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fufarawMORE THAN US
chapters 5-6
fiveJared drove under a railroad bridge, the old two-lane narrowing as he approached the underpass. His glance was caught by a word lettered in black paint on the crumbling concrete abutment: Repro, with the second 'r' crossed out. Underneath, the words, "TAKE FREEDOM BACK" were scrawled in neon orange.
Repo, huh? A sort of grim smile crossed Jared's features and was quickly gone.
The road dead-ended in a parking lot for a warehouse complex that, if not abandoned, was definitely unused and idle at the moment. It was another random place for a meeting--it would be somewhere else next time--never the same place twice.
He'd met some of the others now, who were involved for whatever reasons of their own. Henry was their internet specialist. He worked fairly closely with Wynn, who managed websites as a career. Wynn designed webpages to grab the attention and engage the interest and sympathy of the web surfing public, and build sympathy for the cause. Henry managed schedules and routing and ISP switching to get the pages on the web, and bounced to random unpredictable locations so the ISPs couldn't be tracked.
Henry nodded at Jared and met his eye. Wynn seemed intent on the screen in front of him.
"Take a look," Wynn said, and they all crowded behind him to see his screen. It was a website, a headline across the top in bright blue, articles in columns below, a couple with line art. Ceivers: The Plain Truth" the headline read, and Jared caught a couple of column headers: "What Repro Doesn't Want You To Know," "Girl Ceivers Next?" and "What Can You Do?"
"Looks good, man," Henry said, and Malik and the others nodded and agreed.
"Okay, it's ready to go live at 7:00PM, after drive time and after supper. People should be surfing then. We give it two minutes, and Haley is ready to pick it up at 7:02 and send it out to twenty sites. We go down at 7:02.01, and with luck, they won't have time to trace the ISP. Haley shuts down at 7:04.01, and we just hope it goes viral from there," Wynn said, ticking off the steps they'd organized.
"I've got about a dozen people stationed at public computers--libraries, cafés, that sort of thing, to bounce it up and keep it going. They each have lists of sites they can boost it to before they shut down and walk away."
They knew Repro had an army of techs at least as good as Henry. But so far, nobody had been pinned as more than a consumer taking a casual look. They aimed to keep it that way.
* * *
Jared was staring down a family-pack of chicken legs and thighs, determined not to give in to just chucking them on the grill again. There was beef stew for tonight's dinner, but he was considering an experiment with marinating the chicken overnight to tenderize, and then baking--or roasting, whichever--the meat and other ingredients in the remaining marinade to make a sauce. Sort of a--cassoulet? Was that the thing he was thinking of, he wondered as he flipped the pages of the cookbook. He noticed absently when the front door opened. The kids were scattered after school: Mac at Sophie's, or on some business for Malik, JJ at his new friend Glenn's. And Shannon had called to say she was going to be late. She hadn't been going out much lately, and her girlfriends didn't seem to drop by as often as they used to. Jared wondered if she was seeing somebody--someone she hadn't gotten around to telling her parents about. Jensen was upstairs in his studio, so by process of elimination, this must be his daughter.
"Shannon?"
"Yes, Papa?" he heard her backpack drop with a heavy thud onto the sofa cushions and the jingle of her keys before she came into view. He stared, a little startled.
"Honey, what did you do to your hair?"
Her hand rose self-consciously to ruffle the curls that weren't there. "I cut it." When he didn't say anything, her chin rose, readying for defiance.
He recovered, and reached out for her. "Can I touch?" When she came close enough, he ran his palm over the too-short-to-curl hair--barely an inch long, all over. It was springy and velvety, all at once, and it covered her head like a close, glossy cap. His fingertips stroked over her exposed ears and at the nape of her neck, and he gave her his best smile. "It makes your eyes look amazing!" he told her.
"Yeah?"
"Absolutely," he told her. "Now tell me what to do with this chicken."
* * *
The TV was on, and Shannon was working on homework, not really paying attention, when Jensen came down to empty the dishwasher. He started to remind her to turn it off if she wasn't going to watch, when her posture suddenly came to attention. Some news analyst was droning on, Jensen had ignored it till his daughter's tension caught his eye.
"…And in other news, the Department of Reproduction has issued some promising news, regarding research and development into the troublesome subject of human fertility. Scientists are no closer to solving the problems causing the decline in conception and live births that have plagued humankind in the last half-century and more. But they do offer hope. Testing for fertility in females is nearing reality. The Department hopes to have a standard, reliable test available for girls within the next 12 to 24 months, similar to the test that's routinely given to boys. Identifying fertile girls will give the Department a greater opportunity to insure that more healthy children are born, and will greatly increase the chances of reversing this troubling decades-long decline in births.
"There was an accident on a highway overpass this afternoon…"
The newsperson continued to talk, but Shannon had evidently tuned him out. She clicked off the TV, and just sat for several minutes, unmoving, before she gathered her books and papers to take upstairs to her room. She noticed Jensen when she headed for the stairs.
"Dad?"
"Hey, honey. Did you have a good day at school?"
It took a minute, but she smiled, and piled her stuff on the breakfast bar to come and give him a hug. "It was fine," she said. "How was yours? You make any music?"
"Little bit," he admitted.
"Did you make us any money?" Like either of them believed that was the main focus of his work. Still.
"Well, I got little kiddies at home, you know. They gotta eat."
They shared a chuckle, and she reached to help put dishes away.
Jensen took a good, searching look at this young person in front of him. As a little girl she'd been all about the ruffled dresses and hair bows, dozens of pairs of shoes, and enough stuffed animals that they'd needed their own bed. Moving into her teens she'd kept that interest in clothes, though it had seemed gradually to swing from the latest popular thing to a wardrobe of simple lines and rich colors that seemed uniquely hers. He realized that he hadn't seen her wear a skirt for weeks, and today she was in jeans and a button-down shirt in a soft fabric, the chocolate-bronze color obviously chosen to match her eyes. Clean, well-kept, and well-fitting, the clothes didn't disguise her shape, but neither did they deliberately show it off, vying for the attention of… well, who? Jensen thought hard, but he couldn't remember, after her giggly middle-school years, his daughter even hinting at a romantic attraction to a boy--any boy.
Or girl, he acknowledged. He watched her as she moved around the kitchen, graceful, economical, fit. With her hair so short, she'd started wearing larger, dangling earrings, silver carved or cast in unusual shapes, or set with colored glass, enamel, or semi-precious stones. She wore makeup, sometimes, but just as often, not. And despite the seeming lack of friends or romantic interest, she seemed fine, upbeat, even happy.
After observing her watch the news just now, he wondered if the report had any impact on her feelings about Repro and its policies. He wasn't sure what he wanted the answer to that question to be.
* * *
"Something's going on with her," Jensen mused, once Jared had brushed his teeth and come to bed.
"She doesn't seem to be hanging out with the same girlfriends she used to," Jared nodded, half-reclining with his back against the pillows. "At least they're never over here any more. I don't know if she's going to their houses or not."
Jensen reached for him, sliding down to lie between his legs and blowing hot damp breath on what lay beneath the flimsy fabric of his sleep pants. "It's mainly debate club taking up her time. I don't see her spending a lot of time with anybody outside of that." He nosed at the swelling flesh under the pajamas, and Jared saw the muscles of Jensen's ass flex as he rubbed himself against the mattress. "And she never talks about any of her friends any more."
Jared had been trying to pay attention to the conversation, but he'd had enough. "Okay, time to stop talking about our daughter when you're doing that."
He got a glint of green eyes and a wide grin before Jensen slipped the drawstring knot, pulled down the front of the pants, took Jared in his mouth and sucked him to full hardness in about ten seconds.
* * *
Jared had been working his way through the assignments on his desk and not taking any new ones, handing one off here and there when he knew it would be handled well by another architect at the firm. He was well aware that at some point he would have to take a leave of absence, or a sabbatical; he wasn't ready yet to resign unequivocally. But he knew he wasn't pulling his weight, and the deeper he got involved with the movement, the less time and attention he could give--or wanted to give--to his job. He was filing a building plan when Mac called.
"Hey Pop, are you real busy?"
The boy's voice sounded odd. "Mac, are you all right?"
"I'm okay, Pop. I just--have you got some time?"
"Yeah, of course."
The boy sighed. "Okay, good. Can you meet me right now? At the park? I'm at the basketball court."
Jared's concern had ratcheted up a notch or two. It wasn't like Mac to be cryptic. "What's going on, son?"
"I need you to hear something, but I don't want to do it at the house. And," the agitation in the kid's voice was apparent. "I don't think Dad's--well. You need to hear it. Can you come?"
"Sure, Mac. I'll be right there. Ten minutes, maybe."
"Okay." The relief in his son's voice made Jared hurry as he shut down his computer and scribbled a note for Jensen and the other kids. He stuck it on the fridge before he left the house.
Mac sat on the bleachers at one side of the court. As Jared approached, he held out his iPhone, and Jared took it.
"Some kid got a file out." Jared looked his question, but Mac shook his head. "I don't know how. Malik said Wynn and Henry are trying to clean it up. They want to send it to the networks--or if that won't work, leak it."
Jared continued to regard his son; he could see the boy wasn't finished talking. "I listened to it. You need to hear it."
Jared agreed, and Mac nodded. "I'm--gonna take a walk. Maybe...well. After you finish, we can talk?"
"Sure, Mac." Jared had some idea of what was on the recording, and it was evident hearing it had shaken Mac up. Talking was definitely going to happen, but Jared needed to hear, first. He put in the earbuds and pressed play.
At first there was a rustling sound he guessed was clothing, and then the sound of breathing. A young voice spoke in a near whisper, close to the microphone.
"Hey, it's me. I'm supposed to see you tomorrow, at least I hope I do, so I'm going to try and sneak this back to you then. If you knew what was going on in here-- It's…not good. I guess it's for a good cause and everything, but I hate it. I hate that it has to be me in here. I don't. I don't like it. And I don't see any way out of doing what they make us do.
"We have to do everything they say. The first thing--this is so gross to tell you, but it's gross to do, too. We have to give ourselves an enema every day. Before breakfast. 'Course after that you don't want any breakfast. Once we're cleaned out, they make us stick a plug up our butt, and we get a new one, a bigger one, every few months. I've been here...more than a year, I think, and I'm on my third one. We have to wear them all the time. It's hard to walk or sit without feeling it, all the time, especially when you get a new one--" There was a hiss and a rattle. "Someone's coming," and the sound cut off.
Jared waited, trying not to react to what he'd heard, and the sound came back with a click. "What else?" the voice on the recording asked. "We have to eat what they give us--there's no burgers and fries, no pizza. We get lots of grains and nuts and fruit, and classes on why those things are good for us, and why we have to eat to prepare our bodies for--" the voice shook and dropped a half-octave. "Babies." There was a soft gasp, and a sniff. "We, uh. We can't run around and yell, you know, how guys do when we get together? Well, some adult or one of the older guys is always around and we have to always act quiet. We don't get to play sports. We swim. And they've got us doing yoga." Jared had to grin a little at the audible sneer. "But no baseball, no basketball--not even dodgeball."
There was a space where there were no sounds but breathing, and then the voice spoke in a near-whisper. "I'm sorry if this is too gross, but." He took a deep breath, and the next sentence poured out like he had to say it or lose his nerve. "We're not allowed to, you know, touch ourselves. We have. We have classes. In how to make our pere feel good. They partner each of us off with one of the guys from the older classes, and we have to--have to. Uh, practice. On them. And we get graded on--on how we do. Once a week, some other guy does us. You know, with his hand. But we're never supposed to touch our own--" Tears were evident in his voice, now, but he sniffed them back and swallowed hard. "Everything here's gross. It's wrong. It's-- I just want to go home, and be a kid. I don't want to-- I'm scared of…of… getting fucked." The boy was gulping, could barely get the words out. "Getting...p-pregnant. I don't want this..." the voice rose on the last sentence before it broke up in tears, the words garbled. Another click signified the recording had been stopped. Jared waited, but the recording ended. There wasn't anything else to hear.
He had known. He had always known. Everybody knew. It was just the way things were. These boys had a gift, and when they were the right age they were taken away and taught how to, how to use that gift. They were special, they were different, it was a good thing, the right thing. They were the hope of the future, the ones who were holding back the looming threat of human extinction. The world owed them everything, and ceivers were revered, treasured, cherished, and cared for. Everybody knew that, accepted it.
Except the ones chosen for that exalted task. Nobody had ever given them a voice. No one had asked if they wanted this role they were thrust into. They had never had a choice--they still didn't have one. Jared heard that scared kid's voice, and in it he heard his own kids', had their tests turned out differently. He heard all the boys abruptly snatched out of their lives, away from their families and all they'd known, and he couldn't accept anymore that this was the right thing to do. He didn't know how humanity was to hold off extinction--but if forcing a segment of its young into slavery generation after generation, if accepting that as the right thing and a good thing, maybe it was time for humans to die out. Jared was sickened and disgusted by his species.
"Papa?"
Jared looked up at his elder son, tall and strong against the setting sun, and pulled the buds from his ears, coiled the wires around the iPhone, and felt for the first time the wetness on his cheeks. He wiped the tears away as he handed the phone back to Mac.
"Yeah, son?"
"We have to work a lot harder at this. We have to make things change, for Sam, for all those kids."
"Yeah, Mac. I think we do."
Mac sat down beside him, and Jared had to fight down the impulse to hug him. He knew Mac wouldn't appreciate it, he was trying hard to be strong and sure, a man of principle. No matter how much Jared saw a little boy in danger of being taken away by an implacable government, Jared had to let him be that man.
"It's why you took us to Ireland, isn't it? You were afraid JJ and I would be taken if we stayed here."
After a moment, Jared nodded. "Ireland has a much more relaxed policy toward ceivers. Your dad and I--and your grandparents--wanted you to have choices, if either of you tested positive."
Mac nodded. "Well, thanks for that." He stood, jammed his fists in his pockets. "But most people don't have that option."
"I know, Mac."
"Dad's a ceiver, isn't he?"
Like a punch to the gut, that question knocked all the air out of Jared's lungs. He gaped and tried to formulate a response, while his son continued.
"That's why he's so scared of Repro, so scared to do anything to make them mad. I'm right, aren't I?"
Jared was able to meet his eyes, but he wouldn't answer the question.
"Mackie, that's something you're going to have to ask your dad. I won't answer for him."
Mac held his pop's gaze for another beat, then nodded. "Okay. Can we go home? I know he doesn't want to hear this stuff, but, Pop, he can't just keep ignoring what we're doing. He has to know."
"He's not going to be okay with it," Jared warned.
"Yeah. I figured."
Jared sent Mac to his room. He wanted to be alone with Jensen for this. Both the other kids were at friends' houses for the evening, so there would be no interruptions. Mac's iPhone in hand, he knocked on the door of Jensen's studio. "'s open," Jensen called, and Jared turned the knob and went in.
Jensen didn't want to listen. Jared held out the iPhone, and Jensen made no move to take it. "That's Mac's phone, isn't it?"
"Yes. There's a file on it--"
"I don't want to know, Jared."
"Jensen."
"I told you, I don't want him involved in anything to do with...anything." He flapped his hand as though shooing the thought away, unable to even say the word.
"Jensen, just listen."
"You're in it now, too, aren't you? You're not just keeping an eye on him, you're in it yourself." The tone was accusatory, and so was the look leveled at him from under those drawn-together brows. "You just couldn't listen to me."
"Are you listening to me?"
That was a direct hit. Jensen regarded him searchingly, and finally reached out and took the iPhone. Jared didn't hand over the earbuds; there had been enough silence and secrecy between them already. He wanted to watch his husband's reactions while the audio file played.
Jensen shot a look up at him as he realized what was on the file. As the kid's voice went on, he brought a hand up to his brow, shielding his expression. By the end of the recording, that hand was wrapped across the lower half of his face, as though to repress any sound he might make. His face crumpled, tears fell, and he'd drawn in on himself, as though he was trying to make himself small.
Jared let the silence linger a moment before he said, "You never told me. I didn't know."
Slowly, like an old man, or as if sore from a day's physical labor, Jensen moved. He uncurled from the hunched, cramped posture and swiped at the wetness on his face as he stood and crossed the room, away from Jared, to the desk. Pulling a handful of tissues from the box, he blew his nose and wiped his face before he spoke. "It was only two weeks. I didn't have it that rough."
The roughness of his voice and the expression on his face gave his words the lie, but Jared let it go with a nod. "Still. I'd just never thought of what it was like--for them. For you." Jensen said nothing, so Jared took a seat on the sofa and continued. "We all grew up knowing--we were taught--that ceivers were special, had a special gift, a quality, an ability that made them different, and…special. There were reasons for all the culture that surrounds them: for them keeping separate from society, for the clothes, for the rules." Jensen was at least looking at him now. "But they never really told us where ceivers came from. That they were just ordinary kids, with plans and dreams, and families who loved them and wanted things for them."
Jared kneaded the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger to ease the headache building there. "They never told us those boys were essentially kidnapped and imprisoned and...indoctrinated, trained," he almost spat the word. "To be good little broodmares--"
One of the words Jensen had used to describe himself, all those years ago, and his place in Jared's home and Jared's life.
"I'm so sorry, Jensen. I--"
"Man, stop." Jared didn't come closer, but Jensen's eyes were meeting his now. "None of us knew. I didn't know. Jared, this has been going on for sixty years. Longer, really, since the scientists and statisticians figured out the population was declining, and would likely continue to fall, since the first man wound up in a doctor's office wondering why he was having weird symptoms. And when they figured out how to screen for whatever signs a ceiver gives off at puberty? The Department of Reproduction went into high gear. The program was set up as the salvation of humankind."
He paused, pulling a couple of water bottles out of the mini fridge and tossing one to Jared. At his husband's quirked eyebrow he admitted, "Yeah, I've done some research. When it came to our boys, I needed to know more than I did when it was me." He twisted the top off his bottle and took a long drink. "You know, when we were growing up, most of our friends had a pair of regular parents: moms, dads, one of each." Jared nodded agreement. "It was just never part of our lives--not mine, anyway--that there was this whole class of people we never saw or really heard about. There's never any news about ceivers themselves. No pictures, no interviews, no quotes. It's sort of like they exist in a different world."
Jared thought about it before he nodded again. He took a swallow of water and Jensen continued.
"Repro mounted a huge scare campaign about the extinction of humans about seventy years ago, and a propaganda campaign right behind it to promote ceivers as the saviors of the human race. 'Your sons will be the founders of tomorrow' kind of thing. You know," he added wryly. "One way or the other."
"Being a ceiver was promoted as an honor, a special--god, if I never hear that word again in relation to ceivers or Repro!" It sounded like cursing.
Jared just waited, while Jensen shifted his weight, recrossed his ankles, drew a deliberate deep breath, and continued more calmly. "Ceivers were supposed to be a special class of people. Families were encouraged and expected to shove their sons into screenings hoping they'd be chosen. I guess in some cases having a ceiver son was a good thing--the families got compensation. If you were poor, life was better for you, and you knew your kid would be fed and have medical care and be taken care of. You knew you'd have grandkids someday--and that was important, still is, to a lot of people." He leaned against the desk, legs crossed at the ankles, as he took another drink of water. "But once you were chosen, you disappeared. You ceased to be a person--you became this mythic savior figure, elevated above the rest of society. It was a wonderful, special thing that only a few could do, to be a ceiver."
"But nobody asked the boys," Jared said softly.
Jensen nodded. "Nobody asked the boys. But you know what? I'll bet most of them bought the whole 'savior of humankind' thing. Most of them were glad to be heroes. A lot of them fell right into line with the training and the classes. They probably didn't even mind the training too much, once they got into the sex part of things, boys being the horny little beasts they are. Directing the sex urges was probably cake for Repro, and by the time training was over, they had kids eager to be paired up and knocked up and taken care of for life."
Jared stared at him. "But not all of them."
"No. Not all." Jensen's gaze dropped, and fell on the iPhone. "Not all," he repeated.
"It's too much to ask of kids that don't want to be there." Jared's voice was quiet, undemanding. "It breaks my heart, Jensen. We have to do something."
Jensen didn't answer, but Jared could see the tension ramping up, see his husband swallow, press his lips tight in a line, hear how his breathing quickened, shortened.
"Jensen?"
Jensen shook his head. "You don't know them, Jared. They'll put us in jail. They'll put Mac in jail. They'll take Shannon and JJ away--I don't even know if they'll let them stay with their grandparents, they may go after my dad, your dad."
"Jensen, you're overreacting."
"Am I? No, I'm not. Do you remember the Adamses? One block over?"
Jared had never met the family, but he remembered hearing them mentioned. "Yeah?"
"They tried to keep their son out of the program, have him declared medically unfit; Repro took him anyway. The dad's in prison now. He took all the blame himself for trying to keep Repro from taking the boy so his wife could stay free. She and the two little girls left town with the clothes on their backs. Repro repossessed their cars, foreclosed on their mortgage, took everything. They moved in with an aunt of the dad's, because the mom's family was afraid to take them in. Ms. Adams was a medical research assistant at Trinan; she's working on an assembly line now at a factory to help pay the bills. She was lucky to get that job, because when the diner where she'd gotten work as a waitress found out who she was, they fired her."
Jared shook his head in sympathy and unwilling belief.
"She's homeschooling the girls because they got teased and bullied in school. Jared, Repro doesn't fool around. I understand how you and Mac feel--I feel the same way, man. But look, Repro knows who I am, who you are. I'm the one that got out, and you did that. We're on their radar already. It's just too dangerous for you--either of you--to keep doing what you've been doing." He crossed to the sofa and sat close beside his husband. "Promise me you'll get out of it. Get Mac out. And stay out of it."
Jared didn't answer for a minute, then he said, "Mac knows."
Jensen's brow furrowed, puzzled. "Knows what?"
"That you were a ceiver. I think he's pretty sure you're his birth parent, for Shannon and JJ, too."
The subject had never come up, the kids hadn't ever asked; Jensen had just always been "Daddy" from the first few months he'd been in their lives. And without questions from them, neither Jared nor Jensen had felt any need to explain. "How?" Jensen asked.
"I don't know," Jared told him. "He just figured it out, I expect."
"He just--came out and asked you about it?" When Jared nodded, he asked, "What did you tell him?"
"I didn't say anything. I didn't confirm it. I told him to ask you."
Jensen sighed. "I guess I need to talk to him. Maybe if he knows what I went through, it'll scare him off of going up against Repro."
Jared nodded. "Yeah, maybe." But he didn't sound very convinced.
six
Mac had come home after school to drop off his backpack and change clothes. Jensen hardly ever caught him at home anymore, so he took the chance while he had it. "Mackie, come help me box up some stuff in the studio."
Mac seemed reluctant. "Dad, I've got somewhere I need to be--"
"Call and say you'll be late. This won't take long."
The boy hesitated, but finally shrugged and followed his dad up the stairs.
Once there, Jensen pointed to a stack of flat boxes and threw Mac a roll of packing tape. "Put a couple of those together," he instructed. "We shouldn't need more than that."
While Mac got to work on the boxes, Jensen pulled file folders from a stack he'd organized over the last couple of days: music he had worked on years ago. He had digital copies of all of it, but the paper copies meant something to him, too. He wasn't ready to turn loose of them. Yet. So, he was storing them in the garage for now, to see if he could get used to not having them overflowing his file drawers.
"Your pop said you had some things you wanted to ask me about," Jensen took the first box, glanced with approval at how well the seams were lined up and taped down. Mac flickered a glance up at him and away as he worked on the second box.
"Yeah."
"You know you can ask me anything, right?"
Mac nodded, finishing taping the second box. Jensen pointed at a row of stacked folders on the console table, indicating Mac should pack them into his box. He began filling the box, and after a minute, answered. "Yeah. Well, okay. It's just--"
He stopped, and didn't seem to have the words he needed to ask what he wanted. Jensen helped him out. "This have to do with that sound file your pop played for me? The one from the ceiver boy?"
"You listened to that?"
Jensen nodded, and waited.
"Dad, you were a ceiver, weren't you? And you're not just my stepdad, me and Shannon and Jadge. You're our birth-parent." He managed to meet Jensen's eyes, and waited.
Jensen set down the files in his hands and crossed to where his son stood. He took the files out of Mac's hands, and hugged him tight, then sat them both down on the sofa. "Yes, Mackie, you're right. I was a ceiver. Does it make a difference with us? Do you think of me different, knowing that I was?"
"No." He shook his head quickly, then, "I mean--you're Dad. You've always been Dad, you know? Especially for the littler ones."
"Yeah, I do know. And that's one reason it never seemed necessary to bring it up. If any of you had wanted to know, if it had seemed important to any of you, if you'd been curious, we would have told you."
"So, how come you're not a ceiver now?"
Oh. This was a question he hadn't expected, and he wasn't prepared for it. "I, uh. I had an accident. I wasn't…useful, anymore, and when your pop asked Repro to reverse my status, they didn't have a problem with it." Jensen quickly decided this wasn't the right time to tell Mac about the little brother he'd never had the chance to know. There was enough for him to absorb as it was.
He needed to put a little distance between them; he got up and resumed packing files into the box. "You know I…didn't have the same experience other ceivers have, don't you?"
Mac just looked puzzled. "No?"
"Oh. Well." He put down the files and leaned a hip against the desk. "I was sick when I was twelve, and missed my screening. My status wasn't discovered until I was twenty-four. I was going on tour with Chris, Steve, and Jason in Europe. I hadn't been out of the country before, and the physical for the passport caught me."
"But--you were a grown man. How could they--?"
"Well, that was what my family and I thought. Our lawyer quickly found out, though, that my age was irrelevant as long as I was fit to serve, so I was taken into Repro's custody, given two weeks of prep, and assigned to your pop."
"Oh my god. You must have been…"
"It was rough for a while," Jensen agreed. "But Mackie, you know your papa, nobody can help loving him, and I did too. I fell right flat in love with him, whether I wanted to or not. So, you know, that made things a little easier."
Mac didn't say anything, and Jensen glanced over to see him wearing an expression of regret and horror. "You…you must have been so freaked out."
"Yeah, I was." Jensen wouldn't lie to the boy.
"I mean, it's awful enough when you're twelve, and, like that kid on the sound file, just taken away from home and your family, and started in training."
"Yeah," Jensen agreed. "That's pretty rough on those kids."
Mac glanced at him, and then away. "But at least they have time to get used to everything. They know what's going to happen, and they--well, they train for it. How to do it, what to expect."
Jensen said nothing while Mac thought his way through what he was feeling.
"You--you really had no idea?" Jensen shook his head, and Mac went on. "I can't even imagine. I mean, I thought about it, before my screening, tried to imagine what it would be like. But you'd already passed the age. You had--college, and dating, and, oh my god, you were going on tour--you were playing with the band. Oh, crap, Dad. You must have been--"
"Mackie, stop it. That's enough." Jensen wasn't at all comfortable at the line his son was taking. He was, truth be told, afraid there would be a change in the way Mac saw him, now that he knew. He interrupted the boy's thoughts. "Yeah, it was rough. But I adapted. And as you see, I'm here and I'm fine, so there's no point in going over this."
Mac looked at him, but didn't reply, obviously waiting for Jensen to go on. "I had some difficulty adjusting, but that's all in the past. I'm okay. I've been okay for a long time, you understand?"
"Yeah, I think I do. And I guess it doesn't really matter now. I just--I'm sorry."
"Mackie? What are you sorry for?"
"A-after…listening to that kid. I--" He took a deep breath and seemed to square his shoulders. He couldn't quite look at Jensen. "You must have hated us."
Jensen was across the room in seconds, pulling Mac to his feet and engulfing him in a tight hug. "Never," he promised. "I never hated you, not one of you, not ever."
Mac searched his expression before he allowed his head to fall, hiding the tears Jensen had seen about to spill. He patted him roughly on the shoulder and backed away to give him some space.
"I was confused, and angry--at Repro, for changing my life without warning or taking my wishes into account. For turning everything upside down." He continued to talk, giving Mac the time to regain control and resume his seat. "I was confused and scared and, yeah, really really angry. But you know what helped more than anything?"
Mac shook his head.
"Your papa." There was no way Mac could doubt the smile that hovered around his dad's lips as he remembered Jared in the early days. "He made things as easy for me as he could. He treated me like a person, rather than a servant, or…something less than a servant.
"There were times when he just went along with the party line that made things even tougher for me, just assuming that was how it was supposed to be, you know? But when I objected, he listened, and we tried to fix it, as much as we could." Jensen cleared his throat. "He believed we could make something good together, and he made me believe it too.
"I wasn't at all prepared when I got pregnant, and yeah, I freaked out pretty bad. The only way I could deal with it was to not think about it, to distance myself from the whole thing."
He peered at his son, willing him to understand. "It probably wasn't the best way to handle it, but it was the only way I could do it and get through."
He took a deep breath. This confession was the hardest. "And when you were born, I backed off. It had nothing to do with you, Mackie, please understand that. But I hadn't been asked; I hadn't chosen to become a parent. It had…been done to me, and I'd had no way to stop it. I was so lost. So yeah, I resented the idea of parenting a child."
He took the steps needed to get close to his son, took Mac's face between his hands and tilted it up to meet his eyes. "It had nothing to do with you." He kissed the top of his kid's head, and crouched down so he was at eye level. "Can you believe me?"
Mac's eyes were closed tight, fighting against the tears that were leaking out, anyway. After a minute or two, he opened them and looked straight into his dad's eyes, both so alike, and nodded. "Yeah. I get it. I'd probably feel the same way."
"I always knew where you were," Jensen told him. "I knew your papa doted on you and loved you--each of you--to distraction. I knew your grandparents and aunts and uncles loved you dearly and spoiled you rotten. I knew Cecile and Leslie were loving and smart, and really good with you. I always knew you were okay. I just. I just couldn't…."
Mac reached up and squeezed Jensen's wrist. "No Dad, it's okay. I get it, I do. But, what changed your mind?"
Jensen stood, knees creaking a little, and went to get a couple of water bottles from the fridge. He tossed one to Mac and opened the second himself, taking a long drink before he spoke again. "After--the accident, and your pop getting my status reversed, I started easing back into things: driving, eating out, going to the office downtown to work. I started to feel like me again. I'd realized a long time back that I loved your pop. Suddenly I had all these possibilities open to me."
He cocked an eyebrow at Mac. "I was straight, before. You know? Your pop kind of changed my perspective on that." He grinned. "But I wasn't restricted to him, any more. I was free. And I suddenly realized, it didn't matter. I loved Jared, and I couldn't think of the future without him. So I asked him to marry me."
"Really? You asked him? He must have been thrilled, after all you guys had been through."
Jensen leveled a look at him. "He turned me down."
"What?"
"Yeah. He reminded me that he had kids. He was 'a package deal,' he said. And he couldn't marry me unless I was ready to take on his kids, too. He loved me, and he wanted us to be together. But it was time for all of us to be together. So I said I'd try." He took another drink. "Mackie, do you remember the first time we met?"
A little frown furrowed the young brow. "Here in the studio?"
Jensen nodded. "Right there in the doorway. That door had been closed your whole life. That afternoon I opened it, and let you in." He watched his son absorb everything he'd heard today. "I've never had a moment's regret. Not one. I love you guys. You're my kids. I'm your dad. And your pop saw to it that we are a family."
He picked up a handful of files and started to pack the box. "There are times when I'm sorry I wasn’t there for your first tooth, your first step--for all of you."
Mac had started packing the box he had, too. "No, Dad. I get it. It's okay."
Jensen smiled a little at a burden lifted, at the gift of forgiveness he hadn't known he'd wanted. "I'm here now," he promised. "You know I'd do anything, for any of you."
"Yeah, Dad. I know." He swiped at the remnants of tears with the heel of his palm and sniffed hard before chucking a stack of files none too carefully into the box, aiming an exaggeratedly put-upon sigh at his dad. "Have you got any other revelations for me today, or can we get this done so I can go meet Sophie?"
He didn't resist when Jensen reeled him in with an arm around his neck and kissed the top of his head. "Brat."
* * *
"Tom," Jervis met Jared's eyes across the table. The planning meeting had adjourned, but Jervis had asked Jared to stay behind. "There's a man who's interested in donating to the cause. He's not sure, though, he wants to have some say in how his money will be used."
Jared wasn't sure where this was going. "Is that something we can promise? That whatever he gives will be spent the way he says? Do we have categories like that? I thought it was all just a single fund."
"Well, it has been, but I have some ideas on how we can modify the way we do things, and I'm pretty sure we can promise not to spend this man's money in ways that go against his wishes."
"Okay. But that's good then, isn't it?" Jared waited for Jervis to continue, unsure why he'd been called out by name.
Jervis met his gaze straight on. "Well, part of his deal is, he wants to talk to you."
"Wh--Me?" startled, Jared couldn't think how anybody could know he was a part of the movement. He'd been careful, he thought.
"He didn't give a name, but he described you pretty well--enough that anybody would recognize you."
Thinking furiously, Jared almost missed the rest of what Jervis had to say. "He wants to meet us, you and me, tomorrow afternoon. What do you say?"
He thought a moment. "Are you sure he's sympathetic? I mean, how did he find you?" Jared stepped back and took a breath. "Excuse me, I'm a little unsettled by the fact that someone knows me well enough to describe me, and knows I'm a part of this."
"Understandable," Jervis nodded. "He says he won't meet with anybody else, but I don't want to put you in a situation where you don't want to be." He let that set a minute before he continued. "Do you want me to cancel the meeting?"
Jared shook his head, slowly. "No, I'll come. That money will do a lot of good. I can at least manage to meet him."
Jervis smiled. "Good man."
Jared tried not to think about it, tried not to get nervous, but the fact was, he wasn't good at negotiating about money, and he had little faith he was the person this potential benefactor should be talking to. And then there were his concerns about when and where the man had seen him, and how he'd been identified with the anti-Repro movement. It was enough to keep him on edge until time for the appointment.
Jervis was where they'd arranged to meet, and they walked half a block to a discreet restaurant with a decent reputation for its food. The interior was dim, but the back wall of glass looked out into a sliver of walled garden, bright in the sun, where water flashed and sparkled over rocks in a decorative fountain.
He followed Jervis to a table by the window, and the man waiting there shook Jervis' hand. Jared accepted a handshake numbly, and watched both men for cues.
"Have a seat, Tom," the potential donor invited. "Jervis is going to take a walk for about a half hour, before he joins us for a late lunch."
"Of course, sir," Jervis smiled. He nodded at Jared, and walked away. Jared stared at the man he'd come to meet.
"Hello, son," Gerry said.
"Dad? What the hell are you doing here?"
His father raised a hand and beckoned to a waiter. "Coffee, please?" He glanced at Jared. "What'll you have?"
Jared shook his head, annoyed at the delay. "Nothing, thanks."
The waiter nodded and went away. "Aren't you supposed to be off caffeine, for your heart?"
"Don’t tell your mother," Gerry grinned conspiratorially. "I don't have it often," he was quick to forestall the argument Jared drew breath for. "Special occasion. Allow me the pleasure."
Recognizing the stalling tactic, Jared got down to the subject at hand. "Dad, what are you doing here?" The waiter brought his cup, and Gerry added sugar and milk before taking a sip, and then sat back in his seat.
"I've been thinking for a while," he told his son. "I pay attention, you know, to the news, to what goes on. I've been hearing things that make me uncomfortable with the way things are."
Jared regarded him noncommittally.
"Have you seen the graffiti?" he asked. "Repo. That's pretty clever, I thought. 'Take freedom back.' Perhaps it's time we did that." He paused, letting that thought rest between them while he sipped his coffee.
Gerald Padalecki had the ear of a number of politicians, from civic to federal levels: old school ties, business associations, political and personal favors, children having attended the same schools--whatever the ties were, they existed, and Gerry was ready to approach each one to talk to them about the movement. To plant the seeds of dissent, or nurture ones that had already taken root. Any help these people could bring to bear against the Department would help, and Jared's dad was ready to undertake that campaign. Jervis joined them, and the discussion gained some focus.
The Padaleckis were not among the wealthiest families, nor did they move in those elevated circles. But there were plenty of bankers and CEOs and company officers Gerry knew well from the golf club whose pockets were certainly deep enough to help the movement. Gerry offered to approach them. If Jervis could provide names of relatives Repro had claimed as ceivers, perhaps Gerry could find sympathetic individuals among them. And there were friends of his he was certain he could motivate to help, in similar outreach, while being careful and circumspect enough to avoid legal implication and formal charges.
They sat for another hour, Gerry continuing to call him Tom, Jared referring to his dad as "Sir," before they had the groundwork laid for a plan of action. Jared was caught between admiration for his dad's spirit and worry for his welfare--legally, and health-wise. But Gerry looked energized and pleased, and Jared was incredibly proud of him. Jared couldn't say anything anyway, without revealing their relationship, so he let it go, for now.
* * *
JJ was on his way out, over to Glenn's to work on their science project, and he'd been asked to stay for dinner, afterward. As he headed toward the door, the bell rang. He opened it, to find Robby on the mat. "Hi, JJ!"
Jensen watched as his youngest tried to be casual. "Hey, Robby."
"I just wondered if maybe you wanted to hang out? Play some X-Box, or something?"
JJ hadn't stood aside to let Robby in, and now he shook his head. "Sorry, man," he told the boy who had been his best friend for years. "I've got to meet somebody. Gotta go." He pushed out of the door and pulled it shut behind him. Jensen crossed the foyer to watch through the sidelight as JJ walked away, leaving Robby standing.
"Maybe later, huh?" Robby called after him. "Sometime soon?"
"Yeah," JJ threw up a hand, but didn't turn around as he hurried off. "Maybe."
Robby stood for another minute, and finally walked back down the driveway. Jensen felt sorry for him. He'd always been a good friend to JJ, they'd been through a lot together. Maybe it was time to have a talk with JJ about how you treated the people who cared about you.
* * *
Sophie carried a stack of flyers and a roll of tape, and Mac had the staple gun. It was late, after ten, but they had a nine-block square to cover, and they'd only gotten seven done so far. Mac stapled a flyer to a telephone pole; the stuccoed surface of the high wall surrounding a house and yard a few feet further on would require tape.
Something scraped and shuffled out of sight around the next corner, and the kids heard muffled voices. Mac snatched the flyers out of Sophie's arms and tucked them into the deep shadow of a jog in the wall, throwing the stapler and tape onto the stack to weight them. Sophie grabbed his hand and they ran quickly back down the street the way they had come, toward the light that would outline them unmistakably. He took her face between his hands and kissed her deeply. She melted against him, murmuring, "Make it good," against his lips as the owners of the voices rounded the corner and spotted them.
"Hey! You there!" Feet pounded in their direction, not quite running as the young pair continued to kiss. They broke apart just before the man's hand landed on Mac's shoulder, separating the couple completely. Mac grabbed Sophie's hand and turned to face the uniformed cops, one young and blond, the other familiar, though he showed no recognition at this moment.
Mac angled himself between the officers and Sophie, wiping his sleeve across his mouth. "Officers?" he inquired, dividing his attention between the two of them.
Blondie spoke first. "What are you guys doing out so late?" he demanded.
Sophie tucked her body up against Mac, huddling as if for protection, and he resisted the urge to pull her under his arm, just held her by the hand. "I'm, uh," Mac stammered a little, surprised and a little nervous. "Just taking my girl home," he offered. Sophie blinked up at the uniforms, but said nothing. Her big eyes shone in the lamplight, the image of aroused and rosy innocence, as she clutched tightly to her boyfriend's hand.
The second officer was idly searching back along the sidewalk, and Mac knew it wasn't by chance when he discovered the stack of flyers and the staple gun and tape. "Here now, what's this?" he demanded, scooping it all up and bringing it into the light. "This have anything to do with you two?"
Sophie started to pull back, to cringe away, but Mac quickly put a steadying arm around her shoulders as he leaned forward to peer curiously at what Malik held. "What is that?" he asked, a hand going out to pull a flyer from the stack. Blondie pushed in a little closer, watching the youngsters as Mac read the flyer, holding it so Sophie could read it too. She lifted her gaze to Malik, a picture of puzzlement and, then to Mac. Malik said nothing, leaving it to Mac to play his part.
Mac shook his head, and replaced the flyer on top of the stack. "I've never heard any of that before. That's…not legal, is it? What are those doing here?"
Malik snorted derisively. "Yeah. Like you don't know."
Blondie briefly scanned over the flyers with an expression of disgust, then gave the young couple a hard, assessing look. "I don't see anybody else around but you guys."
"Yeah." Malik shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Did you guys see anybody else out here?"
Mac peered down at Sophie, who gazed back and shook her head before dropping her gaze. He met the officers' eyes with an apologetic smile. "No, I'm sorry. We didn't see anybody."
"I guess you weren't exactly paying attention, huh?" There was a definite leer in Blondie's tone, and Malik called him on it.
"Jake."
"What? It's just a couple of kids looking for someplace to be alone. The guy's obviously split by now." He blew out a sigh of disgust. "You two get home. It's too late to be out…doing what you were doing. And you obviously don't have sense enough to be alert."
Malik shifted again, pushing. "Man, you sure? You don't think…?"
Jake shook his head. "Nah. We'll haul in that trash." He inclined his head toward the armful of flyers and tools. "You guys get on home."
Mac exchanged a blank look of non-acknowledgement with Malik, and he and Sophie started to walk away.
"And no more necking under streetlights!" Jake called after them.
"Whew!" Sophie started, but Mac shushed her. Better to put a block or two between them and Jake before they said anything.
go to part four
chapters 5-6
five
Repo, huh? A sort of grim smile crossed Jared's features and was quickly gone.
The road dead-ended in a parking lot for a warehouse complex that, if not abandoned, was definitely unused and idle at the moment. It was another random place for a meeting--it would be somewhere else next time--never the same place twice.
He'd met some of the others now, who were involved for whatever reasons of their own. Henry was their internet specialist. He worked fairly closely with Wynn, who managed websites as a career. Wynn designed webpages to grab the attention and engage the interest and sympathy of the web surfing public, and build sympathy for the cause. Henry managed schedules and routing and ISP switching to get the pages on the web, and bounced to random unpredictable locations so the ISPs couldn't be tracked.
Henry nodded at Jared and met his eye. Wynn seemed intent on the screen in front of him.
"Take a look," Wynn said, and they all crowded behind him to see his screen. It was a website, a headline across the top in bright blue, articles in columns below, a couple with line art. Ceivers: The Plain Truth" the headline read, and Jared caught a couple of column headers: "What Repro Doesn't Want You To Know," "Girl Ceivers Next?" and "What Can You Do?"
"Looks good, man," Henry said, and Malik and the others nodded and agreed.
"Okay, it's ready to go live at 7:00PM, after drive time and after supper. People should be surfing then. We give it two minutes, and Haley is ready to pick it up at 7:02 and send it out to twenty sites. We go down at 7:02.01, and with luck, they won't have time to trace the ISP. Haley shuts down at 7:04.01, and we just hope it goes viral from there," Wynn said, ticking off the steps they'd organized.
"I've got about a dozen people stationed at public computers--libraries, cafés, that sort of thing, to bounce it up and keep it going. They each have lists of sites they can boost it to before they shut down and walk away."
They knew Repro had an army of techs at least as good as Henry. But so far, nobody had been pinned as more than a consumer taking a casual look. They aimed to keep it that way.
* * *
Jared was staring down a family-pack of chicken legs and thighs, determined not to give in to just chucking them on the grill again. There was beef stew for tonight's dinner, but he was considering an experiment with marinating the chicken overnight to tenderize, and then baking--or roasting, whichever--the meat and other ingredients in the remaining marinade to make a sauce. Sort of a--cassoulet? Was that the thing he was thinking of, he wondered as he flipped the pages of the cookbook. He noticed absently when the front door opened. The kids were scattered after school: Mac at Sophie's, or on some business for Malik, JJ at his new friend Glenn's. And Shannon had called to say she was going to be late. She hadn't been going out much lately, and her girlfriends didn't seem to drop by as often as they used to. Jared wondered if she was seeing somebody--someone she hadn't gotten around to telling her parents about. Jensen was upstairs in his studio, so by process of elimination, this must be his daughter.
"Shannon?"
"Yes, Papa?" he heard her backpack drop with a heavy thud onto the sofa cushions and the jingle of her keys before she came into view. He stared, a little startled.
"Honey, what did you do to your hair?"
Her hand rose self-consciously to ruffle the curls that weren't there. "I cut it." When he didn't say anything, her chin rose, readying for defiance.
He recovered, and reached out for her. "Can I touch?" When she came close enough, he ran his palm over the too-short-to-curl hair--barely an inch long, all over. It was springy and velvety, all at once, and it covered her head like a close, glossy cap. His fingertips stroked over her exposed ears and at the nape of her neck, and he gave her his best smile. "It makes your eyes look amazing!" he told her.
"Yeah?"
"Absolutely," he told her. "Now tell me what to do with this chicken."
* * *
The TV was on, and Shannon was working on homework, not really paying attention, when Jensen came down to empty the dishwasher. He started to remind her to turn it off if she wasn't going to watch, when her posture suddenly came to attention. Some news analyst was droning on, Jensen had ignored it till his daughter's tension caught his eye.
"…And in other news, the Department of Reproduction has issued some promising news, regarding research and development into the troublesome subject of human fertility. Scientists are no closer to solving the problems causing the decline in conception and live births that have plagued humankind in the last half-century and more. But they do offer hope. Testing for fertility in females is nearing reality. The Department hopes to have a standard, reliable test available for girls within the next 12 to 24 months, similar to the test that's routinely given to boys. Identifying fertile girls will give the Department a greater opportunity to insure that more healthy children are born, and will greatly increase the chances of reversing this troubling decades-long decline in births.
"There was an accident on a highway overpass this afternoon…"
The newsperson continued to talk, but Shannon had evidently tuned him out. She clicked off the TV, and just sat for several minutes, unmoving, before she gathered her books and papers to take upstairs to her room. She noticed Jensen when she headed for the stairs.
"Dad?"
"Hey, honey. Did you have a good day at school?"
It took a minute, but she smiled, and piled her stuff on the breakfast bar to come and give him a hug. "It was fine," she said. "How was yours? You make any music?"
"Little bit," he admitted.
"Did you make us any money?" Like either of them believed that was the main focus of his work. Still.
"Well, I got little kiddies at home, you know. They gotta eat."
They shared a chuckle, and she reached to help put dishes away.
Jensen took a good, searching look at this young person in front of him. As a little girl she'd been all about the ruffled dresses and hair bows, dozens of pairs of shoes, and enough stuffed animals that they'd needed their own bed. Moving into her teens she'd kept that interest in clothes, though it had seemed gradually to swing from the latest popular thing to a wardrobe of simple lines and rich colors that seemed uniquely hers. He realized that he hadn't seen her wear a skirt for weeks, and today she was in jeans and a button-down shirt in a soft fabric, the chocolate-bronze color obviously chosen to match her eyes. Clean, well-kept, and well-fitting, the clothes didn't disguise her shape, but neither did they deliberately show it off, vying for the attention of… well, who? Jensen thought hard, but he couldn't remember, after her giggly middle-school years, his daughter even hinting at a romantic attraction to a boy--any boy.
Or girl, he acknowledged. He watched her as she moved around the kitchen, graceful, economical, fit. With her hair so short, she'd started wearing larger, dangling earrings, silver carved or cast in unusual shapes, or set with colored glass, enamel, or semi-precious stones. She wore makeup, sometimes, but just as often, not. And despite the seeming lack of friends or romantic interest, she seemed fine, upbeat, even happy.
After observing her watch the news just now, he wondered if the report had any impact on her feelings about Repro and its policies. He wasn't sure what he wanted the answer to that question to be.
* * *
"Something's going on with her," Jensen mused, once Jared had brushed his teeth and come to bed.
"She doesn't seem to be hanging out with the same girlfriends she used to," Jared nodded, half-reclining with his back against the pillows. "At least they're never over here any more. I don't know if she's going to their houses or not."
Jensen reached for him, sliding down to lie between his legs and blowing hot damp breath on what lay beneath the flimsy fabric of his sleep pants. "It's mainly debate club taking up her time. I don't see her spending a lot of time with anybody outside of that." He nosed at the swelling flesh under the pajamas, and Jared saw the muscles of Jensen's ass flex as he rubbed himself against the mattress. "And she never talks about any of her friends any more."
Jared had been trying to pay attention to the conversation, but he'd had enough. "Okay, time to stop talking about our daughter when you're doing that."
He got a glint of green eyes and a wide grin before Jensen slipped the drawstring knot, pulled down the front of the pants, took Jared in his mouth and sucked him to full hardness in about ten seconds.
* * *
Jared had been working his way through the assignments on his desk and not taking any new ones, handing one off here and there when he knew it would be handled well by another architect at the firm. He was well aware that at some point he would have to take a leave of absence, or a sabbatical; he wasn't ready yet to resign unequivocally. But he knew he wasn't pulling his weight, and the deeper he got involved with the movement, the less time and attention he could give--or wanted to give--to his job. He was filing a building plan when Mac called.
"Hey Pop, are you real busy?"
The boy's voice sounded odd. "Mac, are you all right?"
"I'm okay, Pop. I just--have you got some time?"
"Yeah, of course."
The boy sighed. "Okay, good. Can you meet me right now? At the park? I'm at the basketball court."
Jared's concern had ratcheted up a notch or two. It wasn't like Mac to be cryptic. "What's going on, son?"
"I need you to hear something, but I don't want to do it at the house. And," the agitation in the kid's voice was apparent. "I don't think Dad's--well. You need to hear it. Can you come?"
"Sure, Mac. I'll be right there. Ten minutes, maybe."
"Okay." The relief in his son's voice made Jared hurry as he shut down his computer and scribbled a note for Jensen and the other kids. He stuck it on the fridge before he left the house.
Mac sat on the bleachers at one side of the court. As Jared approached, he held out his iPhone, and Jared took it.
"Some kid got a file out." Jared looked his question, but Mac shook his head. "I don't know how. Malik said Wynn and Henry are trying to clean it up. They want to send it to the networks--or if that won't work, leak it."
Jared continued to regard his son; he could see the boy wasn't finished talking. "I listened to it. You need to hear it."
Jared agreed, and Mac nodded. "I'm--gonna take a walk. Maybe...well. After you finish, we can talk?"
"Sure, Mac." Jared had some idea of what was on the recording, and it was evident hearing it had shaken Mac up. Talking was definitely going to happen, but Jared needed to hear, first. He put in the earbuds and pressed play.
At first there was a rustling sound he guessed was clothing, and then the sound of breathing. A young voice spoke in a near whisper, close to the microphone.
"Hey, it's me. I'm supposed to see you tomorrow, at least I hope I do, so I'm going to try and sneak this back to you then. If you knew what was going on in here-- It's…not good. I guess it's for a good cause and everything, but I hate it. I hate that it has to be me in here. I don't. I don't like it. And I don't see any way out of doing what they make us do.
"We have to do everything they say. The first thing--this is so gross to tell you, but it's gross to do, too. We have to give ourselves an enema every day. Before breakfast. 'Course after that you don't want any breakfast. Once we're cleaned out, they make us stick a plug up our butt, and we get a new one, a bigger one, every few months. I've been here...more than a year, I think, and I'm on my third one. We have to wear them all the time. It's hard to walk or sit without feeling it, all the time, especially when you get a new one--" There was a hiss and a rattle. "Someone's coming," and the sound cut off.
Jared waited, trying not to react to what he'd heard, and the sound came back with a click. "What else?" the voice on the recording asked. "We have to eat what they give us--there's no burgers and fries, no pizza. We get lots of grains and nuts and fruit, and classes on why those things are good for us, and why we have to eat to prepare our bodies for--" the voice shook and dropped a half-octave. "Babies." There was a soft gasp, and a sniff. "We, uh. We can't run around and yell, you know, how guys do when we get together? Well, some adult or one of the older guys is always around and we have to always act quiet. We don't get to play sports. We swim. And they've got us doing yoga." Jared had to grin a little at the audible sneer. "But no baseball, no basketball--not even dodgeball."
There was a space where there were no sounds but breathing, and then the voice spoke in a near-whisper. "I'm sorry if this is too gross, but." He took a deep breath, and the next sentence poured out like he had to say it or lose his nerve. "We're not allowed to, you know, touch ourselves. We have. We have classes. In how to make our pere feel good. They partner each of us off with one of the guys from the older classes, and we have to--have to. Uh, practice. On them. And we get graded on--on how we do. Once a week, some other guy does us. You know, with his hand. But we're never supposed to touch our own--" Tears were evident in his voice, now, but he sniffed them back and swallowed hard. "Everything here's gross. It's wrong. It's-- I just want to go home, and be a kid. I don't want to-- I'm scared of…of… getting fucked." The boy was gulping, could barely get the words out. "Getting...p-pregnant. I don't want this..." the voice rose on the last sentence before it broke up in tears, the words garbled. Another click signified the recording had been stopped. Jared waited, but the recording ended. There wasn't anything else to hear.
He had known. He had always known. Everybody knew. It was just the way things were. These boys had a gift, and when they were the right age they were taken away and taught how to, how to use that gift. They were special, they were different, it was a good thing, the right thing. They were the hope of the future, the ones who were holding back the looming threat of human extinction. The world owed them everything, and ceivers were revered, treasured, cherished, and cared for. Everybody knew that, accepted it.
Except the ones chosen for that exalted task. Nobody had ever given them a voice. No one had asked if they wanted this role they were thrust into. They had never had a choice--they still didn't have one. Jared heard that scared kid's voice, and in it he heard his own kids', had their tests turned out differently. He heard all the boys abruptly snatched out of their lives, away from their families and all they'd known, and he couldn't accept anymore that this was the right thing to do. He didn't know how humanity was to hold off extinction--but if forcing a segment of its young into slavery generation after generation, if accepting that as the right thing and a good thing, maybe it was time for humans to die out. Jared was sickened and disgusted by his species.
"Papa?"
Jared looked up at his elder son, tall and strong against the setting sun, and pulled the buds from his ears, coiled the wires around the iPhone, and felt for the first time the wetness on his cheeks. He wiped the tears away as he handed the phone back to Mac.
"Yeah, son?"
"We have to work a lot harder at this. We have to make things change, for Sam, for all those kids."
"Yeah, Mac. I think we do."
Mac sat down beside him, and Jared had to fight down the impulse to hug him. He knew Mac wouldn't appreciate it, he was trying hard to be strong and sure, a man of principle. No matter how much Jared saw a little boy in danger of being taken away by an implacable government, Jared had to let him be that man.
"It's why you took us to Ireland, isn't it? You were afraid JJ and I would be taken if we stayed here."
After a moment, Jared nodded. "Ireland has a much more relaxed policy toward ceivers. Your dad and I--and your grandparents--wanted you to have choices, if either of you tested positive."
Mac nodded. "Well, thanks for that." He stood, jammed his fists in his pockets. "But most people don't have that option."
"I know, Mac."
"Dad's a ceiver, isn't he?"
Like a punch to the gut, that question knocked all the air out of Jared's lungs. He gaped and tried to formulate a response, while his son continued.
"That's why he's so scared of Repro, so scared to do anything to make them mad. I'm right, aren't I?"
Jared was able to meet his eyes, but he wouldn't answer the question.
"Mackie, that's something you're going to have to ask your dad. I won't answer for him."
Mac held his pop's gaze for another beat, then nodded. "Okay. Can we go home? I know he doesn't want to hear this stuff, but, Pop, he can't just keep ignoring what we're doing. He has to know."
"He's not going to be okay with it," Jared warned.
"Yeah. I figured."
Jared sent Mac to his room. He wanted to be alone with Jensen for this. Both the other kids were at friends' houses for the evening, so there would be no interruptions. Mac's iPhone in hand, he knocked on the door of Jensen's studio. "'s open," Jensen called, and Jared turned the knob and went in.
Jensen didn't want to listen. Jared held out the iPhone, and Jensen made no move to take it. "That's Mac's phone, isn't it?"
"Yes. There's a file on it--"
"I don't want to know, Jared."
"Jensen."
"I told you, I don't want him involved in anything to do with...anything." He flapped his hand as though shooing the thought away, unable to even say the word.
"Jensen, just listen."
"You're in it now, too, aren't you? You're not just keeping an eye on him, you're in it yourself." The tone was accusatory, and so was the look leveled at him from under those drawn-together brows. "You just couldn't listen to me."
"Are you listening to me?"
That was a direct hit. Jensen regarded him searchingly, and finally reached out and took the iPhone. Jared didn't hand over the earbuds; there had been enough silence and secrecy between them already. He wanted to watch his husband's reactions while the audio file played.
Jensen shot a look up at him as he realized what was on the file. As the kid's voice went on, he brought a hand up to his brow, shielding his expression. By the end of the recording, that hand was wrapped across the lower half of his face, as though to repress any sound he might make. His face crumpled, tears fell, and he'd drawn in on himself, as though he was trying to make himself small.
Jared let the silence linger a moment before he said, "You never told me. I didn't know."
Slowly, like an old man, or as if sore from a day's physical labor, Jensen moved. He uncurled from the hunched, cramped posture and swiped at the wetness on his face as he stood and crossed the room, away from Jared, to the desk. Pulling a handful of tissues from the box, he blew his nose and wiped his face before he spoke. "It was only two weeks. I didn't have it that rough."
The roughness of his voice and the expression on his face gave his words the lie, but Jared let it go with a nod. "Still. I'd just never thought of what it was like--for them. For you." Jensen said nothing, so Jared took a seat on the sofa and continued. "We all grew up knowing--we were taught--that ceivers were special, had a special gift, a quality, an ability that made them different, and…special. There were reasons for all the culture that surrounds them: for them keeping separate from society, for the clothes, for the rules." Jensen was at least looking at him now. "But they never really told us where ceivers came from. That they were just ordinary kids, with plans and dreams, and families who loved them and wanted things for them."
Jared kneaded the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger to ease the headache building there. "They never told us those boys were essentially kidnapped and imprisoned and...indoctrinated, trained," he almost spat the word. "To be good little broodmares--"
One of the words Jensen had used to describe himself, all those years ago, and his place in Jared's home and Jared's life.
"I'm so sorry, Jensen. I--"
"Man, stop." Jared didn't come closer, but Jensen's eyes were meeting his now. "None of us knew. I didn't know. Jared, this has been going on for sixty years. Longer, really, since the scientists and statisticians figured out the population was declining, and would likely continue to fall, since the first man wound up in a doctor's office wondering why he was having weird symptoms. And when they figured out how to screen for whatever signs a ceiver gives off at puberty? The Department of Reproduction went into high gear. The program was set up as the salvation of humankind."
He paused, pulling a couple of water bottles out of the mini fridge and tossing one to Jared. At his husband's quirked eyebrow he admitted, "Yeah, I've done some research. When it came to our boys, I needed to know more than I did when it was me." He twisted the top off his bottle and took a long drink. "You know, when we were growing up, most of our friends had a pair of regular parents: moms, dads, one of each." Jared nodded agreement. "It was just never part of our lives--not mine, anyway--that there was this whole class of people we never saw or really heard about. There's never any news about ceivers themselves. No pictures, no interviews, no quotes. It's sort of like they exist in a different world."
Jared thought about it before he nodded again. He took a swallow of water and Jensen continued.
"Repro mounted a huge scare campaign about the extinction of humans about seventy years ago, and a propaganda campaign right behind it to promote ceivers as the saviors of the human race. 'Your sons will be the founders of tomorrow' kind of thing. You know," he added wryly. "One way or the other."
"Being a ceiver was promoted as an honor, a special--god, if I never hear that word again in relation to ceivers or Repro!" It sounded like cursing.
Jared just waited, while Jensen shifted his weight, recrossed his ankles, drew a deliberate deep breath, and continued more calmly. "Ceivers were supposed to be a special class of people. Families were encouraged and expected to shove their sons into screenings hoping they'd be chosen. I guess in some cases having a ceiver son was a good thing--the families got compensation. If you were poor, life was better for you, and you knew your kid would be fed and have medical care and be taken care of. You knew you'd have grandkids someday--and that was important, still is, to a lot of people." He leaned against the desk, legs crossed at the ankles, as he took another drink of water. "But once you were chosen, you disappeared. You ceased to be a person--you became this mythic savior figure, elevated above the rest of society. It was a wonderful, special thing that only a few could do, to be a ceiver."
"But nobody asked the boys," Jared said softly.
Jensen nodded. "Nobody asked the boys. But you know what? I'll bet most of them bought the whole 'savior of humankind' thing. Most of them were glad to be heroes. A lot of them fell right into line with the training and the classes. They probably didn't even mind the training too much, once they got into the sex part of things, boys being the horny little beasts they are. Directing the sex urges was probably cake for Repro, and by the time training was over, they had kids eager to be paired up and knocked up and taken care of for life."
Jared stared at him. "But not all of them."
"No. Not all." Jensen's gaze dropped, and fell on the iPhone. "Not all," he repeated.
"It's too much to ask of kids that don't want to be there." Jared's voice was quiet, undemanding. "It breaks my heart, Jensen. We have to do something."
Jensen didn't answer, but Jared could see the tension ramping up, see his husband swallow, press his lips tight in a line, hear how his breathing quickened, shortened.
"Jensen?"
Jensen shook his head. "You don't know them, Jared. They'll put us in jail. They'll put Mac in jail. They'll take Shannon and JJ away--I don't even know if they'll let them stay with their grandparents, they may go after my dad, your dad."
"Jensen, you're overreacting."
"Am I? No, I'm not. Do you remember the Adamses? One block over?"
Jared had never met the family, but he remembered hearing them mentioned. "Yeah?"
"They tried to keep their son out of the program, have him declared medically unfit; Repro took him anyway. The dad's in prison now. He took all the blame himself for trying to keep Repro from taking the boy so his wife could stay free. She and the two little girls left town with the clothes on their backs. Repro repossessed their cars, foreclosed on their mortgage, took everything. They moved in with an aunt of the dad's, because the mom's family was afraid to take them in. Ms. Adams was a medical research assistant at Trinan; she's working on an assembly line now at a factory to help pay the bills. She was lucky to get that job, because when the diner where she'd gotten work as a waitress found out who she was, they fired her."
Jared shook his head in sympathy and unwilling belief.
"She's homeschooling the girls because they got teased and bullied in school. Jared, Repro doesn't fool around. I understand how you and Mac feel--I feel the same way, man. But look, Repro knows who I am, who you are. I'm the one that got out, and you did that. We're on their radar already. It's just too dangerous for you--either of you--to keep doing what you've been doing." He crossed to the sofa and sat close beside his husband. "Promise me you'll get out of it. Get Mac out. And stay out of it."
Jared didn't answer for a minute, then he said, "Mac knows."
Jensen's brow furrowed, puzzled. "Knows what?"
"That you were a ceiver. I think he's pretty sure you're his birth parent, for Shannon and JJ, too."
The subject had never come up, the kids hadn't ever asked; Jensen had just always been "Daddy" from the first few months he'd been in their lives. And without questions from them, neither Jared nor Jensen had felt any need to explain. "How?" Jensen asked.
"I don't know," Jared told him. "He just figured it out, I expect."
"He just--came out and asked you about it?" When Jared nodded, he asked, "What did you tell him?"
"I didn't say anything. I didn't confirm it. I told him to ask you."
Jensen sighed. "I guess I need to talk to him. Maybe if he knows what I went through, it'll scare him off of going up against Repro."
Jared nodded. "Yeah, maybe." But he didn't sound very convinced.
six
Mac had come home after school to drop off his backpack and change clothes. Jensen hardly ever caught him at home anymore, so he took the chance while he had it. "Mackie, come help me box up some stuff in the studio."
Mac seemed reluctant. "Dad, I've got somewhere I need to be--"
"Call and say you'll be late. This won't take long."
The boy hesitated, but finally shrugged and followed his dad up the stairs.
Once there, Jensen pointed to a stack of flat boxes and threw Mac a roll of packing tape. "Put a couple of those together," he instructed. "We shouldn't need more than that."
While Mac got to work on the boxes, Jensen pulled file folders from a stack he'd organized over the last couple of days: music he had worked on years ago. He had digital copies of all of it, but the paper copies meant something to him, too. He wasn't ready to turn loose of them. Yet. So, he was storing them in the garage for now, to see if he could get used to not having them overflowing his file drawers.
"Your pop said you had some things you wanted to ask me about," Jensen took the first box, glanced with approval at how well the seams were lined up and taped down. Mac flickered a glance up at him and away as he worked on the second box.
"Yeah."
"You know you can ask me anything, right?"
Mac nodded, finishing taping the second box. Jensen pointed at a row of stacked folders on the console table, indicating Mac should pack them into his box. He began filling the box, and after a minute, answered. "Yeah. Well, okay. It's just--"
He stopped, and didn't seem to have the words he needed to ask what he wanted. Jensen helped him out. "This have to do with that sound file your pop played for me? The one from the ceiver boy?"
"You listened to that?"
Jensen nodded, and waited.
"Dad, you were a ceiver, weren't you? And you're not just my stepdad, me and Shannon and Jadge. You're our birth-parent." He managed to meet Jensen's eyes, and waited.
Jensen set down the files in his hands and crossed to where his son stood. He took the files out of Mac's hands, and hugged him tight, then sat them both down on the sofa. "Yes, Mackie, you're right. I was a ceiver. Does it make a difference with us? Do you think of me different, knowing that I was?"
"No." He shook his head quickly, then, "I mean--you're Dad. You've always been Dad, you know? Especially for the littler ones."
"Yeah, I do know. And that's one reason it never seemed necessary to bring it up. If any of you had wanted to know, if it had seemed important to any of you, if you'd been curious, we would have told you."
"So, how come you're not a ceiver now?"
Oh. This was a question he hadn't expected, and he wasn't prepared for it. "I, uh. I had an accident. I wasn't…useful, anymore, and when your pop asked Repro to reverse my status, they didn't have a problem with it." Jensen quickly decided this wasn't the right time to tell Mac about the little brother he'd never had the chance to know. There was enough for him to absorb as it was.
He needed to put a little distance between them; he got up and resumed packing files into the box. "You know I…didn't have the same experience other ceivers have, don't you?"
Mac just looked puzzled. "No?"
"Oh. Well." He put down the files and leaned a hip against the desk. "I was sick when I was twelve, and missed my screening. My status wasn't discovered until I was twenty-four. I was going on tour with Chris, Steve, and Jason in Europe. I hadn't been out of the country before, and the physical for the passport caught me."
"But--you were a grown man. How could they--?"
"Well, that was what my family and I thought. Our lawyer quickly found out, though, that my age was irrelevant as long as I was fit to serve, so I was taken into Repro's custody, given two weeks of prep, and assigned to your pop."
"Oh my god. You must have been…"
"It was rough for a while," Jensen agreed. "But Mackie, you know your papa, nobody can help loving him, and I did too. I fell right flat in love with him, whether I wanted to or not. So, you know, that made things a little easier."
Mac didn't say anything, and Jensen glanced over to see him wearing an expression of regret and horror. "You…you must have been so freaked out."
"Yeah, I was." Jensen wouldn't lie to the boy.
"I mean, it's awful enough when you're twelve, and, like that kid on the sound file, just taken away from home and your family, and started in training."
"Yeah," Jensen agreed. "That's pretty rough on those kids."
Mac glanced at him, and then away. "But at least they have time to get used to everything. They know what's going to happen, and they--well, they train for it. How to do it, what to expect."
Jensen said nothing while Mac thought his way through what he was feeling.
"You--you really had no idea?" Jensen shook his head, and Mac went on. "I can't even imagine. I mean, I thought about it, before my screening, tried to imagine what it would be like. But you'd already passed the age. You had--college, and dating, and, oh my god, you were going on tour--you were playing with the band. Oh, crap, Dad. You must have been--"
"Mackie, stop it. That's enough." Jensen wasn't at all comfortable at the line his son was taking. He was, truth be told, afraid there would be a change in the way Mac saw him, now that he knew. He interrupted the boy's thoughts. "Yeah, it was rough. But I adapted. And as you see, I'm here and I'm fine, so there's no point in going over this."
Mac looked at him, but didn't reply, obviously waiting for Jensen to go on. "I had some difficulty adjusting, but that's all in the past. I'm okay. I've been okay for a long time, you understand?"
"Yeah, I think I do. And I guess it doesn't really matter now. I just--I'm sorry."
"Mackie? What are you sorry for?"
"A-after…listening to that kid. I--" He took a deep breath and seemed to square his shoulders. He couldn't quite look at Jensen. "You must have hated us."
Jensen was across the room in seconds, pulling Mac to his feet and engulfing him in a tight hug. "Never," he promised. "I never hated you, not one of you, not ever."
Mac searched his expression before he allowed his head to fall, hiding the tears Jensen had seen about to spill. He patted him roughly on the shoulder and backed away to give him some space.
"I was confused, and angry--at Repro, for changing my life without warning or taking my wishes into account. For turning everything upside down." He continued to talk, giving Mac the time to regain control and resume his seat. "I was confused and scared and, yeah, really really angry. But you know what helped more than anything?"
Mac shook his head.
"Your papa." There was no way Mac could doubt the smile that hovered around his dad's lips as he remembered Jared in the early days. "He made things as easy for me as he could. He treated me like a person, rather than a servant, or…something less than a servant.
"There were times when he just went along with the party line that made things even tougher for me, just assuming that was how it was supposed to be, you know? But when I objected, he listened, and we tried to fix it, as much as we could." Jensen cleared his throat. "He believed we could make something good together, and he made me believe it too.
"I wasn't at all prepared when I got pregnant, and yeah, I freaked out pretty bad. The only way I could deal with it was to not think about it, to distance myself from the whole thing."
He peered at his son, willing him to understand. "It probably wasn't the best way to handle it, but it was the only way I could do it and get through."
He took a deep breath. This confession was the hardest. "And when you were born, I backed off. It had nothing to do with you, Mackie, please understand that. But I hadn't been asked; I hadn't chosen to become a parent. It had…been done to me, and I'd had no way to stop it. I was so lost. So yeah, I resented the idea of parenting a child."
He took the steps needed to get close to his son, took Mac's face between his hands and tilted it up to meet his eyes. "It had nothing to do with you." He kissed the top of his kid's head, and crouched down so he was at eye level. "Can you believe me?"
Mac's eyes were closed tight, fighting against the tears that were leaking out, anyway. After a minute or two, he opened them and looked straight into his dad's eyes, both so alike, and nodded. "Yeah. I get it. I'd probably feel the same way."
"I always knew where you were," Jensen told him. "I knew your papa doted on you and loved you--each of you--to distraction. I knew your grandparents and aunts and uncles loved you dearly and spoiled you rotten. I knew Cecile and Leslie were loving and smart, and really good with you. I always knew you were okay. I just. I just couldn't…."
Mac reached up and squeezed Jensen's wrist. "No Dad, it's okay. I get it, I do. But, what changed your mind?"
Jensen stood, knees creaking a little, and went to get a couple of water bottles from the fridge. He tossed one to Mac and opened the second himself, taking a long drink before he spoke again. "After--the accident, and your pop getting my status reversed, I started easing back into things: driving, eating out, going to the office downtown to work. I started to feel like me again. I'd realized a long time back that I loved your pop. Suddenly I had all these possibilities open to me."
He cocked an eyebrow at Mac. "I was straight, before. You know? Your pop kind of changed my perspective on that." He grinned. "But I wasn't restricted to him, any more. I was free. And I suddenly realized, it didn't matter. I loved Jared, and I couldn't think of the future without him. So I asked him to marry me."
"Really? You asked him? He must have been thrilled, after all you guys had been through."
Jensen leveled a look at him. "He turned me down."
"What?"
"Yeah. He reminded me that he had kids. He was 'a package deal,' he said. And he couldn't marry me unless I was ready to take on his kids, too. He loved me, and he wanted us to be together. But it was time for all of us to be together. So I said I'd try." He took another drink. "Mackie, do you remember the first time we met?"
A little frown furrowed the young brow. "Here in the studio?"
Jensen nodded. "Right there in the doorway. That door had been closed your whole life. That afternoon I opened it, and let you in." He watched his son absorb everything he'd heard today. "I've never had a moment's regret. Not one. I love you guys. You're my kids. I'm your dad. And your pop saw to it that we are a family."
He picked up a handful of files and started to pack the box. "There are times when I'm sorry I wasn’t there for your first tooth, your first step--for all of you."
Mac had started packing the box he had, too. "No, Dad. I get it. It's okay."
Jensen smiled a little at a burden lifted, at the gift of forgiveness he hadn't known he'd wanted. "I'm here now," he promised. "You know I'd do anything, for any of you."
"Yeah, Dad. I know." He swiped at the remnants of tears with the heel of his palm and sniffed hard before chucking a stack of files none too carefully into the box, aiming an exaggeratedly put-upon sigh at his dad. "Have you got any other revelations for me today, or can we get this done so I can go meet Sophie?"
He didn't resist when Jensen reeled him in with an arm around his neck and kissed the top of his head. "Brat."
* * *
"Tom," Jervis met Jared's eyes across the table. The planning meeting had adjourned, but Jervis had asked Jared to stay behind. "There's a man who's interested in donating to the cause. He's not sure, though, he wants to have some say in how his money will be used."
Jared wasn't sure where this was going. "Is that something we can promise? That whatever he gives will be spent the way he says? Do we have categories like that? I thought it was all just a single fund."
"Well, it has been, but I have some ideas on how we can modify the way we do things, and I'm pretty sure we can promise not to spend this man's money in ways that go against his wishes."
"Okay. But that's good then, isn't it?" Jared waited for Jervis to continue, unsure why he'd been called out by name.
Jervis met his gaze straight on. "Well, part of his deal is, he wants to talk to you."
"Wh--Me?" startled, Jared couldn't think how anybody could know he was a part of the movement. He'd been careful, he thought.
"He didn't give a name, but he described you pretty well--enough that anybody would recognize you."
Thinking furiously, Jared almost missed the rest of what Jervis had to say. "He wants to meet us, you and me, tomorrow afternoon. What do you say?"
He thought a moment. "Are you sure he's sympathetic? I mean, how did he find you?" Jared stepped back and took a breath. "Excuse me, I'm a little unsettled by the fact that someone knows me well enough to describe me, and knows I'm a part of this."
"Understandable," Jervis nodded. "He says he won't meet with anybody else, but I don't want to put you in a situation where you don't want to be." He let that set a minute before he continued. "Do you want me to cancel the meeting?"
Jared shook his head, slowly. "No, I'll come. That money will do a lot of good. I can at least manage to meet him."
Jervis smiled. "Good man."
Jared tried not to think about it, tried not to get nervous, but the fact was, he wasn't good at negotiating about money, and he had little faith he was the person this potential benefactor should be talking to. And then there were his concerns about when and where the man had seen him, and how he'd been identified with the anti-Repro movement. It was enough to keep him on edge until time for the appointment.
Jervis was where they'd arranged to meet, and they walked half a block to a discreet restaurant with a decent reputation for its food. The interior was dim, but the back wall of glass looked out into a sliver of walled garden, bright in the sun, where water flashed and sparkled over rocks in a decorative fountain.
He followed Jervis to a table by the window, and the man waiting there shook Jervis' hand. Jared accepted a handshake numbly, and watched both men for cues.
"Have a seat, Tom," the potential donor invited. "Jervis is going to take a walk for about a half hour, before he joins us for a late lunch."
"Of course, sir," Jervis smiled. He nodded at Jared, and walked away. Jared stared at the man he'd come to meet.
"Hello, son," Gerry said.
"Dad? What the hell are you doing here?"
His father raised a hand and beckoned to a waiter. "Coffee, please?" He glanced at Jared. "What'll you have?"
Jared shook his head, annoyed at the delay. "Nothing, thanks."
The waiter nodded and went away. "Aren't you supposed to be off caffeine, for your heart?"
"Don’t tell your mother," Gerry grinned conspiratorially. "I don't have it often," he was quick to forestall the argument Jared drew breath for. "Special occasion. Allow me the pleasure."
Recognizing the stalling tactic, Jared got down to the subject at hand. "Dad, what are you doing here?" The waiter brought his cup, and Gerry added sugar and milk before taking a sip, and then sat back in his seat.
"I've been thinking for a while," he told his son. "I pay attention, you know, to the news, to what goes on. I've been hearing things that make me uncomfortable with the way things are."
Jared regarded him noncommittally.
"Have you seen the graffiti?" he asked. "Repo. That's pretty clever, I thought. 'Take freedom back.' Perhaps it's time we did that." He paused, letting that thought rest between them while he sipped his coffee.
Gerald Padalecki had the ear of a number of politicians, from civic to federal levels: old school ties, business associations, political and personal favors, children having attended the same schools--whatever the ties were, they existed, and Gerry was ready to approach each one to talk to them about the movement. To plant the seeds of dissent, or nurture ones that had already taken root. Any help these people could bring to bear against the Department would help, and Jared's dad was ready to undertake that campaign. Jervis joined them, and the discussion gained some focus.
The Padaleckis were not among the wealthiest families, nor did they move in those elevated circles. But there were plenty of bankers and CEOs and company officers Gerry knew well from the golf club whose pockets were certainly deep enough to help the movement. Gerry offered to approach them. If Jervis could provide names of relatives Repro had claimed as ceivers, perhaps Gerry could find sympathetic individuals among them. And there were friends of his he was certain he could motivate to help, in similar outreach, while being careful and circumspect enough to avoid legal implication and formal charges.
They sat for another hour, Gerry continuing to call him Tom, Jared referring to his dad as "Sir," before they had the groundwork laid for a plan of action. Jared was caught between admiration for his dad's spirit and worry for his welfare--legally, and health-wise. But Gerry looked energized and pleased, and Jared was incredibly proud of him. Jared couldn't say anything anyway, without revealing their relationship, so he let it go, for now.
* * *
JJ was on his way out, over to Glenn's to work on their science project, and he'd been asked to stay for dinner, afterward. As he headed toward the door, the bell rang. He opened it, to find Robby on the mat. "Hi, JJ!"
Jensen watched as his youngest tried to be casual. "Hey, Robby."
"I just wondered if maybe you wanted to hang out? Play some X-Box, or something?"
JJ hadn't stood aside to let Robby in, and now he shook his head. "Sorry, man," he told the boy who had been his best friend for years. "I've got to meet somebody. Gotta go." He pushed out of the door and pulled it shut behind him. Jensen crossed the foyer to watch through the sidelight as JJ walked away, leaving Robby standing.
"Maybe later, huh?" Robby called after him. "Sometime soon?"
"Yeah," JJ threw up a hand, but didn't turn around as he hurried off. "Maybe."
Robby stood for another minute, and finally walked back down the driveway. Jensen felt sorry for him. He'd always been a good friend to JJ, they'd been through a lot together. Maybe it was time to have a talk with JJ about how you treated the people who cared about you.
* * *
Sophie carried a stack of flyers and a roll of tape, and Mac had the staple gun. It was late, after ten, but they had a nine-block square to cover, and they'd only gotten seven done so far. Mac stapled a flyer to a telephone pole; the stuccoed surface of the high wall surrounding a house and yard a few feet further on would require tape.
Something scraped and shuffled out of sight around the next corner, and the kids heard muffled voices. Mac snatched the flyers out of Sophie's arms and tucked them into the deep shadow of a jog in the wall, throwing the stapler and tape onto the stack to weight them. Sophie grabbed his hand and they ran quickly back down the street the way they had come, toward the light that would outline them unmistakably. He took her face between his hands and kissed her deeply. She melted against him, murmuring, "Make it good," against his lips as the owners of the voices rounded the corner and spotted them.
"Hey! You there!" Feet pounded in their direction, not quite running as the young pair continued to kiss. They broke apart just before the man's hand landed on Mac's shoulder, separating the couple completely. Mac grabbed Sophie's hand and turned to face the uniformed cops, one young and blond, the other familiar, though he showed no recognition at this moment.
Mac angled himself between the officers and Sophie, wiping his sleeve across his mouth. "Officers?" he inquired, dividing his attention between the two of them.
Blondie spoke first. "What are you guys doing out so late?" he demanded.
Sophie tucked her body up against Mac, huddling as if for protection, and he resisted the urge to pull her under his arm, just held her by the hand. "I'm, uh," Mac stammered a little, surprised and a little nervous. "Just taking my girl home," he offered. Sophie blinked up at the uniforms, but said nothing. Her big eyes shone in the lamplight, the image of aroused and rosy innocence, as she clutched tightly to her boyfriend's hand.
The second officer was idly searching back along the sidewalk, and Mac knew it wasn't by chance when he discovered the stack of flyers and the staple gun and tape. "Here now, what's this?" he demanded, scooping it all up and bringing it into the light. "This have anything to do with you two?"
Sophie started to pull back, to cringe away, but Mac quickly put a steadying arm around her shoulders as he leaned forward to peer curiously at what Malik held. "What is that?" he asked, a hand going out to pull a flyer from the stack. Blondie pushed in a little closer, watching the youngsters as Mac read the flyer, holding it so Sophie could read it too. She lifted her gaze to Malik, a picture of puzzlement and, then to Mac. Malik said nothing, leaving it to Mac to play his part.
Mac shook his head, and replaced the flyer on top of the stack. "I've never heard any of that before. That's…not legal, is it? What are those doing here?"
Malik snorted derisively. "Yeah. Like you don't know."
Blondie briefly scanned over the flyers with an expression of disgust, then gave the young couple a hard, assessing look. "I don't see anybody else around but you guys."
"Yeah." Malik shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Did you guys see anybody else out here?"
Mac peered down at Sophie, who gazed back and shook her head before dropping her gaze. He met the officers' eyes with an apologetic smile. "No, I'm sorry. We didn't see anybody."
"I guess you weren't exactly paying attention, huh?" There was a definite leer in Blondie's tone, and Malik called him on it.
"Jake."
"What? It's just a couple of kids looking for someplace to be alone. The guy's obviously split by now." He blew out a sigh of disgust. "You two get home. It's too late to be out…doing what you were doing. And you obviously don't have sense enough to be alert."
Malik shifted again, pushing. "Man, you sure? You don't think…?"
Jake shook his head. "Nah. We'll haul in that trash." He inclined his head toward the armful of flyers and tools. "You guys get on home."
Mac exchanged a blank look of non-acknowledgement with Malik, and he and Sophie started to walk away.
"And no more necking under streetlights!" Jake called after them.
"Whew!" Sophie started, but Mac shushed her. Better to put a block or two between them and Jake before they said anything.
go to part four
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Date: 2014-02-22 11:33 am (UTC)The tape of the boy was heartbreaking. It's nothing more than kidnapping, sexual assault, slavery and cult-like indoctrination. What's more chilling is that normal everyday people have bought into it. You've done a great job of pointing that out and that really is the basis of how slavery functions as a whole - to have those with power inculcate the 'benefits' to the masses until it becomes accepted practice. Frightening.