Chapter 21

All the little ants are marching,
Red and black antennae waving.
They all do it the same
they all do it the same way,

- Ants Marching (Dave Matthews Band)

=/\=

"Ah, to what do we owe this visit?" asked a monk, "I am Brother Joseph."

"I am Carmen Calavicci. My associates and I were wondering about one of your vintages. Where is Brother Milton, if I may ask?" Carmen answered.

"Hmm, I will check. As for vintages, the 3104 was particularly good."

"Actually," Tom picked up the idea, "we were wondering about ya'll's current vintage."

"Yes, we would like to see your operations," Boris added.

"I see. We use old casks, rather similar to how wine was made over a millennium ago. Although, of course, the casks are not as old as that," said Brother Joseph.

"May we see the facility?" Carmen asked.

"By all means," Joseph said, and shepherded them along. He clicked open a Communicator, "Joseph to Milton." There was no answer. "Huh, strange. Perhaps he is meditating."

"Possibly," Tom said.

"Tell me," Joseph said to Tom, "are you from Titania, by chance?"

"I am," he said, and introduced himself.

"Brother Milton's daughter – his, uh, late daughter, she was reportedly raised there. He told me she had a drawl. I suppose yours is similar."

"Y'all can always tell a Titanian," Tom said.

"I don't know much about Eligius," Carmen said, "tell me, what is he the patron saint of?"

Joseph recited a long list. "Knife Makers, Minting, Numismatics, Agricultural Workers, Blacksmiths, Boilermakers, Cab Drivers, Carriage Makers, Cartwrights, Coin Collectors, Crafters, Cutlers, Farmers, Farriers, Garage Workers, Gas Station Workers, Gilders, Goldsmiths, Harness Makers, Horses, Horseshoe Makers, Jewelers, Jockeys, Laborers, Locksmiths, Metal Workers, Miners, Saddlers, Veterinarians and Wheelwrights."

"Oh?" Boris inquired, "I am curious. Is there a patron saint of time?"

"Time? I don't believe there are patron saints of abstractions like that," Joseph said.

"Well, of timekeepers, then, or of timepieces," Boris said.

"I don't believe so," Joseph replied, "and there wouldn't be any patrons for timepieces – certainly, no more than there are patrons for shuttles, robes or, or guitars."

"Are there," Boris persisted, "patron saints of, perhaps, the people who use timepieces?"

"Or the manufacturers of same?" Carmen asked.

"This is the main cellar area," Joseph said, relieved to be talking about something else. Eligius was the patron saint of clock makers and watch makers – a fact that he felt it was not a good idea to reveal to the unexpected visitors.

=/\=

In the cargo bay, Otra waited for Simon to return. He finally arrived with a robe for her, "You will need to keep your head down and the chavecoi really must stay still. I can get you to the Transporter if we don't meet anyone on the way. If it looks like we will, then I will get you into the shuttle bay. After that, I'm not sure of what to do."

"We'll think of something," she said.

"I don't know what we will do, or how we will accomplish it," he said, "I mean, in terms of bringing Brother Milton to justice. I don't see allowing him to continue on this destructive path, but the brotherhood will not want so much attention."

"Don't you owe your fellow monk some justice?"

"We do, but the confidentiality of the order is of utmost importance to us. We keep outsiders, well, out, unless we are shipping out the wine or taking on supplies so that we may make more."

"So your order practices a lot of secrecy?" Otra asked.

"It's at a level that I suspect Section 31 would find impressive."

No wonder the Perfectionists made this their base of operations, she thought to herself – the place is already a vigilant guardian of secrets.

=/\=

On Callisto, Milton and Helen went to her apartment. "I'll need a place to go," he said, "you might, too."

"I still need to go on missions," she said.

"Right," he was distracted, "the movement will need a new leader. I'll, well, I'll have to give up this," he indicated the cuff on his wrist.

"Why should ya'll give that up?"

"Because I think our mission is going to change – and change a lot," he replied.

"Oh?"

"We've virtually lost the Saint Eligius. And they are going to find Otra; I'm pretty sure of that. They may not know about you, but they are going to figure it out about me."

"That's no good," she said.

"Right. We all congratulate ourselves on how civilized we are, yet Gemara Prison on Berren Two still exists. I imagine I will go there, if I am caught."

"Then let's make sure ya'll are never caught," she said, "We need a place where it's hard for them to find you. A place where they aren't gonna wanna go."

"Let's think about that," Milton said, "I don't want Richard Daniels or any of them suddenly barging in and having me hauled away."

=/\=

Rick, for his part, was walking down the hall of the Temporal Integrity Commission. He stopped briefly in his office and hauled out his souvenirs. He had various trinkets from women he'd bedded in time. But he only wanted to look at a few. Those were the few Czech korunas he had left from the Prague mission, and a small photograph of Milena. She looked tired and depressed, and her eyes were far away. It was how he remembered her.

There was a door chime. "Uh, yeah?" he said, quickly putting his treasures back into his desk.

It was Kevin. "I, um, I got nothin' to do," he said, "and people are scattering. Ya wanna, I dunno, get a drink?"

"Yeah," Rick said after a pause, "it's been a long few days." Hell, it had been a long few months.

The bar was small and old, paneled in oak, with old baseball memorabilia on its walls, from players from both this universe and its imperfect mirror.

"Cleveland Spiders," Rick read off an ancient photograph.

"Draft good for you?" Kevin asked.

"Uh, sure."

They sat at the bar and the mugs of beer were enormous. Kevin chugged his; Rick did the same. "Now," Kevin said, "I know why I just did that. But why did you?"

"I got a lotta things on my mind."

"No doubt. As do I," Kevin said.

"Wanna tell me about 'em? Uh, another round, please."

"It's May fourth. Or, it's about to be," Kevin said, indicating an old-fashioned clock above their heads that even had hands. It was just above a framed, signed Ty Janeway jersey.

"And?"

"On May fourth, 3108, I stood up on Tandar Prime, and I held Josie up. She was, uh, she was wearing this bright pink dress. And we renewed our wedding vows."

"Two years ago tomorrow?"

"Yeah. And she's been dead now for it's getting close to a year and a half. And I think about her, and I miss her all the time, yanno, and God help me, I talked to that woman Yilta. You know her?"

"Sure. She's, uh, she's the engineer for the Calafan Unit, right?" Rick asked. The beer was beginning to affect him and life was starting to feel slow motion, underwater and weird.

"Yeah. And I asked Yilta about, uh, if it would be okay if she and I were to have dinner if I talked a lot about Josie. And she said it was okay, and that she wouldn't mind or nothin'."

"Well, that's good, right?"

"Dammit, I'm not supposed to be asking other women out!" Kevin sat there and wept a little.

"Maybe she didn't think you were asking her out or anything."

"No, she did. She sent me a note, telling me she thought it was a good idea, and suggesting where we could go and stuff. I can't do it. It's too soon," he sobbed.

"So apologize and tell her you can't," Rick said.

"No," he looked at Rick with streaming eyes, "I know that, that it would be a good idea for me to do something with her. I know this. And I know it's, it's actually not too soon. A year and a half is plenty of time, for gosh sakes! And I am the one who instigated it. I am the one who did the asking."

"Then maybe you should go," Rick offered, "and see what happens. Don't, don't have any expectations. I don't think she will, either. Just go and try and see what unfolds."

"Maybe, huh, I dunno," Kevin said, "you, uh, you got troubles too, right?"

"I do," Rick said.

"One of the honeys?"

"Oh, yeah. It's different somehow. I can't describe it."

Kevin smiled to himself and downed the last of his beer. "You keep a mental picture in your head, right? And you can hear her voice, and sometimes it's even for dumb, mundane things, like asking you to turn up the heat or whatever. But it gives you a thrill, even though you know it's just your own imagination, conjuring up her voice."

"Maybe."

"Ha, not maybe – definitely," Kevin said, "I am no expert on women, but I know what it's like to be affected. You just drown in a sea of it. And there is nothing you can do," he paused, "yanno; I may no longer have Josie. And I – things with Yilta are not necessarily going to go anywhere. But right now, I have, it's so unfamiliar to me, 'cause I haven't felt it for, God, a good decade or so, but I have a little hope. I get the feeling you don't have any."

"I don't," Rick said, "she's dead for a millennium or so. Hope has turned to dust."

=/\=

In his office, Dan engaged his implanted Communicator. "Milton Walker, on the USS Saint Eligius, please." Nothing. "Helen Walker, on Callisto." No answer. "Donald Oliver, on Ariel." Nothing.

He was just about ready to get up and walk over to Marisol's office, but thought better of it. They were not, really, supposed to meet unless it was dire. Was it dire? Not for the missions or the movement. Just in his head. "Nothing makes sense anymore," he said, "How am I supposed to defend positive changes if they would kill off my family? How can I live with myself, after letting those children perish? Are there any more lines anymore? Can anybody draw them? I don't know what's up or down, right or wrong. And if I don't know, then how the hell is anyone else supposed to know?"

=/\=

Candyman tempting the thoughts of a
Sweet tooth tortured by weight loss programs
cutting the corners, there's a
Loose end, loose end, cut cut
on the fence, try not to offend.
Cut cut, cut cut.

- Ants Marching (Dave Matthews Band)