Chapter 12 - Ghosts in the Machine

Chapter 12 - Ghosts in the Machine
.:"'You already see it, though you think you do not,'
Corlis said. 'Your mother's gift to you.' When he still
looked bewildered, plainly not taking her meaning: 'The
blood of the Sidhe.
 'Through us, and others who have wed and borne as we
have, Danaan blood will pass into generations of the Gael,
to bring magic, the Sight, length of days...'
 He drew back a little and looked at her...in the glow of
the grieshock she seemed to glow with a light of her
own...the People of the Star...
 'My mother's folk--your folk,--my folk, came here from
the stars,' said Brendan at last, in a voice scarce louder
than a wondering whisper...'Before we came to Eruinn,
before we came to Atland, we came to Erith from the stars.
 'Now, we shall return there...':.
--Patricia Kenneally Morrison                             
--The Deer's Cry
"They spoke of many things old and new, and Frodo
questioned Gildor much about happenings in the wide world
outside the Shire. The tidings were mostly sad and
ominous: of gathering darkness, the wars of Men, and the
flight of the Elves."
--J.R.R. Tolkien
--Fellowship of the Ring, LOTR
                          . . . .
Athena had retired for the night; Daryl having persuaded
her to stay on with them rather than travel back to the
gatehouse in the storm. He and Jack were in the kitchen,
having cleared off the coffee things and, at Emlyn's
suggestion, they had decided to 'take things down a
notch', and Daryl had found the old andirons with arms for
hanging a pot or kettle over the fire, and were now
setting it up in preparation for making hot cocoa and
toddies, as everyone had become rather keyed-up with the
coffee, storm and ominous revelations.
'Thanks Jack, and Daryl!' Emlyn was once more seated upon
the sofa watching as Daryl hung a cast iron pot upon the
hinged arm, and pouring almond milk within, set the heavy
lid over it and swung it over the fire to heat.
'Won't take long...and that will give us something else to
do with the marshmallows,' Daryl smiled a tired smile as
he flopped down into a nearby armchair.
'I think the worst of the storm is over...it's much
quieter now,' Em was hoping. 'That was fierce thunder
indeed!' Thunderumbles sounded softer now, farther from
them.
'Possible,' Jack sauntered over and sat beside Em, an arm
on the sofa behind her, 'storms here are unpredictable at
best.' He looked at Daryl meaningfully.
'Ah, yes...partly due to the force-field's action coming
up against the natural electromagnetism of the storm...
sortof augments things...' Daryl was staring off out the
window, the curtains open wide to the view without.
Yeats stood from his seat in the corner, not having said
much thus far this evening, he approached the fire and,
hooking a poker about the pot's lid, opened it to find it
bubbling merrily. 'I'll do the honors. Chocolate or
toddy?'
All voted on the cocoa, so Yeats, bringing in a loaded
tray, set to, and soon handed round steaming mugs.
'This time, I shall take a nip of the brandy in mine...'
Em brought the decanter over to the tea table and added a
decent drop to hers, and found she wasn't the only one so
inclined.
'And now,' Yeats began, standing at the mantle and looming
over all, 'we may at last have our little chat...'
Emlyn simply stared at him, eyes wide. 'Goodness! There's
more?'

'Indeed, we have not yet begun to discourse,' Yeats
informed her from beneath his browline like a Spanish
balcony. He took a seat in the armchair next to Daryl,
whilst Aleister pulled his chair beside the sofa and added
more brandy to his mug.
'I agreed to have Athena here to begin the evening's
dissertation, to 'set the scene' so to speak...' Yeats
began, 'now that Emlyn knows some of the more practical
points of discussion, I'll give the floor to Daryl.'
'Oh, ho, wait a moment!' Jack set his mug down. 'You knew
about Athena?'
'I did.' Yeats replied casually.
Jack didn't know how to react. But, as Yeats was their
Head, he wisely said nothing, although he felt rather out
of the loop in his own domain.
'Right,' Daryl began. Well, now or never...he sighed,
'Jack, do you recall your boarding school years?'
This was the last topic of conversation Jack had expected
tonight. 'School? Well, was awhile ago! But,
unfortunately, yes, I recall it all too well.'
'I'm not sure if you knew that Drake, your father and I,
also attended such schools,' he shot a dark look at Jack.
Jack hadn't really wanted to admit to anyone, or even
himself, how little he knew of his father, or his entire
family and their doings, having been schlepped off early
to said schools... 'Ah, well, actually...' he sighed, 'no,
Daryl, I didn't know.'
'What you also didn't know was, due to my own experiences
in such places, I was vehemently opposed to having you
sent there, and, as Drake was just as determined that you
should go, it was a key point in our...discordance.'
Em looked at Jack, who was staring at the fire, frowning.
'N-no, I...never knew of this...'
 Interesting, though...
as Jack had decidedly found much of what took place in
those institutions to be so injurious to a developing
child that he was still recovering... Indeed, it was why
he had taken up meditation and martial arts to discipline
his mind to overcome the lingering negative effects of
such treatment.
Daryl looked grim. 'Yes. What you also may not have known:
these 'schools', so-called, were not educational
establishments, per se,  but actual offshoots of eugenics
labs.' Daryl's tone was indicative of describing some
particularly loathsome roadkill.
Jack stood suddenly as if pulled up by a string. Hands on
hips, he glowered at the fire, then began to sweat,  ran a
hand through his hair...he walked away from them all,
removed his jacket in a huff and crumpled it before him
with both hands.
 'I...I...' he began, as he paced up and down the room,
'I...no, I didn't know.' But, he had suspected, oh, yes.
In fact, now, everything made some sort of utterly
revolting sense.
Emlyn, noting Jack's obvious distress, reached out to
him,'Jack...?'
--but he was oblivious to anything at the moment other
than his inner turmoil.
Daryl, however, shot her a warning glance. 'We'll get to
you, soon enough, missy.'
What could that mean? Em thought it did not sound good.
She sat back in her seat. 'I'm not unfamiliar with the
term...but from what I've heard, isn't it supposed to be a
useful thing? Being able to eliminate, say, a gene that
would predispose a child to a life-threatening illness,
for instance? Or so H.G. Wells and others have intimated.'
Jack was still standing at the window clutching his
rumpled jacket and staring without, seemingly lost in his
own recollections. Daryl watched him carefully, as he
replied to Em's query,
'Perhaps, in the beginning that may have been a primary
consideration. However, it soon became perverted into
something altogether evil, especially considering it was
perpetrated upon women and children, by men, and often
without their knowledge.'
Yeats cleared his throat, '...And sometimes, without the
knowledge of the men involved, as well.'
'This is the recombinant DNA we were speaking of then,
Daryl, when you were explaining our rather complex family
ties?' Em was getting the right of it now... '...Gene
splicing and all that?'
Jack finally became aware that he was strangling his
jacket and slowly folded it over a chair's back. He
resumed his place at the window, hands in pockets now,
Daryl noted.
 'Ah, yes, Em, that...and other things. The main objection
to such experimentation came from non-whites, and for
obvious reasons...they feared being bred out of existence.
And they had good reason to fear,' Daryl made a sour face.
'So! Such ventures were relegated to the shadowy world of
the scientific underground where they were carried on
illegally.'
   'Such was the case with the former inhabitants of Nob
Hill House...'
'What?' Em started, 'that, that was the 'scientific
society' you mentioned who used to meet at your house?' Em
was beginning to feel ill. 'Daryl...I can't...you should
have told me!'
 Em felt betrayed somehow...and to think it was there she
found those photographs of her mother and father, and
Daryl...all together on the front steps of the place...and
there was the mystery of her mother's picture in the cameo
Daryl had given her...all this did bode most ill indeed.
Daryl stood and came over to Em, sat beside her, an arm
behind her on the sofa. 'Filla, no...it wasn't like that.
The actual labratory was not there, and the house was
indeed, just formal meeting rooms for the society--which,
by the way, engaged in perfectly respectable pursuits; at
least as far as the public and their peers were concerned.
   'It was true, however, that many of the scientists in
this society, also were experimenting with eugenics on the
sly.' He sighed then, leaning back. 'I met your parents
and the rest of the members all unknowing of this at the
time. I, too, believed them to be simply brilliant,
cutting-edge men of science with unblemished reputations.'
Jack had turned from the windows and was looking at Daryl
now and frowning. Emlyn appeared somewhat recovered. 'But,
Daryl, you will tell me how you came to have Nob Hill
House in your posession?'
Daryl appeared somewhat discomfited. Yeats spoke then, 'We
are coming to that, all in good time.'
                     . . . . .
The clock struck 12.
Daryl appeared to be undergoing some sort of inner
conflict...he began shaking his head, then running both
hands through his hair, he slowly stood. 'The TIME is
NOW!' All eyes were on Daryl as he circled the table and
surveyed everyone. Yeats regarded him beneath heavy lids,
as if humoring a naughty lad.
 Daryl rounded on him: 'And don't give me that look,
Shane!' He shook a finger at the Head, much to the
amazement of Jack, Al and Em.

'The High Council knows what should be done and when to
do, or not to do--' Yeats began, in a dry tone...
'The HIGH Council...' Daryl held up a hand, head down,
slowly pacing before them, (ala Hamlet, thought Em,
admiring his chutzpah...the cabron'),
 '...has done exactly nothing! And that is why the League
had to reinsert themselves! The High Council, sit on high,
doing nothing, while the planet below suffers! Their own
kindred! We--'
'AH! "WE" you said!' Yeats was on his feet, pointing at
Daryl and looking about at everyone, 'You admit it! You
are in with the League!' Yeats was nodding, looking well
satisfied, and regarded the room. 'What of non-
interference?'
'This isn't Star Trek.' Daryl just looked disgusted.
'This is real. Would you allow all here, and all you love,
to simply be destroyed? No? Well, WE are doing something
about it!'
                           . . . .
What just happened here...? Em thought to herself,
flabbergasted.
I've certainly never imagined it of old Yeats...
After some serious attitudinization, the two men said
nothing. Just glared at one another. Em snuck a glance at
Jack who was, at least, finally shocked out of his
previous shock. He and Al both were staring wide eyed at
the Head vs. Mad Uncle theatre. Jack's mouth was even
slightly open. At last, he put it to use:
  'Daryl...what...is going on? Do be seated! Athena will
be down here soon!'
Mentioning Athena seemed to get through to Daryl at last.
He smoothly resumed his seat in the armchair. Yeats
retreated to a far dark corner.
Strangely enough, it was Aleister who took up the baton:
'We're not altogether uninformed you know. Jack and I are
aware of...well...rumors of such...'
Daryl sat forward, elbows on knees, clasping his hands
before him as if to rein himself in. If he were a wolf, or
panther, his back would be up. 'Well,
well...so...'informed', are you?' he slowly shook his
head, 'I wonder.' He glanced up, wiping his mane from his
eyes. Riviting Aleister with his silver grey statue's
gaze, he leaned toward him, whispering hoarsly, 'tell me,
doctor, did you know this: Emlyn's father, Axelis, yes--
of the League! -- was branded a wanted man and accused of
kidnapping Emlyn's mother  from the Pages? Seren stayed
with Axelis...yes, and she had her child, Emlyn, while
under his care and the care of his people...they were
later returned. The Pages, of course, knew all. The
kidnapping charges were dreamed up by your High Council!'
Daryl fixed Yeats with a look of a dagger-thrust.
Yeats spoke from his cave-like corner: 'Why, did he kidnap
Seren?'
'He didn't, you fool...' Daryl sat back and rubbed his
forehead as if it pained him, and whispered, 'He was
saving her, saving them both, Seren and Emlyn...' he
sighed, then spoke in a clear, quiet voice, '...saving
them from Seren's husband, Emlyn's 'father', so called!
And from the scientists of the Society.'
                               . . . .