Army of the Goddess: A Bona Dea Novel (Stormflies Book 2) (14 page)

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Quinn made a second glance when he noticed Axandra extending her hand toward Mainsteer, a rare gesture among any but the most trusted of friends. Among telepaths, physical touch equaled private, welcome sharing. Why would she want to share anything with a man whose personal mission was to put her out of service?

Then again, his wife favored some unorthodox methods at times.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me,” she said once contact was made. She squeezed Mainsteer's hand firmly to imply strength, taking note of the rough, dry texture and uneven nails. Releasing his hand, she gestured toward Quinn. “This is my husband, Quinn Elgar Saugray.”

“Of course. Congratulations on your bonding,” Morgan said, his words deep and slow. “May you be blessed with many happy years together.”

“Uh, thank you,” Quinn responded, feeling slightly out of place for some reason, perhaps being the third wheel—two remoters and one touch-reliant feeler. Remoters like Axandra were a rare breed, only one in ten thousand, so the statistics reported. Quinn suspected there were far fewer than that. Being in the presence of two at the same time was unheard of.

This was a purely intriguing circumstance.

Though evaluated and assessed by one's Healer throughout the formative years, one's telepathic awareness was a matter of personal privacy, to share or not with acquaintances. Most people learned how to determine another's ability by sense. The emanations exuding from strong remoters were unique and unmistakable. Many of lesser ability were awestruck when meeting one for the first time.

“Please sit down,” Axandra offered, gesturing eagerly at the round iron table set for three. The steaming platters of boiled sweetstalks, yellow root, and local red sand bass arrived under close supervision of the chef. A bottle of apple wine arrived shortly thereafter, already uncorked. Sipping flutes contained the pale amber beverage in portions appropriate for lunch, by someone's arbitrary standard of etiquette.

Since the table would seat four comfortably, the three diners each had ample room to spread out their claim. Quinn scooted his chair slightly closer to Axandra with a sense of entitlement. Something about the way Mainsteer eyed his wife prompted an unsettling quiver in Quinn's gut.

No outdoor meal was complete without a healthy contingent of Elite guards encircling them. Of late, the guards didn't even attempt to be discreet. Four stood plainly visible on the granite veranda. Four more patrolled from balconies above. Still four more spied in less conspicuous locales. By Ty's orders, no less than eight stood watch in her immediate presence, but he preferred twelve or more at any given time. More eyes meant fewer blind spots. Still, what could the Elite do if Stormflies rained down?

As the dishes were served and the consumption began, Morgan Mainsteer opted to take lead of the conversation. “May I assume, Your Honor, that your invitation is backed by an ulterior motive?” Morgan inquired, ignoring pretense completely. “As I considered it, I couldn't help but wonder why you would invite into your lair the most prominent person against your livelihood, indeed…your very existence.”

Pausing to dab her lips with a pale yellow napkin and replace the cloth on her lap, Axandra smirked wryly. “You assume, Mr. Mainsteer, that I fear losing my status, that leaving this place is undesirable to me. You aren't the only one to make that mistake. While I perform my duties wholeheartedly for the well-being of our people, I will step aside quietly if that is what they ask of me.”

“I'm afraid I don't understand,” Morgan shook his head upon his elongated neck. His huge larynx bobbed as he performed a pre-speech swallow. “The Protecting family has clung to the belief that they possess a divine right to be here and have silenced many who spoke out against them. I don't see you any differently than your foremothers.”

Quinn observed the exchange without a word for the moment, curious to see how his wife would rise to the challenge. His knowledge of history served him as he formulated a counter-argument, searching his mental library for any mention of “silenced” individuals. It was the Prophets who did the silencing in his view, but those facts were still controversial.

“My mothers before me were raised to believe in many false ideals, indoctrinated into a life they did not choose,” Axandra pointed out, her voice laced with sorrow. She intended to coach Mainsteer on a tough lesson in reality. “And as we've discovered and disclosed, these women were bred to be vessels, forced to give over control of their lives, thoughts, and bodies to a creature they believed gave us peace. Long ago, I broke away from that destiny. For that, I was rewarded with a life rich in experiences and details denied to those women. Right now, I am Protectress of Bona Dea because I choose to be. I will fight tooth and nail to protect my people. Tomorrow, I will happily return to the life of a common woman, free to serve as I see fit.”

Mainsteer said nothing as he sipped the wine, obviously absorbing the information presented with attention to detail and delivery.

“Now, as for my motives today,” Axandra continued. “I only wish to open a dialogue with those in opposition. I want to know what my people are saying and why.”

“To defeat one's enemies, one must learn their secrets,” Mainsteer stated, paraphrasing some ancient general of Old Earth's battlefields. “Which is why I agreed to come. I have an opportunity to prove much of what I believe goes on in this place.”

“I would never consider you my enemy,” Axandra expressed sincerely. “And anyone is welcome to walk these halls and peruse the archives of information within. The truth will make itself known to everyone as long as the information is visible.”

With his mouth agape, Morgan chortled loudly. His right foot rapidly tapped against the stone, his knee bouncing. “Honestly, Your Honor, I never expected someone so young and inexperienced to have the gall to let me walk in here. Stupidity, perhaps, but too many advisors told you to keep me out. But you, you have wisdom beyond your years. You also have a special talent. Don't think I don't feel it, the way you manipulate the air around here, mold it to change the mood. Amazing, really. Not something I've ever mastered or even considered using. I have to use more words than you do to accomplish the same feat of persuasion.”

“I would think a remoter like yourself would make use of his gifts more efficiently,” she goaded.

“What I need are people who've made up their own minds, not ones who've been falsely nudged in my direction. I'm not like you,” Morgan pushed back.

Quinn made curious note of Mainsteer's denial, especially the vehement tone with which it was delivered. By far, Axandra's abilities exceeded any other individual's by tenfold. Most people recognized that fact. The advanced abilities were one of the reasons Amelia was chosen by the Prophets for the purpose of housing their
Goddess
. Mainsteer sounded repulsed by the idea that the Protectress categorized him in that fashion.

To her credit, Axandra avoided the temptation to defend herself, seeing that it would only deteriorate into a volley of personal insults at the end of which one of them would stomp away from the table.

“Why do you want to reconstruct our government, Morgan?” she questioned, using his familiar name this time. “Is there something that we could be doing differently that would satisfy you?”

Mainsteer noticeably shrank back into his chair, demonstrating just how high his hackles had raised in the exchange. “In my opinion, our socialist society impedes our technological advancement. Other than the fact that we have running water and electricity, we live in a state not unlike the fifteenth century on Earth, where serfs and tenant farmers supplied a feudal system of Elite patrons the luxuries of life. Three hundred years and we haven't launched a single satellite into orbit. We lack a centralized communication system, automated farming or manufacturing. It's not just government that needs revamped. We need economics, currency, a way to motivate people to be innovative and improve the quality of our lives.”

“That is an interesting argument,” Axandra acknowledged respectfully. “And not completely unfounded. We are lacking some conveniences that would improve the quality of not only individual lives but the community as well. I would remind you that our system works on a level that provides the highest quality of life humans have ever known, one that replaced a broken system. No one is hungry, no one is homeless. No one steals because there is no need. These qualities may die away under the system you suggest. What else would we exchange for your version of progress?”

“Quite probably nothing,” Morgan answered earnestly. “People will work harder if they fear they'll miss their next meal. Productivity will soar. We've become complacent. We are stagnant. We fail ourselves today because we have no sense of competition.”

“A condition I hope to remedy in the coming years,” Axandra informed. “As soon as I was installed, I began working on a long-term plan to make several changes that will stir the metaphorical water and revive our sense of adventure.”

Mainsteer grinned with satisfaction. “This is a truly unexpected encounter, Your Honor. I expected to leave or be thrown out by now. Please tell me some of this plan. Maybe we have something in common.”

Quinn continued to sit by and observe as Axandra, a mere twenty-eight years old, debated aptly with a man twice her age and well-practiced in the art of tearing down arguments with masterful rhetoric. He paced himself to keep from finishing his meal too quickly.

“As you're already aware, we've instituted a three-phase program to install communits in every home, not only to provide an extensive network for emergencies, but also to allow faster collaboration between colleagues and communication between friends and family,” Axandra informed with practiced words. “Another plan in the early stages is to widen the most traveled roadways so that cargo trucks can travel at faster speeds and still prevent accidents. In the future, I wish to build a new, state-of-the-art observatory to further the research of our solar system. Each of these will take considerable human resource and a few improvements in process. The faculty at the University promises to assist with new curriculums aimed at advancing technology. Of course, none of these things can happen until we deal with the Stormflies.”

“You offer a variety of valid ideas,” Mainsteer leaned back in his seat. He had not eaten much, but he began to sip his third glass of wine. “The biggest problem I see with any of them is a lack of competition. What I desire for our people is a real sense of do or die, make it or break it. Those are the times when the people of Earth made the fastest and greatest achievements—facing adversity. In order to receive the greatest happiness, people had to pay in some fashion. They didn't get certain benefits just because they existed.”

“What?” Quinn finally busted out. “You want to hustle our people into a new dark age of crime, violence, and desolation for a sense of competition? That's ludicrous!”

“There are many people who feel that handing out everything they need in life for nothing is leading to a downturn of our civilization,” Morgan offered in an authoritative tone. “They watch the free-riders receive the same amenities as the strongest, most committed workers. We sit on our thumbs, and let the world pass us by, believing everything will remain the same.”

“If you are going to rate the government on happiness, you need to look at the greatest good to the greatest number of people.
Everyone
has the basic elements needed for survival and
everyone
is expected to work for that benefit in a way that supports the good of everyone. Why would you change that?” Axandra questioned with extreme curiosity, prying into Mainsteer's layers to discover why he wished to marginalize any individual or group.

“Because we are getting nowhere,” Mainsteer explained, his voice rising in pitch and his gargantuan hands gesturing pointedly, a flutter of knuckles and flesh. “We should be soaring through the stars by now, or living on the Ocean, or allowing robots to run our farms—any of these things that will change the way we live for the better. We don't even have any weapons to defend ourselves, because we've lived peacefully for centuries. The Stormflies are going to try to destroy us, and we have no way to fight back except a few glass jars. We're doomed.”

“We are in for a challenge, but we will prevail,” Axandra stated with absolute conviction. Quinn could feel the confidence in the air surrounding her and most assuredly, Morgan felt it, too. “Morgan, thank you for coming. Unfortunately, I must return to the Council for the afternoon. Excuse me. Quinn, will you see our guest out?”

“Yes, darling,” he accepted dutifully.

Mr. Mainsteer shoveled a few parting bites of his cooled meal. Rising from his chair, he commented to Mr. Saugray, “I have to admit, she's more salient than I expected. Today's meeting has changed my view of her as a person.”

“Yes, she is dedicated to her office,” Quinn agreed guardedly, receiving that strange vibe again. Mainsteer found the Protectress tantalizing, alluring, even arousing, yet the man fought down those reactions like a prairie cat lunges on a gworl and bites the rodent's neck. Jealousy rose up in Quinn's throat like a sour cherry. “And she is a marvelous woman. I am pleased to say she chose me to share her life with.”

“You are a fortunate man,” Mainsteer agreed with a deliberate nod. “Well, I must be going. I am meeting with my local followers in an hour.”

“Let me show you out,” Quinn offered with hasty relief, glad to remove the man from his proximity.

“Thank you, but I believe your sentinels can take care of that.” Mainsteer withdrew independently the way he had come.

As long as the man left the Palace, Quinn didn't care how he departed. He struggled to understand how a man bent on upending their way of life felt any romantic or physical affection toward the focal point of his protest. Something about the man seemed deviant, but for Quinn it was nothing more than a hunch. But he had no outward evidence on which to base a complaint.

Underneath the confrontational veneer, Morgan churned with several conflicting emotions. The fog generated by the man's brazen determination was enough to shield most people from the true emanations. Quinn probably would not have even noticed Mainsteer's inner conflicts if it weren't for his bond with Axandra, a connection that allowed for more than simply sharing each other's feelings. Quinn felt his own abilities evolving, nourished by her innate prowess. Morgan's own remoting abilities probably allowed him to hide any emanations he did not want accidently shared, and there seemed to be quite a few lurking beneath the shell. Axandra sometimes did the same thing. The difference between the two was that Morgan attempted to replace his real emanations with something artificial, almost to the point of hiding the fact that he was a remoter at all. Axandra merely erected a blank surface, omitting rather than altering.