Ellery
Ellery mashed potatoes as she listened to the carolers sing their way down the wet street; their voices lifted in joyous praise of a child who had uttered his birth cry beneath a great star. For a startled moment, she thought she recognized the rich basso cantante of Charles Lakeland's voice; it was only the wind singing a mournful accompaniment as it blustered around the corner of the house. She stared out the window. Three years since his death and she could still hear his voice.
The scent of holly berry drifting from the living room mixed with the fragrance of baked ham, roasting turkey, and mincemeat pie.
"Want some cream and butter in those potatoes, Mom? Hello? Anyone there?"
Victoria's smiling face swam into view. "Sorry, I was thinking about something else. What did you say?"
Vickie pointed to the potatoes. "Cream? Butter? They won't be so lumpy that way," she teased.
"You're right. A little to start with. You can add more later. Is the salad done?" She glanced at the clock. "Have the boys called? Their plane should have touched down an hour ago."
"No, they haven't called. Ned probably didn't give them time. And yes, the salad's done." Vickie opened the refrigerator. "And the table's set," she continued as she pulled out the cream carton and a cube of butter. "And the tea is ready." She poured a thin stream of milk into the potatoes. "What were you so deep in thought about? The fire again? I wish they'd get that settled. You would think three years would be long enough to make a decision, even for a Washington bureau."
"Keep in mind, Vicki, Tartarus is an international institution with five nations to satisfy. The investigators have to be absolutely certain nothing has been overlooked."
"Humph. I think they wanted to make sure that their uncles and brothers had guaranteed jobs. That's what I think," Vickie said.
Ellery smiled. "Then you'll be pleased to know they stamped the investigation closed last week. It seems everyone has finally agreed that Charles stored a flat of organic combustibles at the rear of the maintenance space next to a solar intake screen. One of the vials overflowed and exploded which set the others off."
"Charles? Combustibles?" Vickie stood incredulous.
"That's what the investigators said. I have my own theory, but without witnesses I can never prove otherwise. The fire destroyed any evidence there may have been."
"What about the sea pumps then? Whoever worked on them should have to carry some responsibility. After all, if the pumps hadn't malfunctioned, Mr. Lakeland might still be alive. Martin Abelso, too."
"We checked that in the beginning, Dear. It was Martin's name on the pump log."
"Now wasn't that a handy coincidence. Speaking of Doctor Raborman, what's she been up to lately?"
"Now Vickie, you mustn't judge because of personal feelings. A little more cream, please." Her daughter obliged with another stream. "To answer your question, Bianca is developing a serum to increase libido for the long-lifers," Ellery said as she whipped the milk into the potatoes.
"That makes no sense to me at all. Boosters have been on the market since the twentieth century. Why is she going over old ground?" Vickie's tone implied she'd never heard of anything so dumb. "In fact, according to a news article I read last week, the long-term results on V-IV came in at a plus ten score. One user even claimed it did the job better than nature ever did. That's pretty impressive."
"I read that article, too, Vickie. 'A twenty-five year follow-up program has shown that V-IV produces results without the cramps, nausea, and temporary blackouts so common with its predecessor, Viagran III' blah, blah, blah—a biased report, like so much of what we read or hear."
"Now who's being cynical?" Vickie grinned at her mother's sidelong glance.
"Although written by a freelancer, the story was edited by Viagen, the largest pharmaceutical corporation in the United Americas and holder of the Viagran patent. That news account failed to mention that V-IV induces impotence after prolonged use. Bianca's working on a DNA correction that will be tailored to each specific individual. The serum is simply a delivery system. She spent last week reviewing the records of those who are taking the life extension treatments." Ellery hesitated. "But that isn't what's bothering me. I have more serious things than virility to discuss with His Holiness."
"Since you won't tell me, anyway—I'm not going to ask," Vickie said archly. "It's Christmas, Mom. Whatever it is, worry about it next week, Okay?"
"I can't."
"What do you mean—you can't?"
"Next week, dear daughter, I have much more important affairs to think about." She tweaked Vickie's cheek. "Like your wedding. Or have you forgotten?"
"Is that next week?" Vickie's grin stretched from ear to ear. "I knew there was something I was supposed to do but I just couldn't put my finger on it." Her eyes glowed with happiness.
Watching her daughter, Ellery felt the same amazement she had felt when Ned Harris requested permission to marry Vickie. Knife poised over a golden breasted turkey, she had stood transfixed. Staring at her child, she realized—for the first time—that her baby had grown into a beautiful young woman.
How fast the years have flown, Ellery thought. Six years ago, she was pleading to learn a new exercise alongside her brothers, and now, Matthew's politicking in Washington, John's building power grids, and Vickie's getting married on New Year's Day. She smiled as she turned her attention back to the bowl of potatoes. Maybe by this time next year, she'd be a grandmother.
Vickie, unlike her brothers, wanted children. After Matthew's revelation, she had finally accepted her heritage and was proud she carried the BH gene. Even when her brothers teased her about what BH stood for.
A chance remark from Papa's assistant when the twins were born, they told her. A Bighead, they teased, rubbing the back of their own skulls. That's what it really means. If you ever get married and have a boy, Vickie, it's going to be a Bighead.
I don't care, Vickie would say, throwing a pillow or a stuffed animal at them. I love Bigheads, I've had you two to practice on.
Then the laughing tussles would begin.
Ellery chuckled. Sometimes, I think those two sons of mine are a mite jealous of their little sister, she thought. Jealous they can't give the same birthright to their children—if they ever have children. She carried the cold potatoes to the warmer and set the timer for two minutes.
She was wiping down the sink when the doorbell chimed. Vickie's face grew luminous. "I'll get it." She disappeared into the living room.
Hearing her daughter's happy shrieks, Ellery quickly dried her hands. Matthew and John were home. As she stepped into the living room, her mouth dropped open.
"Dane Wyland! We didn't expect you until next week."
"Miss Christmas dinner with my best friend? Not on your life. Besides, before I give her away I wanted to meet the man who stole her heart from me." He swung his gaze to Vickie. "What a fickle woman you are, Miss Jensen. After taking the best years of my life, you toss me aside like some old shoe and run to the arms of another man." He threw up his hands. Laughter filled the room at his expression of resigned despair.
"Are you surprised, Mom?" Matthew and John spoke in unison. "We all had to work some tight flight schedules to be able to come in together," Matthew continued.
"We wanted to surprise you and Vickie," John added.
"Well surprise me you did." Ellery held her arms wide to the three young men in front of her. After giving each a firm hug, she turned to her waiting daughter. "Vickie, show them to their rooms while I finish setting dinner on the table. Don't dally," she called after them as the group, chattering like magpies, climbed the stairs. "You'll have plenty of visiting time after dinner."
She hurried back to the insistent buzz of the cooker. Adding more cream to the potatoes, she reset the timer to warm. If only the days could stop, she thought. It would let me have a little extra time with my children before His Holiness arrives.
Thinking about the Pope's imminent visit, Ellery squared her shoulders. She would try again to make him understand what was happening at the Foundation and this time, he would not only have her detailed report, he would also see what that report was telling him. This time, there would be no interpretive ambiguity.
She shuddered as she remembered the morning he had informed her that Tartarus had come under the directorship of The Church of Universals. The morning, a year later, when her plans for ousting Bianca had come to naught.
Ellery grimaced at the memory. Much as she disliked the thought, he had been right in his assessment; she had let her Dakotan ancestry color her judgement. Worse, she had let it affect her timing. A grievous error. One that removed her leverage and rendered her unbiased observations suspect.
She had been so intent on keeping the Dakotan name—and Tartarus—free of further tarnish, she forgot that untrained eyes would not, could not see what she knew was there, hidden deep within the folds of Bianca's miracle cures. Not then.
Ellery inhaled deeply. I tried, she thought. God knows, I tried, but he didn't understand. Now we have that hideous ape changeling in a Foundation laboratory. It wouldn't surprise me at all to find she has embarked on another project of horror to present to His Holiness as harmless research. The stove timer dinged as if in answer. "When he sees the ape, he'll appreciate what I've been telling him," Ellery muttered as she carried the potatoes to the table. "I don't care how talented she is. Either he removes her from the Foundation or I will resign as Director. I will no longer be a party to such cruelty."
"Enough, Ellery," she scolded herself. "Enjoy Christmas. You have happier things to think about than Bianca Raborman." She stood back, surveyed the festive table, and sniffed in the aromas.
"If anybody's hungry, it's on the table," she called out.
Happy chatter and glowing faces responded.