MY REAL NAME

I wasn't as busy those days. There were three of us now at Blaine's estate, I supervised the other two. Was I ever that young?

Both of them were what could be called, 'real believers'. Peas in a pod. Handy with weapons. Superb situational awareness, although once that got misplaced. While coming out the front steps of the Chancery building one dark and rainy night, another Guardian uncharacteristically cut across the stairs putting himself between our Commander and one of them. The other did a take-down for the ages.

It was one of the few times I'd seen Commander Blaine lose his cool. Not for what his protection did, but when his brother-Commander came out breathing fire, Blaine protected his own. Blaine took control, I calmed down the opposition security detail, apologized to the offended Guardian - but most important, we bundled up Blaine in the SUV and were away quickly before he could get in trouble with the other Commander.

All Blaine said about it on the way back was, "Good job, boys. I'll take care of that Commander, so don't you worry." Blaine then smiled, "It was actually fun being in a scrap like that. It has been a while. Back in the day, there would have been gunfire! Thanks for handling it the way you did."

I mean, that was about it. At the vehicle-pool at the Chancery, the Guardians laughed about it, cut into our guy for taking down a mate like that. Below the barbs was grudging respect for a job well done. That Guardian had no business getting between a Commander and his detail. Besides, subversive activity was not like it was twenty years ago. Every once in a while we needed an incident like that just to keep our real-world skills sharp.

Me, I got a pass for records. I feared that I'd be taken seriously, and sent for training for the Records' Division of the service itself. I'm a doer, not an information packrat. For those not on that career path, it was unusual. But Commander Blaine saw to it. Said I had earned it.

So there, I set up how I was to learn what I learned. For those of you keeping track.

My long-since salvaged parents had not been my parents, that much I'd been told. Although the household had had a Handmaid, nor was I the offspring of that Bilhah union. Legally and morally that would have made me as much John and Irene's son as if the conception had been between them.

According to what was in front of me, I was at least legally their child. That dispelled one fear. But there was not much else. The word, 'placement' was in the box titled 'status' in the Certified Copy of the Birth Record. I'd never known it before, but my name was actually 'Jeff', not the longer 'Jeffrey' or some such. In Canada, I'd been teased at school because my surname was the same as my given name - but none of that was even true.

Which brings the last clue from this records' search. My original surname had been Červeňák, with a written notation that it had been a Romani name. Not Jeffreys. I'm going to have to look that up. I did not know what a 'Romani' was. Sounded Italian. So the 'Jeff' paired with 'Jefferys' was totally an accident.

Who had the Červeňák's been?

No information about the Jeffreys household salvaging. So that placed it before the Records' Division was up and running. Maybe the Canadian allegation was something other than fake news! The newspaper piece in Toronto had not dated the claim that it had been the whole household.

Later that day, well into the evening, Commander Blaine summoned me to his office. Going there was now almost routine, but still infrequent. But seeing who was there maintained one of the troubling attractions of being assigned to that household.

FAMILIARITY AND CONTEMPT

Sitting opposite of each other on the facing couches by the fire, each holding a small glass of whisky, was The Commander and Beth, the household martha.

I've not written much about her. She was well into her seventies. Quite laconic. I'd never imagined her very much interested in anything, or paying attention to things. Then again, there she was, sitting, drinking whisky with the Commander. Me, I'm the security guy - maybe it was me missing something. After two years here, this genuinely caught me by surprise. Why would they purposely show this to me?

You know me. Where fools fear to tread. I said, "Commander, is this proper?"

Blaine's voice filled with authority, "Jefferys, this is my house. My home. Both you and Beth work for me. True, both of you are required to report suspicious activity. But we've had this conversation."

I remained standing at his door, door still open. He said, "Look, come, sit down. Have a Scotch."

The very Scotch that I had packed here in that box. So I closed the door, and got a chair. I at least was not going to share a couch with either him or her. I sat at a respectful distance, Blaine got up, poured a whisky handed it to me, and sat again. Beth did nothing. That stood out. Him doing the serving. I guess I was now a co-conspirator.

Beth took a sip, then said, "Nick says that you're searching for info on the Jefferys' house." 'Nick'? The woman who fed me more than half of my meals had just committed sedition! Again!

Commander Blaine must have seen the look on my face. He said, "We're just trying to be helpful, Jeff." The first time I'd ever been called by my given name in this house. Maybe since escaping Canada. "Beth and I have a soft-spot for returnees."

"Plural, Commander?" I asked. "Returnees? Who else is there?"

Blaine backpeddled, "You're right. Returnee."

My instinct was to get out of there. But to where? To the Chancery and report Commander Blaine? But then again, I'd been seen leaving Jezebels with alcohol. Been checked by one of their Guardians. It was impossible to tell what his intent had been. The Commander seemed an expert at working the seams. I was feeling drawn into something I was uncomfortable about. Was this sedition? Since when do marthas refer to their Commanders by their given name? Or drink with them? Then again, it had once been illegal for Aunts to read and write.

Beth finished her glass, and motioned to Blaine for a refill. Which he did. I don't think I'd ever seen a man serve a woman like this, much less a Commander serving a martha. You have to understand how disorienting that was.

After a new sip, Beth said, "I was there the night you were trafficked. I might be helpful setting you up with the martha from the Jefferys household."

I stood and handed my glass back to the Commander. Still 1/3 remained of my serving. I said, "I have to go," and walked to the door. Yet before opening it, I wondered, "Where am I going to go with liquor on my breath?"

From behind Commander Blaine's voice said, "Jeff, I know what's going on with you right now. Believe me, I do."

This guy was a Commander. Hero of the Chicago campaigns. Twice. Not someone to trifle with. Had triple the protection - personal body-men - than other Commanders. Me, I was a grunt, two years out of the Academy. I had my pistol with me. For the sake of Gilead, I should at least arrest both of them right now, and explain later.

Explain. How would that work? Explain to who? For one brief panicked second, I wondered how one escaped back to Canada? I'm sure they would have me there.

So I turned to face them. "Apologies, Commander. I'll have that Scotch. If you'd be so kind as to top it up."

MY REAL NAME

Beth had said that Rita had had nothing to do with it. She'd shown up for 'Angel's Flight' (Beth's term!) at the last minute, offering to help. That she'd been the one to escort both Kiki and the Calhoon baby onto the plane. That was the extent of Rita's criminal activity, acc. to Beth. Beth said that she did not know who the real conspirators had been.

Beth said that the largest number of marthas tried to stop the trafficking, some had even gone out to the far fence of the airport to retrieve their charges. She said she tried to stop it, and had the Guardian's report to prove it. Some had been shot and killed by security forces on the airport perimeter, not knowing their intent. Blaine had added, "That's why the Academy these days pays so much attention to 'in the field' commanding. Many disasters were a result of bad decisions."

Blaine, himself, had been in Chicago by then, involved in nasty house to house fighting there. Urban warfare, the worse kind. He was a legend.

Beth then pulled me even farther down the rabbit-hole I was descending. Perhaps it was the Scotch. I was unused to hard spirits.

Beth said, "I was in the Lawrence household back then. Commander Lawrence went rogue in the weeks after the trafficking. Tried to get me on a small plane to Canada from a remote airfield upcountry. I got away, but he was arrested in Canada as soon as the plane landed."

She then sighed, "Then you people - Guardians - gave me 'accommodation' for the next few months. It was not pretty. I'm not recovered from that, not even today. I'd done nothing wrong."

"Ended up back at Jezebels." She asked for another refill and Blaine obliged. "But we're not here for that. The Commander," and she looked straight at me as she pronounced his given name, "Nick, wants me to fill you in on anything I know about you."

Blaine then interrupted, "I get the feeling that your search through records has only raised more questions."

I gave in to the Scotch. Tonight I was not going to do any Guardian-like things anyway. Obviously. I was doing this.

I looked at Beth and said, "I found out I am a Červeňák. My surname. A Romani. Whatever that is."

Beth said, "I cannot help you there."

I added, "I was a placement. My parents weren't my parents. I'd not even come about because of a Handmaid."

Beth said, "Still can't help you." She paused, then added, "But I think I know who might."

My interrogation training was no good here. All I could do was wait for her to spill things. This whole evening was weird on that account - the last time I'd been involved in non-structured conversation with a female was back in Canada. Here, when talking to a female, I was a Guardian and they knew it.

Not Beth. Right now, we were just chatting. Over Scotch.

She said, "As far as I know the Jeffreys martha is still alive. Retired, but still around."

I used the name I'd heard at Ardua Hall. I said, "Had she not been salvaged with my parents?"

Beth answered, "That's her, all right. Oh that, the salvaging. Nope, she's still around." She took one last sip, put her glass down, and concluded with, "Let's do one thing at a time, okay?" The weirdest part was that she just left the whisky glass there, probably expecting someone else to deal with it. With no other martha in the house, that left either me or the Commander. What was going on?

She said, "Next to Jezebels is the Martha Centre, where retired marthas go." I knew that. She then looked at the Commander and said, "I should be living there, but he wants me here. What a jerk."

Such was the disorientation that night. But I was hooked, and the only unknown was whether or not Blaine and Beth were doing it deliberately with some purpose in mind. This was sedition, simply put. Right here in this house.

Who was in charge here? Not me. I was being selfish, I wanted answers to selfish questions.