Mike & Karen Ch. 18

Disclaimer: All characters are 18 years of age or older while actively engaging in sexual activity. This story is a prequel/sequel (sprequel?) to my other work, Alex & Alexa. As always, many thanks and gratuitous panty shots from Freja and Jeanie to my long-suffering editor and beta-reader for their assistance in polishing up and improving this work. Reviews are welcome; flames will be snickered at and deleted with extreme prejudice. Enjoy!

Please Note: There are incest themes with a secondary couple in this story. Just a forewarning.

Chapter XVIII- To The Manor Reborn, Part II

St. George Campus, late January, 1987...

Mike tapped his pen against the desk while he looked down at the notebook in front of him. He somehow subdued the grin that lurked under his current expression of serious thought. He wouldn't have blamed himself for grinning, mind. This was really fantastic work, and a huge step forward in the field.

Calabi-Yau Manifold study had come a long way, and quickly. If the numbers that he and his crew had assembled were right, this would absolutely rocket the university to the fore of the research internationally. It would probably even hijack the conference in Lucerne later that year.

His numbers in his own work were solid, and he'd be giving it over for final integration into the larger project. Everyone else had been enthusiastic and diligent as well.. So far, so good, and they still had a day or two to the final assembly of the theorem and a week until submission. The presentation would knock everyone's socks off, even the dean.

He allowed himself a sigh of satisfaction. This was definitely a win.

***

Blackwell Manor, late January, the present...

Tatyana walked back and forth in front of the assembled staff in the grand foyer. They all stood patiently, waiting while she performed her inspections of their uniforms- at least, those who had to wear one. She herself was wearing a charcoal-grey blazer and a matching pencil skirt, with her hair back in her customary low bun.

She looked at Trilby and Valentina, standing side-by-side, wearing their housekeeping outfits. Their garb was traditional, being black with white trim, and the skirts ending just above the knee and allowing freedom of movement. When she'd asked both girls about their uniforms, they'd merely commented that they 'weren't much fun'.

Valentina looked like she was trying to contain her giddiness, putting considerable effort into keeping a ridiculous smile off her face. Trilby was actually standing up straight, instead of the lazy slouch that Tatyana had quickly come to associate with her over the last day or so. The girl nodded to the seneschal but said nothing. Tatyana moved on.

She stood now in front of her two groundskeepers, who were very different from one another. The senior man, David, was in his mid-fifties, but ruggedly built, and had been hired because he was a three-decade veteran of the landscaping field. Bald on top, but with silvery hair on the sides of his head and a silver beard, he exuded competence, which was just what was called for.

The younger groundskeeper, Yolatunde, who said it was fine to call him 'Tunde,' was the opposite of his senior partner. He was in his early twenties, his almost coal-black skin indicatng his South African heritage. Lean and strong, he would be a perfect accompaniment to David's vast knowledge, and he took instruction well. Tatyana held no doubt that the grounds would look better than they ever had with these two on the job.

Working closely with David and Tunde was Marie, an experienced gardener from Brittany in France. She was a slight woman, with long, frizzy light brown hair, who looked like she should be puttering about in a garden. She'd won awards in Europe for her work in various famous gardens and was now looking for a job that was less expansive, but still required exquisite artistry. She would be responsible for the greenhouses and preparing flora for planting around the grounds.

Andrea stood in the middle of the lineup, and she was the tallest member of the staff, a shade taller than David, at around five-nine. She was a well-built woman, with blonde hair done up now in a messy bun behind her head. She was dressed in sturdy coveralls, and a white t-shirt beneath. She had strong shoulders and some definition in her arms, which was good, since she would be charged with maintaining the mechanical and electrical operations of the estate. She grinned at Tatyana, seeming eager to begin.

Ari was a slightly built and short man, also in his early twenties. He'd emigrated from Haifa with his mother while he was very young, and he was a whiz with computer systems. Initially, it seemed strange to Tatyana that a private household, even one as large as this, would need a live-in IT specialist, but once she understood that the powerful computers that her employers used were connected to various universities and institutions around the world, it seemed more reasonable to her. And if a private IT specialist seemed somehow extravagant, she knew better than to ask.

Theresa was from the States, a divorcee in her mid-thirties. She was an extraordinary chef, who had run several successful restaurants and catering companies before moving on to her next challenge. She'd escaped an abusive marriage by moving north, and had just begun looking for work when she answered the ad to work at the Blackwell estate. She said in her interview that preparing excellent food for a smaller, more familiar and appreciative crowd was what she was in the mood to do. Unlike the other staff-members, her contract was annual, allowing her freedom of movement as necessary.

Lastly, there was Glenda, an experienced chauffeuse, who was in her late thirties. Of all the staff members, she was the most experienced at working for wealthy private citizens, and she stood crisply but easily in her spot, a light smile on her face. She'd been driving the famous, wealthy and powerful for nearly twenty years now. Her professionalism and vast experience had shone through on her résumé.

She stopped in front of them and addressed them now. "We have a few minutes yet before our new employers join us. Aside from Mister Winson, how many of you have met them as yet?"

Valentina smiled and raised her hand slightly. "I met Mr. and Mrs. DeBourne during my interview, but not their son or her sister."

Tatyana nodded. "The same as myself, I have met them only once. I have already talked with each of you, at length, about the expectations for maintaining the place and the atmosphere desired. But as a small test, tell me what you think of when you hear this..."

In her hands she held a small remote control, and she clicked a button on it. Half a second later, lilting music played by the string section of an orchestra filled the foyer. Some of the new staff members looked around, while others simply listened. Glenda closed her eyes.

After maybe two minutes, Tatyana ended the music with the press of a button and looked at them all. "When you hear that music, what does it make you think? There is no wrong answer."

Trilby shrugged. "That our shifts are done and it's bedtime? It makes me sleepy."

"I stand corrected, there is apparently a wrong answer," the seneschal said dryly while a few of the other staff members snickered. "Anyone else have an idea that does not make them think of their binkie?"

"Quiet, pleasant and efficient work around the estate," Glenda said simply, smiling. "Dusting, simple food prep, quietly pruning plants, that sort of thing."

"Very good," Tatyana said, looking at her. "That is exactly what it is meant to represent. It is the entr'acte from 'La fille du régiment', in fact."

"I know," Glenda said, nodding. "You don't drive bigwigs back and forth from the opera for twenty years without playing a lot of Donizetti in the limo."

There was a noise from the top of the grand foyer stairs, and Tatyana whispered for everyone to stand up straight, before turning around and facing the wide central staircase, her hands folded in front of her. She swore that on the very edges of human hearing, she could hear Valentina let out a squeak of excitement.

Please don't let her pee on the floor... she prayed silently.

It seemed to take forever, but Mister Winson appeared at the top of the staircase and started to come down. Behind him, two people came from either side and then followed him down. Tatyana could hear several of her people take deep breaths, or almost gasp as the group reached the bottom of the stairs and approached.

They certainly know how to make an entrance, I will give them that... she thought, trying not to swallow.

Two men walked just to Mister Winson's left, and two women to his right. The men were both tall, one of them an absolute giant. They both had great manes of golden hair, piercing electric-blue eyes, and infectious smiles. The younger man was built like a gymnast, with strong limbs and a tiny waist, whereas the older man was massive, with chiseled muscles everywhere. The son, Alex, wore jeans and a T-shirt with a rock logo on it. Michael, the father, was wearing a grey three-piece suit that somehow complemented his massive frame, rather than simply stretching around it.

The women were as stunning as the men were imposing. Karen, the older sister, and legal heiress to the estate, was tall, even taller than Andrea, and her eyes were a shocking golden-amber colour, like a wolf or a hawk. Her patrician face was framed by a bob of shining bronze hair, and she was wearing a black dress that hugged her curves. Alexandra, the younger sister, had sapphire-blue eyes that radiated a wild joy, voluminous golden hair that fell to the small of her back, and a smile that could light up a room. Wearing jeans and a cashmere sweater that did nothing to hide her figure, she radiated the same irreverence as her nephew, Alex, who was apparently named after her.

The two lines of people stared at each other for some moments in silence before Tatyana finally spoke. "Would you care to say anything, Mr. and Mrs. DeBourne?"

Karen flicked a look up at her husband and smiled, flicking her eyes toward the waiting employees. Mike simply nodded and took them all in his captivating gaze as he spoke.

"Welcome, sons of Adam," he boomed. "Welcome, daughters of Eve!"

"Not what I had in mind, husband," Karen sighed as Alex and Alex both began laughing. Standing in the middle, Jordan looked at the ceiling, silently praying for endurance, while Tatyana closed her eyes.

Well, Mister Winson had warned her, after all. Valentina and Ari were both snickering, and even David smirked.

Karen stepped forward now, smiling at everyone. "Welcome, all of you. I hope your time with us is pleasant. Jordan and Miss Orlova have briefed us about you all, and we trust their judgement that they've hired and retained the best people for us."

They all loved listening to her speak, it was elegant and addicting. Valentina hoped she wasn't staring too noticeably.

"You don't start work until tomorrow, so tonight you will be our guests at one of the best dinner clubs in the province. We will meet you back here in an hour. Once again, welcome to our home."

The men all bowed their heads and the women curtsied as Karen and Alexa turned and left, walking arm in arm down one of the hallways.

"I hope a couple of you play an instrument or two," Alex mentioned as he and his father also headed elsewhere.

The staff waited patiently until they were all out of sight. Jordan looked at Valentina and smiled gently. "Breathe, girl."

Valentina started slightly as she realized what he meant and inhaled strongly, while those around her chuckled. Everyone slackened their stances a little bit, except for Jordan, who always seemed to be at attention.

"That went better than I hoped," he mused.

"I thought my people did quite well, actually," Tatyana suggested.

"Oh, they were splendid, my dear," he corrected. "I was referring to the DeBournes."

And there was laughter all around.

***

St. George Campus, 1987...

"I cannot believe we did it!" Ping exclaimed as the group raucously celebrated inside their dedicated study hall. "We have proven that the weak gravitational force's measurable effect on General Relativity can lead to compactification and infinite density!"

"Játékot megváltoztató!" Gergo said loudly as he clapped Dan on the back several times, making the third-year student cough as he pulled his drink away from his face. He had been the senior student on the project, tasked with its completion, even if Michael DeBourne was the driving force behind the effort. Normally there was no alcohol in the place, but today was an exception. "Dan, your excellent math on the sticky strings has proven it once and for all, underlying all our work!"

"Hey, we all have to do our part," Dan said, trying to sound modest. "Everyone's contributions matter, y'know. Marks is gonna crap himself when he sees what we've pulled off."

"It is true, he will!" Indur agreed, looking excited. "This is history-making, my friends! It is a great leap forward, and our names will be remembered for it!"

"Killer!" barked Sam, pretending to play guitar. "Now we just need to drop it on the dean's desk! It'll blow every other department out of the water, no question!"

"Groucho will certainly be intrigued," Mike mused, looking over the papers. Ping, Gergo, Indur and Dan had integrated their work, and it came out looking sound. If this math was right, they'd jumped the field forward at least a decade of where the other institutions were. He continued poring over the math while the others celebrated.

"I'm going to be famous!" Ping almost squealed. "My name, to be side-by-side with Shing-Tung Yau! I never dreamed!"

"Your numbers were incredible, dude!" Sam said to Dan as he handed him another bottle. "Smooth and seamless, they jived so well with Gergo and Ping's equations!"

"Well, we all love the field, and this is sorta my thing," Dan said, trying to sound retiring but clearly enjoying the attention and accolades. "It will feel good to see my name in scientific journals, I gotta admit."

"You deserve it, friend," Gergo gushed, relieved that the numbers added up with all his hard work. It'd been bridged, and they had all the proof they need. "This is a moment to be remembered!"

"No argument there," Mike said as he got up from his stool and strode over to a tall cabinet, opening it and fishing stuff out. "Get Mr. Success set up on his throne, guys."

The other students all laughed as they found a special stool and made Dan sit on it. The stool had been covered in velvet, now almost worn off, and edged in rhinestones. Only people who had accomplished something impressive sat in the throne. Dan pretended to resist but allowed them to 'drag' him to the stool and sit in it, while Mike continued rummaging. They all knew what happened next.

Finally, Mike came back to the group, and everyone cheered while their towering peer plunked a goofy plastic golden crown on Dan's head and then handed him a plastic sword with a gaudy, jeweled guard and pommel.

"Hold your sword in the air, Dan," Mike commanded.

Laughing, Dan pointed the sword in the air over his head, while everyone else laughed and cheered.

"And now, in a loud voice, say 'By the power of Numbskull!'" Mike growled.

"By the power of Nu- wait, what?" Dan asked, faltering.

"I said, shout 'By the power of Numbskull', you numbskull," Mike said rather angrily, all other noise and gaiety draining out of the room instantly. "What... the... Hell, Cummings?!"

"Wh-what?" Dan stammered, going pale while everyone else backed away. "What... what do you-"

"How can your math be so sublimely wrong?" Mike nearly shouted, his body language indicating every muscle fibre in his body had tensed in fury. "It looks good on the surface, but every-single-conclusion it arrives at is utterly wrong! The entire theorem is incorrect now!"

"No," Dan protested, not daring to move, even if he wanted to flee in terror from the giant raging in front of him. "It's, it's good! There's no-"

"I just checked for myself," Mike said through gritted teeth as he leaned down to look in his fellow student's eyes. Dan looked like he was ready to faint, and so did Ping. "This math is so damned wrong that we would need to undo everything from before we collaborated and start virtually at the beginning!"

Dan's mouth moved, but he said nothing. He couldn't.

"Why, Cummings?" Mike demanded, his electric blue eyes blazing. "Were you sabotaging the project?"

"No!" Dan almost yelped in panic. "I'd never!"

"These numbers are sabotage!" Mike snarled, grabbing the sheaf of papers from the desk and bunching them in Dan's face. "One minutely wrong number leading to another, cascading into a theorem of complete bullshit and disaster! That took real work, because nobody could be stupid enough to get things that subtly wrong so consistently!"

"I didn't sabotage us!" Dan almost screamed in panic. The other students in the room were looking on in horror, rooted to the spot. They'd never seen Michael DeBourne angry before, and it was terrifying to behold. They genuinely feared for Dan's life. Mike was enraged. "I swear!"

"These numbers are wrong but exquisite, Cummings, and you're not that good," Mike growled, determined to figured out what this idiot had done. "So if you didn't intentionally sabotage us, how the fucking Hell did this happen?"

Pale as a sheet, Dan swallowed and confessed. "Well..."

***

Three weeks earlier...

Dan Cummings was pulling at his mouth and chin as he walked quickly down the hallway of the McLennan Building, principal home to the Physics Department. He felt the sweat on his face as he considered the pressure he was under. He'd been dicking around for weeks, not taking his assignment as part of the Calabi-Yau project seriously, and now he had mere days left before the he needed to submit his numbers that many others would build on.

Bad enough that grades were involved, but this was also a project that helped determine which of the sciences departments got the lion's share of the university's budget for the faculty, as well as the best lab time schedules. He was a third-year, and his participation was mandatory.

He'd dicked around, and dicked around, and dicked around, and now it was crunch time. His part in the effort was coordinating and bridging numbers between disparate extrapolations, meant to bring the whole together. He had scores of pages of calculations to take into account, and the complexity of them made his head spin. He just wasn't that good at the required math.

He was so fucked. And now Theoretical was too. If he'd been religious, he would've prayed for some help.

He quickly turned and slipped inside an empty lab, closing the door behind himself and leaning against it as he tried not to hyperventilate. This was getting worse and worse with every passing moment as the weight of his impending failure loomed over him. He was sweating profusely as he felt the panic rising.

Thinking he was about to puke, he began walking around the room in quick laps, thankful no one was using it. Trying to keep his mind focused on finding an answer, he took deep breaths and did brisk walking laps of the space, trying to -

Someone had left a notebook on a tabletop. It was open.

Despite his desperation, he stopped and gazed down at the tome.

His eyes widened as he looked at the numbers scrawled on the pages, line after line of perfect equations.

Perfect for him.

He snatched it up and hurried out of the room.