George Coubertin, looking a spectacularly healthy 40 and feeling better than he had when he had been 25, walked with the senators back to their helicopter. Smiling, he shook hands, then stood patiently while the craft lifted and flew east, back towards Washington. Mixing with simple humans was a necessary task, and almost always boring. At least he was free of that duty until November.

He turned back to the house. His assistant, two of the gardeners and some of the indoor staff waiting by the door shifted back to their normal non-human forms and went about their own duties, avoiding eye contact with him.

He went to his library. He had one more task to accomplish before he returned to his studies. There was a date approaching, not soon, but time was linear, even for him. A quick census seemed called for.

Opening the private stair, he went up to the tower.

On the penultimate floor, he striped and washed his mouth, eyes, and hands. Naked, he ascended the last flight of stairs to the open room. Four arches held up a domed roof, while on the floor was an inset black circle in field of white marble. He entered the circle and closed it behind him. Sitting in the center, he gestured the ring into flame and cleared his mind of everything but the rite. As his physical vision dimmed, his other sight took over, until he could perceive the full circle around him. He saw the ring grow very bright, then fade as glowing manikins coalesced out of the light.

Ah, his descendants. North and slightly east of him, he found a daughter, a grandson, two extant great-grandsons, and one great-granddaughter in utero; further north, an adult male grandson. North, and west, a son. Further west, a daughter and a young granddaughter. Eight. Fewer sons and daughters than six years ago, which was not unexpected, considering their ages. What was mildly worrying, however, was the lack of increase in great-grandchildren. He would have to do something about that.

First things first.

---------------

Return to Home