Chapter 17: Rachel

We arrived home on the fifth of January. Reverse jet lag would be tough for a few days. The housekeepers, or as I should properly call them, the VAS, Veterans Assistance Service representatives, left me a note and us a full fridge.

On the sixth, I received an official request from the Pentagon for a visit from a Colonel Maya Vega of the DSI; Department of Strategic Intelligence on the eighth at ten AM. I agreed.

The DSI officer’s arrival distracted an already distracted Cat who was busy writing thank you cards to the various ambassadors from her gifts over Christmas break. A discrete message had been enclosed along with each thank you that at this time, production of the Devices used in the prototype vehicle were impossible to produce singularly and could only become a working Device through the efforts of its creator.

Not that Device manufacturing needed much explanation. Only a Device creator could make Devices and my Devices were beyond the height of the field. Only Moira had a chance of reproducing some of them and no one had the ability to Create the force fields I used. SI was able to mass produce the Wave Breaker because I had redesigned the Device so that the lesser Device experts in Strife’s employ could finish the construction. The difference between a High Device and a Low Device was not just math, physics and circuits.

Colonel Vega arrived at ten sharp, in her normal blues. She wore the uniform as comfortably as I wore my slacks and white button-down shirts. “Good morning, Miss Larkin. Thank you for allowing me to intrude on your studies.” The raven haired, early forties, athletic, intelligence officer replied to Cat’s welcoming, in crisp diction.

“That’s okay, I was only writing thank you letters. Master is waiting for you in the den.”

After the two arrived, I stood and shook the Colonel’s proffered hand before offering the curious officer a chair. I had not been able to find out any information on the public web regarding the mysterious department which my latest visitor represented.

“Would you like some water, Colonel?”

“Yes please, Miss Larkin, with ice if possible.”

Once seated, the newly arrived government representative opened her briefcase and withdrew an industrial strength laptop. “If I may, Smith. My department has a few questions for you. If you could enlighten us on any of our questions, we would be most appreciative.” The serious Colonel opened.

Cat returned with our visitor’s iced water and after serving the Spanish descent officer, I instructed my charge to take the other seat and listen in. Silently.

“I’ve never heard of the DSI before Colonel, would you explain what your remit is?” I wanted an idea of who and what the DSI was before I allowed her to go further.

“My department tracks Devices, the users, and their creators worldwide. We hoped you would be willing to shed light on recent developments.”

I wasn’t surprised that the government had something like that, considering the multitudes of other offices and departments that abound in the mammoth building. “Ask your questions, Colonel.”

“What is Intent?”

I laughed at her diving into the deep end on the first go. She didn’t seem the least bit affected by my laughter. “I take it you read my interview with Miss Davis.”

“Yes. No one has ever worded Device creation in that manner. Miss O’Shannan’s famous explanation of ‘Breathing Life into one’s Dreams’ was intentionally misleading, we believe.”

“What would you say if I said she didn’t mislead you? To answer your question on Intent, belief, and Breathing life and Dreams are all suitable. It comes down to faith. A Device Creator must have faith that their creation will work.”

“Can you give examples, Sir? You make it sound like a religion not a craft.”

“You are a soldier, correct?”

“Yes, Sir. I have been one for twenty-four years.”

“Have you ever known that an enemy was behind a wall or an obstacle when all your physical observations came up empty?”

“I understand what you mean. But no sir. I haven’t been in a combat situation like that. Only in training.”

“In training then, did you act on your faith in yourself or did you disregard your intuition and continue on?”

“Intuition is not always reliable. I have tried both ways.”

“Would you agree that there are soldiers, who are in combat or dangerous situations on a regular basis, come across similar situations that choose the correct solution on a regular basis by intuition alone? Such as in your special forces?”

“I can agree to that,” the intelligence officer replied.

“They have learned to trust their intuition. They have Faith that it will lead them to the best choices and keep them safe.”

“Are you saying that Prayers and Faith are what make your Devices work?” A slight crack of disbelief and disappointment was revealed.

“Belief that one’s Device will work. That is what empowers Devices and brings them to life. The creator must believe that her Device will work for it to do so.”

“Praying to a God or to anyone or anything else will not effect that Device in the slightest. Only Belief that the Device will work along with a solid foundation can make your Device live. You have to put part of yourself into the Device in order to make the leap from theoretical to actual.”

“Now you are making it sound like magic.”

“What is magic, Colonel Vega?”

“Magic is using non Newtonian energy to achieve Newtonian results.” I heard for the thousandth time. Describing Magic in its simplest form.

I didn’t approve of the brevity of her statement, nor quite agree with it.

“Making something from nothing, in other words. Then by your definition all those supers out there are magicians?”

“Yes Sir, I believe so, but it’s not a widely held theory.”

“Have you ever heard of the instances where once a super fails when using their power with the result of it always failing from then on or receiving lesser results from their abilities in the future?”

“Are you saying that their belief in their powers is the cause? That has been debated with most agreeing with your supposition.”

“Intent is Belief that your Device will work. That is why foundation is so important. The broader your foundation and understanding, the less you will have to exert yourself. Does that make sense?” That statement was entirely for my student who was listening intently. No pun intended.

“What’s the difference between you and Maddys?” She used the colloquial name for Mad Scientists.

“A hundred- and twenty-five-pound woman lifting a burning car to rescue her trapped child versus a three hundred fifty-pound professional weightlifter doing the same.”

“What makes them only a hundred twenty-five, some Device makers such as Doctor Roboto have multiple doctorates in math and engineering?”

“I’ve never met the man, but I would guess that his fundamentals are not as stable as his degrees would suggest. Nor are his theories...” I shrugged, not sure how to explain other’s inadequacies. “good enough to make the leap without it costing him.”

“And yours are?”

“Obviously. Where they are not, I don’t experiment in those directions. I stay away from the chemistries and biologies. I work with what I know.”

“Why do Maddy’s age when making their devices and you don’t?”

“They burn themselves to make too big of a leap over what they don’t know. It damages their souls.”

“And you? You believe that it’s because of your ‘foundation in maths and sciences?”

“Correct.”

“Why don’t you mass produce your Devices like Moria O’Shannan?”

“Effort, time, superstructure, resources, desire. I could go on. I never intend my Devices to be mass produced when I draw them up.”

“What about the Wave Breaker you sold to SI?”

“That was an exception and designed as a learning tool for my student.” The girl in question gave me a dirty look at the implications with a promise to get even later. Cat still held the press conference against me.

“Why don’t you do that with all of your inventions? You would easily be the world’s richest man.”

“Most cannot be dumbed down to such a degree. That one was based off an old Device that had been in use for decades. And it was meant to be converted and adapted when originally created. Devices such as my forcefields cannot be modified or dumbed down. Each is unique.”

“What about the ones on the White House and Smithsonian?”

“Those are not actually true forcefields, they are detection arrays with stasis attachments and restriction globes. The arrays are spherical and can be sized as long as the power source is sufficient.”

“Would you be willing to sell the plans for the arrays?”

“If a suitable offer was presented.”

“How much?”

“Five hundred million. But you do realize that they do have their limitations and that you still need a Device expert to Create one.”

“I am familiar with the limitations of the Fields surrounding the Smithsonian. I will relay that quote when I return to D.C.

“Why are you unwilling to take more students?”

“I searched for two years before Catherine Larkin was found. Suitable students don’t grow on trees.”

Cat mouthed, “Two years??”

“When Janet Davis inquired what made Miss Larkin special, you sidestepped the question. What are your requirements for a new student?”

“Intelligence, Age, Aptitude, Desire to learn, Adaptability, Personality, and my belief that the student will be able to Create Devices successfully.”

“And in two years only Catherine Larkin fit your criteria? Where did you look and how many people were tested?”

“I left the search to someone better equipped to handle it, as for how many, a little under three million eleven-to-sixteen-year old’s.”

“Were there any others in consideration besides Miss Larkin?”

“Five.”

“Would you be willing to sell that list to us?”

“No. They will announce themselves sooner or later. All are exceptional children.”

“Why not all six if they are so exceptional.”

“I chose the best. There are only so many hours in the day and Catherine keeps me occupied.” A faint reserved smile graced the little minx’s face at my compliment. “Besides that, one student alone will cost me more in resources than I would guess your department’s yearly budget.”

“You plan on spending hundreds of millions on teaching just one person?” Incredulity cracked her closed features.

“You have been studying me for years, correct?” at the Colonel’s assertion of my guess, “Do you think I made that vehicle for me? That too is an expense. Gold, silver, platinum, alloys all are extremely expensive, let alone certain rare earth metals. Same with the components for micro circuit boards and chips.”

Colonel Vega was not biting on that. “Could you demonstrate your Intent for me on one of your Devices?”

“Not at this time.”

“Would you be willing to assist me or someone else in the final stages of Intent?”

“I currently have a student. I might consider such in a few years if a suitable applicant appears and there is a lull in my schedule.”

“Are you willing to sell Shuttle2?”

“No.”

“I have been authorized to offer two billion for the vehicle and its blueprints.”

“Shuttle2 is not for sale. Even if it were, besides a few Devices, the power plant, propulsion, forcefield and most of the others would be incomprehensible to you or anyone except for maybe one other Device expert on the planet. And we both know how busy her schedule is. A two-billion-dollar four-person diplomatic shuttle is all you would get. As it stands, you could not even mount a pistol on the thing. The forcefield surrounding it works both ways. Nothing in or out.”

“Moria O’Shannan. Are the rumors true in that she was your first student?”

“You would have to ask her about her early learning. As her friend, it’s not something I can comment on.” And we all knew that she wasn’t telling. The interview/inquisition lasted twenty more minutes, ultimately leaving the Colonel departing empty handed and frustrated.

...

“She wasn’t happy, Master.”

“She never expected to get anything from her wish list to begin with. Someone sent her on a wild goose chase.”

“Sir.” The older Army General received and returned the retiring Colonel’s salute.

“What did the Smith have to say, Maya?”

“It is as Lt. Collingsworth surmised on his thesis, Sir. All Device makers are using their own soul force to power their Devices. Magic if you will.”

“Then why aren’t he or Strife aging like the rest?”

“Foundation, General. In the interview Smith stressed the word ‘foundation’ seventeen times. That without a strong enough foundation, and an almost perfect theory, the Device creator had to rely too heavily on his own soul to make the leap from a machine to a Device.

“From my understanding, it is as if the current experts are ripping the fabric of time to steal ideas where he is drilling a small hole to do the same. Less power needed on his end. He and Strife understand what they are doing, the rest are guessing. Maybe Gallant too.”

More bad news then... “Did he confirm that Strife was his student?” The curious senior officer asked.

“Standard refusing to answer, but he did admit to being her friend. Which to me was confirmation in itself.”

“What about other students? ... Can we find those five? ... Is he willing to teach anyone else, even if it’s just the final push?...” The grilling went on for two hours.

“What was your impression of Catherine Larkin?”

“An attentive, good natured, young lady. She only spoke when inviting me in and offering a single glass of water.”

“Anything else?”

“She understood the conversation. Some of the responses were directed at her rather than me.”

“Do you believe that there is any impropriety in their relationship?”

“No idea, Sir. At my interview, Catherine Larkin acted the perfect, attentive student. She would have blended in at the Academy perfectly.”

“What are her chances of turning out to be another Strife?”

“Device wise? Over 90%, Sir. Personality wise? Less than 25%.”

“Is that your or your department’s view?”

“Mine, Sir.”

“Write it up. Tomorrow at nine you will present your findings.”

“Yes, General Jackson.”

The new blue and white Persian rug replaced the amber and rust one in her dressing room with the aid of both Colleen and Rachel before Cat’s friend returned to school and Rachel who took a personal day after, according to her; ‘no holiday, holiday for anyone at the office’ week.

That Sunday, Cat and I had a discussion over hydroelectric power and its detriments.

Monday, the 11^th, Cat never came in for breakfast. After finishing my eggs and my morning breakfast readings, I wandered out to see a purple streaked head bob up and down in precise two second increments while the left hand was making timed waves against the pool edge and the right index finger was oscillating back and forth in the created wave.

My student repeated the same pattern every minute.

“Do you have a magnifying glass and a prism?” The magnifying glass I kept in my den. I set it on the edge before hunting the prism in the workshop for her. Two hours later, after a trip to the bathroom Cat sat unchanged in her thong bottoms, writing out an energy problem and placing the pages in a grid covering half of the dining room table.

I made her stop at one, to shower and make us lunch. Her mind was nowhere to be found. Luke warm soup and lunchmeat sandwiches were consumed without taste. The inspired teen returned to her theory.

At 4:07 she walked into my den eating crackers and cheese. “Can I have a chalkboard and balloons?”

I slid a keycode across the table. “The locked door next to the lower bathroom. That room is your new office ... Make a shopping list.”

“Just needles and pins. The rest I can order online later.”

“Put some shoes on, we can go now.”

Soon after we returned from the party store, an hour round trip, the kitchen sinks quickly filled with spherical small water balloons. Using cellophane tape that she cut into thin strips with my help, groupings of nine balloons were formed into planer squares with the center balloon not bound to the others. Twenty-five sets of those were assembled and placed on hard poster board for delivery to the pool. The experiments began simply with the groups pressed against and released in the pool sides, as she observed the reactive waves.

Pins, steak knives, followed by the blunt end of a butter knife started popping the balloons. Two sole green balloons floated forlornly six inches away from the edge some distance from her when the inquisitive teen exited the pool. She pressed the button which began the cleaning cycle and returned to the formula in her new office that I had prepared for this day even before she moved in.

A light meal of chicken salad and garlic bread was mostly untouched while she worked through dinner.

“Master,” She knelt next to me as usual during our normal review time, on this unusual day. “What do you know of quantum tunneling, quantum space and walls?”

So that was what she was thinking. But Quantum and Newtonian reactions greatly differ. Why was she?... “Most of current theories. Why?”

“Are there any of your ‘Calculus’ and ‘Physics’ classes left?” She knew that Calc was no longer calculus at that level, same with Physics which was almost completely quantum.

“What are you looking for?”

“Quantum wave behavior.”

“I’ll ask around.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you want to talk about today?”

“You were right about foundations. I think I need to broaden my theoretical quantum knowledge before I go further.”

I laughed. Those weren’t normal ‘foundations’. “Make sure you tell that to Gretchen when you speak with her next. What about Circuits and Metallurgy that you are working on now?”

“I can continue with those since KWQ will help. But I think this is more important.”

“Alright. Tonight, I want you to go listen to your music and relax and do not think about anything related to math. Dismissed.”

*Click. “Gretchen, how soon can you put together a seminar for Quantum Wave behavior?”

“What? Who is this?” a pause to look at the caller ID. “Oh, it’s you. High Energy Physics is not my field. Why ask me?”

“I need the top three theorists on the topic within two weeks. Have them give a seminar over a Saturday. Your school is fine.”

“Right. And why would anyone come on such short notice?”

“A fifty-thousand-dollar grant for the three and twenty-five for anyone that presents with another fifty for four hours of the ones of Cat’s choosing the following day.”

“What the hell?” “Why are you throwing money at theoretical physicists?”

“Cat is stuck at a bottleneck.”

“If you are throwing all this money around, what’s in it for me?”

“Fifty for you and your department. And you get to sit in on Cat’s grilling of the old fools.”

“Smith, just how far along is she?” Excitement and disbelief were conveyed across the line.

“See you on the thirtieth?”

“Yes, Damnit.”

...

Saturday, the thirtieth of January, we arrived at UNLV along with our closest three hundred and ninety-two theoretical physicists friends. Only one wearing a pale apricot and peach sundress with butterscotch pumps, though.

Gretchen placed a table with a single seat dead front center for my charge. Catherine sat primly, ignoring the weighing looks with squared shoulders. Professor McCraken MC’d the seminar the first day, which ended up being a two-day symposium. Cat and her choices would then adjourn to a separate smaller classroom for personal instruction the second day ignoring the rest of the seminar.

My student only asked one or two questions from each presenter, all very pertinent. The looks she received increased, along with the consideration of those gathered. That she was the reason behind the seminar was not lost on the physicists who had to scrape forever in a department that could only show results through publication or extremely expensive multiyear tests and not through experiments or pretty pictures of distant bodies.

The whole ‘theoretical’ part of physics and all that.

She chose only two presenters from the following day. A headliner that I had met before and an older Professor Emeritus from Max Planck in Germania who had retired a decade ago, Gunther Schmidt, age 81.

Besides a late dinner with the energetic metallurgy professor, we kept to ourselves that evening. My student and Pet received a light flogging, mostly to snap out of her deep concentration that rendered her half mute and unsociable during dinner.

“This is important I understand, but so are your friends, and you hardly said a word to Gretchen all evening.”

“Sorry.”

“IF you even think about adding a ‘but’ in your next sentence you will need to stand all day tomorrow for fear of anything coming in contact with your sore ass.”

“Sorry.”

“Make sure you are working on all cylinders tomorrow. Including the social ones.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good. Get some rest. We have an early day tomorrow.”

Sunday the 31^st, Cat was human again. The younger of the two professors wasn’t all that keen on too thorough explanations, but the senior retired professor was all too happy to take up his slack.

By the end of the third hour, most of her questions were directed at Herr Schmidt but not so far as to alienate the more widely known representative of the UF physics community. After professor Yong returned to the seminar, my student invited both Gretchen and Gunther to lunch. Her treat.

The precocious teen, did make some preparations before coming and we returned to Dino’s. The four of us sat at a table for six near the center of the restaurant and discussed Cat’s adventures to date in the now very quiet dining area. The normal manager, Miss Carlyle, was off today but the assistant manager did stop by, giving her a special thank you and a specially prepared berry tort.

Not that the little minx shared.

...

Cat and I both got what we wanted out of the Seminar. She, a better foundation for her theoretical work and me, getting her out of the house and seeing other’s points of view. The polar opposite personalities of the two chosen professors was another plus in my book.

As she progressed and began surpassing the existing theoretical landscape, the hostility levels would grow. Acting now was easier on her than confronting the assembled group later.

...

“Master, I won’t meet our projections.”

“I know. Do your best and what happens, happens.”

“Easy for you to say.” The soon to be seventeen-year-old muttered in her dinner. “Dad and mom want me to come on the twenty first for my birthday.”

“Okay.”

“At noon.”

“Okay.”

“I can’t go, I am too far behind.”

“Okay.”

“You’re not helping.”

“I know.”

“Jerk.” ‘arrrgh, you are so frustrating’.

“I know.” Her fork bounced off my right shoulder, clattering to the floor.

...

Click. “Abigail? This is Smith. Cat needs a night out and soon ... Hi and yes, I know opera season is over ... I’m willing to drive ... You plus Rachel ... Royal Shakespearean company in Toronto. Can you get tickets? ... Friday would be best. Her birthday is Thursday and she is required to be at her parents on Sunday at noon for festivities ... I’ll await your call back.”

...

“You are doing this on purpose.”

“Yes. Do you not want to go?”

“It’s February. Toronto. Snow.”

“Wear one of your new jackets. And the play is indoors.”

“I won’t be taking it off.”

“It might get hot.”

“LINGERIE WEEK. Jerk.” she spat. The paddle helped settle her down. Some. The magic wand and her lying face down on the kitchen table, finished her off. I had confiscated her tablet for the rest of the day. Not that it mattered much since we were picking up the Kresges that evening.

“Wear the black body stocking for Friday.”

“It’s better than the rest. At least I won’t freeze my legs off.”

“Oh, I almost forgot. Abby wants you to bring the Silver and Gold sets.”

“What??? Why???”

“She liked them on you. Said both of you were adorable.”

Her steam of expletives had improved since the new year’s. I attributed it to studying Moria’s early Villainess videos.

“Catherine.”

“What?” she responded after running out of steam.

“I know you save that outfit for special occasions. Consider this one.” She did like her silver one. The gold she had mentally labeled as Rachel’s.

“Only if you remember that it is NOT a swimsuit.” she reminded me for the umpteenth time.

“Go pack.”

The Kresge’s had a designated Helispot. Not that any freshly mowed half acre with four flags and an orange ‘X’ painted on it could be named as such. But they actually paid the fees.

We all agreed that it was annoying that I could not just land next to the hotel in Toronto and check in, instead of going through customs and ‘stupid’ procedures at the airport. But laws were meant to generate revenue and control the masses.

Abby ordered three suites. The girls shared the third. Rachel went ballistic, overly so, when she discovered that her carefully packed suitcase was replaced with one whose contents surprisingly matched closely to that of her compatriot’s. V back, black body stocking and all.

Abby and I enjoyed a nightcap and munchies along with two shrinking violent(s). Or was that intended to be violets? In their cases both descriptions hit their marks and my shoulders.

Navy for my Pet and teal green for Abby’s reluctant granddaughter’s tap pants over demi bras and matching thongs. Their jackets were stolen before they seated themselves, much to their collective outrage and chagrin. Since they were trapped inside the booth with their long coats hung on the posts blocking, the exposed girls had nothing to cover besides our stolen napkins.

Not that the evil woman would allow either to cower, as subtle and experienced as Abigail Kresge was. I lately had started getting a particular feeling that the wild mare named Rachel A. Kresge was being guided to my stable. Only needing a bit and bridle at a later date.

I ordered a cake and a candle for us to share. That the restaurant ‘helping out’ with their slightly off-key rendition of Happy Birthday added an icing of a different flavor to the two barely dressed girls. Scarlet was the color of the evening.

Friday, we had a late start. Abby and I breakfasted and discussed a few matters while those two slept in. Shopping in Toronto’s underground Mall was more of an expedition through clusters of shops spaced sometimes blocks apart or even further.

No one objected though, the ever-present Kanadian snow covered the ground with more expected to fall as the overcast -5C day progressed.

Returning to the hotel for an early dinner and to change out of our damp clothes, the two met us in the lobby already wearing their longer coats, boots with a few inches of exposed black body suit that had been left uncovered below their knees. Not that I blamed them for the jackets. It was cold.

Because of the last minute, our tickets weren’t the best, an upper left balcony that was made for eight. Not that there were any bad seats in the Toronto Opera House. Abigail bought the extra four to insure my and Cat’s privacy.

After the evil matriarch and I removed our jackets, the girls capitulated to her imperious gesture before they could sit and moisten their plush red chairs, with their snow melt dampened jackets.

The curtain rose and Theseus began his address to Hippolyta. Thankfully both, or I should have said all three became riveted. We hadn’t informed the terrible two of which play we planned for them until we arrived and the marquis gave the plan away. So too did the programs, souvenirs and rest of the crass commercialization. I preferred outdoor theatre, but in the winter, that was unrealistic in most places outside of Scandinavia and the Ukraine.

This was the second time seeing this play for me. The first was almost twenty years ago. At the time, I thought that Puck stole the show and admitted to myself that his character reminded me of an old missed friend.

A snap and an equal sharp retort on our way out brought me out of old memories... “What are you two arguing about?”

“Nothing,” they chorused. Not all that convincing though.

Turning around, “Nothing?” I asked piercingly, yet softly, watching the escaping audience streaming past.

“We weren’t arguing, we were discussing about Bottom and...” Rachel stopped at my glare.

“Abagail, I hope you don’t mind if we return to the hotel?”

“Not at all Smith. I was thinking the same just now.”

“But you said we were going to the after party.” Complained Rachel, again. Cat already understood that she was in deep water.