A Proper Estate

It's early in Londinium's morning, just before dawn. Gabriel Tam is sitting at a desk in his and Regan's apartment. Coffee is at hand, largely ignored; he's currently bent over two laid-out sheets of digital paper in front of a Cortex screen, tracing one finger down each page and looking back and forth between them as he compares something.

"Ship model," he mutters aloud, "registration number, port-of-origin... wait, this isn't right..."

His lips tighten into a grim line.

"There." Fury flashes in his expression as he sits back, glaring at the terminal in front of him. "Got you, you bastard."

With a quick tap, the file in the background is brought to the front.

Name: Jeffrey Budd. Social Control Number: 2443-8936-0047-2298. Location: Massena. Profession: Transport laborer, certified Class-III shuttlecraft pilot.

Just like the shuttlecraft that had ended up in the cargo bay of Serenity. Wash and Kaylee had seen to it that Gabriel had received all the registration codes and identifying marks that they could strip from it -- falsified and real-but-hidden, both.

Reading over the file, he notes that Budd hadn't had much of a family. Besides his wife (Margarethe Budd, deceased), there was mention of three children-- and a sister-in law, citizen of Londinium.

Talitha McDermott, evidently, has just increased her family by adopting three abandoned minors from foster care under an Alliance-sponsored educational program. A few senators had spoken highly of it in a newsbit some years prior, when it was originally founded.

There's more, of course. By the time Gabriel Tam leaves for Parliament, all the many pieces, so carefully and assiduously collected over the past weeks, have finally fallen together. The picture they form is clear.

Scientia potentia est, knowledge is power, and now he has the leverage he needs. Shortly after arriving at his office, Gabriel has arranged a meeting for later that afternoon.

It seems he and Senator Fred Atwood have some things to discuss.

Dearest Mother and Father--

I hope you both are well and doing fine. Things are okay here at the school as I am doing well in school. My teachers and proffessors all say it is that I have missed the familiar surroundings of home quite a lot more than I thought I would.

My thoughts often wander to the grand time we had last summer at the lake. I was warm and swimming and the lake, the deep blue, cristal clear waters just made those summer days melt away.

We all had such a good tyme swimming and lately and all [working?] and playing [staying?] the [the? - duplicated?] cabin. I just did not want it to end...

... whole family there really not [covered by hand]
me, Simon, but I would gather...
the daytime for that...

He wakes abruptly in the dark hours before dawn. Gabriel rolls to his back and stares silently at the ceiling, examining the textured pattern in the plasterwork. He finds no answers written there, but then he hadn't really expected to.

Eventually, Gabriel leaves Regan asleep in their bed and goes out to the living room, where he stands at the picture window of their new Londinium apartment. The view looks out over the city toward the government complex with the brilliantly lit Parliament building at its heart. Off to his right, an amber-bronze stepped spire gleams as though heralding the dawn. He has to fight back a sudden twinge of homesickness at the sight of the shape of the Tallis building, whose signature construction is duplicated on Osiris, Lavinia, and Sihnon as well as here.

This is home now, however, or it will be. It has to be now, even though it's not the familiar quiet comfort of the Tam estate-- Parliament is practically synonymous with Londinium. Even children know that, from Core to Rim. Primary school lessons include it as part of the basic curriculum, in history and civics both-- along with other things, as he recalls.

"The Central Planets formed the Alliance to guide and protect its citizens, bringing enlightment and civilization to all the worlds."

Not without a struggle, as it turned out. First came the War for Unification, later came the Miranda Plan, each with its lingering bloody legacy. In the silence, a familiar, agonized voice echoes in his mind as it had once echoed on a Cortex terminal in his office, months ago. "We meant it for the best. To make people safer."

"'Try again,'" Gabriel mutters absently to himself, watching shuttles fly back and forth.

"Our Parliament is a bicameral legislature made up of members elected to the House and the Senate, headed by an executive council composed of the Senators from the Central Planets."

The Council of Seven. One senator each from Ariel and Bernadette; two from Sihnon, the second world terraformed and colonized after the exodus; and two from Londinium, the first world settled and the heart of the Alliance and of its government.

And one senator from Osiris. Gabriel Tam.

Today he will assume his office, and with that office he will swear an oath.

"Together, they manage our government for the comfort and benefit of all its people."

Maybe more than one oath.

---

The swearing-in process is actually a simple one, and for Gabriel it takes place not with the rest of those being sworn to the House and Senate in the great hall of Parliament itself, but in a different room. The tradition is that the Westminster Chamber, named after a piece of ancient history on Earth-that-Was, not only serves as the site for the Council's deliberations but also for the swearing-in of each of its members.

There's plenty of room in the gallery, however, to seat the guests of status high enough that they are privileged to attend, as well as on the floor for the media to observe and record. Regan Tam and Andronicus Crowley have seats in the center of the gallery's first row, where they can easily see and be seen. Other seats are occupied by businessmen and lawyers, doctors and guildmembers and Councillors-- including, of course, Senator Fred Atwood. The quiet murmur of conversation fills the room with a low hum. Even the side gossip is dutifully recorded by eager reporters in search of something new for their stories about the dark-horse candidate who has somehow rocketed to one of the highest elected offices in all of the settled worlds.

A hush falls over the room as the judge walks into the chamber and moves to his place at its center, where he signals for the ceremony to begin. The sound of the ceremonial knock on the great wooden door echoes through the room, and the formal challenge issued by the Sergeant-at-Arms is clearly heard, as is the requisite answer.

Gabriel Tam strides into the chamber and down the center aisle to its heart, where he stands facing the judge. The tap-click-tap of the reporters' notetaking is the only sound, at first, as they note that Tam looks determined and confident, at ease with his surroundings. An observant few look up to the gallery, finding that Crowley seems relaxed, and Regan is sitting tall in her chair, with a small smile and the dignified demeanor of a queen.

The judge begins the recitations with, "For what purpose have you come here today?"

"I have come to assume my office and with it to enter the service of the Alliance and its people."

Both questions and responses are according to rote and long tradition; there are no surprises expected here.

"Do you aver that you accept this responsibility freely and of your own will?"

"I do so aver and affirm."

"Are there any present who know of any reason, legal or ethical, that would bar Mr. Tam from his service?"

Regan's knuckles are white where her hands are clasped tightly in her lap. Crowley doesn't move, and the sudden flicker of his eyelids is hidden by his sunglasses. The media are not the only ones holding their breath, it seems, but not a single voice is heard to speak.

"Having heard no objection, Mr. Tam, I call upon you to swear your oath."

Gabriel places his right hand on the book that the judge offers him, which contains some of the legal system's most ancient foundations and is as traditional as the verbal responses. Some few newsfeeds that night will note that his left hand rises to cover his heart, and will speculate as to the meaning -- eventually settling on the gesture as a quaint personal expression, perhaps something incorporated from an old family tradition.

They will be more right than they know. Under his left hand, over his heart, Gabriel can feel the presence of the datapad with its hidden weight of encrypted knowledge-- and with the pictures of his children.

His voice is strong and clear and carries through the chamber easily.

"I, Gabriel Tam, do hereby swear to be faithful to the Alliance, its laws, and its people, and do solemnly promise to perform my duties as a member of Parliament, its Senate and its Council, to the best of my ability."

Before Senator Tam turns to leave the chamber in accordance with tradition, he glances up to the gallery. His gaze meets Regan's, and for the first time this day, Gabriel smiles.

In the last three days, Regan has cancelled appointments, rescheduled luncheons, and generally let it be known that she would be away for a bit, accompanying her husband on a business trip. It does not escape her notice that it might be just as well to get in the habit of traveling with him more, if he intends to move forward with the campaign.

She's spent much of the rest of the time packing and repacking unnecessarily-- anything to occupy her hands and quiet her thoughts.

He, in his turn, has arranged for a few meetings to take place on different planets along the way. It's easy enough to do: although much business can take place over the Cortex, link and screen, the highest powered mergers still tend for the older methods of negotiation. Personal touch and charismatic presence, meetings and handshakes and eye-to-eye speech are all still vitally important in the business of business, and Gabriel Tam has always been one of Birnam Corp's stars when it comes to such things.

One of the meetings he arranges just happens to be located on Lavinia, not all that far from a certain door.

The groundwork has been laid, and it's time.

He's planned for this discussion as carefully as he would for any business meeting. It's not entirely inaccurate in comparison: after all, in addition to being husband and wife, Gabriel and Regan Tam are something of a team when it comes to such matters.

And given recent developments, there are certain things of which Regan must now be made aware. This evening is as good a time as any for it; they have no social engagements, nor are there any other obligations or commitments that must be kept.

Save only for the one that he has made to himself-- for a variety of reasons.

Dinner is ending when Gabriel leans back in his chair, picking up his wineglass. "It was an excellent meal, Regan. My compliments to the chef."

It's easier to think, he finds, when things are ordered. When the world is structured precisely so, it's much simpler to manage-- easier to control. It's always been this way for him, and that affinity for detail and organization is part and parcel of why he excels at business matters. He suspects he's going to need every ounce of control he can find, very shortly.

By the time Shepherd Matthews-- who's apparently been assigned to keep track of him, Gabriel thinks-- knocks at the door with the call to Vespers and the meal to follow, he is ready. The room is straightened and almost painfully tidy, and the slim, unprepossessing datapad is lying squarely in the center of the single small desk, with a chair set at an angle before it.

He hasn't looked at it yet-- he hadn't wanted to be disturbed. With a shake of the head and a briefly muttered explanation, Gabriel closes the door and goes to sit at the table, taking up the datapad. As the first words of the evening service are sung,

(Deus in adiutorium meum intende; Domine ad adiuvandum me festina)
(O God, come to my assistance; O Lord, make haste to help me)
echoing through the otherwise-silent abbey, he begins to read.

His daughter is the genius child, and his son is the doctor. Not him. Still, children inherit a number of things from their parents, and Gabriel has never been less than intelligent. As a corporate negotiator, he has the ability to read and comprehend the complexities inherent in any contract or legal document, for deals involving a wide variety of businesses.

This simply means that the language of the medical reports is all too clear to his understanding.

Administration of solubilized methcathinone hydrochloride to hyperstimulate the dopaminergic neurons leading to the nucleus accumbens should provoke the desired increase in response, overcoming the moderated effect on the basolateral complex that is a characteristic side-effect of repetition in fear conditioning techniques.

Bile rises suddenly in his throat, filling his mouth with a bitter, acid-copper taste—not unlike the taste of his own blood in a far-distant, crazily tilting room, filled with yellow-orange light and nightmarish figures.

As his fingers begin to tremble, the datapad shakes in his hands, making it very hard to focus on the small screen. Resolutely, Gabriel uses the table to brace himself and activates the next report. It only takes him three tries to press the correct button.

Initially-positive results are unfortunately countered by the short-term nature of the medications when employed at current levels; dosage modification and/or surgical alternatives may be required for permanent effect. Current outcomes are good, but inadequate. Program acceleration is required.

Surgical alternatives. Permanent effect. River's voice echoes in his mind, soft and flat, reciting facts she shouldn't have been able to know: "Told you I wasn't finished. Want to be careful, Mr. Tam."

He swallows hard and wipes a hand over his mouth, fighting to steady himself now, not just the datapad.

Utilization of propiophenone derivatives on post-surgical candidates has resulted in increased incidence of psychotic affect among subjects.

He has to look away from the small, bright screen, but it doesn't help. He can almost hear Simon, screaming at him. "Look at what those heishŏudăng liúmáng at your precious new program did to her!"

Provision of randinol for self-administration combined with cognitive behavioral therapeutic techniques temporarily amelioriates symptoms. Additional benefit derives from increased subject dependence and positive response to authoritative figures. Results are extremely promising. Program authorization continues.

He can also hear his own answer, harsh and accusing: "You stopped her treatment when you took her away!"

The datapad falls from his suddenly nerveless fingers to the table as he shoves his chair back and jerks to his feet, violently enough that the chair crashes over on its side. Sickened and swaying, he takes a step toward the door -- only to find out that his legs won't hold him. He sinks to his knees on the hard stone floor, doubled over and fighting for each harsh, rasping breath.

It doesn't matter that he can't move. There's nowhere in any the world that he can go to escape this. Still kneeling, Gabriel buries his head in his hands and stays that way for a long time.

Dimly, in the distance, the service continues.

(indulgentiam, absolutionem, et remissionem peccatorum nostorum tribuat nobis omnipotens et misericors, Dominus)
(may the almighty and merciful Lord grant us pardon, absolution and remission of our sins)

(Are you a man of faith, Gabriel Tam?)

Eventually he gets to his feet and rights the chair, then takes his seat once more. He'll face this. He can do that much. His daughter lived it.

Slowly, Gabriel picks up the datapad and continues reading.

Gabriel doesn't know if Cathcart and Charrington believed him or not, and he suspects that it doesn't matter in any case.

"We're not through yet."

He's been given a reprieve, ostensibly to gather information, but he knows perfectly well that it's a ruse only. As he walks through his front door, he doesn't even need to look back to know that the officers who returned him to the estate have taken up guard positions.

If it were just the matter of the gunslinger research, of losing contact with whoever it is that sent the last message, he'd accept that. But the real problem, Gabriel thinks, is that he knows too much. He knows where his children are.

"I don't suppose you're from the Serenity?"

"I have to get out of here," he mutters in some desperation as he heads automatically for his office. Thankfully, Regan is nowhere in sight. "I have to do something -- I can't go back. If I do-- if they find out-- if they find Simon and River--"

If they do, there's no miracle that could possibly save his children a second time. Not when it's the Alliance that wants them. Who could possibly help?

He hears Simon's voice in his memory, bitterly angry: "And if I had to travel to the rutting end of the universe before I found people who would help me and River--"

Still frantically trying to think of an escape, Gabriel steps through the office door.

It's been nearly two months. Two long months, during which he's reestablished a normal routine. He goes to work during the day, and to all the necessary meetings. Together with Regan -- returned to the estate from Sihnon now, her health suddenly and remarkably improved after he had traveled there for a quiet visit and even quieter discussion -- they attend dinner parties, charity events and society balls. The whispers now have turned to discussion of the rising star that is Gabriel Tam, secure and confident once again. There's even talk that he might be a good candidate for the Council, in time.

And if there are still occasionally darker mutterings about the kuángzhĕ de children of the family Tam, well, there are those who will always prefer scandal and secrets, and anyone in the public eye has always had to deal with such. Whenever someone asks about his son, Gabriel tells them frankly that there comes a time when grief must be abandoned, although never hope; perhaps someday Simon may yet come to his senses and come home.

He never mentions River, and after the first time, no one else does either.

In the evenings, he devotes himself to long hours in his office, on the dedicated source box that was once his son's. "You'd have access to any heaven-knows-what that filtered in from the Cortex. I absolutely forbid it," he'd said then. He finds it ironically fitting that he's using that same access now to sift through every piece of information and rumor he can find, researching -- looking for "gunslingers," looking for answers. Occasionally, as he works, he'll glance at a single picture that stands nearby in a frame -- a laughing young girl and her older brother.

I'm sorry, băobèi.

He has never been a stupid man. Willfully blind, he'll admit that now, at least to himself -- but never stupid. Stupid men don't succeed in business, after all; they don't hold seats on the right Boards, they don't have the proper social and political connections.

Gabriel Tam is not a stupid man.

Perhaps this is why it's so frustrating that he hasn't really been able to find anything.

* * * * *
It's late; Regan has gone to sleep hours ago. He sits at the desk in his office, absently watching the Cortex patterns flickering in the background behind the latest search results. This set includes a selection of advertisments about guns and ships for sale, a variety of listings about cowboys, an essay on the works of a writer from Earth-That-Was named Dorn and another on the complex imagist poetry of Jia Lir -- all sorts of evidently useless information that he knows he'll be reviewing anyway, just in case.

Scientia potentia est, after all. Knowledge is power. The Academy's motto it may be, but there's a lesson to learn from it -- he can't afford to overlook anything now, not even the smallest possibility.

As he stares blindly at the terminal, something flickers in the lower righthand corner, among the randomly cycling patterns. Just a flicker, but it draws his eye to an oddly stylized symbol. Gabriel touches it, and suddenly a message opens in the middle of the screen.

Mr. Tam:

Your research has been observed. If you wish to find true answers, you must first answer our questions. If you do not, you will never hear from us again.

Gabriel stares at the screen. Is it a threat? Or just a warning? River's voice echoes in his mind, a soft whisper of memory: "Got the note. Didn't answer it. Reported the second one. Gave up." His lips tighten, and he keeps reading.

How did one such as you come to hear of "gunslingers?"

Here is how you are to answer: if it was told to you by one of your Alliance associates, you will wear a red tie tomorrow. If you found or were given a book that mentioned it, wear a blue tie. If you received a message similar to this one, wear a black overcoat. If you heard of this from your son, wear a white shirt. If none of these options are correct, carry an umbrella.

You are to tell no one of this. There will be no second chance this time.

After he finishes reading it, the message remains on the screen for a few seconds -- ten? twenty? -- and then disappears, and the terminal shuts itself off. He looks blankly at it for some time, then leaves his office without speaking-- and without reactivating the terminal.

When Gabriel Tam departs the estate the next morning for his office in Capital City, he is wearing a white shirt and a white silk tie.

As the door slides open, the sound of a deep voice carries clearly. "... and there's the man of the hour, himself." Friedlich turns to the new arrival. "Gabriel, it's good to see you. Where's your lovely wife?"

Gabriel Tam grasps his hand, shaking it firmly. "Nĭ hăo, Martin. I'm sorry to say that Regan's indisposed this evening. She sends her regrets to you and Ruth as well; you know that she'd never pass up one of your events by choice." He looks around at the assembled group with a charming smile. "I trust that I haven't missed anything too important?"

"We were just talking about your new position," a new voice interjects. "Quite a coup, that, especially given all the scandal--" She's cut off with a hissed word from Ruth Friedlich, but the malicious satisfaction in her glance makes it clear she's said enough.

Gabriel's expression freezes for a split second before he bows very slightly to the speaker. "You're quite right, Catrina," he says mildly. "However, I'm honored that the members of the Board do seem to trust my judgment, despite my son's unfortunate ... illness. There's hope yet that he may make a full recovery, of course, once he gets proper treatment." He smiles cordially. "But you can be sure that I'll remember your concern." The point is very clear.

* * * * *
Hours later, as he prepares to leave, Friedlich takes Gabriel aside. "Look, I'm sorry about Catrina; she's disappointed that her husband wasn't selected instead, and she's always been a little bit suŏxì, you know that--"

"Don't worry about it, Martin." Gabriel straightens his jacket, then offers his hand, which the other man takes. "I know exactly what she's after."

"Ah. Well." An uncomfortable pause, and then he asks, "Has there been any word?"

"No," Gabriel answers. "They're still looking... it's been a pleasure, Martin, but I must get back. Wăn ān."

It's been a long evening, and it's not over yet. Gabriel Tam steps out the front door.