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"You two know what to do, right?" Bryan asked unnecessarily.
"Sure do," Vance answered, echoed by "Yuppers" from Lew. They exchanged smiles with each other and then with Bryan.
"I hate to stick you with gate guard detail, but it's only until I've finished the initial briefing for our new hires," Bryan said to them. "Speaking of which, I need to get over there. Any questions?"
"No sir. Assuming guard duty – now!" Vance answered. throwing a crisp salute, copied a fraction of a second later by Lew. Bryan returned their salute and turned to go, drawing a deep breath of the crisp end-of-October air. The two boys went into the long-time-vacant guard shack beside the gate.
As he slow-jogged over to the office complex, Bryan couldn't help but think, 'Strike Team Charlie lucks out again.' Despite differences in age and height, the two new members looked to have formed a close friendship that manifested itself as good two-man teamwork, and looked to be fitting well into the odd crew that went to make up Charlie. Vance, a dark-haired fifteen-year-old with a swimmer's build, was the usual leader-and-spokesman for the two of them, but it was evident he considered Lew his complete equal, and listened carefully to what he had to say. Lew was 12, tall and slender for his age, with the sandy hair that could equally be called blond or brown. Both had intense blue eyes. Putting them out of his mind for the moment, Bryan turned his attention to what he needed to say and do at the upcoming briefing.
As he walked into the conference room, Bryan took a good look at the expressions on the four men Kurt had hired for security. They were close to identical: incredulity and skepticism. Keeping his impassive outward expression steady, he sighed inside. This would not be easy.
"Good day, gentlemen," he said. "My name is Bryan Maxson, and there's a good reason I am here for your initial briefing. I'll get into that in a moment. But let me address a concern you're too polite to say out loud: all four of you look at me and see a freckle-faced 13-year-old redheaded boy, looking like a refugee from an especially saccharine sitcom, right?" He didn't wait for acknowledgments, but forged ahead. "In point of fact, I am 13, but, well, appearances can be deceiving." As he was speaking, he took his right hand, extended down at his side, and casually lifted one end of the heavy desk he was standing beside, at full arm extension, without apparent effort. Lowering the desk back down, he went on, "I was taken as a small child, trained to be a soldier, and genetically enhanced to do the job. I'm only slightly over twice as strong as a normal kid my age; my best physical skill is my reaction time and agility."
Faster than anyone could follow, he whipped out his throwing knife and whipped it at the wall, where it lodged dead center of the concentric rings of a knot in the wood, about a foot to the left of one of the men. "I would not have done that if there had been the slightest danger to Mr. Napoli. And I'm doing this, not to show off or brag, but because it's physical proof you can observe of a part of what I need to tell you. That will help validate the truth of the other part, where I can't furnish quick and easy proof."
He glanced at the four men to assess the effect of what he'd said so far. What he saw was not ideal but an improvement: they were listening, maintaining healthy skepticism but willing to consider what he had to say. "You're all experienced professionals, and you all care about kids," he said. "That's important for what comes next: your chain of command. Because, you see, it became logical for the Vulcans to provide protection against abuse and neglect to human children and youth." The men were nodding; this wasn't new to them. "And they did this in a characteristically Vulcan way: by adapting the tradition of the Vulcan Clan to use on Earth by Terrans. Specifically, the than-sakai-maat, the clan of brothers sworn by oath."
"This facility, as of Thursday morning, became Vulcan territory. Vulcan laws and traditions are what governs anything that happens here. We are under the direct protection and authority of Ambassador Sarek, the head of Great House Surak, and those he names as in authority under him. The top of that chain of authority is Patriarch Cory Short of Clan Short, and his head of Security, his sworn brother J.J. Richardson. The military and enforcement arm of the Clan is the UNIT, under the command of Adam Casey. Setting up and administering this facility and the other 25 facilities that will follow it are the responsibility of Kurt Farnsworth, who interviewed you yesterday. And security for this facility is under the UNIT's Strike Team Charlie, commanded by Lt. Austin Casey (no relation to Adam). I am his second in command."
That startled them. Bryan rushed on. "You gentlemen work for Austin. But on the rare occasions he is not available, you answer to me. Both he and I have had over three years of professional level security training, as well as Special Ops. training. Both Austin and I, and the rest of the team too, are not the sort of know-it-all teenagers who refuse to learn anything from an adult. I expect we will all learn a great deal from you, particularly in how to do good security in the non-dramatic everyday situations that make up a normal day-to-day operation. Before today is out, I hope to have put deeds to words enough that I've earned your respect, despite my age and size – and that, when it becomes necessary for me to say 'Frog,' you will be prepared to accept that I mean 'Frog' and jump accordingly, and that we can discuss the fine points of amphibian nomenclature later. The one thing I do require of you right now is your word that you will keep an open mind, ask for clarification if something seems a bit strange, in general allow yourselves to be convinced by word and deed that this operation is something that can and will work and that you are willing to be an integral part of. May I have your word on that?"
There were a few seconds of silence. Alex Matlock thought through what he'd just heard, and the sequence of events that had brought him here. A large, prepossessing figure, he had headed up a small private security firm until the unpleasant contretemps with the school district that had led to his businees going broke. He was firmly committed to seeing justice done for children and youth; the powers that be had not seen it his way. Two of the other men in the room had worked for him. Now he spoke up. "You're doing this for the benefit of the kids themselves, have I got that right?"
"Yessir, you have."
"Then count me in." Alex was soft-spoken but firm.
Michelangelo Napoli followed his ex-boss's lead. He'd been impressed despite himself with Bryan. "I'm in too."
And that led to the other two agreeing as well. Bryan smiled his thanks to all four, with a special nod at Matlock.
"Okay, something about your duties. First, perimeter security will be largely by automatic cameras; mostly, you'll only need to provide backup. Policing will be a part of it, but remember that we're operating under Vulcan laws and traditions, not under New York State ones. You'll get a very thorough training on that fairly soon. Two points: bullying is completely forbidden, and the range of social customs that are adult-centric mostly don't count. There is never a time when 'children should be seen but not heard', and if you see an 11-year-old riding his bike wearing nothing but a big grin, you can assume he just decided it would be fun. We'll all need to take turns as gate guards for now, and you'll probably help train security recruits." One of the men looked like he had a question, but didn't speak up; Byron decided to wait until later to find out what it was.
"For the most part, there's no reason why any of the kids here shouldn't be able to come and go as they please, subject to parental OK for the younger ones, of course. Most issues here will be common sense – don't let a seven-year-old take his bike onto Taft Road, for example. You'll know the kids that have problems that warrant stopping them from leaving the compound unaccompanied by the time they decide to try doing it. Mostly you'll be stopping people trying to get in: child molesters, self-appointed evangelists, bureaucrats, in general people with a mission to mess with a kid's head." He stopped as a thought came to him. "Oh, yes. If you get a message from a kid telling you to turn someone away or put them in custody, do so. If you have any doubts about it, ask for a password."
"Where would we get the password?" Napoli asked.
"You make it up," Byron replied. "The kid is a telepath, or he wouldn't be telling you what to do. He's not allowed to read your mind without permission, but he can pick up your password from your surface thoughts. Think of an aardvark, or General Tso's chicken; he'll tell you that's what you chose. And that will verify to you that the kid, and he could be as young as seven or eight, knows that the guy you're dealing with is up to no good, from scanning him. Personal security will be provided either by Strike Team Charlie or by other UNIT forces; you won't probably need to deal with it at all. Austin will be discussing with you individually about your participation in any needed interventions, after he gets here."
"Now, are there any questions so far?"
Hal Ockenfels was bored. Yeah, there were advantages to this Bam Bam location. He was getting three square meals and a place to sleep, even if it was in one of their 'pods'. But the future they'd promised him? Apparently it came down to one choice: join their little army or go back to school – and after two years on the street, looking out for Number One, school just wasn't in the works for him. And he had no desire to be cannon fodder either. They did have a great group of video games here, though. He'd taken his character through 20 levels of dungeon, figuring out how to avoid the traps, in search of the Thing of Great Value. He could successfully land a jet on a carrier – in simulation of course. He'd built up a city from a crossroads hamlet, siting it at the right strategic place. And absolutely nothing compared to the thrill of piloting a shuttlecraft clawing its way up to orbit. After that kind of stuff, algebra and American history were cold soup. Nor did he particularly want to get involved with what he imagined the 'sports program' here was into.
His ruminations were cut short by his roomie's exuberant entrance. Cliff Demetriou was a pudgy kid a year younger than him. who seemed to look up to him for some reason. "Guess what, Hal!" he said excitedly.
"What, Cliff?" he asked dryly, refusing to let the Greco-Romanian boy's exuberance move him.
"We're gonna be a part of the pilot program!" Cliff cheered.
"What pilot program?"
"We're going up to New York State, to the first community facility!"
Now that was ... interesting. Hal wondered how he could turn it to his advantage. "When?"
"Soon's we're ready. Daileass'll be transporting us out!"
Hmmm, Hal thought. Be careful what you wish for, 'cause you just might get it. Well, at least it wouldn't be boring! "What do we need to do?"
Kurt and Marky came stumbling out of Kurt's room, where Marky had claimed cuddle time for the night. Stass was making coffee, while Scott threw toast into the toaster and set out a box of cereal. Kurt smiled at the two. "You're up early!"
"Stass always wakes up early," Scott said with a secretive smile. "Where's Galen?"
"Prob'ly sleepin' in," Marky said. "I'll get 'im."
Abruptly their morning was interrupted by the appearance of three boys who appeared in the sitting area giggling. Benji and Eli flopped down bonelessly on the loveseat. Peter was all grins under his hardhat.
"What's with you?" Marky asked.
"We got it all done!" Peter said, as Galen came running out and collected a hug.
"Got what all done?" Kurt asked.
"The housing and stuff," Peter said. "Here, look!" He walked over to the window and drew the drapes back.
Outside, where there had been open fields with a few barracks off at one end, was a complex of over a hundred houses, ranging in size from a couple of bungalows to four things that could only be called mansions – three stories and sprawling wings. "We slowed time way down in that area and then just started building stuff," Peter explained. "Wanna take a tour of it?"
"Hey Galen!" Eli commented, "whatever you do, don't ever mess around with Peter... he makes the Energizer bunny look like an infant taking a nap!"
"You mean he just keeps going and going and going and going?" Marky asked giggling.
"And coming and coming and coming?" Stass asked innocently.
"Um, let's not go there!" Galen said with a deep scarlet blush.
"Why not?" Benji giggled, "According to Galli, Mikyvis have wild explosive orgasms that never leave their partners the same!"
"Let's take that tour!" Kurt said, trying manfully to change the subject.
"You want to take a tour of Mikyvis sex?" Eli asked with a straight face.
"Where's the Valium?" Kurt asked.
"Right here!" Peter giggled as he held out his hand, a pill the size of a frisbee in it.
"That is the extended-release version," Benji giggled.
"Coming right up, Uncle Kurt," Daileass said with a chuckle. "Just hold out your right hand. Mama Janet keeps a supply and a blank prescription pad just for Clan adults."
Roy Uberlander was driving up Northern Boulevard when he first noticed it. The new manager of the big-box store just north of Carrier Circle was much more cooperative than the previous one had been. While the corporation which owned it still refused to put in the storm sewers he'd recommended for rainwater runoff, the new manager had talked them into a contribution to the town's Arts and Recreation budget fund in lieu of the storm sewers; he was carrying the corporate check back with him. Although the authority of the town zoning ordinance needed to be enforced against people who thought the law didn't apply to them, Roy was a reasonable man, realizing that one hand washed the other.
But the old air base? The last Roy had heard, Wayne Industries owned it, and the town's master plan for the area, calling for stores and warehouses, matched such plans as they had for it – one warehouse and the rest just locked off from public access.
What Roy was seeing now, though, was nothing like that. Someone had apparently gotten title to the land and fast-tracked a housing development there, not what the town had it zoned for at all! He turned left onto Taft Road, and checked out the rest of the property after he passed the few houses at the corner that were outside the old base's perimeter fence. Yes, it was all built up, and they'd taken down all but a couple of the barracks buildings, and they'd remodeled a lot of the other base buildings as well. And nobody had contacted him for a permit! This could not be allowed to continue!
Roy pulled up to the old guard shack at the Thompson Road intersection, which he expected to be empty. It was not. A sandy-haired boy of about 12 emerged from it, and asked, "May I help you, sir?"
"Nice," thought Roy sardomically, "whoever's running this is letting the guards bring their kids to work with them." Aloud he said, "Let me talk to your father, please, son."
"Oh, you really don't want to do that!" the boy said with a giggle. "Who are you here to see?"
Thinking "smart-alec kid" to himself, Roy answered, "Whoever is in charge here" in a rather stern tone.
"That'd be Mr. Farnsworth. If you'll pull over right here, I'll send for an escort for you," Lew told him.
"C'mon, kid, stop playing and let me do my job here!" Ray was getting irritated.
"He's not playing," came a new, low voice. Roy looked to see Vance holding a drawn weapon. "Our job is to man this gate, and arrange security escort for anyone with business inside. Just who are you, anyway?"
"I'm the Zoning Officer for this town," Roy answered with a touch of asperity. "And somebody's been breaking the law here, putting up all those houses." He gestured widely.
The two boys glanced at each other, and was that? Yes, it was a smirk that passed across their faces. "Better call Bryan," Vamce said.
"On it," Lew answered, slipping into the guard shack.
"I don't have time for this crap, kid," Roy said to Vance. "Who built all those houses without building permits, and where can I find them?"
"For the first question, Family Clan Short of Vulcan built them; I believe it was Lambert Construction that did the work," Vance answered equably. "For the second, Kurt Farnsworth is in charge here, and we were about to get someone to escort you to him."
"Escort? What the hell do I need an escort for?"
"Because, sir, you're on an extraterritorial enclave, where diplomatic immunity applies." Vance was inwardly thankful he'd memorized that formula.
At that point an official-looking vehicle pulled up, driven by Alex Matlock, the security man who had taken the lead earlier, with Bryan riding shotgun. "Is this the man to see Kurt?" Bryan asked. Vance nodded yes. "Follow us, sir," he instructed Roy, who looked at Alex for guidance. Alex motioned him to follow, and they led him over to the HQ building, and pulled up.
Roy went to get his pad of Stop Work Orders out of his back seat. Recognizing Alex from past encounters, he said, "I'll be just a second here, Alex. I need to make out a bunch of orders on unauthorized construction."
Alex caught Bryan's eye; he nodded. Roy missed the exchange.
"I don't believe you'll be needing them, Roy, but bring them if you want to," Alec said calmly. He'd long since found that the best way to deal with bureaucrats was to simply not argue, to let them wave their dicks around, so to speak, then ignore their invalid 'orders'. A hand gesture signaled Bryan to let him handle it; Bryan nodded again.
Inside, Alex handled the introductions. "Roy Uberlander, may I present Kurt Farnsworth, the Managing Director for Establishing New Residential Compounds for Family Clan Short. Kurt, Roy is the Zoning Officer for the Town of Cicero, the legal jurisdiction for the land surrounding this base."
"And these are my nephews and adopted sons, Galen Alexander and Scott and Marcus Reinhardt, of Family Clan Short," Kurt finished the introductions. He skipped over Stass, who was busy at a computer in the corner of his office, playing a hunch.
"Are you responsible for the new construction that has apparently taken place here?" Roy jumped into the conversation with both feet.
"Yes sir, I am," Kurt replied. "My mission was to fast-track housing for homeless children and youth, and I'm pleased to say we got it up in far less time than I'd expected."
"Are you aware that the Town's Master Plan does not have this area zoned as residential?" Roy asked. "Did you obtain building permits before beginning construction? I believe not!"
"Not residential?" Kurt said wryly. "That must have come as a surprise to the airmen and Air Force officers who were billeted here."
"That's different; it was a Federal facility then," Roy said. "When the air base closed, it came under the Town's jurisdiction."
"And when it was transferred to Family Clan Short, it came under Vulcan jurisdiction, under the principle of diplomatic immunity," Scott said in an equable tone.
"What gives you that silly idea?" Roy asked.
"Oh, how about treaties, Federation policy, case law, constitutional principles, little stuff like that?" Scott rejoined, beginning to get slightly irritated.
"That crap? The Indians tried to use that against the county, but we showed them what for!" Roy snapped. Galen made a mental note about the Indians.
Stass caught Scott's eye, and pointed to the computer monitor. After stepping over and looking at what his boyfriend had found, Scott said, "Mr. Uberlander, please look here." It was an advisory opinion from the State Attorney General on the applicability of local legislation to extraterritorial property in their jurisdiction.
"Not relevant; that's about embassies down in New York City," Roy said, now irritated at these kids thinking they had some sort of authority. Turning to Kurt, he asked, "Do you have a list of what was put up?"
"Yes, we do."
"Good; give me a printout."
When Kurt did so, he busily made out Stop Work Orders for each building.
"You know, those aren't worth the paper you're writing them on?" Scott remarked.
"We'll see about that; I'll get a court order to enforce them!" Roy snarled back.
His paperwork done, Roy stood up and headed out the door. Alex followed.
"Be careful how deep you get yourself into this, Roy," Alex cautioned. "These kids have strings to pull."
"So do I, Alex. So do I." And Roy jumped into his car and drove off. Alex followed him until it was clear he was headed out the gate, then returned to report to Bryan.
In the office, Kurt was concerned. "You weren't very polite to him."
"I was," Scott answered, "until he began throwing his weight around. One thing I've learned from being in the Clan is, sometimes you have to stand up for your rights, and those of your friends and brothers, or nobody else will. Remember Gladys, at your old Center?"
Kurt's gesture acknowledged the point. "I'd be a lot happier, though, if I had some legal ground to stand on here."
"Well, then," Galen said, "call up Northeast Division. Your day-to-day operations will be under their authority. And I'll bet they've run into this sort of thing already."
"Good idea, Gale'; I'll do just that," Kurt said, and began fiddling with his commbadge. Then he said, "Jonas?"
"Here."
"This is Kurt Farnsworth, down at the new Clan residential compound in North Syracuse. I need to check out some legal questions. Does the Town of Cicero have any authority over what we build on the compound? My boys said not, but I need to check this out. I got a visit from the Zoning Officer today."
A second voice came across the commbadge. "Kurt? This is Josiah Brewster. I'm Family Court Judge up here, and Jonas's father. I had to research out the legalities of Clan operations back when the boys first got involved, and I can assure you that your Zoning man has no more authority over what you're doing than he does over the White House. Everything the Clan does is covered by diplomatic immunity, and all Clan property is regarded as being under Vulcan jurisdiction and Vulcan law. The President can't tell you what you can and cannot do, much less any local functionary."
Kurt's relief was visible on his face. "Thank you very much, sir! That's very good news."
"Jonas here, Kurt. If he gives you any more problems, don't hesitate to let me know. The Clan has resources to deal with stuff like this. Jonas out."
"Kurt out." He ended the call.
"There had better be a good explanation of this," said the unfamiliar voice on the phone.
"Excuse me?" Kurt asked, incredulous of the blatantly accusatory tone.
"You're taking our water without authorization," the voice said. "What's your excuse?"
Kurt bridled. It took a lot to get him angry, but this guy's tone, only a few hours after the run-in with the zoning officer, was pushing the envelope. It almost seemed like he was being intentionally officious.
"All right, first, your reference to 'our water' implies to me that you are from the Onondaga County Water Authority. Am I correct in that?"
"Yes, I'm Matthew with Regulatory. Now we need to come to terms over...."
Kurt cut him off. "According to the agreement with the Corps of Engineers funding your authority's lines in Mattydale and North Syracuse, you were to supply these facilities with water on demand, at a cost-plus basis. Isn't that right?"
"Well, yes, but that was the Air Base. You're not a Federal installation. That means you have to get our approval before hooking up to our services."
"And how long, pray tell, would that take?"
"Oh, we've gotten very efficient. We can have an inspector checking out your lines within a week, if they haven't yet been filled over with dirt. And my office will review their report and decide whether to approve your service within two weeks."
"Let me make a few things clear to you, Mr. Matthew. We have in excess of ten thousand homeless kids who need homes now, not after you've gotten around to processing our paperwork. Every line used was one already in place for the air base, and was I believe inspected at the time of hookup?" Kurt glanced at Galen, who nodded yes. "My liaison with the construction company verifies that." Galen giggled. "We are legally a diplomatic exclave of Ektra-Maat T'Khasi, the government of Vulcan, and successor in interest to the air base, including its rights under the supremacy clause relative to state and local agencies. You are attempting to throw around the weight of your authority for no other reason than to show you can, and I do not propose to let a bunch of boys and girls stagnate in undeerground pods while you wave your dick around. Have I made myself clear?"
"But we are required by law to ensure proper water conservation," Matthew interjected.
"Do you really think Family Clan Short, of the House of Surak of Vulcan, needs lessons on water conservation?" Kurt asked rhetorically. "Good day, sir!" He hung up the phone so hard the headset bounced.
Scott, Stass, and Galen broke into applause.
Evening. Scott and Stass were in their room, cuddling. The younger boy was wrapped tight to Scott's side, and his free hand was gently caressing Scott's chest, with particular emphasis on the nipples. This was having the effect Stass wanted: Scott's eight-inch penis was slowly engorging. (Let me hasten to assure readers that there was no loss of interest between them; Scott could and sometimes did come quickly to a rampant erection, 45 degrees off the vertical. But, like many another with a larger-than-average dick, his more relaxed, unhurried arousals were a process, not an instant reaction. And Stass was quite adept at getting him up; it was something he enjoyed doing greatly.
Tonight, though, there was something on Scott's mind. He kissed his boyfriend tenderly and then gently removed the caressing hand, sitting up and facing him.
"Do you not wish to engage in lovemaking tonight?" Stass asked, crestfallen, in that slightly-'off' English he had abstracted from the language dump.
"Oh, I am looking forward to it enthusiastically," Scott said, waggling his eyebrows in a way that he knew both turned Stass on and amused him. "But something occurred to me earlier today that we need to talk about, and I think maybe it needs to be talk before fun." Stass said nothing but looked curious.
"What do you plan to do with your life, beloved?" Scott asked. Finding out that 'beloved' almost precisely translated a Greek participle which was a common term of endearment in his native Greek had pleased and amused Stass; as a result, it had become one of their private love-words.
"Why, be with you!" Stass replied, sounding a bit startled at the question. "You do not tire of me so quickly, do you?" A trace of hurt entered his voice.
"Oh no, no, nothing like that!" Scott answered quickly. "We are together, now and for always. But what of your life, your dreams – don't you want to do something with your life now?"
"How can I?" Stass asked. "When I was a boy, I wished to finish school, then sit the courses at the Akademia that would train me to become an archaeologist. But then my father's ship sank, and I became a youthful-companion-for-hire. Then Archipater Cory sent you and your friends to recover me, and I fell in love with you." There was a hint of wistfulness as Stass began this answer, replaced by a Stoic acceptance of things-as-they-are when he came to the euphemism he always used, refusing to admit by his word choices that he was selling himself for sex, though he never demurred when anyone else made reference using those terms to how he had supported himself before his extraction.
Scott was saddened by how low his boyfriend's horizons must seem to him. This irrationally angered him a bit, not at Stass but at the world in general. "It doesn't have to be that way! he said vehemently. "We're setting up course programs for everybody who comes here, to get them the education they want. Why should you, of all people, be the exception who doesn't get what he wants? You can become an archaeologist, or whatever you want, Stass! You want to study how to conduct a dig with that professor in Crete? We'll get you there. You want to study mythology with what's-his-name, that scholar in Gainesville you like reading? We can make it happen. Just say the word, and we'll talk to Unk about it tomorrow!"
Stass's response surprised him. The young Greek boy threw himself joyously onto his boyfriend, kissing him passionately, eyes full of happiness and overflowing with tears. He hugged and squeezed Scott, pressed himself tight to his torso. Abruptly they both discovered Scott's rock-hard erection, Stass one-armed the lube from the nearby shelf and applied copious amounts as needed, and he guided Scott eagerly into his bottom.
As Scott began the steady rhythm he knew Stass liked to begin their lovemaking with, he realized, from its absence, the lack of a small niggling feeling he'd never been able to put his finger on, but which had always been a slight detractor from losing himself in their sex. And then it came to him – before, he'd always felt a slight sensation that he was using Stass, that he'd brought the younger boy home to have a willing and enthusiastic bed-partner, not a "real" rescue at all. Though irrational, it had been an itch he couldn't scratch. Now it was gone – and it was because, for the first time, they were making love as equals.
That thought now dealt with, he relaxed, and applied himself to making his boyfriend and himself enjoy what they were doing to the maximum extent possible.