Though Avondrea Barret began her political life as the daughter of a powerful President and his subservient wife, politics had not always been predicted in her future. She was first and only child to President Alford Barret, the second Barret to hold the Presidential title and a man full of great pride though it was tainted with a less than respectful distaste for the feminine side of humanity. The curse unleashed upon him, however, was that first child born was feminine herself while second child took the life of its mother, dying itself during birth. Avondrea’s father became a man bitter from loss without the son that he believed should be his to carry on a legacy of great and powerful leaders. As Avondrea pondered her past, reminiscing within as she tended to do often with the merciless onslaught of age, life unfolded in a reckless dance of spectral images depicting a life of determination and ruthlessness that was the legacy left of a man who preferred a son.
In the privacy of her chambers many years ago, when Avondrea Barret allowed the cares of the day to diminish and her clothing to fall to the floor, she was a beautiful woman. She remembered distinctly those times when she would gaze into the mirror, undressed to her undergarments with her hair flowing loosely upon her shoulders. Her hair had been black then, and it was only at night when Avondrea was alone and undisturbed that it was allowed to take on its full luster, hanging free as she combed away the tensions of the political day. Her skin had been soft and white, unblemished and contoured around a shapely figure that normally remained hidden behind a wrap of business attire. Since that time, however, a still vain woman had developed a sense of bitterness about her departed beauty, avoiding unnecessary glances upon her own visage. Now and then when alone, she would allow herself a momentary glance at what she had become in age. As she took that moment, looking upon her reflection once more while mourning the youth that had abandoned her, she remembered those late evenings long ago when she allowed herself more pleasurable moments to appreciate her own beauty.
That was more than fifty years past, years that spanned without the touch of love. She rarely regretted this, for it seemed to her that sex was the only positive aspect of a love relationship, and her aids had provided her with the sex that she had required throughout her loveless years. To Avondrea, love was an unnecessary burden, and she was content with her decision to remain free from such a liability. She had lived a full life without the kiss of love, spawning a son from the genetic engineering within a laboratory, and now, years later, there were no misgivings regarding her decisions. Looking back upon those years and the decisions made, half a century of achievements is what had granted her the title of President of the Unified Territories. The reflection in the mirror, however, was of a different woman who had proven her strength in years past, her hair white and speckled with strands of dark gray framing skin that was no longer supple, but instead was cracked with the signs of her age
Life had been good to Avondrea Barret and she was pleased with its outcome. Though her father had begun fatherhood displeased with her birth, she had grown with a determination to become the leader he had expected to sire. In her staunch resolve she had set out to learn from him, taking his teachings one step further to achieve even greater results by using her gender to her advantage. Though such a plan was a surprise to her father at first, she gained a respectful raised eyebrow from him when he began to recognize her potential. Though she had designed the image of a great listener, it was the power that emerged of being an even greater seductress that had granted her the ability to use sex to gain knowledge, much more knowledge than the simple act of listening could provide. With that talent, Avondrea found through the years that pompous political males will pay almost any price for a woman’s passion, including knowledge; knowledge that served to fan the flames of rising power.
Through the years, as Avondrea’s power swelled, she watched closely those around her, accepting early in youth the opinion that meager emotions were a weakness in the human race. She had broken down once at the advice of an aid, and had given birth to a son, though motherly ambitions had not suited her well. The child was good for her image at the time, but had severely interfered with her political goals time and again as it grew, which infuriated her and caused her to lash out at the burden. By the time her son had matured to adulthood, the two had developed resentment for each other, Avondrea had become President, and shortly afterwards, her son had rebelled against her in a revolutionary demonstration. Demonstrations were common at that time so many years ago, and Avondrea as President had made it her goal to drive out all forces of rebellion from her populace. Although there was no violence involved in this particular demonstration, she had begun the process of rounding up revolutionary leaders and bands of rebellious citizens, decreeing that her son could not be excluded just because of his name. She had seen him as an opportunity to display her intent to stop at nothing to crush any signs of rebellion, and so she had him arrested and eventually terminated his life along with the other filthy scum that she had detained. A powerful image resulted, one that showed her to be a firm ruler as it provided her with a reputation that seemed much more pleasing to her, and efficacious to her career than the motherly visage that she had previously held.
Now, after the years had passed, she no longer needed to rely on tools such as sensuality or her offspring to create an image. Avondrea Barret had achieved the high position, the lesson learned being that knowledge was the deadliest of weaponry.
Finished with her moment of reflection, Avondrea turned towards the desk in her sitting room to summon her assistant. ‘Where is that buffoon with my ice wine,’ she thought in her typical disdainful manner. As she crossed the room gingerly, her legs shaky and aching from their elderly state, a single tone rang from the desk she was approaching. Arriving at the desk, she tapped to front of the communication screen to answer the call as she lowered herself while steadying with her hands upon the desktop. The image of a woman appeared.
“Madame President, you have a communication on a secure channel from Lieutenant Governor Trask,” The woman said, her slender and young face illuminated by the light from her own monitor and nothing more. “Do you wish to take it?”
The president raised her thin painted eyebrow. “Trask. At this late hour, how curious. Yes, put it through,” she commanded with a resolute voice.
The screen darkened for a moment before a yellow border formed around the blackness of the monitor’s screen identifying that the call was secure. With another flicker of light, the face of Willo Trask appeared, also in dim light with her short and graying hair shining in a yellow glow. “Madame President.”
The president looked upon the face her old friend. It had many years since Willo Trask served as her Prime Mistress on the Tai-Quira council, but years well invested. Though Willo’s roots had been in the service of the religious Tai-Quira order, Avondrea knew early on in their time together that it was easy to feed the temptation of political power into the mouth of someone hungry for more than red robes and worship. “Willo, dear. It’s been some time. How are things in California?” She said in light greeting before the abrupt switch in interrogation that she was known for. “And how is your governor?” Offering a slight upturn in her lips, Avondrea’s eyes widened. No conversation with her was ever done without a measure of interrogation, an art and a reputation that she held pride in.
“Madame President.” Willo responded after a small bow of the head. “I’m afraid Governor Logan would not be pleased if he knew this call was taking place. But I am well, thank you for asking.”
The presidents pencil brow raised again. “Hmm. You have piqued my interest, Willo. I placed you in California for many reasons, the most important of which being my interest in Logan’s activities. While he is favored among the Governors, my reasons for favoring him are also my reasons for distrust.”
Willo nodded slowly, the well painted red lips contrasting her pale skin parting for an answer. “Logan as you know is a very strong Governor, but he is also governing the territory that is the most active with revolutionary activity.”
“Yes, yes, the build-up is not necessary. Logan’s tactics against radicals has been effective.”
Clearly recognizing the president’s lack of patience, Willo shot back. “It has Madame. In fact he has recently allied himself with an old friend that he schooled with long ago. A scientist named Jarrod Rogue. A man very respected for his work with the rise in psychic abilities within the populace.”
Avondrea cocked her head in thought. Willo was a calculated woman. The president knew there was purpose behind the words and the name. “His name does sound familiar,” she said after a short moment of pondering. She was always good with names. “I’m sure I’ve seen some intelligence on his work. What is Logan doing with him? I’m sure there’s a good reason for the elusive Willo Trask to suddenly be sparked with an interest in a friendship, though friend is not a word I would associate with someone like Logan.”
“Rogue has developed a machine,” Willo returned with another slight nod. “I haven’t discovered how he is able to accomplish the results, but I do know that he is somehow harnessing the power of psychs.”
Avondrea’s eyes made an abrupt jump from a lazy pondering view to full attention. “I’m very interested. Psych power is the one element of our world that raises my concern daily.”
“Understood. With this machine, Rogue has been providing Logan with intelligence reports that are based upon scans of individuals mind’s taken while they sleep. The victims are unaware they are being scanned.”
With the sudden racing of her heart, Avondrea leaned over the desk, closer to the monitor. “How accurate is this data?”
“I’m not sure, nor convinced in the accuracy as yet.” Willo began to smile, her yellowed teeth peeking through the shining red of her thin lips. “Logan is, however. In fact the crash of the civilian shuttlecraft on the surface that occurred on approach here was no accident. Logan ordered the downing of that craft.”
The president exhaled with astonishment. Though the intelligence on the crash had been delivered to her, and she had curiously wondered if Logan had some involvement, she had passed it off as an accident with barely an interest in reading the details. “What was in those reports?”
“Secret machinery built into the craft. A weapon perhaps. Logan acted swiftly without exacting specifics, and the shuttlecraft is now waste upon the surface.”
Always known for a temper that flared with little warning, Avondrea’s curiosity began to churn with anger. Evidence wasted on the surface was foolhardy to her, and a mistake on the part of her governor. “John Hayes was on that ship, owner of the transportation fleet,” she said, beginning to page through in her head what she had read in the crash intelligence. The anger of weaponry being built into her transportation fleet also began to bubble. A tone sounded announcing her aid was at her door. Though her head turned quickly at the sound, she ignored it to continue the conversation. He can wait, she thought.
“Yes, Madame President, along with Senator Grieves.”
“Grieves was an idiot, his death does not concern me. But Hayes’ company reaches to all territories. Like a spider spinning a web.” Avondrea looked away from the screen for a moment, lost in the thought of possibilities. Had revolution cropped beneath her nose as she drifted into the silence of aging? With a turn back to the monitor, a plan quickly formed, Avondrea was primed and somewhat eager for a return to the savory battles against insurgence that had always exhilarated her. “You have done well Willo.”
Willo smiled once more with a polite nod.
“Thank you for this report. I knew good would come of placing you at Logan’s side. Good evening.” With a quick flick of the finger, Avondrea disconnected the call returning the screen to blackness. As her anger continued to surface, it stirred well into the anticipation of a new threat to attack and to eradicate, one more exciting operation before death knocks upon her door.
The tone sounded again. She turned her body in the chair to face the entryway as she reached to the small control panel upon her desk. Depressing the button to open the door, the main entryway to her sitting room began to slide.
Stepping into the dim lite of the room, Devin Walker, the president’s current assistant, entered balancing a small tray with a shining glass of liquid upon it. “Your ice wine, Madam President.”
“On the table, Devin. “ She commanded with a quick point to the table before her plump red sofa. “Are you up for a late evening and early morning?” She asked, knowing well that a negative answer would not be accepted.
Devin placed the glass upon the table and then rose to a full stance, turning to face his president respectfully. “Of course.”
“Good,” she replied, a plan quickly solidifying in her mind. “It’s been some time since I’ve used the office at the Hall of States. I need you to make sure it looks in good working order, clean but used. I’ll want embers in the fireplace. Make sure the vents are in good working order. Papers on the desk, neat, but there. You know what I’m after, Devin.”
“I do,” Devin responded with a slight bow.
Reaching down to her thin and shaky legs, Avondrea began to massage at the knee. “I’ll be rising early for a meeting with Governor Logan,” she said, turning back to her desk to open a communication to her governor.