|
Kylen went to the gym and caught up with Amy and McQueen and the Balance
Master. It looked like a V.R. deck but the circular floor moved and dipped
up to 35 degrees. McQueen and Amy were both obviously deep in concentration.
Kylen sat out of the way so as not to distract either.
While she watched, Kylen thought of her conversation with Steinbeck; what he
had said about McQueen and what he had said about fear. Kylen remembered
something that she had read a lifetime ago: 'A door slamming makes one jump
but it doesn't make one afraid. What one fears is the serpent that crawls
underneath it.' There are just too many damn serpents, she thought.
Steinbeck had spoken of feeling disconnected and not fitting in. She
wondered if Steinbeck knew how close he had come to the mark. To her mark.
She had felt and continued to feel like a guest in her father's home - her
home. And before too long she would have to do something. Something that
resembled 'real life.' A job. A place to live. A way to define her dreams.
Soon. Kylen toyed with the idea of setting a date; of giving herself a
specific goal. She wasn't sure, though, if she could meet any goal yet.
Getting laundry done was hard enough. Kylen wasn't sure if she had the energy
or concentration needed to reach any goal. She knew that her reserves were
still at a low ebb and she wasn't sure if further examination of her feelings
would give her any more answers than she already had. Kylen certainly didn't
believe that it would give her more energy.
When it came to facing her demons, Kylen didn't totally agree with Steinbeck.
She and McQueen were more of the same mind. The longer we dwell on our
misfortunes the greater is their power to harm us, she thought. It seemed
that there were people who liked to hang onto their angst. Some of the
survivors bathed in it. You had to decide to live or to let go - foam on the
ocean. And if you decided to live then you had to go about doing it. Face
down your demons - don't take them to dinner. Kylen no longer wanted to be
'in expectation of living.' She remembered McQueen telling her: 'I didn't say
that it was easy. I just said that it was what I thought you should try to
do.'
Kylen watched him work and wondered what was going on in his mind. McQueen
had never answered her question. She wasn't sure what kept him going, but he
seemed to her to be a man who needed little other than himself - his own
beliefs, his own sense of self - his own honor. A man who could and would
deny himself what he loved the most. Kylen wondered what he would do now -
after the injury. McQueen and the Marine Corps. Where would all those
beliefs, that honor, that self go?
Kylen knew that, as an InVitro, McQueen's life had most probably always been
highly structured; no matter in the mines or in the military. And the Marine
Corps was certainly a highly defined culture unto itself. She felt that
McQueen was probably one of those people who craved structure in their lives.
Kylen's brother, Connor, was such a one. "A place for everything and
everything in it's place." And it was more than just his belongings. Connor
was organized and disciplined in all areas of his life. He functioned better
within a pattern and he had become a construction engineer. If there was no
pattern Connor would make one.
No, McQueen had gotten at least one piece of luck in his life, she
thought. His was a character that found a sense of freedom within a
discipline. It was like a turtle and it's shell. The turtle lives inside it's
shell and is given life by the it. The shell is 'armor, plumage, camouflage,
and refuge.' It is home. The shell is both the method of attack and defense.
Kylen knew instantly that most people would not understand the analogy and
may even think it demeaning. Many would think of the shell as a facade or
something to hide within. But the carapace not only defines the animal but
is its essence. To demean would be to deny the miracle and perfection of
design. Some things can't be separated. Some things were meant to fit into
place.
The system had given him the tools to construct his life from traits received
through the design of capricious and anonymous technicians; propeller heads
who had relieved their boredom by adding genes for absolute pitch and
astonishing blue eyes. The system had provided a space for McQueen's
remarkable character to be formed and within the system he had achieved
remarkable things.
Why would he ever want to be separated from the Corps? Had he ever even
thought of it? Why would he ever consider it? Kylen speculated.
"Keep your eyes open," Amy ordered. Kylen jerked her head and opened her
eyes; which she hadn't even realized that she had closed during her musings.
It was like getting caught sleeping in class. But it was not to Kylen that
Amy had spoken; it had been McQueen. "Wait until you get better at this then
you can close your eyes. Find your focus," Amy finished.
Kylen supposed that she had answered a portion of 'The McQueen Question' for
herself. The external, comparatively simple, part of Steinbeck's
rehabilitation - The concrete "something." McQueen has long ago chosen to
wrap his life in scarlet and gold. As his friend, her 'job,' if you will,
would be to help him achieve that again. Kylen gazed absently at McQueen. He
had become almost an abstraction in her thoughts. She let her mind float as
she took in the sight; McQueen working to bend and compensate, attempting to
adjust to the shifting floor beneath his feet.
She thought that the quote about the tortoise that she couldn't quite recall
was from a book she had read about Colette. Kylen's mind wandered. Had
McQueen ever read Colette? Not a chance in hell. She smiled inside - to
herself. It was a priceless image, though. Oh well, we can't be expected
to always hit on the same cylinders.
Kylen had been thirteen when she had discovered the play and then the movie
versions of 'Gigi.' She had loved it then and she loved it still. How she
had loved the romance, the music and the costumes. How she had wanted to be
able to drink Champagne and dance around the living room. As an adult it had
become Kylen's favorite drink and she hadn't tasted it in almost two years.
Kylen remembered, rather to her surprise, that Champagne still existed. She
smiled. If it existed than she probably did as well.
McQueen had been aware of Kylen; had seen her enter and sit, silent and
respectful. He could only wonder what had created the cryptic smile on her
face. McQueen shifted his gaze back to his selected focus point on the wall.
Kylen slipped from his consciousness as he concentrated on the task at hand.
Kylen drew her legs up and hugged her knees - looking at, but no longer
seeing, the exercise before her. She thought of her childhood, her
adolescence, her road to discovery. It amazed her how a single flash, a
glimpse of a half formed memory could transport a person. A smell, a sound, a
song. It sounded a bit ridiculous, she knew, but one of the hardest things
for her to deal with - something that had really almost pushed several of
the POWs over the edge - was the AIs repeating OKLAHOMA incessantly. That
and good poetry and bad television shows. They had used the memories -
these flashes of comfort - as weapons against the survivors. Kylen had
remembered her father singing 'Oh what a Beautiful Morning' in the milking
parlor first thing in the morning. You could hear him singing it if you
walked across the paddock. Loud and full and audible even in the winter with
the windows closed. The Silicates had forever tainted that memory of her
childhood. Like pouring poison into a well, that source of comfort was taken
from her forever. Kylen was only just beginning to comprehend the subtlety of
some of the tortures the AIs had devised.
Kylen had actually prayed, really prayed, that the Elroy and Brandon units
didn't know My Fair Lady, Gigi, or Take 10 and Celebrate. And those two units
had disappeared shortly after she had seen Nathan and the rest of the
marines. A lot of the units had disappeared but the POWs weren't rescued and
the games went on.
The Colonists hadn't been systematically starved like the Japanese had
starved the European civilians during World War II, but they never had known
when the next meal was coming. Sometimes food arrived in the middle of the
night forcing them to eat in that smothering blackness. Her two broken
fingers had been ignored and she had once been made to beg for a hot needle
to relieve the pressure of blood collecting under one of her fingernails. The
Felicity unit had held a weapon on Kylen and had watched the minor surgery,
making jokes. But, conversely, Kylen remembered having fallen after about ten
months in the mines. She had hit her head and had awakened alone in a cell
with a bandage and her jumpsuit had been cleaned. People had been singled out
for special treatment - often repellent and sometimes good - extra food or
a blanket or a day of rest. The Silicates had tried to destroy their
memories and their unity.
Kylen remembered Colette's diary. "I should indeed like....
McQueen's voice bordering on rudeness cut into her thoughts. "Just what are
you staring at?" The balance session was over.
Kylen was brought back suddenly and fumbled a bit for her words. "What? Oh,
It wasn't you......I wasn't staring at you.....I was just thinking......I
apologise....Was I staring?" She had an idea. A way to begin. She stood.
"I want lobsta' (Kylen pronounced it in the tried and true New England
fashion). I want a big lobsta' dinna' and I want melted butter to drip down
my chin. Have you ever had real New England lobster, Colonel?"
"I've had lobster." McQueen said rather defensively. "In South America,
Haiti, Diego, Loxley. I wasn't born yesterday."
"No, Ty," Amy said. "You've had warm water lobster - langoustines. Yankees
consider them serviceable but not the real thing. I don't know that you have
ever had a real cold water lobster."
Kylen was on a roll. "Great. Amy, where is the best place to go? I know it's
the off season but there has to be something open. We're going out to dinner
tonight - the four of us. I'll make reservations." She didn't immediately
catch the looks of concern on both McQueen and Amy.
Amy and McQueen exchanged meaningful looks. They shared separate but equally
unpleasant memories. InVitros usually just didn't pick up and 'go out to
dinner.' There were a few restaurants in the ghettos and around the various
InVitro enclaves. But if one went outside those areas things could easily
and often become unpleasant. You had to be sure you would be granted entrance
- that you would be served. There had been more than one uncomfortable scene
in restaurants during their brief marriage. Amy had become adept at making
screening phone calls and visits prior to actually making plans. McQueen had
finally just stopped going in order to spare Amy the hassle of it all.
"Another time, Celina." McQueen said as he got down from the machine and took
up his cane.
Kylen caught the use of her surname and the tone of voice. She was being
given an order. Kylen was supposed to drop the topic. She was frustrated.
"If not tonight ... Then tomorrow. Come on." She pleaded. "I've had
enough....I want....I want to do what I want. It's time. We need to begin
again." She sputtered softly.
Amy looked at McQueen and shrugged. Kylen finally caught onto their silent
exchange and a beat later appreciated the reason. She wasn't about to be
stymied so easily. "Amy, you told me that there were good people here. You
said there were some very good people. Colonel McQueen has been on the
national news and in the paper. He isn't a 'nobody.' Let's just find out.
Can we at least do that?"
Amy looked at Kylen and choked back old resentments. Amy had vowed that she
would never do it again - that she would never allow herself to be put in
this position - juggling her life around the requirements of T.C. McQueen -
but here she was. It was bound to happen, she supposed. Maybe it was a good
thing. It was past time for her to begin again as well. This had focused the
light on one of the reasons she hadn't been able to stay with Ty in the first
place. One of the reasons. One of several. Amy wasn't interested in
rekindling any flame but she had at least started to like him.
OK, one last
time, she thought. I'll take Kylen through the drill. Then pass off the
responsibility. We can't keep Ty hidden in The Barn forever. He isn't a
runaway slave, after all. He is a decorated veteran. Amy had been
astonished at McQueen's willingness to follow Dale's suggestions for the
living arrangements. It had worried her. As uncomfortable as it might be for
herself to go through the same old motions, it was time to start getting him
out into the world so that they all could start over. Amy realized that she
had never lost admiration for the man.
"She is right," Amy said to McQueen. "Its time. I know Dale has work in the
lab to get done tonight - a new hand. Surgery is scheduled for Saturday.
But, let's at least see what is available. You two can go. Kylen, this
evening, before dinner, I'll show you how this is done."
Dale's house was generally calm in the evening with occasional bursts of
laughter from Dale and Kylen who would often draw in the other two. It was
one of the things Kylen loved the most about visiting - the relaxation of the
evenings. It was like exhaling. But on this evening Dale had stayed at the
lab and Kylen had made dinner for the others by herself. The tension in the
household was palpable; under control, but Kylen was holding her breath. She
had inadvertently set off a bomb in the makeshift household.
The professional, detached relationship that McQueen and Amy had studiously
tried to cultivate had been rocked by her simple request: "Let's go out to
dinner." Amy was withdrawn working at her terminal and McQueen, perhaps more
taciturn than normal, perused Dale's wonderful library. Kylen moved back and
forth between the two trying to gloss things over - to bring them out. She
felt that if one would just bend a little the other would follow suit and the
calm air would return to the house, but no one going to budge. Both
separately refused her invitation to go to the pier.
Kylen had been ready to leave them both downstairs and retreat to the shower
when Major Howard called to check in on her. She hadn't bothered to ask how
he knew where she was. He probably knows the color of my underwear, She
thought bitterly. It is the last straw. Too many serpents crawling under
the doors. Kylen gave up and was out the door taking a care package to the
lab for Dale.
Kylen entered the sanctum sanctorum with an air of obvious frustration. Dale
smiled to himself. He could only picture the atmosphere over at The Barn.
"The big kids didn't want to play with you this evening? Beat you down did
they?" Dale asked ruefully without looking up from his work. "Or did they
freeze you out? Going out to dinner seemed like a good idea at the time,
didn't it? Well, no good deed goes unpunished, my young friend."
"But.... Oh, they are just so ...... so ..." Kylen complained.
"Frustrating. Stubborn. Headstrong. Intransigent. Willful?" Dale offered his
suggestions. "You are preaching to the choir here, Kylen. It was and is a
good idea. Talk to the hand," he joked and held up the mechanical prosthetic
he was fine tuning. It was a sick little joke but it made Kylen giggle.
"That's better. There is hope for you yet, my child," Dale said with mock
gravity. "I smell garlic. Come, sit. What did you bring me?" Dale began to
eat.
"I'm sorry I even brought it up," Kylen admitted. "You can't come with us and
Amy won't."
"Nonsense, it is a perfectly good thing to do. I think that you may have the
tendency to take other people's problems on as your own. They will work
things out. Don't take on their problems, Kylen, and don't use theirs to hide
from your own."
Dale could be an absolute tyrant about confidentiality at the Clinic. But
Steinbeck adored people and loved to be involved in their lives. He hated
gossip on moral grounds. But Kylen was now involved personally with both of
the people in question. Without going too deeply into the specifics, which
he didn't know anyway, Dale decided to give the newest member of the 'The
Steinbeck Set' a little bit of the story. He couldn't help himself; he told
stories almost as well as Kylen. Dale would relate 'The Tale':
"Amy and our Black Prince? That is a strange thing, I'll admit. The story,
as I have been given to understand, is close to the following, at least from
her side."
" - Amy, poor little rich girl, is tired of Main Line Frat Boys and
political up-and-comers. It being an election year and all, with the AI
rebellion winding down, she is out stumping with Daddy - who she loathed by
the way, even then. But she is coming off of yet another unsatisfying attempt
at a relationship and it is better than another dull summer at the shore.
They are making the rounds of military bases. So she finds McQueen out in
the back of beyond, at some base in Alabama, of all places. Amy took one
look, saw what she felt she wanted and set her cap for the man. She was a
real shark, and I've told her as much to her face. Poor McQueen; he didn't
stand a chance. I'm given to understand their relationship was a real bodice
ripper. A melt your fillings gothic romance. Le Grande Passion. Made all
the more delicious by the fact that her father - the Honorable Senator - is
well known for his Anti InVitro Rights position. Let your imagination run
wild. If they could have left things there, they would probably have been
fine. But Grande Passions being what they are, they were married within
three months and Amy disinherited living on a military base on Hell's little
half acre."
"Amy being the child of her parents then sets about doing the only thing she
knows how to do. She has found the wounded, untamed, dynamic, Black Prince
of her dreams so she immediately sets about trying to turn him into a Main
Line Frat Boy. The Black Prince, being the child of no parents - the self
made man of her dreams, doesn't take to heel and things rapidly deteriorate.
(Don't let her kid you, she hates flying and anything to do with the Marine
Corps.) She is a child of wealth and privilege, remember. (As the daughter of
a Senator with his eyes on higher positions - physical therapy was supposed
to be a 'community service' not a career.) Then the reality of being married
to an InVitro starts to set in. I understand it was with an unpleasant and
rather nasty thump. Her romantic notions got flushed."
"Romance can be a spellbinding part of love - breathtaking - but never
confuse romance for love, Kylen. My Aunt once gave me a sage piece of
advice. 'Never marry anyone until you have wallpapered a room together.'
(You'll notice the distinct lack of wallpaper in The Barn, Mon doux.) Suffice
it to say that Tyrus and Amy didn't do any wallpapering before they took the
plunge. A little under eighteen months start to finish and it looks as if the
mess is only just now, finally, almost cleaned up. 'It's not the tragedies
of life that kill us. It's the mess.' "
"They are a decidedly civilized duo, don't you think? Polite and
professional. But, I mean really, let it go already. She is family and I
love her. And he is ...... Well, he is who he is. Good God, I hope they can
both finally be done with tragique la petite affaire and move on. The only
dead things one should hold onto are dried flowers - and those only for a
season."
"I doubt that either one of them thought it was a 'little affair,' Kylen
speculated, mildly.
"No, I doubt that either of them did, at that," Steinbeck admitted sadly as
he put his arm around Kylen's shoulders.
"So, they were never really friends." Kylen realized it as she spoke.
"Oh, I think that they are starting. I think they'd like to be," Dale
asserted. "But no. Not at the time. I don't think they even thought to like
each other. It seems like a loss doesn't it?"
Kylen was now a bit uncomfortable talking about two people that she liked and
chose to shift the mood.
"Besides, friendship gets you through times of no sex better than sex gets
you through times of no friends," she confided to Dale who threw back his
head and laughed. He found her to be very wise for her age. An old soul with
a fresh outlook and he enjoyed her company.
"Tomorrow, Kylen, let me show you my garden. I have flowers for every season
in my garden," and he went back to his work.
Chapter 20 - Voltaire
Kylen was slow to waken, having gone to bed with a relaxation tape
containing the sounds of the ocean. Listening to the waves, she had slept
surprisingly well. McQueen, on the other hand, was up bright and early ready
to slip his traces and start to take control of his own recovery. Kylen is
here. Let her make herself useful. 0630 it is. Everybody into the pool.
It took him a while to get her moving at a speed he considered acceptable.
He called her a 'slug' and she, in turn, called him a 'grind.' There was no
way Kylen was leaving The Barn without her coffee, thank you very much, and
in the future the least McQueen could do was to have coffee ready for her.
Kylen was not a morning person. After the feathers had been smoothed, the
morning went off without a hitch.
McQueen worked out in the pool while Kylen watched. They had breakfast. Amy
worked McQueen on the Balance Master and the treadmill. The occupational
therapist worked with him on fine motor movements of his new toes. There was
lunch. During the afternoon, Kylen and McQueen went for a walk.
Kylen and McQueen had remarkably similar thoughts on the day, but were each
affected differently by those thoughts. It had been companionable and
purposeful. No drama. No anxiety. Nothing to prove. A job to be done.
Pleasant company. Relaxed conversation. It was as if half forgotten doors
were being opened. What Kylen and McQueen each found behind those doors was
the same only different. Little doors of normalcy. A remembrance that life
could be lived every day; a little bit at a time. A memory that life often
was just the little bits strung together.
Dale Steinbeck knocked on the door and entered McQueen's room after receiving
a terse "Enter." McQueen was buttoning his khaki shirt. He was dressing in
the 'B' Service Uniform (acceptable attire for leave or liberty). Amy had
selected his new kit wisely. Just a few things but well chosen.
"Well, I see that the women folk got everything arranged to their
satisfaction," Dale spoke easily.
"I thought you had work to do in the lab," McQueen said, hoping that Dale's
appearance now meant that Steinbeck would be able to attend Kylen's little
dinner party.
"I do, but I thought I should let you know that I double checked their
arrangements myself. As a matter of fact, Charlie, the owner, is a former
patient. By the way, I dare you to identify what he has that is new. That
said just to give you confidence in my work and the process. Charlie has a
daughter in the Navy - down in Norfolk. And he was pleased to be of service
to a decorated military man - regardless of his method of birth. Sorry, but
I did give him a bit of your story." Dale held up his hand to ward off
McQueen's withering look. "Nothing that hasn't been shown on television, I
assure you, Tyrus. Look, it is a public place so I can't make any guarantees
but Charlie won't put up with any crap in his place. No, I'm actually here
because I have another worry. I was almost out the door when it hit me."
Dale flipped McQueen a sheet of sandpaper. "You'll need this for the bottom
of those new shoes. Scuff them up good now. I don't want you to go slipping
and sliding around the island. I do have a reputation to protect. Have a
good time." He patted McQueen on the back and was gone.
McQueen turned and using his cane, negotiated his way to the chair, sat and
scuffed up the bottoms of his shoes. Why didn't I just say no to all of
this? Kylen had said it was a dinner 'to begin again.' Now what in the hell
does that mean? He tied his tie (field scarf), pulled on the green sweater
and was standing at his dresser checking the mirror to be sure he was squared
away. The birds looked good on his shoulders. He began filling his pockets
when the Bad Penny herself showed up at the door.
"Ready?" she asked. Kylen watched him take the knife off of the dresser and
move to put it into his pocket. "Let me see," she said and crossed to him
holding out her hand. McQueen gave her the knife. She weighed it in her palm
and fingered it's graphite casing. "Show me," she said softly handing it back
to him.
McQueen took the butterfly knife from her hand and with a deft move of his
wrist snapped it open.
"Again," She urged.
McQueen couldn't even begin to understand the reason for her request, but it
was of obvious importance to her and cost him nothing. He closed the knife
then repeated the action. He held the knife open for a few seconds then
closed it. Fascinated by her concentration, McQueen repeated the action a
third time, unbidden. Kylen held out her hand for the weapon. His curiosity
peeked, McQueen placed the closed blade in her palm where it rested like an
offering.
"Teach me," she said staring into her hand.
McQueen again felt that 'frisson.' It was becoming familiar now. Kylen could
say things - do things - that shocked him. Few people had that power. He
tried to deflect her.
"It isn't strictly legal, Kylen," he said. I can think of at least four
states where the knife itself is illegal. Then there are those states where
it illegal for an InVitro to carry any weapon whatsoever.
"I understand," she said looking up to meet his eyes. "Teach me."
"It's not a skill you need to acquire, Kylen."
"I do," she said. "I don't want to feel like I'm defenseless again."
"You are home now. You don't need a knife." McQueen gently plucked the knife
from her palm. "Most civilians are wounded or killed with their own weapons,"
he added as an after thought.
"I know. That's why I need a good teacher." Kylen said.
"I thought we were going to eat lobster to celebrate beginning again,"
McQueen said and pointedly put the knife into his pocket.
"We are. And I never want to feel like a victim ever again." Kylen was at her
most reasonable.
McQueen composed his thoughts. He totally understood her feelings. It was
why he carried the blade. But the thought of giving her a knife repelled him
somehow. She needed to be involved with more enlightened pursuits. Kylen
shouldn't have to stay forever in survival mode - mired in her fears. One
should do nothing against one's conscience. McQueen wasn't even sure why,
but it was strongly - very strongly - against his conscience to teach Kylen
to knife fight. He would not aid what he felt was folly. As gently as he
could possibly say it; for he knew that it would probably disappoint her, he
gave her his final word.
"No. I can't do it. Not for you and not to you. Don't ask me to do this," he
said looking away from her bracing for a wave of Kylen's accusation and
disappointment to hit him. She surprised him.
Kylen gently place her hand on his arm. "That's all right Colonel. 'Slow and
steady wins the race.'" McQueen was lost at that last statement. He could
not follow her train.
"Don't give it another thought," Kylen said kindly. "Let's go to dinner."
Kylen had baffled McQueen yet again. He had disappointed her, of this he was
sure, but her reaction had been to reach out and give him a comforting touch.
He refused to consider the possibility that she was pulling a fast one on him
and he was correct.
Kylen was disappointed and she might have been hurt but for the fact that
McQueen's refusal had been so..... So ... tender. She lost herself in private
thought for a moment while she tried to define what she had seen and heard.
It hit her. A memory from her childhood. I must have been eight or nine
when Dad told me that Maxie, our dog, had been hit by a car. I remember it
to this day. Not so much for the fact that Maxie had died but for how
difficult it had been for Dad to tell me. That's what I really remember -
the pain and concern on Dad's face ... in his voice. That my father had been
afraid to tell me. I remember feeling that he was very brave to do something
that frightened him so much. And I remember feeling that I could be strong
for my Dad - that I could help him not be so sad and afraid. The ego of a
child. I still remember that moment. McQueen had sounded like that - afraid
to tell me something I wouldn't want to hear. Something that he felt would
upset me. I wonder what he was really thinking - to sound so vulnerable, so
fragile? Whatever you do, Kylen, never touch a butterfly's wing with your
finger, she thought. If he can't teach me, I'll just find someone who
will.
It was a hitch in her plan but not the end of it.
Charlie's was a neighborhood place - a bar and small restaurant about half
full when they arrived. There was an interesting moment between McQueen and
Kylen as they were seated. They both instinctively wanted the seat which
would put their back to the wall and give them a clear view of both the door
and the entrance to the bar - the escape routes. Kylen conceded and McQueen
sat in the catbird seat. Charlie picked two lobsters out of his tank.
The dinner was excellent and the conversation covered many subjects. Kylen's
desire to learn about Nathan and the rest of The Wildcards was insatiable and
it was a subject that McQueen would open up to. Between Nathan's old letters
to his parents, video disks and what McQueen had to tell her, Kylen felt she
was getting a real picture of these people. She chose to share with him
something that Nathan had said about him:
"Nathan wrote that you could be very tough sometimes, but that it was a good
thing because it's the tough guys who lead the survivors." McQueen felt
strangely humbled by the remark.
Kylen ate with what McQueen could only describe as pagan delight and melted
butter did drip onto her chin. She had been disappointed that there was no
champagne but the two made do with a few drafts. McQueen found himself
counting how many Kylen drank. She had to be out of practice and she was the
one driving. He didn't like having other people drive and McQueen had yet to
take the reflex reaction test to be reissued his license. He had to admit to
himself that he wasn't up to speed yet. They split a third lobster.
They talked about flying. McQueen's entire continence changed when he talked
about flying. He obviously loved it and missed it more than he was willing
to say.
"After five years underground, in the mines, flying had to be a revelation. A
freedom beyond thought - beyond anything you had imagined, " Kylen said
quietly. McQueen just gave her a smile. There was nothing he needed to say;
she understood. He shared several aphorisms that amused Kylen. The old
chestnut about there being "no old bold pilots." 'Flying isn't dangerous -
crashing is dangerous.' 'The difference between God and a Fighter Pilot is
that God doesn't think He is a Fighter Pilot' and the one that made her
really laugh : 'Trust thrust.'
McQueen stood and tried to excuse himself - a head call. Kylen immediately
stood to take his arm.
"Damn it, Celina. You are not walking me to the head," he hissed into her
ear. It was a humiliation not to be borne.
"No, Sir. You are correct. I am not," Kylen said smoothly. "I am, however,
going to assist you through that maze of tables and chairs into the bar
where, since this was my treat, I will pay our bill. Here is your coat."
They negotiated their way around the tables and the handful of other patrons.
Kylen placed her purse and keys on the bar, dropping her gloves in the
process. McQueen bent and picked them up for her. When McQueen leaned down
the navel on the back of his neck was clearly seen by Kylen and by at least
one of the men seated at the bar.
"Thank you, Colonel," she said lightly but clearly enough for the people in
the bar to hear. McQueen excused himself.
The man at the bar fidgeted. Kylen moved off slightly. Finally the man could
not help himself any longer and he called Charlie Morgan over to the bar.
"Did you see that?" he asked softly.
"What?" Charlie replied in a tone of voice that signaled that he would brook
no nonsense. Charlie was not an overt supporter of InVitro rights but neither
was he, in any way shape or form, Anti InVitro rights. It just wasn't an
issue that had ever touched his life - until this evening.
"That Marine. He's a Tank," the man whispered. Like most people, this man,
Cal, did not consider himself a bigot. He would never be overtly rude or
confrontational. His prejudices were well hidden - even from himself. He
really didn't want to make a scene. He was far more surprised than indignant.
InVitros were a distinct rarity in these parts. He would never say anything
to McQueen but a Tank at Charlie's ?… Well, it was rather like seeing a two
headed calf walk into your neighborhood watering hole.
"And that Marine defends your right to say things like that, Cal. Watch
yourself." Charlie said evenly. In Charlie's view Cal was a good enough man
but a bit too Down East forthright for good company.
Kylen stepped forward, smiled kindly and rested her hand lightly on the man's
arm. She chose to treat him as if he were a poor, not too bright, relation
who had just realized that McQueen was the Pope.
"Whoever serves his country has no need of ancestors," she said simply but
only loudly enough for the three to hear. There was no need to bring the
whole bar in on the conversation.
Kylen turned to leave and almost ran into McQueen who had silently returned.
It was obvious to her that he had heard at least part of the conversation.
They left the restaurant in silence.
Kylen didn't ask him. She just drove to the pier; it was a place of calm to
her. She parked the car but did not get out. She sat with McQueen in the
dark, partially illuminated by the lights in the lot. Kylen could see
McQueen's reflection in the windshield. He was watching her; waiting for her.
She took several deep breaths then, calmed, she turned toward him. "I handled
that badly didn't I?"
"Kylen, you always have to weigh things. You did pretty well but now is not
the time to make new enemies," McQueen admitted to her.
"That's what I thought, but I just couldn't let it slide. I'm sorry if I
embarrassed you. Now, there's something that I seem to be getting very good
at. It's the only thing I'm really sure of," she said.
"Who was that?" he asked.
"My quote? Voltaire. I would have thought that it is one quotation that you
would have burned into your memory." Kylen said.
I will now, he thought. I'll save that one for Hawkes next time he
goes off about country or family.
Kylen nodded toward the pier. Her intention was clear. She had shifted her
orbit again and wanted to move - wanted to be by the water. McQueen wasn't in
any hurry to get back to The Barn. He could either join her or be left
sitting in the darkness. It was a no-brainer. Keep up, McQueen, he
thought to himself.
Previous : Chapter Eighteen
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