by Greg Bear
“I don’t know how much more honeymoon I can take.”
“Strong woman. You’ll survive.”
Thirty
Bayley’s Ochoneuf; Lament; Potter’s Field; Santa Tsubaraya; Death’s Vineyard; Iolanthe; Ithaca; Orb Vecchio; Orb Nuova; Star’s Lee; Phoenix; Sleep; Catter Van Sees; Angel Rookery; Dirac; Farther; Old Mao; Quantico; Perspect; Black Pool; Plurabelle; Gautama; Gift-of-Isis; God-Does-Battle; Veronike…
God-Does-Battle was being terraformed; city builder Robert Kahn was designing palatial organic cities for the Judaeo-Christians and Moslems who had contracted the world, determined to bring heaven down to solid ground, far from the unfaithful.
Dirac was a bleak world, circling a supernovaed star at one end of the Pafloshwa Rift. Anna picked up a chunk of silicon doped with five superheavy elements, which she later turned into several pieces of jewelry.
On Sleep, a thickly misted world renowned for its floating forests, they swam in the living Omphalos Sea, letting the oils of the hundred-kilometer creature soak into their skins, and the hallucinogenic pollen carry them into dreams.
On Gift-of-Isis they watched a sunrise from the tallest volcano in the Galaxy. It was a triple sunrise, on cue, which happens once in a millennium.
On Plurabelle, a world of twenty thousand rivers, they journeyed for a week up and down tributaries, through tortuous canyons etched from rock, breathing oxygen generated at a terraforming station at Ninety North.
None of them were satisfactory to Kawashita. They were beautiful, soothing, even heavenly—but on none of them could be find any trace of what he was looking for.
The kami had never been to them, had never left their mark.
There was only one place he could go.
Thirty-One
The Perfidisian planet hadn’t changed appreciably. Weather patterns were more regular, the air was thicker from the outgassing of fresh volcanic vents in the southern hemisphere, and clouds were more obvious.
“You’re sure,” Anna said, half inquiring.
“I’m sure.”
“Back to the scene of the crime.”
“Back to quiet.”
“The dome is still there. We can outfit it with a suitable environment, build a good home. Stay for a few years.”
Kawashita took her hand and pressed it softly. “You sound tired.”
“A little. I’ll relax for a while—it’s your game now.”
“What will DiNova do?”
“He’ll stand in my place. He’s disgusted, but he’ll do it. Two years shot to hell—for him—already, a few more won’t bother him appreciably. My empire is large enough to go on for a long time without me. It may not grow as fast, or do as many spectacular things, but it’ll survive. And should someone sweep it out from under me, I can build it back in twenty or thirty years.”
“You sound willing to try it.”
“A challenge is a challenge. But if I thought there was much chance of it happening. I wouldn’t be here now.” She lay down in front of him in the observation sphere. “I’m enjoying my own soul-searching. I don’t worry about being another Donatien anymore—I don’t use the sleep inducers as much. I see people more clearly. You’ve taught me a lot.”
“It was there before I came,” Kawashita said. “It will remain after I’m gone.”
Anna frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
“I won’t choose any more life than I’m due.”
“You’re going to abstain?”
He nodded. “There’s still plenty of time left, but when it’s over, I see no reason to continue my long-running show.”
“I’m not sure I even know what it means to grow old and die,” Anna said. “I’d hate to make a decision, not knowing.”
“Growing old and dying isn’t difficult. It’s knowing there’s no choice in the matter that’s hard. A choice has been given to me, by men I’ll never have a chance to thank…and I politely turn it down.”
Anna held out a hand to encompass stars. “How long will we live together, then?”
“As long as we can. We haven’t killed each other yet.”
“Any other man, I think I’d fight with him at least once a week. Bad fights, nasty. But you take fights out of me. DiNova doesn’t think that’s good. The mellowing of Anna Nestor—bad for business. But having more control should console him.”
“You trust him?”
“I trust no one, Husband—save you, and even there I have an intellectual byway set aside for doubts. You know that.”
“I don’t ask trust,” Kawashita said. “Only your presence when I wish to touch someone warm. Speak to someone intelligent. Be silent with someone I love.”
Anna looked down at the Perfidisian planet. “I think everything we need for the dome is on the Peloros. How elegant should it be?”
“Simple, comfortable.”
“Are we going back to nature?”
“Perhaps for a hobby. A sun under the dome—we can renovate the soil, which is probably pure minerals now—recirculate the water, and draw what more we need from artesian sources. We’ll do well.”
“I think so,” Anna said. “Time to read, plan, create little things.” She mock-grimaced. “I might go crazy, all that tranquility.”
“You might.”
“But probably not.”
Kawashita grinned and bowed as best he could in freefall. “We’ll see.”
Thirty-Two
Elvox saw the old Aighor ship and visibly flinched. The pursuit ship’s first mate looked aside from their instruments and raised an eyebrow.
“Dead stop to us, sir,” he said.
Elvox nodded. “I know the ship.”
“Yessir—Third Aighor, isn’t it?”
“I know who owns it. Run a check on Alae and Oomalo Waunter and see if they’re in the employ of anyone we know.”
It was their duty to keep a watch on the ships that tried to illegally enter the Ring Stars area. United Stars was trying to keep the area closed, with the cooperation of Dallat and Hafkan Bestmerit, until everyone was satisfied there was nothing important to find. The Waunters’ ship had almost made it through the thinly spread sensor nets.
They hadn’t tried to run once spotted and hailed. Now Elvox’s pursuit ship was closing rapidly, like a flea near a dog.
“Their equipment answers for them, sir,” said the duty watch officer. “They won’t speak personally. They accept a boarding request.”
“Any explanation about what they’re doing here?”
“No, sir, but it’s implied. They’re down and out. Most of the independents trying to break through are indigent.”
Elvox nodded. He had almost managed to forget. Now it was all coming back. He had spent a year’s lonely, dull duty overseeing experiments on Precipice 5, trying to redeem himself after the Perfidisian fiasco; he had succeeded and was now working his way through ranks, almost back to where he had started. There had been no overt disapproval—just the unexplained passovers for promotion.
“Find the best entrance, and have Davis dial an appropriate fitting. We’ll board after sanitation checks.”
“Yessir,” the first mate said.
Elvox went to the research room to prepare a brief on the boarding. They’d have to search the ship from end to end. That would take a couple of days, with officers stationed on the ship until they were cleared—if they were cleared. Usually the independents found nothing of value.
He wondered why the Waunters were desperate, if they were. His old twinge of guilt returned. He could be responsible—
“We’ve got a fitting, sir. Edging up,” the first mate reported.
The interior of the old ship was in good condition. Unlike many independents, the Waunters had kept their vessel in repair. There were no unusual microorganisms to deal with.
Elv
ox’s team of three, including himself, boarded five hours after linking. They crossed a narrow bridge over the sea-tanks, following their charts and the scant directions given by computer voices, and headed toward the forward living quarters.
“I’ve seen old Aighor ships in projections,” the first mate said, “but this is something else.”
“They’re impressive,” Elvox said tersely.
The Waunters waited for them on the bridge, standing by human-form chairs, dressed in formal attire. Elvox deployed his men to begin the search.
“We regret you’ve inadvertently entered forbidden space,” he said, following the polite ritual. “United Stars will reimburse you for any inconvenience. This action is sanctioned by the Centrum.”
Oomalo Waunter nodded and smiled wanly.
“You’re the officer that was on our planet,” Alae said, looking him over coldly.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Have things gone well for you since?” she asked.
“Well enough.”
“Not so well for us.” She shrugged. “That was a turning point, Now we free-lance listen, survey. No commissions. But we have enough to listen comfortably for a couple of centuries.”
Elvox didn’t contradict her.
“Something will show up,” she finished, turning away from him.
He kept his silence, though the pressure was building up. He conducted his men through the first day of examination, then slept aboard the linked pursuit ship.
The next morning he talked to Oomalo.
“I don’t think you’re doing as well as your wife says.”
“Well enough,” Waunter said, his voice neither denying or assenting.
“This ship’s an archaeological curiosity, you know. You could sell her and settle on a comfortable estate someplace, perhaps even Myriadne.”
“I’m not through cataloging and investigating. Lots of research left to do. Besides, Alae prefers the employment. We’d go insane on a planet.”
“You’ve heard about Nestor and Kawashita,” Elvox said, his voice faltering.
“No,” Waunter said. “Don’t pay attention to communications if they don’t concern business.”
Elvox nodded. The next day’s examination turned up nothing, and everything but the most difficult recesses were checked. Elvox decided he trusted the Waunters.
“I feel a certain camaraderie with them,” he told the first mate. “I think they’re honest enough we can take them at their word.”
“Sir, we were told to scrub any suspicious ship until it gleamed—”
“That’s not always practical. Let’s clear her and send them on their way.”
The young officer nodded reluctantly. Something had changed in the CO since they’d seen the Aighor ship, but he couldn’t say exactly what. A loss of impetus, perhaps.
Elvox went aboard the old ship for one last time to tell the Waunters they’d be free soon. He sat next to them in the human-form chairs on the alien bridge, watching the ancient lights gleam steadily, folding and unfolding his hands.
“I have something of a confession to make,” he said. “I lost an important part of me on the Perfidisian planet. My self-respect. I didn’t tell you something which I thought could be important.”
Alae looked at him without apparent interest, but Oomalo smiled his old, wan smile. “Yes?”
“Nestor and Kawashita, they’re married now. Living on the planet, in the dome. You know I was involved with her for a while.”
Alae made no move, but Oomalo nodded.
“Her—their—marriage shook me considerably. Until I figured out their motivation.”
“You mean, why she didn’t go with you.”
“No…not exactly.” He tried to find the right way to say what he needed to say. Confession was such an awkward, painful means. “I spent a year working off the mistakes I made on that planet. Very unpleasant duty. I had a lot of time to think.”
Alae stared at the green bulkhead to her left, blinking.
“They fooled all of us,” Elvox said. “And the Centrum.”
“We’re very tired,” Alae said. “Finish your check and let us go.”
“You don’t seem to be catching what I’m saying. They must have found something on the planet, something they don’t want anyone to know about yet. Especially you.”
When Alae looked at him this time, her eyes were steady and frozen gray. “We don’t care about that anymore. Our luck has run out. We didn’t even want to come here, but there was nothing left. Leave us be.”
“They had an orgy, you know, after they were married. They went to two dozen planets, trying to find something for the Japanese. He never could find it. It was like they were trying to waste time until they felt more comfortable about doing whatever they planned to do. Or perhaps they were running away from themselves, until they got their courage back again.”
“You are saying she would never have preferred him over you,” Oomalo said, still smiling. “Unless she was well motivated.”
“No,” Elvox said, lying. “I don’t care about that now. Don’t you even want to claim what’s due to you?”
“Nothing’s due,” Oomalo said. “Go, please.”
“Everything’s due!” Elvox said loudly. Oomalo frowned at his tone of voice.
“Your men have finished the inspection. They have no more business here.”
“She married the Japanese to control him because she found something valuable. Together they conspired to keep it a secret so you wouldn’t get your share. They want it all. And if she’s willing to be secretive over so small a share, it must be a huge find—monumental. Enough to make even ten percent—”
“I don’t ever want to see that planet again,” Alae said softly. “I don’t ever want to see these stars again. We’re leaving now. Nothing but disappointment for five years. We don’t need any more.”
“What are you talking about?” Oomalo asked, as if coming out of a trance. “When did they marry?”
“Just after the decision. Do you know that you get everything if you prove they’re holding out on you? Everything! The whole world, and all rights to what they’ve found.”
“That planet was searched from pole to pole. There wasn’t anything on it.”
“How do we know that? The Perfidisians were obviously far advanced from us—how do we know what covering devices they might have used? I think Nestor stumbled on something important. If you don’t look into it, you’re insane.”
Oomalo assumed the same level, burnt-out gaze as Alae. “Go,” he said. “Take your crew and go.”
Elvox was shaking when he left the ship. He was also smiling, though he didn’t know it. He was too mad to talk to anyone for several minutes, but he’d just let an ugly monster off his back, something he’d carried for years. Now it was on somebody else.
It made him feel fine when he thought about it afterward. The injustice had been revealed to those who could do something about it. The Waunters had the legal right to call for an investigation. They could subpoena all of Nestor’s records. It would cause her so much trouble, and he would be behind it all.
The ships separated.
Thirty-Three
Record of Yoshio Kawashita.
Building our house. A sun hangs at the upper center of our dome. The powdery hills carry grass and bushes and trees again—real this time. Rain falls at unpredictable intervals. The air is cool, vivid, changeable. Anna designs the rooms, which will be made in the Japanese style of my day. I study all that is known about nonhuman beings. We have purchased a huge library of select source material for my work. Here, I can feel the weight of my past lives, and the eyes of those who watched me, every instant, who watched all I did, and recorded it perhaps, and studied me as I now try to study them. Anna maintains they were not Gods—not even kami—but I wait for my own c
onclusions.
The dome is broad enough to have its own kind of weather, a playfulness which contradicts the environment machines. We may, if we wish, have a few animals—birds, insects. They wait to be cloned or grown from eggs. A luxury of terrestrial life waits in one box, more than we could ever need, but most human colonies have such a box, Anna says. It’s the germ plasm of Earth, insured against loss by its presence on thousands of worlds. Perhaps we’ll find such a box from another world, left behind by beings long dead. This world? No. I think not! (Laughter.) That would be too much to hope for. But elsewhere.
I take walks outside the dome at least once a week, surveying the plains but mostly looking and trying to feel for the missing things. At one time there must have been buildings, streets, perhaps vehicles—and Perfidisians. Sometimes Anna goes with me. We have a small cart which we use for longer trips, and a larger one which hasn’t been used yet. In time we will cover a fair portion of the planet, place instruments at various points, and study its long-term behavior. Anna thinks we’ll find very little of interest. She’s probably right. But it serves as a distraction while I work on other problems.
Reading histories of many races and beings now, starting with my own kind. Aighor literature—most of the works that have been translated—Crocerian saga-histories. With electronic amplification, I can read a book of a hundred thousand words in twenty minutes, from a tapas. Still not fast enough. My head swims with dissociated facts. Lifetimes to process them all! So I am more selective now. I go back to source documents, earliest records, experience tapas when possible.
Of great interest at the moment is the period of first contacts, when two species acknowledged awareness of each other and began to set up relationships. For humans most such contacts occurred between 2035 and 2145. The politics and cultural changes of this period are fascinating.
Each day my love for Anna grows. She is still strong, independent, but we touch whenever we can. She enjoys being stroked, like a cat. She feels some embarrassment about this, but it comes so naturally the embarrassment is an afterthought. Sometimes she will try to avoid contact, but we always come together again to touch, compare our thoughts, reenergize. All of my past life is like a shadow compared to this. Memento mori—it cannot go on! Not forever. What will we feel when one or the other is gone? Unimaginable.
