**************
"Moneypenny?" Quillan touched her arm. She jumped a half-meter into the air. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you!"
Moneypenny laughed ruefully. "Oh, you're forgiven, Quillan. My fault really. Just reached the exciting part, you know. Phileas Fogg and the baby have disappeared into the future."
"Well, then I expect you'll want this," Quillan said and held out four sheets of folded paper. "The missing pages from Fogg's diary. He hid them in the binding."
"Really? Hid them how?"
Quillan handed her the book. The inside of the back cover had been split open. "You were right. He wrote about where he took the baby."
"Marvelous! It's just the time to put it in!"
Quillan's forehead crinkled. He chewed his lower lip. He'd obviously read the entry. "Moneypenny, it's not what you're expecting. I think you should break for a bit. Would you like a cup of tea and biscuits? Another pizza? It's nearly twenty-three hundred hours, you know." Moneypenny almost declined, until she saw the look in Quillan's eyes.
"Certainly. Tea would be lovely."
The laboratory seemed to have all the comforts, or at least meals, of home. Soon Quillan was pouring each of them a steaming cup. Although Moneypenny tried to conduct a decent conversation, her eyes kept wandering back to Quillan's computer. Just a few more pages, she thought. I wonder where in time he went.
"Double-Oh-Seven's quite the agent, isn't he?" Quillan asked and Moneypenny realized he'd repeated the question. She'd been staring off in space and hadn't answered on the first go round.
"Yes, I suppose so. Horrid flirt and never seems to age a bit. Do you work with him much?"
"Occasionally. He's always over-taxing his equipment, and I usually get the repair assignments." Quillan's eyes follow the direction of her gaze. "I wonder, Moneypenny, would you mind printing out the entire account for me? Not if it's confidential, of course, but I would really like to read it."
Moneypenny was very pleased to do so. Now she'd have someone with whom to share this exciting story! She printed out both the Bonander account from yesterday and what she'd entered so far today. Quillan stood for a moment, the sheaf of papers in his hand. "Well, I'm going to set up a test to run through the night then settle down to read this. I've got a bedroll in the cupboard that'll do for me. You take the divan, OK?"
Moneypenny nodded agreement and fairly ran back to the terminal. She gently flattened out the precious pages, found the place where the Verne account had left off and with eager fingers began to type. Quillan watched her excitement from his workbench, a thoughtful look on his quiet face. He turned back to his extraterrestrial prize and started setting up an experiment with the centrifuge.
**************
Pages found in the binding of Phileas Fogg's private journal.
Rebecca wished me to know the trials of fatherhood. On Christmas Day I emphatically realized those hasty words. I saw my features on that miniature face, and felt his tiny hand in mine! I had not apprehended how painfully a child seizes one's heart! I won my most recent battle with the League by placing my son beyond Count Gregory's reach. In the winning, did I lose more?
When I recovered from the strangling of the League's monstrosity, unnatural light surrounded, and I thought I'd passed beyond the vale until forceful pain assured me of my corporality. I realized what Jules and Passepartout had done. In a desperate rescue, they'd initiated another journey through space and time.
My bonds had released me. Instead of a malevolent rope of unnatural substance, a strand of carpeting wrapped my throat. It fell away and pieces of wood showered about. With the horrific transformation ended, all returned to the natural state.
I heard my son sobbing at my feet and scooped him up. "Shh, shh. Little one. I'm here. I love you. You will survive, I promise."
We were nowhere. Without a breeze the air felt sweet and cool. I stood but found no floor. I was lit but saw no light. What surrounded was neither black nor white nor any color. It had no substance. Thus I stood for only moments until Verne's glowing star man flew toward us in graceful spirals. A handsome creature indeed . . . if it didn't put one so in mind of ghosts.
We spoke no sounds, yet held silent conversation as it explained to me its purpose. Passepartout and Verne's wish sent the babe and I to an un-built future. The future, unlike the past, exists in many avenues, each based on some choice, event or happenstance. I grasped it perfectly then. Now it's merely words on paper. Although Verne would understand, I cannot tell him and expose him still more to Count Gregory's predations. No one can know where I went.
The star man required me to specify a future. What features must it have other than safety? A particular person, a place? Did I desire to stay there also?
Rebecca. I knew that it must include Rebecca. I recalled her bending over the nursery cradle and kissing the babe good night. If we could only rejoin Rebecca and live the quiet life at Shillingworth Magna! That would be as near to heaven as I am like to get.
The star man paused a moment, considering. It silently informed that no such possibility existed. Every safe future holding Rebecca Fogg required me to return to my natural years. Count Gregory's defeat necessitates my participation.
Did I so wish it? The babe in the future, and I to return?
I am here. I write this diary. The choice I made is plain. Many think me cold. I'm sure its true and that is the resemblance to my father so often marked. For God's sake, I left behind my son! I can only cling to my parting vision of the future: sweet Rebecca holding him in her loving arms.
As always, Rebecca saves me. She the first thing I saw when I returned to this present day, a half-wild creature flying into my empty, hungry arms. And she my daily surety of reunion, for the Rebecca I saw in the future looked just as she does today. Same hair, same eyes, same smile. That tomorrow must be only around the corner. Not long, surely not long.
***************.
Moneypenny stopped typing. Her hands shook a little, whether from tension or fatigue, she wasn't sure. Without the click-click of the keys, she could hear the centrifuge humming on the workbench. Quillan sat on the divan, a lamp behind his shoulder illuminating the papers in his hands. A small pile of discarded sheets already lay on the floor.
She went over, plopped down next to him and impulsively rested her head on his shoulder. She was just so frustrated! She needed comforting! That had been the last possible entry in the box. Verne's account stopped in the same place as Fogg's. There were so many questions still unanswered. What happened in Fogg's cabin? Did he leave Rebecca in Paris and take off around the world as he'd planned before Christmas? Did Count Gregory come after him? And the biggest question of all, did he see his son again?
Looking up from his reading, Quillan obligingly slipped an arm around Moneypenny's shoulders. "Disappointed?" he asked.
"No! Well, maybe a little. There's so much I don't know, and it's not just the baby! Have you reached Verne's account of the third trip? No, of course you haven't. You're still reading about the Bonanders, aren't you? Well, after that last trip, Rebecca takes a bottle of champagne to Fogg's cabin on the Aurora. It's New Year's Eve, and it's not at all clear whether he's going to stay around. He thinks Rebecca doesn't need him, but she does! She has to tell him or she's going to lose him!"
Quillan gave her a hug and she smiled at him. "I just wish I knew what happened in Fogg's cabin. If I just knew that, I'd be happy." She sighed. Ought to wish for the moon instead. At least it was possible to get there.
"They married, you know," Quillan said. "Married, had children, did great things to preserve world peace, and lived to be quite old, if I remember correctly. It's all written down in the Service history books."
Quillan's hand played through Moneypenny's hair as he spoke, letting it curl around his fingers. His other hand caressed her cheekbone. He was so incredibly close, so warm. He'd taken his glasses off. Moneypenny saw something familiar in his lean face and the dark-lashed brown eyes intensely absorbed in examining her lips. "You are the most beautiful woman at headquarters," he whispered.
He'd mesmerized her. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. She waited for what she knew would come, what at the moment she wanted more than anything. His lips were cool, smooth and hungry and she let them claim her.
Quite some time passed before either spoke again.
"Moneypenny?" Quillan said. She looked up from where she curled within the protective circle of his arms and "hmmed?" a reply.
"What's your first name? Really?"
She wrinkled her nose up. "Exposing all our secrets, eh? I suppose someone has to know. It's Huberta. My proper name is Huberta Laveda Moneypenny. I never forgave my parents, but there it is, Huberta. Now your turn. Tell me your deepest, most secret name."
"You're going to be very unhappy with me, Moneypenny." She smiled her appreciation that he'd chosen to call her "Moneypenny" still, and waited for him to continue. She thought she knew some of what he would say. The familiarity of his face had resolved into recognition, and she was not at all unhappy.
Quillan looked across the room at his workbench where the star man's gift spun on the centrifuge as it had for the last hour or so. Quillan obviously hunted for both words and the courage to say them. "I should have told you this before, but it just got so complicated so fast. My deepest, most secret name is, well, it's Fogg. My full name is Quillan Randolph Fogg. Phileas Fogg was my great, great grandfather."
FINIS
[Before you ask, Gentle Reader, your Gentle Writer doesn't have a clue what became of the dear little baby. Gentle writer is also a sucker for compliments and takes suggestions for improvement quite well. Thank you for reading my story.]
