0300 Book 2 - 3. Chapter 3 Finding George

Chapter 3: Finding George

Our next assignment was to be the United Space Fleet cruiser Independence. She was a ship of the line, a warship. This would be my first line command, so I had to make a couple of visits to Geneva, including one very “sweaty-palm” visit with Admiral Davis, who now wore four stars and was the deputy chief of the fleet. That’s where we found George.

He was in Admiral Davis’s waiting room. He looked like a puppy that had been whipped until its spirit was broken. Danny and I could feel his unhappiness and fear. Then . . .

. . . George spoke. “Are you really boyfriends?”

He’s reading us! He’s seeing the sex stuff, I thought.

Danny and I had had an incredible time that morning. Visiting captains’ quarters at Fleet Headquarters are right nice, and there were these two white bathrobes . . . .

He doesn’t see everything, I realized. But he sees something. He’s one of us!

Before either of us could say anything, he blurted, “It’s not fair! You’re so happy!”

“Do you need a hug?” Danny asked.

“Don’t tell me what I want!” George nearly shouted.

“Not telling; asking. Not want; need. But, you do need a hug. May I?” Without waiting for an answer, Danny took the seat next to George and put his arm around the boy. George stiffened, looked at me out of the corner of his eye, and then leaned into Danny. George was trying very hard not to cry, and doing a pretty good job of it.

The admiral’s aide came in. “Captain Stewart, the admiral will see you.” He didn’t even look at the two boys. The veil; Danny is getting very strong. George, probably not, or he wouldn’t be here.

“Danny? Tell George everything, okay?” I said before following the aide.

Danny nodded. He knew what I meant.

“Why are you here,” Danny asked.

“To get kicked out of Fleet,” George said.

“Why?” Danny asked.

“I stole a shuttlecraft,” George said. Then, he jerked his head toward the door through which Paul had gone. “He said to tell me everything. What everything?”

“When I met Paul?” Danny said. “He’d flown to Sea-Tac in a stolen shuttle. He used to do it all the time. Then he got promoted and didn’t have to steal them. Said it wasn’t nearly as much fun, anymore! He took me for a ride. I was still a civilian; it was very illegal. He took me from Seattle to Switzerland, the long way. We went over Antarctica and Australia and Africa and everywhere! And he let me fly it. Also, very illegal. I saw penguins and lions and—”

“Yeah, but have you ever stolen a shuttle?” George interrupted.

“No, but I’ve done bad stuff,” Danny said.

“Like what?”

“Promise not to tell?”

“Promise.”

“I hacked the fleet mainframe, and gave a couple of my friends from school space duty. Well, they deserved it! Paul doesn’t know, and you promised not to tell. And, I put about a jillion credits in my account, but Paul caught me and made me put it back. I would have, anyway. I just wanted to know I could do it. I also put a bullet hole in the wall of our quarters in Wales. I was cleaning my service pistol and hadn’t taken the round out of the chamber? Paul grounded me for a month for that! Not ’cause he was mad at me, but ’cause he was so scared for me. He loves me an awful lot.”

“So, you’re a computer geek?” George asked. “And you have a service pistol? You’re supposed to be sixteen to get a service weapon . . . you’re too little—”

“I am not little!” Danny said. “And I’m 11. Well, almost. And I’m really good at math and computers.”

“I’m 10, almost 11, too, and I’m really good at physics,” George said. “I just aced the physics comps, the PhD ones. But I couldn’t tell anybody because—promise not to tell?”

“I promise,” Danny said.

“Um, they wouldn’t let me take them because I’m too young, but I can push people, and sometimes they’ll do what I want them to do. I don’t like to do it. I’m afraid I’ll get caught.”

Danny released George from the hug, and laughed. It was a happy laugh, and he pushed happiness so that George knew it was.

“George, how do you think Paul got to be a Captain? Do you know how old he is?”

George shook his head. The veil. “Forty, maybe?”

Danny laughed again, and pushed more happiness at George. “He’s sixteen! He can push, just like you! So can I. How do you think a sixteen-year-old got to be a captain? How do you think a ten-year-old—me—can carry a service weapon?”

Danny patted the butt of the pistol on his hip. “And I was just eight when Paul gave it to me! How do you think you were able to steal the shuttle in the first place? George, you’re one of us! Hold on a minute.”

Danny sent me a message. It was short and to the point. The admiral was about to wrap up. His usual, “Anything else?” had just been spoken.

“Yes, Admiral. The junior cadet in your waiting room, George—(Rogers Danny supplied)—George Rogers. Would you assign him to me?”

“You surprise me, Paul. First that you know him. Do you know why he’s here?”

“Yes, sir. He took a shuttle for a joy ride because he couldn’t find anyone with whom to share his happiness. He’s shared that with my son. I do need an aide.” I stopped talking, and started to push. Before I could, the admiral nodded his head.

“Your call. Tell my aide, and cut the orders, yourself. And when you get back from this assignment, let me know how the boy worked out.”

That’s one of the reasons Admiral Davis was so respected. He really cared about his people. I knew that if I didn’t get back to him in a year or so, and tell him about George, he’d come after me. And, he didn’t write this stuff in a calendar. He remembered it. It’s too bad he’s so old, I thought. I don’t think he’s one of us, but he’s something more than simply human. I saluted, and left the admiral’s office. I stopped at the aide’s desk and told him I’d be taking Cadet Rogers with me. The aide didn’t bat an eye. Veil.

“Danny? George? Ready to go?”

George looked startled. He was waiting for the aide to come in and lead him to the scaffold.

“Go?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “You’re assigned to me. We’re leaving for the Independence in 30 minutes. Can you be ready? We’ll be gone for a year.”

George nodded. His mind was numb. His face reflected that.

“Danny, please go with him. Make sure there’s no interference. I’ll see you both at the shuttleport. Thirty minutes. Oh, by the way, George, can you pilot a shuttle?” I grinned. Danny giggled. George smiled. It was a tentative, crooked smile, and brief. He was getting over his funk but there was a way to go.

The “captain’s lighter” from the Independence was a regular troop transport shuttlecraft: none of the luxury of a science ship, here. George thought I was kidding, but I insisted he pilot the shuttle to the Independence. (So did the lieutenant who had brought the shuttle to Geneva—think I was kidding, that is. It took only a little push to convince him that George should have the left seat.) George was thrilled. He’d been afraid to take a shuttle into space, so this was his first trip. He was sweating when he grounded on the flight deck, but his eyes glowed. By then, he was fine.

An hour or so after we landed, I was able to get the two boys alone in the captain’s quarters. There was no separate Captain’s Mess, but my quarters were bigger than those on the Goddard. Four chairs and a table were bolted to the deck. Against the far wall, a couch faced a large display screen. “Danny said you were just sixteen. But that’s impossible!” George said.

The boys had lemonade; I had found a one-cup-at-a-time coffee pot and a note from the previous captain: I wish you calm seas and following winds.

“He said I was one of you. What did he mean?”

“George, many boys start Fleet School at age six; so, you and Danny being ten-going-on-eleven junior cadets isn’t unusual.

“Being a 10-year-old cadet on active duty is rare; being a 10-year-old with space duty is almost unheard of. Usually, the only ones are sons of fleet members serving with their dads. That’s why Danny . . . .”

Oh, oh, I thought, and probed lightly. “George, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

The boy’s eyes misted and his nose wrinkled. “He died when I was six. Training accident on the Yorktown. He always said when I was ten he would bring me into space with him. I’m here, now but he’ll never know!” George was crying big time, now. I took his hand and pulled him to me, and put him in my lap. He buried his head in my chest and sobbed. His tears soaked my jumpsuit.

I pushed calm, but only a little. He needs this cry, I realized. He needs to cry while someone holds him. He’s never been able to do that, before! None of us have been able to. We are so cursed!

After a few minutes, I asked, “George? Are you okay now? You don’t want to cry too much, now. You can always do more, later, okay? Any time you want, I will be here.”

The boy looked up, sniffled once, blew his nose on the handkerchief Danny handed him, and then smiled at us. It was a good smile; we felt him push happiness. It was unconscious, but it was a definite push.

“Thank you,” George said. He gave me a fast hug, which I seconded with a kiss on his forehead before letting him slip from my lap and into his own chair.

“I hope you don’t think I’m a baby,” he said. He was looking at Danny.

“Nah,” Danny said. “I cried a lot after I met Paul. He held me, let me cry some, cheered me up, and kissed me. Just like he did with you. After a while, they got to be happy tears. It’s okay. You’ll find your happy tears, too.”

Out of the mouths of babes, I thought.

I’m not a baby! Danny replied.

“George, you and Danny and I, and I hope others as well, are something different from most people. Danny and I have decided we’re not super-humans, but we think of ourselves as meta-humans: a different kind of human.

“We’re able to feel what each other is feeling; we can talk to each other in our minds.”

“Telepathy,” George said. I nodded.

“But I can’t do that,” he said.

“Actually, you can. When Danny and I came into the admiral’s waiting room? You asked if we were really boyfriends, and said it wasn’t fair that we were so happy. How do you think you knew that? It was the feelings part of telepathy. That’s the easiest. Words and pictures will come later.”

George nodded his understanding. I continued. “We also broadcast protective thoughts that we call the veil. Mostly, it just makes people ignore us. It makes people not wonder why boys so young are borrowing shuttlecraft or taking PhD physics tests. It makes the crew of the Independence not wonder why their Captain is sixteen and his security detail and personal staff are two ten-year-olds. By the way, Danny, we need to get George weapons—and training.

“We can also push; Danny said you used that word when you said how you got to take the physics tests. We can push people to do what we want them to do, what we tell them to do. Danny also told me that you didn’t like to do that because you were afraid you’d get caught.”

George nodded, again.

“George, there’s a better reason not to push people. Do you know what it is?”

George hesitated only a second before answering. “It’s wrong, and it might hurt them.”

“It’s wrong because people are not our playthings. That’s an important part of the answer, but there’s more. Danny?”

“Because if you push people too much, you would become an evil person. Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely. We’re meta-human, but we’re still human. We can still be tempted.”

George nodded; I believed that he understood. I thought of Mark, the boy I’d nearly killed unconsciously. I thought of those I had killed. This was a lesson I’d learned the hard way, an experience I did not want Danny and George to have.

The crew easily accepted Danny as my son and George as Danny’s boyfriend and my aide. Those things were within parameters. We had to push a little before people became accustomed to the boys carrying weapons, though. By conventional standards, they were much too young for that.

As my aides, the boys kept my quarters neat and clean, made coffee, brought me meals when I wanted to eat alone, and stuff like that. It wasn’t one-sided. I spent a lot of time teaching them, training them, and cuddling them.

There were two other cadets in the junior mess. One was Alex, the eight-year-old son of the Chief Helmsman. The other was an eleven-year-old, who was the son of the Armorer. There were two, fourteen-year-old midshipmen from the École Militaire Royal de Saint-Jean in Quebec, and six ensigns, ages about 17 through 20. There was a broad spectrum of interests, talents, experience, and training. The second day out, I brought them into the officers’ mess, which also served as a meeting room.

The two dads plus my XO were there, as well.

“Gentlemen, what is the most important job of the captain?”

The Armorer believed he knew the answer; he also knew I wanted one of the youngsters to answer, so he kept quiet.

A midshipman raised his hand. “Sir, to tell people what to do?”

“What’s your name?”

“Midshipman Jean Acton, sir.” He said it like “John Acton.” The école was bilingual.

“Thank you, Mr. Acton. You aren’t quite sure of the answer, are you?”

“No, sir.” He nearly whispered.

“It’s close, though, isn’t it?” I asked.

“Uh, I don’t know sir.”

“That’s three good answers, Mr. Acton,” I said. His eyes brightened, and he sat up a bit taller. He still didn’t know what I wanted, or what I meant.

“First, you said what you thought; second, you admitted your uncertainty when that was appropriate; third, you said when you didn’t know.

“Rules, gentlemen,” I said. “First, don’t hesitate to answer a question or offer an opinion. Second, don’t be reluctant to say when you don’t know something. Third, ask questions.

“It is my plan, and my sincere hope that each of you boys will walk off this ship in one year wearing a grade higher than the one you wore when you boarded.” That got their attention.

“That’s going to take a lot of hard work. It’s going to take cooperation in the Junior Mess—you will all be responsible for training and helping each other. It’s going to take a commitment on your part, and a commitment on the part of the crew. If you will make that commitment, I’ll ensure the crew does their part.

“Do we have a deal?”

“Yes, sir!” the boys chorused.

“Oh, and the answer to my question, and your first lesson: the most important job of a leader, a commander, the CEO of a corporation, a captain, a supervisor by any name, is to set expectations. That means both more and less than just telling people what to do. By tomorrow, please text me 1000 or so words on what you think it means to set expectations, and be prepared to suggest answers to the next question, what is the second most important job of the captain.”

Then, I reminded the senior ensign, a kid named Kennedy, who was also the oldest, that he was in command of the junior mess, and was responsible for discipline. The others looked a little nonplussed until I added, “I define discipline not as punishment, but as training and leadership that make punishment unnecessary. I would like a 300 or so word paragraph on that subject from each of you, as well. Two paragraphs from you, Mr. Kennedy, including one on how you propose to go about it.”

Kennedy looked a little bit like a deer in the headlights, but then set his mouth in a line, and nodded.

(The training program worked. Each of the boys advanced in his curriculum and skills enough that when the cruise was over, I felt confident in promoting them all, including Danny and George. They moved from Junior Cadet to Cadet. Because I promoted the entire Junior Mess, I didn’t strain the veil, or the credulity of the paper-pushers in Fleet G-1. Or Admiral Davis, I thought. At least, I hope not. Don’t forget to tell him how well George did, I reminded myself.)

The veil was strong enough that Danny and I could have an occasional night together. After three months on the Independence, we were still exploring the physical side of our relationship, when Danny told me that George wanted to have sex with me.

“Daddy? You told me to do sex stuff with other boys if I wanted. Well, George wanted, and I did, too, and he did, and we did. And he knows that besides being my dad, you and I are boyfriends, and he wants to do sex stuff with you.”

“Yeah, I got that. Actually, I get that every time he comes into the room. He broadcasts so strongly . . . .”

Danny giggled. “Yeah, I know you got a stiffy on the bridge the other day, and that’s why you ordered George and me to clean the converters. That was so unfair!”

“Not unfair: you encouraged him, my little Pixie!”

“I am not little!” Danny said. He did not, however, deny encouraging George or that he was my Pixie.

“Speaking of which, have you ever thought up a nickname for me?”

Danny’s mood changed. The giggles disappeared. “No. I couldn’t come up with anything better than the one you already have.”

I must have looked blank and projected puzzlement.

“Daddy,” Danny said. “I never had anyone to call daddy. My stepfather was Arvid, and I tried not to even call him that. So daddy is the best nickname for you.”

I felt a little sadness, but it was quickly smothered below our love.

“Now, about George?” he said.

I reminded Danny that I’d promised not to have sex with anyone but him; he told me that George didn’t count if George were his brother. I asked him if that meant he thought we should adopt George, and he said yes. I asked, again, how he would feel about my having sex with George, and Danny explained, like I was a child, that sex was much easier than the kind of love a daddy and son should have, and that he was so very glad we had that before we did sex stuff. He said that if we were going to adopt George, we’d have to do that before I had sex with him. I’m not sure Danny exactly answered my question, but he was so sure of what he said, I figured he meant yes.

“You said if we adopted George. You understand, don’t you, that I would love George as much as I love you? You will always be first, and I will never love you less than I do.

“I used to think that I couldn’t love you more than I do, but I think every day that I love you more.” I was getting misty-eyed; so was Danny. We had a hug. Danny assured me that besides having me for a daddy, having George for a brother would be the best thing in the universe.

The next morning, I sent orders for George to report to my quarters after supper. I also tweaked the duty roster, and put Danny on the swing shift in the engine room.

The chime sounded at 1900; I opened the door and gestured for George to come in and have a seat on the couch. I pulled a couple of lemonades from the fridge, and handed one to George, and then jumped in the water, feet first.

“George, Danny and I have known you for only three months, but we’ve learned a lot about you. We’ve come to love you, and we think you love us, too.”

I paused. George nodded. “I wanted a friend, so bad,” he said. “When you showed me you standing in the wind and ice on that mountain asking it for a friend, I felt sad for you and me ’cause I’d done the same thing, and then you showed me Danny and how you felt about him, and you showed me myself, and how you felt about me, and I knew I had two friends who . . . who . . . who . . .who . . . .”

George was crying. I put my arm around him and pulled him to me. “Two friends who love you, George? Is that what you want to say?” Why is it so hard for him to say it?

It took a lot of talking, but the result was that I agreed to adopt George. He would have a hyphenated last name, to honor his first father, whom he loved intensely. We held a private ceremony, with only Danny present (and Tobor, by light speed—meaning slow—link). We agreed to keep this a secret for the rest of the tour, in order not to stress the veil.

I hid from Danny and George that I’d manipulated the duty roster so that George and I weren’t off duty at the same time for a few days after the adoption. I felt it was important for George to know, to believe, to feel, to understand that I hadn’t adopted him so we could do sex stuff. I think he knew it, but that feeling and understanding would take time. Something worked. The first few times we were alone, including the first time George stayed overnight, we simply cuddled and talked. We talked about his father, about his feelings of loss and isolation. I showed him again my visits to Denali; he showed me his visit to K-2. We had a good cry, together, but, as Danny had promised, they were happy tears: happiness at having found one another and at having shared the same feelings on two different mountains.

Then, on our fifth overnight, I realized that George was going to ask. I forestalled him. “Before Danny and I had sex, we had been friends for two years. We had cuddled a lot. We’d been naked together. Still, before I would have sex with him, we opened ourselves up, mind-to-mind. I wanted to be sure that Danny was asking from love, and not just from lust.”

George blushed. I felt what he was thinking. “I’m pretty obvious, huh?” he asked.

I nodded. “I also looked hard at my own feelings. Like Danny, you are cute and sexy. Yeah, you’re cute and I’m your captain and now I’m your daddy, and I can call you cute as long as we’re in private.”

“You’re two years older than Danny was; you’re two years smarter and two years more experienced. But, you’re also a couple of years behind where Danny and I were in getting to know one another.”

I held up my hand to stop his objections. “George, will you open your mind completely to me? And, will you let me open my mind completely to you? Everything will be exposed. There is no more honest or frightening thing you can do.”

I pushed hard at that last sentence. George paled. His hand shook when he lifted the lemonade bottle. I sat quietly, patiently while he thought.

“Will it hurt?” he asked.

“Physically, no,” I said. “Mentally, yes. It will hurt. Every bad memory, every sad memory, every hurt you ever experienced—and every one of mine, too.

“We will know each other better perhaps than we now know ourselves. We will be forever bonded.”

“And Danny did this?”

“He did; but you will not see what he shared with me. Unless, that is, you two do this—which you may not without talking to me, first. Is that clear?”

George nodded. “I do love you,” he said. “And I love Danny, too.

“I’ll do it.”

I entered George’s mind. I showed him my mind opening like a flower in a time-lapse film. Each petal was a memory; he saw them all. When the center of the flower was revealed, he saw my most secret thoughts. While this was happening, his own mind opened to me.

George was exhausted. Sweat soaked his jumpsuit. Mine, too, for that matter. I got two more lemonades from the fridge. We both drank them without stopping.

“Nova sol, Paul!” the boy said. “You weren’t kidding! Oh, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about . . .” I shushed him.

“I know, George. You don’t have to say it.”

It was late, and we were both exhausted, physically and emotionally. We showered, crawled into bed, cuddled, and fell sound asleep.

A few nights later, when it did happen, sex with George was a lot different from the first time with Danny. George was about two years older than Danny was. George had had sex with Danny, who was an excellent teacher. (I had learned that Danny had done with George the first couple of times almost exactly what I had done with Danny. Apparently, I was a pretty good teacher, too.)

Sex with George also progressed faster than it had with Danny, partly because of his age, and partly because of his experience. The third time, I lay on my back; George sat on my thighs with his knees bent. He was tracing random patterns on my tummy. When he found a spot where his touch caused a quiver, he marked it with a felt-tip pen. Between gasps, I said I hoped it would come off. George giggled, and the assured me it would. It did—when he licked the marks. Water-soluble, strawberry marker, I read afterwards. Where do you suppose he got this. I resolved to do a random check of the ship’s stores inventory. Just a routine, captain-being-a-manager-thing. I shouldn’t have been surprised at the number of sex aids we carried.

A few weeks later, I woke with an erection (normal). George was spooned in front of me (also, normal). My erection was nestled between his nether cheeks (ditto). George was pressing back and moving his buttocks in a way that stimulated me more than I was prepared for (not at all normal).

“George?” I whispered. I opened my mind. George woke quickly. I felt him blush. He showed me what he had been dreaming about.

“Can we do that?” he asked.

“Not this morning, George. We both have duty. And, not until we’ve talked about it, and prepared you for it. Is that okay?”

“That means yes, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, my little leopard.”

“Why do you call me Leopard?” I visualized the chocolate marker spots I had put on him the night before. He giggled.

The training program for the junior mess was intense; still, I knew I was dealing with children, and made sure there was room for play. George and Danny became fast friends with the two other cadets, but seemed to find a closer bond with Alex, the eight-year-old son of the chief helmsman. It was Alex, however, who first brought that to my attention. He’d asked, through channels, for a meeting regarding his training.

“Sir! Cadet Alex Tremaine reporting as ordered, sir!” He stood rigidly at attention before my desk. His arm was at the perfect 90- and 45-degree angles of a salute. He was cute as a button in his jumpsuit.

I returned his salute. “Please be at ease and take a seat, Mr. Tremaine,” I said, and gestured to the chair beside my desk. I’d had the two chairs that had been bolted to the floor in front of my desk removed, and reinstalled on one side. It flustered a lot of people, including some of the senior officers, but usually not for long. The desk was no longer a physical or a psychological barrier to conversation.

The boy sat, but his posture was stiff. “Relax, Alex,” I said. “You asked for this meeting, and said it was about training. There’s no reason—”

“I lied, sir,” he interrupted. “It’s not about training but please, hear me out?”

“Of course.”

“Why aren’t you angry, sir?” he asked.

“Alex, if there’s something so important that you would lie in order to tell it to me, then it must be important enough for me to listen. Do you agree?”

The boy gasped, and I felt his relief. “Yes, sir. Yes, I do.”

Thus encouraged, he continued without pause. “Sir, I know that Danny is your son, and that George is his boyfriend, and even though George isn’t your son, you love him. It’s all quite confusing. The reason I know this, is that George and Danny may be aliens. They are telepathic! They broadcast their thoughts! They may have influenced you … ”

I fought not to laugh or to show or project any emotion. I raised my hand. “Alex, please, slow down. We are safe, here, and you have plenty of time. Start at the beginning.”

The boy took a deep breath. “Ever since George and Danny came on board, I’ve felt them. I hear them talking to one another in the classroom, on the bridge, in the shower. In the shower, they think about sex stuff; I . . . I . . . .”

“You start thinking sex stuff, yourself, and get an erection,” I supplied. The boy nodded, and blushed.

“They exchange stuff in class, but not when we’re tested. It’s as if they don’t want to cheat, which seems strange. If they’re trying to infiltrate our civilization, then . . . .” I had raised my hand, again.

“Alex, thank you for your loyalty to humanity and to Fleet. You’ve shown that, because in spite of your fear, which I can feel, you’ve brought this story to me.

“Alex,” I pushed trust and hope, “I know all about Danny and George, and now, I know the same thing about you. Danny and George are not aliens. They’re little boys, just like you. In fact, more like you than you know. You wouldn’t hear or sense or see what they’re thinking unless you had the same talents they have. Do you understand?”

That was the beginning of understanding. I explained that some boys were smarter than most others, and could talk to one another in their minds. “We call ourselves meta-humans, and we are sworn to be the guardians of humanity. You know you’re smarter than the others, don’t you? And now, you know that you’re telepathic, too.”

Alex nodded. “So I’m—what did you call us? Meta-human? I’m meta-human, too?”

“It appears that way, Alex.”

The boy shook. “What’s going to happen to me?”

“Let’s get your dad before we talk about that, okay?

“Oh, and Alex? You never have to lie to talk to me. Just call me.”

He blushed, and nodded.

Alex and his dad were comfortable on the couch in my quarters. Danny and George sat with me at the table.

“Lt. Tremaine, you were in the meeting nearly a year ago when I challenged the junior mess to advance one grade in one year. You and Alex are the first outside my family to know that all the boys have reached this goal. That’s the good news. Congratulations, Alex, on your next assignment, you’ll be a Senior Cadet. Actually, we’ll hold a promotion ceremony before we leave this ship so that you’ll report with your new grade.

“I said that’s the good news. The rest of it is that I want Alex’s next assignment to be with me.”

I gave them a chance to absorb this before I continued. “Alex is much more than an eight-year-old whose talents and energy have led to a promotion to Senior Cadet. And you know, Don, if you think about it, how rare it is for a eight-year-old to reach that grade.” I used his first name both to open him to informality, and to give his brain a things are not what they seem kick. Then, I paused to give Alex’s father a chance to think.

“Rare? It’s unheard of,” he said. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that when you promised it, a year ago.”

“Don, what would you think about a seventeen-year-old ship’s captain?” I asked.

Don’s eyes widened. He saw me for the first time as I was. He looked at Danny and George, and saw eleven-year-olds with pistols. “What’s going on?”

I waited.

“Alex is like you?” The man was sharp. Maybe a genetic basis. Not enough data points. Something to think about, though.

“Yes, he is. He’s smarter, stronger, and faster than his contemporaries; he’s going to be able to hide himself as we do—it’s a form of self-protection that will serve him well—and he will advance as fast as he can to the highest levels of leadership and command.

“He will be required to take an oath of secrecy, and an oath of loyalty to humanity and to the fleet.

“You will be required to take that oath, too. Alex is the first we’ve recruited from his family. You will be the first outsider to know of us.

“Actually,” I paused. I explained the veil. “I’m not entirely sure if you will remember all this. I promise you, however, that you’ll not forget Alex, nor he, you, and that I will make sure that you can stay in touch and visit one another.”

The admiral had told me to let him know how George had worked out. I knew that didn’t mean a fitrep or an email. As soon as I turned the Independence over to the captain of the refit crew, I took a shuttle to Geneva. I left the boys in Morocco, with Alex’s father, mother, and little sister.

By this time, we’d determined that Alex’s dad didn’t forget about Alex when they were separated for some time; but he did forget that I was 17, George and Danny were combat armed 11-year-olds, and that Alex was something much more than his dad had contemplated. Don just didn’t worry about being separated from his son, and happy that he’d gotten a good assignment with his friends, Danny and George.

As I boarded the shuttlecraft to leave Morocco, the boys sent me images of themselves . . . imaginary images of themselves in filmy, translucent pantaloons from the old black & white movies, images of themselves sunbathing on a clothing optional beach, images—TMI. I sent back an image of myself wearing the costume of a harem guard, arms crossed on a naked, oiled chest; long, greasy hair tied into a pony tail; Fez on my head; and a whip in my hand. Danny added Persian slippers that curled up at the toes. We all giggled.