“Time is so short,” she said, then took a step away. He grabbed hold, leaned toward her and tried to kiss her.
Janise smiled between a pair of tears, and she allowed him to kiss her only upon one cheek. “I know what you want to say,” she whispered. “But you won't. And neither will I.”
“But …”
“We knew this day was coming.” She put one finger to his lips. “We were never more than accomplices.”
She turned swiftly and headed along a walkway in the direction opposite from which she came. He watched her until she rounded a bend, lost behind a stand of magnolias. He was stunned, he was chilled, but he was relieved Janise did not allow him to say the word they knew was unforgivably inevitable.
Bryan realized two things: The ice cream had, at some point, slipped from his grasp; and he would never see Janise Albright again.
14
T
hree months earlier, Lara Singer allowed her need for a future with Daniel Loche to cripple her judgment. She remembered … and was disgusted.
She had retired to her quarters, looked to the foot of her bed and saw the red light on her biochron pack. Her triscophan cycle was complete. Drop a white tablet down her throat, and another 35 days of birth control were assured. But when Lara flipped open the bottom of the pack, and a cylindrical dispenser of triscophan popped out, she felt paralysis in her thumb and forefinger.
“We can have a family so much sooner,” she whispered. “We'll be able to make our plans before we even land on Earth.”
Lara saw herself with an infant, and Daniel always at home to watch over them. The home in Oregon. Sunlight breaking through a canopy of trees. She convinced herself it would be so easy.
“We'll be wealthy once ASTROcom fulfills the contract terms, and neither of us will have to work away from home.”
She closed the biochron pack and stowed it without taking the tablet. She later found Daniel in one of the botanical pods. He was puttering about. She whispered something indecipherable then kissed him. He responded in true Daniel Loche form, and they were making love on the floor of Botany, Pod 2.
Lara hugged her arms close against her chest and shivered at the notion that she had, if only briefly, crossed the line between love and obsession. She couldn't imagine having tried to conceive a child and trap Daniel into fulfilling her fantasy of a lifetime commitment.
She failed to conceive, even with her body cleansed of triscophan and at its reproductive peak.
She knew Daniel would have married her – honor was more than just a word to him. But it would have forced his hand; in the long term, it would have sabotaged the fantasy.
“Thank the universe I didn't let go of reality,” she said, remembering the moment when she did, finally, pop that tablet into her mouth.
She could not imagine what might have led Susan Morehouse to enter a hibersleep pod with a life growing inside her.
Lara felt dirty, and she vowed that she was going to take a shower, even if she was expected on the command deck.
Yet when she turned toward her quarters, her heart surged and her breath danced.
“Captain Navarro?”
He was walking toward her – slowly but with poise.
“You brought me back,” he said.
Briefly lost in a confusion of hopeful fear, Lara was without words. She couldn’t even force a smile as she stared at the Brazilian.
“The cloud has lifted,” Andorran's first captain said. “Gone, just like that. I woke up, left my quarters, looked through a viewport and saw Earth. I realized I wasn't chasing my senses anymore, and then I must have stood there for 20 minutes. I had to be sure.”
The pit of her stomach was taut. She had contemplated this moment for most of the return voyage, prayed for a breakthrough in his condition. But this was too sudden.
She noticed the physical changes immediately. His face was pink – a dramatic improvement in itself – and she could have sworn most of the blotches had vanished. Morsels of water clogged at the base of his wide brown eyes.
“Just like that?” She asked. “As if a wand was waved over you?”
Navarro's cherry lips stretched wide, and a glint of teeth peeked through. “Your wand, Lara. I'm sure this would not be possible without you. All your attempts to get through to me. I know it was your decision to release me from hibersleep.”
“I didn't see how you could get better in stasis,” she said slowly, and took a step toward the man, who was six inches taller. “I thought maybe what the Fyal did, it would wear off. But this, this I don't know what to think ...”
“I debated how to approach the crew, approach you specifically,” he continued. “I know this has to be incredible. No, improbable.”
Lara heard herself laugh. “That's basically what I'm thinking, yes. Captain, I saw you just hours ago, and you were lucid for a few seconds. But there had been times like that before. How could it all have changed so quickly?”
Navarro swallowed hard. He looked over the woman's shoulder and gazed at the ion scoops. “I could only speculate, Lara. Er, excuse me, Captain Singer. I'm not certain we could find the answer using our own knowledge. I suspect only the Fyal have the solution. No doubt, you remember those first few days after we escaped from Centauri III?"
“Too well,” she said. “Olivia wasn't sure she could save you.”
“My memories of that time are quite vivid, albeit painful. Although I was flowing in and out of consciousness, I was always aware of my surrounding. It wasn't until five days out from Centauri III that the clouds began to circle. My memories of the journey effectively ended on the seventh day out. There are piece-meal recollections of our conversations during these past several days, but nothing is whole. Except for today, for the past hour of my life.”
He cocked his head, straightened his shoulders, and continued:
“If I believed in a god, I would think this is a divine gift. The hour of our homecoming, the hour of my sanity. Although I am a man who has always believed in the universe as a host for random probability, I find the notion of this being simply an act of incredible timing to be somewhat ... offensive.”
Lara realized this man who looked so much like the Miguel Navarro she once knew now also sounded like that man, and she took a step toward him. He wore a fresh, wrinkle-free bodysuit, his snowy hair well groomed, and he was no longer the slumping, decrepit man she babied for the past week. His voice resonated with sweet Latin confidence.
“I’m glad I found you alone,” he said. “I didn't want to face the rest of the crew until I'd met with you first. To thank you."
Lara smiled. “Finally, some hope. Things aren't going as we expected, and I know you'll find the solutions. You always could.”
“Before Centauri III,” he reminded her.
“We've been away from there for 15 years, Captain Navarro. We can deal with those events once we're finally home. We're less than five hours from Earth, and there are some very frightening problems we have to confront now. The crew will be so happy to know you're back. There wasn't a one of us who couldn't always count on you."
Lara started toward the cargo pod portal, but Navarro held her up with a firm hand around one arm.
“You understand that I can't be captain any longer,” he said.
“What? But you are.”
“No. I was properly removed from that position after what happened to me, and you have been acting in my stead since then. Our mission is practically concluded, and it is proper that you lead us to the finish.”
“But I'm not as qualified to handle this, never have been.”
Navarro sharply cut her off. “You think not, Captain Singer? Are all the crew still healthy? Is Andorran not about to fly safely into Earth orbit? Seems to me you've done a fine job. Never doubt for a moment that you have earned your title.
“And I'll be there on the command deck to work with you and the rest of the crew in whatever capacity is requir
ed. If it's the confidence of the crew you're concerned about, then my simple presence should suffice, correct?”
Lara didn't pose another objection. Navarro's words were strong, committed and practical, exactly as she remembered before Centauri III. And perhaps he was right – his presence would probably be more than sufficient. She wasn't certain all members of the crew would rejoice to have their first captain running the ship again. After all, she had been his most ardent booster of late, and this sudden change left her suspicious. Surely, those who gave up on him long ago would be cynical, paranoid, she reasoned. She realized Navarro figured this out.
Daniel Loche was her lover, but Miguel Navarro was still her idol.
An actual return from the dead might have sparked slightly more astonishment than the miraculous recovery of Miguel Navarro.
Slightly.
As Lara anticipated, the air of incredulity was thick on the command deck when Miguel appeared at her side. Boris mumbled something in Russian; Peter frowned and shook his head softly; Mifuro forced a curt smile and a contorted eyebrow; Daniel returned from his work in stasis seconds after Miguel’s arrival and struggled for words.
Miguel offered all of them the same explanation as given Lara, and not until Daniel and Fran stepped forward to welcome him back did the tension settle.
“Have you been examined by Liv?” Fran inquired. “This is damn amazing, and I'd hate to think there might be a chance of relapse.”
“In time. I'd be eager to know the same,” Miguel told her. “But I'm aware of our situation, and I'd much rather focus on that. Offer any assistance possible.”
“It's damn great to have you back on top of things, Captain,” the thin woman shook Miguel's hand.
“Thank you, Fran, but please keep in mind I'm no longer captain. Lara maintains the final word. Think of me as an advisor of sorts. An advisor with a very long resume."
There was stifled laughter, but Fran ignored Lara.
“I want to catch up on everything,” he said. “What's the latest, and what are your theories?”
Lara stepped aside, strode to the forward workstation and watched as Miguel soaked in a briefing on their predicament.
He's so certain of himself, so relaxed, she thought. He knows how to get us through this. The recovery can't be a coincidence. Someone brought him back to us in the hour we need him most.
But when she saw a grimace from the Brazilian, who then raised a hand to cut off Fran in mid-sentence, Lara stepped close.
“So, you have all but discarded the notion of a new communication technology as the source of our problem?” He said. “Why is that?”
Fran crossed her arms. “Simple, really. Nothing out there could have been made universal so damn quickly. And nothing on the table at the time was worth the effort.”
Miguel petted a contemplative index finger against his lips.
“Do you know something?” Peter asked.
“Tell me, Fran. In all that time you spent hooked up to the Technet, did you ever read about ‘subdonic stream?’”
“Not on Technet, certainly not!” She was indignant. “Technet focused only on active and developing sciences – not fantasy!”
“I suppose it couldn't have filtered down that far at that time.”
“Down from where? Technet was Grade 6. If it was happening, we'd hear of it.”
“Except perhaps from those on Grade 7.”
“No such thing.”
“I thought you'd know better than that, Fran. Most of the top officials of the major alliances were 7 ... or higher. I was a 7. And two weeks before Andorran departed, a very close confidant told me about subdonic stream.”
“Someone had it on the drawing board?”
“Oh, more than that, Fran. He told me that a prototype network of subdonic stream technology had been successfully tested, and the universal implementation could begin within 10 years.”
“Too soon,” Fran countered. “The first theses on the subject were only written a few years before we departed, and those were all soundly dismissed. There were too many problems with the biomechanical interface. It was at least 75 to 100 years away.”
Miguel continued: “I was told it was developed at an isolated lab in the Peruvian Andes. The building was outwardly disguised as a Re-Climation Center.”
Lara was genuinely lost. “Excuse me, but what is subdonic stream? And how does it affect our situation?”
Fran dropped her head and sighed, and Miguel placed his hands to his lips as he responded. “Subdonic stream would probably represent the most staggering advance in human communication. Depending on your philosophy or religion, it could represent a new beginning or simply the beginning of the end. I gather, Fran, that you read enough of the theses to understand its intricacies?”
“The theories, anyway,” she said. “In short, Lara, subdonic stream is bioengineered mind-to-machine communication. Something called a baron-chip with an organic casing is placed into the brain through laser knotting. Apparently, the procedure would be quick and painless. The chip would have an access code, just like a vidphone number or Technet pass. Your code would be available through public directories – again, just like vidphone numbers. The chip would allow your mind to absorb any data from any accessed source at the speed and level you choose. And if you wanted permanent storage, you upload the data from the baron-chip to conventional computers.”
Lara was overwhelmed. Her mind went back to the Fyal. “It almost sounds like a form of telepathic communication.”
“I'd like to laugh,” Fran said, “but I do wonder if it's not the next-to-last step toward just that.”
Lara cringed, and again she recalled the telepathic echoes of the Fyal. We WILL COME for you.
15
T
he cigar carried a sweet aroma, and it cushioned in Bryan’s mouth as his teeth sank into it, his tongue rolled underneath. A flame ignited the tobacco in front of him, and his lungs gracefully drew in the pungent smoke. He pulled the cigar from between his lips and closed them, allowed the smoke to settle within. And finally, when his eyes opened, he exhaled.
Blue rivulets twirled against the glass, then were lost in the golden brilliance of the late afternoon sun.
This cigar is important, Bryan told himself.
His office was silent, the workstation unfettered of assignments he cast off until tomorrow. Or forever.
This cigar is important.
The PAC's Chief of Domestic Security stared hard into the center of the sun, which even through this tinted glass blind if engaged long enough. He wondered if Janise had left the AFD, her Sprint on a course that would follow the sun for more than 1,500 kilometers before making a turn toward the north and the underground domain of Dr. Adam Smith. He wondered whether, in her temporary solitude, she would think more about the mission or the man she left behind.
Such sacrifice was admirable, Bryan knew, and it seemed to come so easily to her. He wasn't so certain about himself.
The surrealism of this day did not escape him. He showered, shaved, reported for work, signed a death warrant – all very routine. And then he committed an act of treason. Not his first, but almost certainly his last in the AFD.
He would have to move soon – very soon – to derail the Barbados launch. And yet he was more fascinated by the setting sun, which hung just above the tree line.
He drew upon the cigar – a long, measured puff. He had broken the Dome regs and lit a natural cigar, not one of the odorless, engineered brands.
You can back out, he told himself. You can close the door on all the pain and the anger. Don't lower the windows in the Caribbean grid. Allow their Sprints to be destroyed by air defenses. Post the location of Dr. Smith's underground headquarters to the Pacific Regional Command. End the revolution before it can begin. There will be no nightmare of glory, but at least you will be a hero.
Bryan wondered whether that was the most fitting end to this era of his
life. Was he still the enraged young man with an agenda of vengeance, or had he become all he most despised? What of the hundreds of people he ordered put to death? What of the repressive social policies he helped to enforce? And all in the name of moving into a position of power he could use against the PAC.
He looked out upon the greatest city in the world, and he could not deny the place from which he stood:
Bryan held a measure of power matched by less than one hundred people worldwide. If he stayed the course, if he relished the power, he would replace Sir Jonathan Travert one day.
He drew upon the cigar, but the puff was a short one.
“Matilda?” He asked softly.
“YES, BRYAN?”
“Do you remember the question I asked you this morning?”
“YES, BRYAN.”
“So? Have I changed?”
Matilda was silent for almost five seconds, a surprising hesitation for the LifeSquire. “THE QUESTION IS UNFAIR, BRYAN. I HAVE ONLY YOUR EXTERIOR BEHAVIOR TO EXAMINE, AND THAT IS OF NO CONSEQUENCE IF YOUR MIND AND YOUR HEART ARE OF A DIFFERENT MAN.”
It was, Bryan recognized, the best answer Matilda could possibly have given. He drew upon the cigar, then pressed his Fountain.
“Father,” he whispered, and the face of Professor Mackenzie Drenette smiled back at him, inches from his son's eyes.
The river flows like a torrent, he could hear his father's words echo through his mind. Stand against it, and it will break around you. As others join, the very course of the river will be altered, and soon will you form a dam.
Bryan took a seat before his workstation, turned the swivel toward the magnificent windows, and he closed the cigar between his teeth in the corner of his mouth, and he puffed steadily.
“Matilda, I'd like to hear Chopin. Anything with violins will do.”
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