Ghost Archer

The yacht’s bow was passing 40 meters by the time I reached it. Catching the limp girl I grabbed the straps of the life preserver and pulled. The nylon resisted but whatever it was hooked on surrendered and she was free. Pulling her tightly against my side, I kicked hard from the surface, aided by the buoyancy in the girl’s life jacket. Five seconds later, her head broke the surface. In two kicks and I reached the other two survivors.
“Spock, four to medical, now!” I ordered.

Isabeau awoke and stared at the glass window six inches above her nose. She lay flat on her back and could tell she was nude. Eye darting from side to side her first instinct told her she was in a coffin. Screwing her eyes shut tightly she began to cry silently.

Henri and Fiona stood across the autodoc from me as I stepped on the floor release. The lid of the machine hissed and rose on its bottom hinge. The girl, Isabeau, lay perfectly still, the sheet up her throat, arms on top, with her eyes tightly shut. I nodded at her parents with a reassuring smile.
Fiona du Champs stroked her daughter hair and the child’s eyes popped open in surprise.
“Mamma!” she whispered. “Am I dead?”
“No, Cheri,” her father said with relief. “You are safe now.”
The last hour had been hard on the couple. Hard because they had no inkling of the capabilities the autodoc represented. No matter my reassurances, the fact their daughter was clinically dead for nearly four minutes had them in a panic. As the girl tried to sit up, I stepped out into the hallway. Raven was waiting.
“She is well?” she asked, looking up at me as if it had been one of our children.
“As I said, there will be no lasting effect, no brain damage, she is perfectly fine.” I assured her. “She is also a mutant, as I suspected.”
“Have you explained to her parents?” Raven slipped into my arms and rested her cheek against my chest.
“There will be time,” I replied.

Isabeau, suitably attired in jeans, blouse and sandals provided by Christie, sat between her parents on one of my library couches. I sat in an arm chair to their left, Raven perched on the arm.
“I have no idea how your ‘mutation’ will manifest, Isabeau, but it will,” I said.
Henri du Champs was everything I wished the father of a mutant to be, loving, supportive and concerned about his daughter’s future and his immediate grasp of my offer was gratifying.
“We will be able to visit her anytime wish?” Fiona du Champs asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
Henri half turned to his daughter.
“What do you think, Cheri?” he said.
“There will be none of those horrid giant men?” she asked me.
“There will be more,” I replied. “But not until you are properly trained and then you will always have backup, someone with you and the option to beam out with Spock.”
“You say my parents will be in danger if I stay with them?” I could hear the worry and concern in her voice.
“They found you once,” I said. “They will find you again . . . if you are where they can find you.”

Isabeau considered the man across from them. Her eyes strayed to the petite woman with the dragon tattoos and widened as she smiled. She had read of them, especially the man, on the internet. This was the American Ghost Archer and the one they called the Seeker. Both seemed larger than life, even if the woman were several inches shorter than Isabeau. Glancing at her parents she made up her mind.
“I wish to stay,” she said firmly.

Kyle Longstreet tried not to grin at the girl’s attire when Archer introduced them. It wasn’t that she was a typical teen dressing in jeans and a concert tee shirt or some other costume indicative of a particular sub-culture it was quite the opposite. She was dressed like a girl from an earlier era in a frilly summer dress the color of the sky complete with white gloves, matching clutch, low heeled patent leather shoes over white lace ankle high stocking. Kyle, in his usual brown tweed, felt perfectly dressed for the first time since he’d arrived at the Valley.
Bending at waist he brushed his lips across the back of her hand as he’d seen countless men do in the movies. Somehow it seems not only proper but correct.
“Mademoiselle du Champs,” he said, straightening.
She curtsied. “Monsieur Longstreet.”
Everith rolled her eyes and pushed off the doorjamb where she’d been leaning since she’d arrive the moment before.
“I will remember that, Monsieur Longstreet,” she gave him a slightly wicked look.
Kyle recovered, something he was becoming adapt at since he had be lucky enough to meet the angelic Everith. He pushed his glasses back up his nose and gestured for her to approach.
“Mlle Isabeau du Champs may I present Mlle Everith Angeles, your music and dance instructor.”
Again the curtsy from Isabeau which made Everith nod slightly.
“At last, someone with style,” she said. “I think I shall like this one. You may call me Eve.”
Everith gave her a heavenly smile.
“I am so very pleased to meet you, Mlle. Angeles,” the girl stammered.
“We shall have to dispense with the ‘mademoiselle’ and ‘monsieur’ if conversations are to avoid becoming tediously formal,” Eve said. “I shall call you Isabeau.”
“And I am Kyle,” Kyle added.
Isabeau gave a little nod. “Yes, very well,” she said.
To Everith Kyle said “Archer has asked me to introduce Isabeau around. Care to join us?”
“I fear Tiger has requested some concerted scratch time and I promised him,” Eve replied. “I shall look for you in a bit.”
“Tiger?” Isabeau cocked her head.
“Large, feline, orange with black stripes, white face, whiskers. . . “ Everith described..
“A real tiger?” the girl said, her mouth open.
“Oui, but he rarely eats students,” Eve assured her with a little wave.
Beside her, Kyle shook his head with a rueful smile. As with everything she did, Everith kept his attention glue to her until she pushed open the door to their shared tower. Isabeau looked up at the young man inquiringly.
“It is not a REAL tiger . . . “ she said.
“Oh, yes, he is very real, and he has fish breath,” Kyle replied. “Let’s go find the rest of your classmates.”