Chapter 2

As the sleek aircar shot toward home, Jessica Delacourt sat quietly, waiting for the right moment to try and break the ice. The girl before her could be as unpredictable as the massive hurricanes that regularly ravaged coastal cities on Earth. So much about her niece's development post-Incident had been chaotic and random, though her own efforts, as well as Garrett and Perine's, to restore order and regularity seemed to be bearing at least some fruit. At least she's not mute anymore, or having those horrible screaming fits.

For the time being, Lorelei likewise said nothing; she sat with her face pressed to the window, looking out into the darkening artificial twilight over the immaculate lawns and mansions. "Are you mad at me?" she asked softly without making eye contact, and for a second, her aunt didn't realize she was being spoken to.

Jessica was taken aback by the question. If she wanted to answer honestly, yes, there were inordinate things to be angry about when it came to Lorelei. The girl's rebellious streak, which had been amusing enough when she was younger, was now a festering thorn in her aunt's side. Fights at school, talks with alarmed parents of classmates, and covering up Lorelei's borderline-illegal hacker pranks had all become regular items on her agenda. But she remembered Garrett Smith's urgings, and delicately reined in her irritation. "I'm not mad at all, cher," she said all too unconvincingly. It was difficult enough not to turn up her nose at Lorelei's worn CCB fatigues, tangled blonde hair, and sweaty skin. She should be wearing a designer dress, or at the very least, her school uniform. Not that dirty old thing. She forced a smile anyway. "Did you…have fun in your sim today?"

"It's not supposed to be fun. I'm supposed to be learning. That's what Mr. Smith keeps telling me." Still, no eye contact.

That was something else which deeply troubled Jessica: Lorelei had once been a vivacious, outgoing, loving child who had never met a stranger. The girl who'd emerged in recent years was still puckish in her own way, yet had turned uber-serious, like she was fighting battles much more intense than learning Rostand plays or Beethoven sonatas. Jessica had known for a long time now that there was something her niece never told her…or anyone else, for that matter. Something that troubled her so deeply as to make her climb up on the roof at night or seek other forms of private solace. Whatever dark secret it was, no one had been able to extract it yet. "I'm glad you and he are getting on so well," Jessica said, deftly changing topics. "How was your session with Dr. Roi-Schultz today?"

Lorelei's nose wrinkled. That had always been one of her unique tells when she didn't like something or someone, and she had never bonded with her therapist the way she had Agent Smith. "Fine," she answered, vague as always when it came to her counseling. "She showed me a bunch of pictures today and asked me what I thought they looked like. They all looked like ink to me, except for one which sorta resembled Godzilla eating a cow, I guess."

"And what did she say?"

"Nothing, really. She says there are no wrong answers for that kind of test."

As long as you didn't say "a Raven," or maybe "an Oryx," I suppose I can live with that. "There aren't," Jessica agreed. She could remember her first psych evaluation with Rohrschach tests; it was strange how such antiquated methods were still used, just like the mountains of physical paperwork coming in and out of the offices. "You look so tired, cherie. Perhaps you should get to bed early tonight instead of staying up." She knew she was treading on thin ice here, trying to press the issue with Lorelei, but it didn't matter. Something had been happening at night when her niece slept. Jessica was no fool; ten-year-old girls didn't develop dark circles under their eyes for no reason, and they certainly didn't climb out onto a roof if all they were dreaming of was riding unicorns and picking daisies.

Another tell: Lorelei flinched ever so slightly as if a sudden chill had gone through the aircar. "I have to study for my algebra exam and finish Great Expectations," the girl said with a shrug, only slightly more convincingly than when she'd informed everyone at the garden party last week how much she loved escargot.

"I see." Jessica regarded her niece carefully. Lorelei had never been much of a liar; her psychological weapon of choice was rather the withholding of information. Lies by omission, as it were. Even so, when Lorelei did get to talking, which was rare these days, the words came out like a gushing torrent, completely uncensored and unrefined. Often she could be harsh or even abusive. Not the kind of genteel language one expected from a young, educated lady descended from Founder Generation stock.

Just like him. Like Kruger. One drop of poison, it seems, can taint an entire barrel of clean water. I can't ever get him out of my head…

The aircar had begun its gentle descent, an arc directly above what had to be among the grandest residences in Sector 6: a sprawling but tasteful Mediterranean Revival occupying ten acres. The lights sparkled fantastically now that it was dark, and Delacourt, like her niece, couldn't help but be enchanted by the home the two of them shared. It was a wonderland both she and Lorelei could appreciate together, with its immaculately kept hedge maze, butterfly garden, and Roman-style marble pool, among many other sensory delights. Sadly, though, those times of bonding had been rare as of late. With all her various groundings, Lorelei had spent more time in her room than any other space on the property recently…and that showed no sign of changing any time soon.

Jessica cleared her throat. "Look at that, home already. Why don't you head to your room, get freshened up? I'll see you for dinner at seven thirty."

"Okay. If I get all my homework done, and do my weekly assignments for Mr. Smith and Dr. Perine, can I go back in the sims tomorrow? Please?" Lorelei begged as the vehicle landed softly on the helipad.

That was another thing Jessica had come to understand about the girl, though it was nearly a foreign concept from her own perspective. Positive rewards, not negative reinforcement or punishments, worked like a charm. No one ever had to force me to study, or to practice what was good for me, or network with like-minded people. Here I am resorting to training my own niece like a dog. Then she remembered Garrett Smith's statement, and the truth inherent in it. She is not you. Just for tonight, she'd let it go. The grime could be washed away, clothes changed, hair brushed…but if Lorelei got in one of her moods, sometimes it might take a day or two to die down. If she was in a good mood, though, the same might be true. "Yes. On one condition: that you inform me exactly when you go, and that Agent Smith knows as well. No more running off. Do you understand, cher?"

"Yes, Tante Jessica." In that moment, she almost seemed like the old Lorelei, with a bright grin across her little face and a mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes. "Race you inside!" Unfastening her safety harness, she bolted out the aircar door, tearing across the lawn, all the while knowing that her aunt never ran anywhere and that she was sure to win.

"Is everything all right, Madame Secretary?" It was Ricard, one of their butler droids, who spoke from his place at the landing pad. His mechanized voice was level as always. His class was individually programmed for each owner's specifications, and, having owned him for years now, she almost imagined she could detect a note of concern. What am I talking about? He's a droid. That's ridiculous; I'm just tired and upset.

"Tres bien," she answered coolly, watching Lorelei beelining her way toward the mansion. The same thought danced its way back across her mind, and she addressed the servant more sternly than she intended to. "Have Henri bring up some of that Pinot from the cellar. The 2008 should do nicely."

~~s~~

The dining room, like every other part of the villa, reflected its owner's personality: elegant, refined, tasteful, not a single item out of place or style. In keeping with the architecture, it had the perfect blend of modern and vintage Mediterranean decor, with a long, exquisite marble and glass table, hand-blown glass chandelier, and a Picasso tastefully framed above the fireplace. In a space large enough to park four aircars comfortably or host a dinner party for a hundred, the fact that it was just the two of them sometimes unnerved Jessica. Yes, there were the nights when Helene joined them, or perhaps a friend or business associate, but those had grown less common as Lorelei's brooding side emerged. No one wanted to have dinner with a girl who might dazzle guests with her wit and charm one night, or, if she was in a bad mood, fling potatoes au gratin at them while giggling maniacally.

Tonight, it was hard to say just what she might be thinking or feeling. Lorelei had been quiet through most of the three-course dinner, devouring her portion of the rack of lamb with gusto following her training session. Jessica watched the girl going at her third helping, and wryly smiled to herself. One thing the designers had certainly gotten right was Lorelei's metabolism. She could eat anything she wanted, and never gain so much as an ounce of unwanted fat. Not every Elysian was so lucky, though the ones that weren't all had med-bays. That was one thing the Founders had all agreed upon: that everyone who could afford to live on the torus should at least look elegant and gorgeous.

"This is so delicious," Lorelei said through a bite of meat. "Can I have some more, please?"

"What did I say about talking with your mouth full?"

"Um…that I shouldn't?"

"Oui." Jessica nodded curtly. Table manners were one more thing that had to be constantly reinforced, along with the other social graces which were such a stumbling block for Lorelei. At least she had changed for dinner, swapping the sweaty tunic and pants for a simple but pretty knee-length indigo swing dress over silver tights with leather Mary Janes. "That color suits you. Brings out your eyes. Perhaps you should wear it more often."

Lorelei grunted and shoved another hunk of meat into her mouth as if to avoid answering. It was difficult for her aunt not to protest: in addition to personally being a vegetarian, just the way the girl ate reminded her far too much of Kruger. Precisely what I need, a miniature version of that barbarian. Am I being paranoid, or do I just have 32 Alpha firmly on my mind right now? It wasn't the only trait of his that had insidiously emerged in her over the past few years like some hidden cancer. The fights, the aggression, the moodiness; all were suggestive of Lorelei's unusual heritage. Jessica had fought over it many times with Perine, and the psychiatrist had always insisted that nurture, and not nature, would prove dominant in the end. Five years later, and the Defense Secretary was still waiting.

"I can't wait for next week. Since it's school holidays, Mr. Smith says I can start rifle shooting if I do all my exercises and assignments." Lorelei put down her fork and knife, grinning at the very thought of more time in the sims. "Isn't that cool, Tante Jessica?"

She must have been lost in thought; it took her a moment to react. "Oh. How interesting," she said absently, stifling a yawn. "It seems as if you're spending a lot of time there as of late." When you should be practicing your ballet and violin, she thought, but held her tongue, still heeding Smith's advice.

Across from her, Lorelei cocked her head curiously. "It's the only thing I'm really good at. Or that I enjoy," the girl explained, digging into the cream custard bowl Ricard set before her.

That part was just half-true. Lorelei was no prodigy, but capable enough at her music and dance lessons; it was rather the fact that she chose to ignore practice in favor of getting sweaty and dirty playing games which Jessica had never understood. She sighed deeply. I've been too lenient with her. I know I can't shadow her all the time…that's why I hired Agent Smith…but she should be learning the right kinds of skills. One day she'll hopefully be doing my job, or at the very least, an upper-level CCB position. She's not going to be out shooting at terrorists and crawling in mud-holes. For God's sake, she's a young lady. It's time she started learning to behave like one.

"Mmph." Lorelei looked up from her custard bowl; she'd devoured the entire dessert in seconds. "May I please have some more? That is so yummy."

"I think that's enough for one night, cher. You know what happens when you eat too much before bedtime. Everything in moderation."

"Okay. But there'll be leftovers tomorrow, right?" The servant droids were clearing away the dishes and uneaten food as Lorelei licked her lips.

Jessica took a deep breath. This seemed as good a time as any to have the long-delayed heart to heart with her niece; Lorelei had eaten a full meal of all her favorites and held onto the promise of going back to her beloved war-games. It had been a Good Mood night for a change. "I suppose there will. Now, before you head off to your room to finish your homework, there's something I've been meaning to speak with you about. Henri, Ricard, allez."

"Oh no…what did I do this time?" Lorelei gulped, nervously watching the droids leave the room. She knew from experience that when her aunt started speaking French, nothing good ever became of it. Usually it preceded some lecture about minding manners or not fighting in school, though she hadn't had any infractions in two weeks or so. In her chair, she squirmed uncomfortably.

"You've done nothing wrong," began Jessica reassuringly. "I don't want you to think I'm the bad guy, mon couer. Just because I'm showing concern, and love for you, doesn't make me your enemy. Agent Smith cares about you too, and so does Dr. Roi-Schultz. But they are not your family. I am, and I want what's best for you. Do you understand that?" she said as gently as she could, bracing for the backlash that was sure to come.

"Um…I guess so," Lorelei mumbled, looking as if she would rather be anywhere else at that moment, a little animal caught in a trap and hearing a hunter's footsteps. "I didn't mean to make you mad."

Jessica shook her head vehemently. "I'm not mad. What I'd like you to try and see from my perspective. I think it's wonderful that you're doing so well in your self-defense training. It's an important skill. However, a well-rounded person has many skills, and she needs to work on all of them. Think of our torus, our home. What would happen if we put all our effort and resources into just one sector at the expense of the others? Where would that leave the rest of the habitat?"

Lorelei was looking down again, little face drawn into a very Kruger-like scowl. "Mr. Smith says I'm really good at shooting. He says I might even be an agent someday if I keep it up," she stubbornly insisted, ignoring the question. "Why do I need to take stupid ballet lessons if I'm going to do that?"

"Because," said Jessica, steadying her rising temper and giving herself a mental reminder to chastise Agent Smith for putting such wild ideas in the girl's head, "that's just one possibility. Your whole life is ahead of you, Lorelei. I only want to help you succeed." A few years from now, God willing, I'll be preparing you for possible suitors, and it's never too early to start the process. "Don't you ever think about anything other than those sims? Meeting some new friends, maybe?" Her frustration was starting to seep through the cracks of her icy composure.

"I have friends, Tante Jessica. I've got Mr. Smith, and Esme, and Anila," replied Lorelei confidently. "Not like you. You're always too busy working to have any friends."

The retort was made to sting, and it did, instantly finding the weak spot beneath Jessica's many layers of armor. "That's not a kind thing to say, cher," she began, but Lorelei cut her off.

"Who cares? It's true. All you care about is your stupid job. You never make time for me anymore…"

"That is not true," said Jessica coldly, "and you have absolutely no idea what I put myself through, while you're having your silly games and pranks, so that you can enjoy safety and comfort. Do you ever think of anyone other than yourself? How others must feel?" She stood up and glared at her defiant niece. The grueling hours, the sleeplessness, the constant worry…all of them had been a long-dormant volcano inside Jessica Delacourt, which had chosen this very moment to erupt. "I have sacrificed so much for you, young lady, and I get nothing but ingratitude in return. Think about that for a moment." Her voice, normally serene and confident, trembled with the fury she felt.

Lorelei likewise stood, as if wanting to leap across the table. Her scowl deepened, twisting the cherubic features into a lupine snarl. "I think about it all the time. Like how you always lie to me?" she spat.

Out of all the things Jessica might have expected her niece to say, it wasn't this. "I have never lied to you, Lorelei, and I'm hurt that you would even say such a thing," she said coolly.

"You did lie to me. About my birthday that one year. I know something bad happened, and you made me forget it, like a memory wipe. I looked it up on my comm pad. Is Dr. Perine in on it too? Or Mr. Smith?" A moment ago, Lorelei had seemed all but ready to attack. Now, tears welled in her blue eyes. "Why won't you tell me? I need to know!"

Instinctually, Jessica wanted to tell her little niece, her last living descendant, the whole truth. How she, and the Project, came to be. Why it was necessary. How they'd tried, and failed, so many times before she, the apex of a hundred years' research, ever came into existence. Right now was just not the time. "You're too young to understand, cher," she said impulsively, and immediately regretted her words.

"That's what everyone always says," Lorelei sobbed, tears of frustration and anger spilling down her cheeks. "You, and Mr. Smith, and Dr. Perine. You all lie to me, I know it. It's like I'm some stupid baby. Well, I'm not a baby!" she shrieked, smacking her little fist on the table. "I can take care of myself and I don't need any of you!"

"Lorelei…"

But the girl had already sprinted out of the dining room, toward her upstairs bedroom, no doubt, crying her eyes out.

Jessica fought back her own tears, but didn't pursue. Every time she thought she was making progress, breaking through to Lorelei's tender emotional center, and the secrets contained within, one of these storms broke. One step forward followed by two steps back. She was not Lorelei's mother, could never be, and yet she'd assumed the mantle out of necessity and her own sense of duty. Why can I love her so much and yet be infuriated by her? Is this what parenthood is supposed to be? I was raised by nannies. I can arrange multi-billion credit contracts, protect this torus from all harm, negotiate treaties…why can't I be a mother to her without her hating me for it?

"Ma'am, are you all right?" It was Ricard the butler droid, who'd returned to clear away the now-cold leftover food on the table.

"I'm not sure if I will be or not." She desperately wanted sleep, yet that was impossible knowing she'd sooner or later have to go upstairs and calm down Lorelei. For the first time in a long while, the Defense Secretary was starting to feel her chronological age. And there's no telling when she'll let me touch her palm again for a restorative treatment. I'll have to make sure to get in a med-bay before the meetings tomorrow. "Bring me some of that wine, Ricard. I need it." It was no substitute for the woefully fractured mother-daughter relationship, but it was all she had for the moment.

"As you wish."

~~s~~

Lorelei's arms were getting tired.

She swung the wooden bokken over and over against the headboard and posts of her king-size bed, battering both the mahogany finish and the weapon itself. This would be the fourth wooden sword she'd cracked in half this month, she realized. It didn't matter; she could get another. Mr. Smith always said she needed to let her anger out, not keep it inside…and this was usually how she chose to do it, by taking her whacks at the furniture, all the while imagining the faces of her aunt, Dr. Perine, or the mean kids in class as she did so.

They just didn't understand. No one did. Well, maybe Mr. Smith did, sometimes. Only he wasn't here right now.

Thwack. Thwack.

On the nightstand beside her bed, the little stuffed oryx sat patiently, watching her outburst with his one remaining button eye. Lorelei had grown out of dolls and toys for the most part, yet Orson, as she called him, remained. There was something about his musty, threadbare presence that comforted her to no end. Even taking a deep breath against his patchy fur made her more comfortable.

Panting, sweating, Lorelei sank to one knee, making eye contact with the beast. "What are you looking at?" she asked him. "Would you rather I used a real sword? Then I'd cut you up too along with the bed, you know. Make some yummy oryx steaks. Mmmm."

As always, Orson remained silent, though she almost imagined she saw sympathy in that black, shiny eye of his.

She had bolted the door to her room, wirelessly reconfigured the lock so that her aunt would take at least a while to get in, and even shut down Amelie, her attendant droid. Right now Lorelei just wanted to be alone.

With the bokken still in hand, she climbed up onto her bed, face up, looking up at the ceiling. She desperately wanted to tell someone, anyone, about the true way she felt about the dark man and his nocturnal visits. How she had come to fear and crave them at the same time. The wonderful, terrible feeling that flooded her when his hand met hers. It all had something to do with her fifth birthday, she knew somehow. Dr. Perine might analyze her dilemma to death, Mr. Smith was sure to offer nothing but enigmas, and her aunt?

"She just doesn't get it, Orson. I bet she never had to deal with some strange guy in a cloak coming to see her all the time," Lorelei said out loud, more to herself than the battered toy. "And she wants me to be somebody I'm not. It's always 'don't do that' or 'stop it' with her, or making me take all these classes I hate. I wish she'd just let me…" A deep sigh. "Be myself."

And that was the darkest, deepest part of her fantasy, the one she'd never told anyone else. The boogeyman actually understands me. When he touches me like that, it's like everything is okay, and I feel better, like I was meant to do that. That is so weird, and creepy…didn't adults always tell me not to talk to strangers?

It was getting late, and Lorelei didn't feel the least bit tired despite a long day at school, a training session afterward, and a solid fifteen minutes swinging the wooden sword. Besides, if she went to sleep, he might show up. She shuddered with a curious mixture of dread and eager anticipation.

She needed to burn off the nervous energy somehow. That was one thing Mr. Smith had taught which Lorelei had come to greatly appreciate: when you were too busy being active, the mind could not be occupied with excess worry or fear. Hopping off the bed, she paced, still holding the splintered bokken.

I could do some more exercises. I could climb out on the roof…but I might get caught, and Tante Jessica would be even more mad at me. Or…

A thought struck her. Rummaging in the messy drawer underneath where Orson sat, Lorelei dug around, looking. She pulled out the old model Dragonfly pad, the one she'd stashed away years ago. Her aunt regularly had to confiscate the girl's beloved hacker equipment, yet somehow this one had gone unnoticed, perhaps because it was so obsolete. "I know just who I can talk to. I just hope he's around," said Lorelei, booting up the device and hearing its familiar start-up chime. Years ago, in the hospital, she'd found a scrap of paper with a string of numbers on it…and a name. J.F. Drake. After some research, and even more trial and error, she'd discovered it was a comm frequency, though an unusual one. The first time Lorelei had simply texted a message (Hello, my name is Lorelei Delacourt, and someone gave me this code) to the set of numbers, and waited.

The response had been nearly instant. Though J.F. Drake, whoever he or she was, had insisted on anonymity, they had corresponded semi-regularly. It was like having a pen pal, of sorts; that was how Lorelei thought of it. She'd told the mystery person about her school, her cares, her worries, even her deep fear of the boogeyman. Her aunt, of course, would have grounded her for life had she known about the connection. That was why Lorelei had kept it such a closely-guarded secret. She liked to think her secret friend was some kind of spy, or maybe a sleeper agent on Earth. That had to be why they never went by anything but a last name. So far she had never found anyone named Drake in the CCB or Earth databases…which only intrigued her more.

Ru arnd? Lorelei texted rapidly, fingers flying across the screen, Realy nd 2 talk if ur there.

And she waited.

Putting down the Dragonfly, Lorelei went doggedly back to work, making every swing count.

To Be Continued