The Stuff of Dreams: 7/7
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
Epilogue
The wedding day of Mark Linley, Julia Austell, Alan Westover and Lyn Parnell dawned bright and clear, four weeks later. The propaganda film was completed at long last, much to the relief of its participants, and Alan and Mark awoke for the last time in the quarters that they had shared for over seven years in the BOQ of the Lavirra base.
The room was stripped of everything that they had collected since the day their partnership began, from the souvenir bottle that had contained Riskellian moonwine and the Patrol helmet that Mark had worn as Strike Commander Linley, to the pinup of Janine Ward that Mark had tacked to the inside of their closet door. The only contents of their small quarters was their shaving gear, their uniforms for the day, the dress uniforms that they would be wearing later, complete with their impressive load of decorations, and, of course, the ornamental dress swords that they would wear for the ceremony.
Neither bride showed herself that morning, in accordance with ancient tradition, and the two men had lunch in the base cafeteria together. Neither could eat much, however. Mark looked calm and collected, but the emotional state that Alan picked up from his partner belied his outer appearance. Linley grinned at Alan over his coffee cup.
"Nervous, buddy?"
"Who, me?" Alan asked, unconvincingly. "Yeah."
"Me too," Mark admitted. "Funny, really, at this stage o' the game. I mean, I'm gonna be a dad in about seven months. Why should I be nervous about this?"
Alan laughed shakily. "It's the idea of the thing, I guess."
"I guess."
There had been a bachelor party for them the night before, but even Mark forbore to drink more than a little. Neither wanted a hangover for this most important day.
Kevin Bronson paused by their table. "You guys better go get dressed. You only got an hour."
"Yeah, I guess," Mark agreed. "C'mon, kid."
Alan also rose, feeling the fluttering of the butterflies in his stomach increase, and followed Mark from the room. As they headed back for the BOQ, the base chaplain passed them on the grounds. He waved at them, but didn't stop to talk.
An hour later, they were at the small, nonpartisan chapel, both attired in white, summer, full-dress uniforms. Alan shifted his sword for the fourth time, looked at the layers of ribbons on his chest with a sense of unreality, and drew a deep breath. Mark, looking magnificent in his own dress uniform, also layered with ribbons, met his gaze and winked. Somewhere beyond the doors, they heard the murmur of hundreds of voices. Kurt McDougal stuck his head in the door and whistled.
"Man, those fruit salads of yours are enough to blind the guests. Time to get out there, guys. Too late to back out now."
Mark grinned, gesturing Alan politely ahead of him. "After you, Colonel Westover."
"Thank you very much, Colonel Linley." Alan preceded his partner out the door.
Immediately he had the feeling of being watched by thousands of eyes, which was a fair description, for the chapel was packed and he and Mark were the objects of everyone's attention. This was, after all, a big occasion for the Terran Underground. Kaley had planned this for weeks as a big morale boost for the organization. He and Mark had been convenient heroes for their C.O. for years, assisted by their habit of getting into and neatly out of dangerous scrapes. He supposed he'd set the stage for this that day he'd outdrawn Lord Salthvor, to save Mark's life. Talk about your mistakes catching up with you! Just about everyone who could show up had, even Dannar, Julia's Arcturian friend, who had arrived the night before. She would walk down the aisle on his arm. The Arcturian had claimed the right as her closest available living relative, and no one had even chuckled when he did so. Lyn, on the other hand, would be given away by her father, former Base Commander, Jefferson Parnell, who was now a major in the Terran Underground.
The row of their friends was already waiting. Kurt, Griffen, Eric Vogleman, Jason Llwelling, and Phil Connors were all looking quite magnificent in their dress uniforms. Timmar, the Arcturian who had accompanied Lyn and her father into the Underground looked a little uncomfortable in his uniform, fingering the hilt of his dress sword in an unfamiliar manner. Wolenski, Mark's best man, gave them a thumbs-up sign and Kevin, his own best man, grinned at him. "Easy kid," he whispered. "You look like you're about to bolt."
Alan couldn't help grinning. "No chance, Kev. Too many witnesses."
Bronson's grin broadened.
Somewhere, organ music started to play and he swallowed his heart. The doors to the rear of the chapel opened and two girls emerged. Janice, his sister, looked small and delicate in her pink, lacy dress and beside her walked his six-year-old cousin, Susan, in a matching dress. Both girls wore wreaths of pink roses in their hair and carried baskets of roses on their arms. Somewhere, Alan heard the whirr of a video camera. Man! Kaley had gone all out for this wing-ding! Trust his C.O. to make the most of his opportunities ...
And here came the bridesmaids, all dressed in pink as well -- Lorie Evans, Ruthie Vogleman, Lisa Llwelling and Angela Westover, his cousin. Alan felt his stomach turn over as Angie passed. She must have sensed his nervousness, for she turned her head, smiling at him. Words formed in his mind. *You look wonderful, Alan!*
*Thanks.* He swallowed his stomach a second time.
And here came Lyn on her father's arm. Parnell was a big man, as all patrolmen were, and his daughter was tiny beside him. She looked like a princess in her white lace gown and veil -- prettier, he thought, than any of the magnificently robed Jilectan Ladies. And here came Julia, blond and stunning in her white satin and lace, and Dannar looking almost unbearably proud escorting her ...
His hands were shaking.
Suddenly and clearly, Lyn's voice spoke in his mind. *Alan, I have a surprise for you.*
*What?* he asked, startled.
*Julia and I knew you guys didn't want to split up. The two of you are psychic partners, after all, just like you and I are. We arranged it with General Kaley to surprise you. We're all four going to share that big, empty apartment in the Married Officers' Quarters.*
Alan was conscious of the knot in his stomach unwinding. *You didn't need to do that --*
*Yes we did,* she contradicted. *No good ever comes of trying to split up psychic partners. Besides, when Mark and Julia have those psychic twins, they're going to need all the help they can get.*
*Yes,* Alan agreed, feeling suddenly relaxed, *I guess they are.*
All in all, he decided later, it was a terrific wedding. His ringbearer, Billy Santos, nearly dropped the ring but Mark Warwick Linley caught it with telekinesis before it hit the floor and returned it to his hand. The reception was exciting as well. He danced with Lyn, then Julia, and after that lost track of the different girls and glasses of champagne. Eventually, the party of slightly drunken revelers broke up, to escort the newly married couples to the door of their new quarters. Mark scooped Julia up in his arms and, weaving slightly, carried her across the threshold. Alan followed, carrying Lyn, his steps also slightly unsteady, set her on the floor and shut the door behind them.
**********
In the hall outside, Kevin Bronson turned to Wolenski and Griffen, peeling open the neck of his uniform.
"Never thought ol' Mark would fall for one gal -- even if she *is* a helluva dish. 'Trols shouldn't oughta get married. Cramps their style."
"Kevin!" Angela Westover appeared from the disintegrating crowd. "Oh, there you are! Lorie wants you to help carry those wedding gifts over to my quarters. We can't leave them in the Officers' Club all night. You guys, too." Her gesture took in Griffen and Wolenski.
"Right away, General, baby," Bronson said, resting an arm across her shoulders. They headed back toward the Officers' Club. Griffen and Wolenski followed. Wolenski observed Bronson's arm, now around Angela's waist. Angela looked up at the big, blond man, laughing at some light quip. Wolenski looked significantly at Griffen.
"I'd call that remark famous last words," he said.
Ronald Griffen was careful not to laugh out loud. He raised an eyebrow at Wolenski. "Yeah," he said. "Real famous."
The End
