.  Taking one last look about his quarters and all the things he was about to leave undone he headed out to pick up the suits.

“Hey, John!  Come on.  Put this on.  Before you catch your death.”  Victor held out the lanky orange flight suit to the man sitting at his desk in front of him, a discarded coffee cup at hand.  His cavalier attitude earned him a grimace.

“Very funny.”

Victor walked over to John’s desk and put down the bag.

“Is that what I think it is?” John asked.

Victor smiled in acknowledgement and then slowly walked over to the frost-covered viewport to see with his naked eye what Earth bound scientists had only dreamed of.  He picked up the end of his scarf from around his neck and rubbed away at the ice until a small area could be seen through.  Funny, the scarf did not seem to pick up much of the moisture.

“Look, John.  I’ve been doing some calculations recently.  Ah, not about space dynamics or anything like that.”  Victor watched the majesty of the event horizon as Alpha passed inexorably closer to its fate.  “Something you cannot learn from books.”

The event horizon was utterly mesmerizing.

“Victor…”  John’s voice tinged with impatience came from behind his shoulder.

“Oh, it’s all right, I’m just… rambling on.  Wondering a bit.  Yes, wondering.”

His attention wandered a bit to those in the survival ship.  He hoped they would make it, but he rather doubted it.  He had tried to keep his word to Lawrence Benes and keep a fatherly eye on Sandra.   She and young Paul had seemed well suited for one another, even though he doubted Lawrence would have approved of any astronaut for his daughter.  He hoped her death would be a quick and merciful one.  My, such dreary thoughts he chastised himself.

“Extraordinary, isn’t it, how we’ve survived?  I mean, I put the probability through the Computer.” Victor turned to face John and then walked over to be near his friend. “I thought the Computer was going to blow up trying to figure the odds!  Yeah, just about infinite.”   He gently poked John in the ribs to emphasize his point.

“Victor, if you’re trying to cheer me up you’re not succeeding.” John sat back down at his desk and leaned back a bit.

Victor walked back over to John’s desk and sat on its edge to face his dear friend.  As he thought what next to say, the lights dimmed momentarily and both men looked up. The time was getting closer…

“Anyway.  My calculations show that we all ought to be dead by now.  It should have happened when those atomic waste units…”  Victor nonchalantly reached down to his left leg pocket and pulled out a highly contraband cigar, smuggled up years ago against future need. 

“What are you doing?  Victor, you’re not supposed to be smoking.”  John gave him a mildly accusatory look and Victor proceeded to wave the item in question in his general direction.

“Oh, I don’t think Doctor Russell would object…”

Victor felt like an unmitigated ass at such a verbal faux pas as John quickly glanced away and even turned his chair to avoid looking at him for a moment.  After an awkward pause, Victor’s thoughts once again were inexorably drawn to the mysteries facing them.  “John, have you ever wondered just how and why we’ve survived?”

“Not until now.” John turned his chair back toward Victor.

“Have you got any answers?”  Victor leaned toward John.  His friend had grown up in an orthodox family, so just maybe…

“You’re not referring to God… are you?”  John leaned in toward Victor, a question on his face.

“Oh, I don’t know exactly..I, I, I, am a scientist.  I don’t know anything about God, but no, ah… a sort of … ‘cosmic intelligence’ is what I’ve got in mind.”

“Which intervenes at the right moment?” John looked a little doubtful.

“It’s one answer.  Ultimately, I suppose we… all believe what we want to believe.  Perhaps that’s what reality is.”  Victor’s thoughts again drifted far and wide.

“One thing, though.  The line between science and mysticism.  It’s just a line.  Huh.”  And a small smile crossed his face.  Aunt Amelia would never have believed how far he had come, physically and philosophically. “Y’know, sometimes it makes me feel quite old.”

He re-settled his scarf tighter around his neck, tossing the one end back over his right shoulder.   He exchanged a small, sad smile with John.  Even though this was an ending, all in all, his life truly had been a rich one, filled with friends and discoveries.  Truly, this wasn’t such a bad way to die. Discovering something new at the side of a dear friend.  Yes.

Breakaway + 5 yrs, 2 months

Alan walked Sandra to a private part of Medical Center.  He turned her away from the center of the room, placed his arms around her and pulled her close. Helena and the rest of the medical staff turned away to give them a modicum of privacy. “It’ll be alright, love.  Tony and Maya will understand.”

Sandra looked up at her husband, her eyes bright with unshed tears.  “Helena says I can try again in a few weeks.”

Alan’s face tightened but he said nothing.  He was against this plan of hers to try to carry a half-Psychon fetus to term. He felt bad that his friends were unable to have a child together, but that didn’t mean Sandra had to risk her health and maybe even her life.  Maya hadn’t expected that when she’d saved Danae’s life during the recent Moonquake. 

Alan kissed Sandra’s forehead, thinking maybe he could cheer her up in the privacy of their quarters. “Come on, let’s get Danae from the Fraser’s.” He tucked Sandra’s left arm under his and clasped her hand.  It was a mark of her distraction that the modest woman allowed him to walk her out of Medical and through Alpha arm in arm.  

They had to reroute their trip several times to avoid damage from the devastating Moonquake, and as the travel tube system was only up in limited sections their trip was limited to foot.  As they passed one of the oldest sections now used for storage, the door opened and a short, swarthy and very strongly built man limped out.  He was closing the lid on the old wooden box he was turning about in his hands and almost walked into Sandra.

“Hey, Jack, heads up man.”  Alan quickly pulled Sandra out of the way.

“Sorry.”

“What do you have there?”  Sandra asked in dull curiosity.

Jack Pearson looked up and grinned.  “Not exactly sure, Ms.Benes, but you might be interested.  I think it belonged to the old professor. Most of the stuff in that storage carton did.”  Jack usually worked outside maintaining the exterior aspects of Alpha.  He was very good at what he did but had liked his job better when most of the staff had lived and worked above ground. Back then he could watch everyone and feel a part of all of Alpha. He remembered watching through the viewports of the old Main Mission and seeing the friendship between Sandra and the Professor.  Of course, back then Sandra had been also keeping company with Paul Morrow, but that was ancient history.

Alan let Sandra go as she stepped toward the construction tech and took the box from him.  The one corner was crushed and a hint of red could be seen inside.  Sandra pulled the red thing out farther and found it to be soft yarn that appeared to have been knitted into... something.

“The room was breached to space.  I tossed everything back inside that I found on the lunar surface.  Now that Doc Mathias has me grounded on account of this twisted ankle,” and Jack held up the offending limb and glared at it, “I thought I would try to help sort out the inside mess.”  Jack had noticed the sad expression on Sandra’s face and looked over to Alan in question.  He received a shrug in reply.

“Thank you, Jack.  I will take care of it.”  Sandra’s soft voice brought his attention back to her. 

Jack watched Alan Carter put an arm around Sandra’s shoulders and lead her away as she looked closely at the box.

Jack sighed a little.  Once, he’d had a crush on Sandra, but well, she was more the pilot’s type anyhow. Jack turned around almost tripping over his own sore foot. Cursing his gimpy ankle he headed back into the storage room.  He just wished he could find someone special to settle down with too.

“Can you tell what it is, Sahn?”  Alan glanced over in mild curiosity as he kept most of his attention on navigating the cluttered corridors.  He was more worried about Sandra then the contents of an old, beaten-up box, but if it got Sandra’s mind off things then that would be all for the better.

“No.  But it is handmade I believe.   I do not remember ever seeing the Professor wear anything with red and black wool.  Do you?”

“Black?”  Alan looked closer.  Yeah, he could see some black peeking out of the hole. “Nah, nothing like that.”

They stopped in front of the Fraser’s door and Alan tapped on his commlock to let them know they had visitors.  After a moment, the door opened and Annette gestured them inside with a finger over her lips.  Alan guessed Danae must be asleep.

“What’s that?” Annette asked quietly as Sandra sat on the sofa and placed the box on the table in front of her.  After studying it for a moment Sandra tried to open the sliding lid, but the crushed corner made it difficult as the box was no longer square.  Sandra looked at Alan and he walked over and made short work of forcing the box open. 

“Damn,” Alan muttered as he handed the box back to Sandra.  He shook out his left hand, looked at it closely, and then attempted to pull out the splinter that had remained behind in his thumb.

“Thank you, Alan.”

“No problem, Sahn.  That’s what we he-men are here for.”

“Ah, so that is your purpose in life. I knew there had to be some sort of reason.” Sandra looked up at him with a small smile.

Alan smiled broadly, that was more like it.

Annette moved to sit alongside Sandra as she pulled out a long length of black and red.  It took Alan a moment, but then he recognized it as a scarf. Not something he had needed much back home Down Under.  He sniffed.  Whew.  It had a musty odor, that was for certain.

“Is it knitted?”  Annette held up the end and looked closely.

“Yes, by hand I do believe.”  Sandra looked closely seeing the occasional uneven stitch and subtle imperfections that marked it as such.  She pulled the remaining length out of the box, but stopped quickly when it snagged on the jagged corner of the old box.

“Oh, look.  It’s almost torn in half.”  Annette lifted the other half carefully out of the box and draped it across her lap trying not to allow it to unravel any further.

“Maybe when it got blown out onto the lunar surface.  It might’ve run up against some rocks or maybe some sharp debris.  There was an awful lot of stuff tossed around out there.”  Alan commented idly as he finished digging the wooden harpoon out of his thumb.

“I wonder what sort of fiber this is?” mused Annette.  “Not sheep’s wool…”

“Llama,” Sandra said decisively as she read through a small embossed note she had found in the bottom of the box.

“Now what would the Professor have been doing with a llama scarf?”  Alan asked turning back around. He had been moving toward the small second bedroom when Sandra’s answer had caught his attention.

Sandra shrugged. “A gift from his Aunt Amelia apparently.”  Sandra ran light hands down the length of the scarf.  “Such a shame about the damage.  This would be such a lovely momento.”  She looked over at Annette and the afghan behind her caught Sandra’s eye.  Sandra did not know how to knit, but maybe… “Could you repair it, Annette?”

Annette looked at the damage more critically.  “Perhaps.  I can try.” 

Alan walked back into the front room carrying his sleeping daughter curled up against his chest and the kid sack slung over his shoulder. He looked down at Sandra, “Ready, love?” 

Sandra nodded and stood, handing the scarf over to Annette.  Taking Alan’s hand, she gave Annette her thanks for watching the infant and then the Carter clan left for home.

It was several days later when Sandra found herself off duty at home with Danae that Annette dropped by with the scarf.     Or rather, scarves.

“I wasn’t able to fix it, Sahn.  There was just too much damage and yarn missing.  The bottom half was easy enough, but well, I was able to mend that upper half finally, but it took time.”  Annette smiled at Sandra.  “For the Professor’s sake, it was certainly worth the effort.”   Annette sat down and slid open the box.  It opened much easier Sandra noticed.  She looked questioningly to Annette as she ran a finger over the sanded corner.  The little battered box was once again true and square.

“Bill found an abrasive down in manufacturing that substituted for sand paper.  He did some wood work back on Earth and said he enjoyed the chance to feel real wood again.”

Sandra nodded and held up the scarves.  Annette had done a nice job she thought.  She had folded the repaired scarves over and knitted them into tubes which had doubled their thickness and returned them to a proper proportion for their shortened lengths.  There was a short fringe of black on each side. 

“They are lovely.  Perfect for a child.”  Sandra carefully folded up the scarves and returned them to their box. 

“Too bad the Professor didn’t have that opportunity.”  Annette looked sad, recalling her own recent miscarriage.

Sandra looked up and gave her friend a sympathetic smile.  “What did you do with the leftover yarn?”  There must have been a few centimeters of scarf that Annette had unraveled during the repair process.

“I have it put aside.  You never know when something like that might be useful.  Waste not, want not, you know.” 

Sandra nodded at the old cliché that had taken on new life after Breakaway. 

Annette visited for a brief while but then had to leave to return to her duty station.  Sandra leaned back against the sofa and regarded the box thoughtfully.   Helena had once mentioned, perhaps a month before her current pregnancy became common knowledge, that several of the senior scientists had decided years prior to form a sperm bank.  She had said the Commander had held reservations given his experience with the Darians, but that the Professor had quietly proceeded with his plan and several of his contemporaries had contributed also.  At the time, Sandra had thought the comment odd and out of place, which may well be why she recalled it.  

Well, then. 

Maybe one day, perhaps even quite soon, there would indeed be an opportunity to pass along these wonderful legacies to their rightful inheritors.  But for now, Sandra picked up the box and placed it in the bottom drawer of her dresser alongside her other treasures from Earth

Breakaway + 10 yrs, 6 mos

“Sandra, are you awake?”  Alan’s whispered voice came from the doorway of the darkened bedroom.

Sandra opened her eyes slowly and blinked several times.  It felt like she had just fallen asleep.  Was it time to feed Naomi already?  She squinted over at the chronometer on the commpost.  She had just fallen asleep, about twenty minutes ago.

“Alan…”  She rolled over and pulled the pillow up over her head.  She had forgotten just how much work newborns were.  And multiply that by two-and-a-half-year old Richard and five-and-a-half-year old Danae.  Until just now she would have sworn that Alan was the consummate father, but at this given moment she would cheerfully murder him for ten more minutes of sleep.

She felt him sit on the side of the bed and then his warm hands rubbed her back.  The bed shifted again and she felt his warm breath on her neck just before he kissed whatever part of her he could reach under the pillow.  She loved the man dearly, but his timing was dreadful.  She reached for the blanket and tried to pull it up over her head and pillow both, but Alan’s soft laughing voice and warm hands thwarted that plan.

“Come on love, you’ll want to see this.”

Sighing, Sandra sat up and reached for her blue robe.  Standing, she leaned against Alan and enjoyed the simple warmth and strength of his body and his arms about her.  He bent his head and quickly kissed her and then took her hand and led her out the bedroom door and over to the small second bedroom where the children slept.  Sandra thought briefly that they would have to request larger quarters now that the baby had arrived.

In the dim room she could see the backs of Danae and Richard standing side by side looking into the small crib at their new sister, who was still asleep by some miracle.  The little boy appeared to be standing on a small box, making him almost the same height as his older sister. The fair-skinned, dark-haired infant made tiny, buzz-like snoring sounds, her dark eyes closed despite the incessant whispered chatter going on above her head.  Well, she had spent the last eight months, give or take, listening to those voices while still in utero, so Sandra guessed they were just comforting background noises to the infant.

“… and you will like it here, Naomi.”  Sandra could here Danae’s high, clear voice whispering secrets to her newest sister. “Alpha is a fun place.  There are all sorts of things to do and kids to play with.  Richie and I will show you everything!”

Alan silently wrapped his arm around her waist and Sandra snuggled back into his embrace.

“You’ll like Mum.  She’s nice and gives wonderfully tickly backrubs.  And Papa is always fun.  You can get away with anything with him!”

Sandra stifled a giggle at that.  Alan was a notoriously soft touch and all the children knew it, even the youngest.

“Your real father is dead, Naomi, but that’s alright. You can share our Papa.  He won’t mind.” 

Sandra and Alan both stiffened slightly at that.  They had never kept the parentage of Alpha’s children a secret from Danae and Richard, but the simple casualness of Danae’s voice sent shivers down the adult’s spines.

“Your father was a really nice man.  Here, I have something to show you.”  Danae gently pushed her brother off his perch and sat down next to the box, carefully putting her stuffed Horse to one side.  After a bit of fussing, the lid slid open and Sandra watched her eldest child lift out two small bundles and then let them flutter open.  Danae handed one to Richie and then stood up as tall as she could and showed the other small black and red scarf to the sleeping infant.

“This belonged to your father.  Isn’t it pretty?  Oh, and you have another brother.  His name is Stevie and he lives with Aunt Helena and Uncle John, but his father is Professor Bergman, just like you.  You’ll like Stevie, he’s real smart.  Maybe we can give him the other scarf.  Then you’ll each have something special.”  Danae took the other scarf from Richie, and after an unsuccessful effort to fold them neatly, shoved them back into the box and closed the lid. She put the box back in place for Richie, picked up the Horse whose mane and tail exactly matched the black of the scarves and continued her monologue.  “Then there’s Uncle Tony and Aunt Maya, and you won’t believe what she can do…”

Alan gently guided Sandra back to their bedroom and their bed where they leaned back against the stacked pillows. Alan wrapped his arms around Sandra and she snuggled up close placing as much of her against Alan as possible.  It was wonderful to be able to get so close again. 

“Well, our plan’s worked, Sahn.  The kids have their extended family in case something should ever happen to us.”

Sandra was warm, content and almost lulled back to sleep by Alan’s gentle caresses when a question worked its way muzzily through her mind. “Alan, how did Danae know about the box?”

Alan shrugged a little sheepishly, feeling guilty for going into Sandra’s private things. “I guess I showed her after that time in the Eagle simulator room with Rachael.” 

His hands had stilled on Sandra’s back and she felt his tightened muscles at the mention of the Alphan who had abducted both Danae and Stephen Koenig during her psychotic break two years prior.  Alan had never completely forgiven the woman, even though it had truly not been her fault.  And the medicines now almost completely controlled her symptoms of schizophrenia.  

Alan took a few deep breaths and then continued rubbing Sandra’s back.  “Danae had questions about the Professor and it seemed the easiest way to reassure her he was a normal man. I didn’t really expect her to remember it after all this time.”  Danae firmly believed she had met Professor Bergman’s ghost, and Alan had to admit that just maybe she had.

“Sleep, Sahn.  I’ll take the kids and keep them busy.  You and Naomi can get some sleep.  I’m sure Danae will have something to suggest.”  Alan smiled.  His strong-willed eldest usually got her way.  Placing Sandra’s commlock within easy reach, he kissed her cheek and slipped a warmed pillow into her arms to snuggle against. “Call me if Naomi wakes up and I’ll come and get her.” 

Sandra felt Alan’s fingers gently brush the hair off her face.  Covering her with the blanket, he turned off the lights with his commlock and left quietly.

Sandra yawned and nestled down into the warm bed.  Alan had just redeemed himself.  As she slipped back to sleep, she thought that tomorrow she and Naomi might just need to visit a certain big brother and let him share in the tangible legacy of a special man.   A man who, just perhaps, still kept an eye on all of them.

18 February 2006

MDG

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