Realization: The Martiniere Legacy Book Three: The Martiniere Legacy, #4

CHAPTER 1

A single ray of early morning sunlight suddenly illuminated an elongated rectangle on the dark soil of the freshly watered arena footing. As the chestnut mare Casey approached the lighted rectangle, Ruby Barkley kept an eye on Casey and her rider, Ruby’s husband Gabriel Martiniere. Ruby vibrated the lunge line slightly to remind Casey that she was watching.

Casey flicked her ears and arched her neck to eye the spot of light suspiciously as she trotted over it, but showed no other reaction.

Gabe laughed and raised his arms from his sides where he’d dropped them protectively. Wasn’t sure about that one.

He spread his arms wide, swaying slightly as he sought to find his balance in the dressage saddle. Casey twitched her ears back to focus on Gabe, and halted due to his unsteady seat.

Gabe growled and clucked Casey back up to the trot. "Mare, I don’t need that much babysitting!"

It’s good for you, Gabe! Petra Marks, Gabe’s physical therapist, called from the arena gate where she and Gabe’s doctor, Amy Caruthers, watched. Work that core! You need it.

She’s pickier about my weight shifts than she was a week ago, Gabe grumbled.

Casey is very reactive to rider balance, Ruby said. And a week ago you were in my old barrel racing saddle with the extra-stiff fenders to keep your legs steady. Plus, she was only walking. You want to be pushed? I’ll switch the dressage saddle out for my close contact jumper.

No, this saddle is enough of a challenge. Even with knee and thigh blocks. Casey started to slow as they approached her palomino daughter, Legacy, who was tied to an arena post and fussing. Gabe’s legs tightened on her sides to urge her back into the steady two-beat jog. Though it would be nice to lope.

Not yet. You need to be stronger.

Ruby bit her lip as she watched Gabe’s face tighten with the strain of keeping himself upright. He was working harder to stay steady than he wanted to admit, and it hurt her to see the struggle. When younger, Gabe had been a saddle bronc rider capable of dancing with the biggest, boldest, craftiest bucking horses, using a deft mix of balance and strength to stay aboard until the eight-second buzzer sounded. But the G9 virus—and the relapse just three weeks ago triggered by an enemy’s injection of weaponized G9—impaired that mixture of skill and strength.

Luckily the Chan Protocol for G9 treatment appeared to be working. Gabe had gotten back on his feet within a week. According to their son Brandon, who had cared for Gabe during his initial attack, this recovery progressed much faster.

Wherever Brandon is now.

His visits to Ruby and Gabe’s home ranch, the Double R, were furtive and quick, between his appearances as the public face of the indentured labor reform movement. Rebellion stirred in the assorted indentured labor pools around the US. Brandon’s girlfriend Kris Markey and her sister Pat, leaders of the rebellion, were in hiding. An underground indentured freedom organization operated by Ruby and Gabe’s business partner Jeff Swait and his sister Carrie had taken over protecting them from pursuit.

Kris was a freed indentured already, but Pat had been held long past the expiration of her contract. Gabe, Ruby and Brandon had collaborated with Kris to free Pat from an indentured research compound where she had been slated to undergo a protocol which would have turned her into a mindless cyborg. Her now-former owners aggressively sought Pat. Not only did she know details about their interdicted research, but other indentureds with illegally extended contracts had also bolted from the research compounds and were now publicly revealing their experiences.

Won’t get stronger if I don’t push, Gabe said, breaking into Ruby’s grim thoughts about Brandon and Kris.

It had been his idea to substitute horseback riding for some of the exercises that Petra had him doing. Petra had agreed easily with his suggestion, since her hope was that muscle memory would help Gabe progress faster.

There’s pushing and then there’s overdoing. Petra slipped through the arena gate. She hesitated until Casey had passed, then joined Ruby, standing out of the way of the lunge line. You’re working plenty hard right now. Let’s focus first on working with trot until it’s easy.

Perhaps we should try posting trot, Ruby said, glancing at Petra for her opinion.

Let’s see how that goes, Petra said.

Gabe. Posting trot. You cue it.

Gabe nodded. His lips tightened along with his legs. Casey’s trot extended from the easily-ridden slow jog to a faster version of the gait, her legs reaching out further in diagonal pairs as Gabe started to rise and fall in the saddle, following the motion of Casey’s outside shoulder.

He lasted for half a circuit. Then he swayed and dropped his hands to Casey’s neck, collapsing into the saddle and blowing hard as the chestnut mare halted. Beads of sweat lined his forehead.

All right. You win. I could probably do it in a Western saddle.

Maybe, Petra said. But you need to build up your strength in this saddle. And this is plenty of work for this morning.

Gabe sighed as Ruby called Casey to her and unhooked the side reins. It doesn’t feel like I’ve ridden long enough, he said.

It’s been a good ten minutes.

Ruby led Casey over to the mounting block. Petra waited by the block to steady Gabe as he dismounted.

Oh, you’ll feel the burn in a little bit, Petra said. A more difficult saddle, and you added three minutes today.

Only ten minutes. God. Gabe shook his head.

Ruby held Casey as Gabe slowly and carefully slid his feet out of the stirrups, then stepped onto the block. He wobbled a little but recovered with Petra’s help, then cautiously made his way down the steps and to the gate. Once there, he unstrapped his helmet and pulled it off, setting it on the ledge that held other helmets. Amy Caruthers unfolded his walker and handed it through the gate.

Gabe leaned on his walker, head down for a moment, then looked up.

"I’ve got to get back into shape. Need to get you to Donna-gran’s so you can learn more about how to use that ring, Ruby. Need to help you with the haying. Need to get moving with— he waved his right hand. —everything to help Brandon and get my fucking father Philip out of the Martiniere Group leadership. God damn it, we did not need me to be sidelined like this!"

Right now you need to focus on getting stronger, and strategizing just how you’re going to take care of Philip, Ruby retorted. "You’re well enough to do that. As for the haying, it’s under control. How the hell do you think Charlie and I took care of things before you came back to the ranch? We’ll be able to meet up with Donna-gran soon enough." She patted the chain around her neck to make sure the emerald ring and the silver locket were still there.

Gabe sighed. I know. He smiled at Ruby. I’m sorry. Just frustrated by my damn body. Things would be so much easier without the G9.

I understand. She slipped in close. Gabe reached for Ruby and pulled her to him, kissing her, then resting his forehead against hers. They lingered together, savoring the moment. And the last three weeks have been a whirlwind.

I’ll say. But I still owe you that honeymoon, he grumbled.

She snorted. We didn’t have much of one the first time around. Why should it be any different when we remarried?

"Because I wanted it to be different, he said. I wasn’t planning to get nailed by weaponized G9 less than forty-eight hours after the ceremony. I really wasn’t. You deserve better."

Stop beating yourself up. She squeezed his shoulder. We didn’t have a choice. Not really. Not if we were following through on our plans and promises. All three of us—you, me, and Brandon—committed to beating Philip. I’m a part of it. That’s why I wear the Martiniere emeralds.

I still feel guilty. I’ve a lot to make up for.

That you do.

But she kissed him to soften the edge in her voice. Their divorce twenty-one years ago had been nasty as hell. Even though they’d recently discovered the degree to which mind control techniques used by Philip and his associates had played a part in their split, they both still had a lot of who do we trust? How can we trust? issues to work through.

I’ll get breakfast started while you school Legacy, Gabe said. I can do that at least. About an hour or so, you think?

Ruby glanced at the golden mare, now standing quietly. Much as she’d like to ride longer, today was not that day. All she had time to do was a quick catch schooling of bending and flexing under saddle. The ranch’s third cutting of grass hay to feed horses and cattle was baled and still in the field. She wanted it all stacked under cover today, if possible. The weather had been in their favor while cutting, curing, and baling. No need to tempt fate any further. If she and her crew put in a long day, it could happen, barring equipment breakdowns.

Forty-five minutes to an hour, she said.

Okay. Ride. He kissed her forehead. It’ll make you happier. He gave her a gentle shove away. Go work with Legacy. You both need it.

Oh Gabe.

But he’s right, she thought as she walked over to Legacy. Knows me way too well.

Ruby liked working with the young horses she had raised. Bringing green-broke horses along carefully and slowly so that they made good saddle horses well into their twenties kept her grounded, through biobot development, the ups and downs of ranching, divorce, and now the craziness of being remarried to one Martiniere heir—with all the insular, corrupt craziness that went along with that family—and the mother of another.

Legacy and Casey were descendants of Sunshine, the palomino mare that Ruby had ridden in barrel racing competitions and her year as Miss Rodeo Oregon. Ruby didn’t keep all of Sunshine’s descendants. But select ones like Legacy, Casey, and Casey’s latest foal, the yearling colt Dancer, stayed on the ranch.

As Ruby gently encouraged the golden mare to lightly collect and accept contact between her hands and the bit, her worries about Gabe and Brandon faded away. She was astride one of the best mares she’d ever bred, and that felt pretty damn sweet at the moment. And at least Legacy didn’t feel like she needed to tear around the arena or take off bucking today. A nice gift.

But all too soon her timer buzzed. It was time to let Legacy walk a couple of arena circuits on a loose rein, then untack and turn her into a pen with Casey. The rest of the herd was on range turnout and would be out there for a few more weeks, with only a handful of saddle horses kept at the home place—Legacy, Casey, Red, Pard, Cisco, and Blaze.

Ruby hesitated long enough to assess the rising sun and the sky around her. Clear. Bright. Blue, not a puff of white in the sky. The faint chill in the air that warned her that summer was almost over.

A perfect day for finishing this round of haying.

As the sun dipped behind the Blue Mountains to the west, and the violet haze of dusk hovered over the prairie and distant mountains to the east, Ruby parked the big farm truck and flatbed trailer next to the truck and trailer they’d rented for hauling hay. With her ranch manager Charlie Thompson running the tractor at the hay shed to stack the bales, and an assortment of rented equipment run by local day laborers, they had managed to get the rest of the hay in from the fields.

She plugged her truck in to charge, then stretched and placed her hands on her hips, surveying the now-full hay barn before her.

It wasn’t often that haying worked this well. But harvest weather was just about the only thing that had run smoothly this summer. The late-September third cutting could be a struggle if the fall rains came early. They hadn’t this year. No rain during cutting, drying, or baling. None during the three days it had taken to stack it in the barns, this big barn here being the last.

No strong winds or thunderstorms, please.

Charlie parked the big tractor and joined her, shoving his weathered straw hat back from his forehead as he rubbed it. One of his heelers, Rusty, jumped down from the cab, galloped over to Ruby and nudged her leg. She bent to scratch Rusty’s head as he leaned against her, his stub tail wagging and tongue lolling happily.

Mighty nice hay crop this year, he said.

Yeah, it’s the one thing that seems to have gone right, she said, giving Rusty a final pat before straightening up. Now I’m worried about the grains.

Charlie snorted. One thing at a time, Ruby. We can feed stock this winter, and at least this year we don’t have loan payments hanging on the harvest. His other heeler, Crimson, dropped a ball at his feet and Charlie threw it for her to retrieve.

True, she conceded.

Between her winning the Superhero AgInnovator reality show contest last spring (along with Gabe and Jeff Swait), Gabe gaining access to his Martiniere trust fund, and investments in her RubyBot biobot line, the Double R was doing well for once. Even with the additional expenditures in security, housing, and lab expansion that came along with the Martiniere connections, she was securely in the black for the first time in years. They could lose over half the grain crop and still be doing well—not that she wanted to see that happening. But the RubyBot was finally, finally starting to pay off after years of struggle.

The data feed from the RubyBot fields sure makes things simpler, Charlie said. It’s matching the ground observations. He threw the ball again, Rusty and Crimson vying to reach it first, then squabbling over possession. Hey! Knock it off! he yelled at the dogs. Crimson snatched the ball as Rusty hesitated.

We’ll do them all with the RubyBot next spring, she said.

Any chance you can just sleep the bots over the winter and revive them instead of turning them off? Charlie asked, ignoring the ball that Crimson dropped at his feet.

Ruby shook her head. Not for the basic RubyBot. Maybe the Defender, especially in milder climates.

She clicked up her comp and made a note to herself to discuss the issue with Jeff Swait, because his Arkansas location might be a better development site for that mode. The Defender was part of the collaboration between herself, Gabe, and Swait. It was a biobot with aggressive defense capabilities intended to protect fields against intruding bots that would sabotage a grower’s operations. Unlike the basic Ruby, the Defender was still under development.

Just seems like a waste of resources, Charlie said. Yeah, I know we grow the mediums over the winter, but still. Be nice to have it reusable.

The way the bot’s designed, it breaks down into essential nutrients once it’s switched off. That’s why it took so long to perfect the design—allowing for breakdown without contaminating the field.

Yeah, I know, I’ve heard about it from Martin, Charlie said. Ruby’s lab manager Martin was Charlie’s husband. And I suppose that creating a bot that lasts for several years cuts into profits.

It’s more complicated. I think we can go that route with the Defender. It would be nice to have a bot that you could command to reload itself into the growboxes at the end of the year, though, wouldn’t it?

Yeah. Charlie rolled his shoulders. Well, that’s done for the year. See you in the morning. Or not. You’ve got a meeting, right?

GMR Group. Will probably eat up most of the morning. Ruby frowned. I’m just glad I was able to pitch in with the haying. I have to spend more time dealing with Martiniere and indenture reform issues for the next few weeks—months, even. This was just a quick break.

Well, if it needs to be done, it needs to be done, Charlie said. "I’ve known too damn many good people caught up in the indentured system, even before Rick and Beck moved here. If you, Gabe, and Brandon can change that, then good. Guess I won’t be seeing you in the morning, then. I’ll clean up the rental equipment and get it back to the co-op. Good night, and good luck with your meeting. C’mon, you two," he said to Rusty and Crimson, picking up the ball that Crimson dropped at his feet.

Good night and thanks.

Ruby headed for the house. Her skin itched from the day’s work, body sticky with half-dried sweat and her face, hands, and hair dusty. At least it was cooling off fast tonight, with a faint damp chill that meant September. She slipped off her boots while sitting on the back porch steps, shook them out, then brushed off what she could of the hay chaff before going inside, leaning her elbows on her knees for a moment to breathe deeply and let fatigue wash over her. Her body ached. She sure wasn’t getting any younger. Fifty-one in a few weeks. Some days she felt older than that.

Voices rose and fell from inside, along with the clatter of dishes. Ruby couldn’t make out the words, but recognized the speakers as Dr. Amy Caruthers, on the ranch to supervise the early stages of Gabe’s Chan Protocol treatment for the G9, and Gabe. The enticing scent of beef curry wafting made Ruby’s stomach rumble, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten lunch.

Gabe was at the stove when she entered, while Amy washed dishes. How’d the haying go? he asked, hobbling across the kitchen to grab bowls.

All done and in the barn. Only a couple of easily-fixed breakdowns.

He grinned at her. Good. Dinner in ten minutes.

Enough time for me to get showered, then.

I’ll keep it warm. Bran sent a message that he’s got another show running tonight.

Another show? She halted at the hallway entrance. Brandon and Kris had production experience from their work on the AgInnovator. They’d been quick-releasing interviews with escaped indentureds over the past two weeks, irregularly and from different locations. Kind of close to the GMR meeting, isn’t it? Her skin prickled and not from the hay chaff.

I have no idea what it’s about. I’m hoping he and Kris are using adequate judgment. His message was just that this one was too hot to sit on. When Ruby hesitated, Gabe frowned at her. Go get cleaned up. They posted it about midday, and I’ve got it cued up in our room. You look exhausted. I’ll bring up the food while you’re showering.

How are you gonna carry it?

He’s already enlisted me, Amy said. With bribes of sharing huckleberry crisp. She patted her stomach. Three weeks on the ranch and I’m putting on weight. You two are good cooks.

Part of ranch life, Gabe said.

Darn, should have put you on the hay crew, Ruby said, grinning. If the weight gain is too much.

Eh, I’ll work it off once Justine finds another clinic for me to work out of, Amy said. But I’ve appreciated the time working in the lab here, when I’m not doctoring Gabe or helping out at the hospital. Your Dr. Sheri would sure like me to set up shop in Lakeside. But it’s just too small a town. Too visible for me to be pulling indentured hormonal tags. Too hard for those who need my help to get here.

We appreciate what you have done.

Amy shrugged. It’s been a good place to lay low for a few weeks. Justine messaged that she’s negotiating another site.

So you’ll probably be leaving soon?

In a week or so.

We’ll miss you.

Thanks.

Ruby left the kitchen and headed up the stairs to their bedroom. Earlier in the year there had been more people living in the house. She and Gabe had adopted the habit of eating dinner in their room to have private time. Now that Beck O’Toole and Rick Keysing had moved out of the main house and to a prefab small house next to the lab, Amy was the only other regular occupant, while she supervised Gabe’s recovery. Brandon and Kris still had a room of their own, and Gabe’s sister Justine did as well.

But Justine had joined Brandon and Kris in their exile, moving from place to place to keep ahead of Philip Martiniere’s private security. Ruby was surprised that Justine wasn’t already here for tomorrow’s meeting, but perhaps she would arrive later. Brandon would probably come only for the duration of the meeting, then leave. Gabe had mandated that it was too dangerous for both of them to be in the same house for very long. Especially now that he was jockeying to challenge Philip for leadership of the Martiniere Group.

Both of my men are too easy a target.

Ruby sighed as she entered the bedroom. New realities, new concerns, now that she was part of the Martiniere Family. She pulled off her clothes and dropped them in the hamper, then undid the silver chain to take off her two most precious pieces of jewelry—her old silver good luck locket that held a picture of the grandparents who had raised her, and the emerald Martiniere wedding ring that was much more than it appeared to be.

She held the ring for a moment, studying the green flickers within the stone. It wasn’t just a gem. The cultivated, lab-created, and hardened stone had electronic circuits grown within it that accessed mind control programming devised by the Martinieres to control not just their indentured chattels but other members of the family. Only Ruby and Brandon were free of that programming.

Gabe had been in hiding from his family when she had married him the first time. He had testified against the man he thought was his uncle, Philip Martiniere, in an attempt to shut down mind control programming forced upon unwilling indentured workers. When Philip discovered Gabe’s location and his family, he locked Gabe down so he couldn’t say who he was, and demanded that Gabe divorce Ruby.

Oh, that had been an ugly time. It hadn’t been until seven months ago that Ruby and Gabe had communicated more than the minimum required for raising Brandon. She had said farewell to Gabe when Brandon turned eighteen, and they hadn’t spoken for years—until they returned to compete against each other in the agtech funding game show, the AgInnovator.

And then the revelations spilled. Gabe’s connection to the Martinieres, that had brought about their divorce. The discovery that Philip was Gabe’s father, not his uncle, part of a complex agreement between him and the man Gabe had thought was his father in order to protect the family. Learning that Martiniere mind control coupled with covert psychotropic drug administration had been used to manipulate both Ruby and Gabe, so that she would reject his attempts at reconciliation twenty-one years ago. The intent had been to push Gabe to suicide, to rid Philip of an inconvenient, rebellious, unacknowledged son.

Philip’s attempt failed—but from Gabe’s accounts of that era, just barely.

And then meeting Gabe’s grandmother. Donna-gran, who had negotiated that devil’s agreement between Philip and his brother Saul. The Martiniere Matriarch—former Matriarch since she had passed that role on to Ruby—who knew the patterns programmed into the ring. Had apparently been part of the development of those control structures.

Ruby’s fingers closed around the ring. How far dared they trust Donna-gran? It wasn’t a question she could ask any of the Martinieres, not even Brandon, who had been enthusiastically accepted by his newly discovered relatives. Definitely not Gabe or Justine, who appeared to idolize their grandmother.

As long as we go along with her aims, as long as our goals coincide with the best interests of the Martinieres, we can trust her.

At least right now they all appeared to agree on the need to restrain the growing movement of converting indentureds into actual slaves. But she didn’t dare forget that Donna-gran had been part of the program that had led to the creation of the indentured class. Had devised those control structures.

How do I keep us safe?

Ruby exhaled. That was a question she couldn’t answer yet. She released her grip on the ring and set it down gently on the vanity before going into their bathroom.

When Ruby came out of the bathroom, her long silver-streaked red hair combed out and left loose to dry, a soft green silk robe that was a gift from Gabe wrapped over matching pajamas, she stopped short. The room lights were dimmed, their small dinner table set with battery-operated candles, already-dished up bowls of curry and huckleberry crisp for dessert, champagne glasses and an ice bucket with an opened bottle in it.

Gabe sprang up from his sleep recliner as she eyed the table.

It’s not fancy, he said as he took her in his arms again. But you’re tired out from haying and I thought you’d like a small celebration since third cutting’s done. And it’s our three week anniversary.

She half-chuckled, leaning her head against his chest. Official or ceremonial?

Does it matter? Gabe delicately lifted Ruby’s chin with a forefinger, keeping his contact light because he knew she didn’t like being touched there, and kissed her. Given everything that’s going on, I’ll take any excuse for celebration.

Timing’s right for ceremonial, she said. But I agree. Celebrate everything and anything, because who knows what’s going to happen.

After all, within forty-eight hours of celebrating their remarriage with family and friends, she had been holding Gabe while he spasmed and puked his way through a G9 attack, screaming at him not to die on her.

Come and eat. He guided her to a chair. Might not be able to help with haying but I can at least feed you.

Ruby laughed and dove in. Gabe was a good cook, always had been. The curry followed by a bowl of huckleberry and