A. Warren Merkey

by Far Freedom

  “We’ll begin a search for her,” Commodore Keshona said. “We hoped she would lead the new government.”

  Time, he knew, would eventually distance him from the pain of this moment. Probably neither of them would be allowed to remember any of it. He couldn’t imagine ever again wanting to hear the voice of Commodore Keshona. “I killed my mother.”

  Pan stumbled emerging from the scan chamber after he was winked aboard the Navy flagship. Painful thoughts and blinding after-images interfered with his coordination.

  “Is something wrong?” the Navy Commander inquired.

  Nothing was right! Pan helped Keshona - Demba - annihilate millions of his own people! More than Keshona, those Rhyan soldiers such as Jarwekh and Daidaunkh should seek vengeance upon Pan. This fading vision led to a question: How, exactly, did he help Keshona? The answer crept into his mind as a vague notion of a vast machine, mauled him with its impossibility, and introduced him to yet another person for whose safety he would now be responsible: his brother. He had a brother. And a dead mother, a different dead mother, not the one he thought he remembered.

  Pan walked unsteadily with Admiral Etrhnk down a passageway in the Eclipse. He willed himself to clear his mind for battle. Etrhnk was the enemy.

  Any small word or gesture on his part could doom himself and everyone he knew. He had to respond without knowing how to avoid catastrophe. “My internal landscape just shifted, Admiral. I have no control over when I’m subjected to a new memory.”

  “Why would this be happening to you?” Etrhnk asked.

  “I don’t know.” It was almost a lie. He didn’t know, but he knew there had to be a reason. He and Demba could not have met by accident, could not be suffering similarly by pure coincidence. And the phrases they had spoken to each other he now knew were used when she was Keshona, when he came to offer her the means to destroy the Rhyan Empire. He and his brother had built a machine that made her small task force supremely deadly.

  “You have no theory?” Etrhnk prompted.

  “I would not offer you one in my present state of mind.”

  “I was looking forward to hearing what these memories were.”

  “They often evaporate before I can retain the details, leaving me with only forceful impressions.” Etrhnk waved Pan ahead of him to enter an intraship conveyance. Pan took his time, steadying himself and sitting down. He killed his own mother! She helped him do it: Demba, Ruby Reed. Keshona. She was Keshona! He seemed to have denied the meaning of that fact, excused her - excused himself - from the shame and guilt of what he now saw as a crime.

  Etrhnk sat down facing Pan and the conveyance moved off through the ship. The vehicle canopy opaqued as they entered a tunnel, then cleared when the vehicle crossed above a scenic commons. The Eclipse was a huge ship, a city that sailed among the stars. Admiral Etrhnk was silent for the moment, even though the quiet vehicle afforded him time and privacy for interrogation. Etrhnk watched him with dark and predatory eyes. There was no malice in those eyes, just the promise of relentless pursuit of his prey. Pan had made up his mind that he could not lie about the facts or omit anything about the two Navy officers. But he wouldn’t offer his own interpretation of any facts. And if Etrhnk tried to get at this last eruption of his mind, then he had to resist. It felt like a true memory and one that should never be revealed. It was one reason why Commodore Keshona was legendary, because only he - and perhaps his brother

  knew how Keshona was able to decapitate the Rhyan Empire. The technology must never fall into the hands of a Navy commanded by such people as Etrhnk.

  Pan tried to appear calm and interested in the Navy flagship. He could think of nothing to ask and nothing on which to comment, and so the in-ship journey proceeded silently. The tube car came to a stop at a rather more impressive station. Many Marines, heavily armed yet resplendently dressed, populated the large intersection of passageways. The walls were smooth and curved, their surfaces sectioned in several shades of gray, perhaps designating areas of specialized functions. This was a warship, and Pan knew the construction provided for every extreme situation that might occur, but this part of the ship was very refined in concealing its military functions. Etrhnk led him into a short passageway directly across from the transport terminal and between two of the Marines. The Marines came to attention with a slow and simultaneous precision, every movement choreographed fluidly and ending in precisely rendered salutes. Etrhnk seemed to pay them no attention and did not return the salutes. The end of the passage dematerialized and Pan followed into a room that was white on five sides, black on the sixth, and contained a black wood table and chairs. The one black wall was the black of space, an image screen which showed Earth and its moon floating in the void.

  Pan sat at the table when Etrhnk gestured toward it. The Navy Commander stood for a moment, perhaps tending to some business that came into his shiplink augment. Etrhnk pulled another chair from the dark table and sat down opposite Pan. Pan removed his recording of the African Space Elevator fight and pushed it across the table to Etrhnk. “A recording you will find interesting.” Pan’s heart was running with his emotions.

  “I saw you carried it; however, it was encrypted and the scan could not download it.”

  “The key is three. I thought it should have some security. There is no copy.”

  “Too simple a key for the scan to discover,” Etrhnk commented. “Please tell me what it contains. I’ll view it later.”

  “Two Navy officers. The top floor of the African Space Elevator. They are fighting. Admiral Demba kills Captain Horss.” If Pan expected Etrhnk to have some reaction to his words, he would have been disappointed. He wasn’t disappointed. Etrhnk, an elite Essiin, hid his inner self better than any Essiin Pan had ever known. That Demba could defeat a Navy champion in personal combat should provoke a response great enough to at least cause comment. Etrhnk merely waited for Pan to continue. “There is also a boy,” Pan added.

  “A boy?” Etrhnk did not even raise an eyebrow, but the query was itself a notable response. “As in male child?”

  “His name is Samson. He’s about nine years old. Admiral Demba found him near the space elevator. She and Horss followed him into the pedestal building, where he was seriously injured.” Pan stopped, hoping Etrhnk would ask questions, so that he would not have to volunteer more information than what was asked of him.

  “Continue,” Etrhnk ordered, as though knowing Pan’s strategy.

  Pan related all the facts he knew, including what Horss told him of the Request for Voluntary Reassignment. Pan wanted to ask his own questions but dared not. What would it gain him to know of Etrhnk’s reactions and his real attitude toward Demba? There were no arguments to change the Navy Commander’s judgments. And such information could come at the cost of his own life. If he learned that his life was already a penalty to pay, then Pan would ask some questions. Etrhnk took a long time to think about what Pan told him, and that was his only clue to the importance he gave any of it.

  “Ruby Reed,” Etrhnk said at last, leaning back in his chair and tapping the table, once only, with the image-chip Pan had given him. “Tell me what you remember of her.”

  “I’ve remembered many moments but the details tend to fade rapidly. She was a nice person but she was often sad. She abused alcohol. She had a great talent but no ambition to become rich and famous.”

  “You were emotionally involved with her.” Etrhnk expected Pan to elaborate.

  “I’m sure I was. The feelings are what survive the flashbacks best. I felt very strongly about her. I wanted to protect her. I wanted her to be happy. I sense that I must have failed.”

  “Tell me about Admiral Demba.”

  Pan recounted his two meetings with the admiral, omitting the phrases they had unwillingly spoken in the manner of spies identifying each other. Nor did he mention the mental episode she experienced, proving to Pan that she was also having flashbacks like his.

  “How does Demba relate to the boy?”


  It was a topic Pan did not want to approach. He was sure Demba had an interest in Samson beyond the pure mystery of him. It was a relationship too vulnerable to whatever Etrhnk might do. It was almost as if Samson represented the possible happiness he had always wanted to give to Ruby Reed. Demba seemed to need an emotional lift. She was nearly as emotionless as Etrhnk when he first met her, but now he saw - or imagined - much more in her. “I wouldn’t presume to know, Admiral.”

  “They are together now. At the home of Rafael de LaGuardia. Why?”

  “I sent them there for Rafael’s benefit.”

  “What benefit?”

  “To keep Rafael alive.” Pan waited for the next question, but Etrhnk also waited. “He’s lost interest in living. I thought the admiral and the boy would disturb him enough to change his outlook.”

  “And did it?”

  “It certainly made him draw and paint.” Pan could still see the pencil sketches and the oil portrait of the admiral in his mind and barely suppressed a shudder of awe. He had always regarded Rafael as a truly great artist, but this last portrait made him feel foolish in his amateur judgment of Rafael’s talent. When the rest of humanity saw this work, Rafael would seize his rightful place among the immortals of art.

  “He did well?” Etrhnk probably gained that assumption by every signal of Pan’s body from all the equipment that must be monitoring him.

  Pan nodded. “Demba proved to be an inspiration to him. His portrait of her is beyond comparison. The best he has done. He also made sketches of her and Samson that were extremely evocative. I’m sorry, I should restrain my emotional statements in your presence.”

  “You are also an artist. It is your nature.” He paused to respond silently to a shiplink message. “Dinner is served. Let us eat.”

  Pan was hungry, as he had forgotten to eat lunch. They went to an adjoining room where the dinner was set for them on an antique table under a crystal chandelier. Etrhnk asked him to select a piece of music as background. He almost enjoyed the food, and Etrhnk didn’t mix interrogation with the meal. He suspected Etrhnk used the time to study everything he told him through his data augment. They took glasses of wine back to the stark black and white room and listened to an Essiin composition chosen by Etrhnk. It seemed the Navy Commander was delaying what would come next. Pan was certain he had not exhausted his topics of interest. When Etrhnk resumed, Pan was almost startled. The music stopped.

  ” Your name was Harry.”

  “Yes.”

  “I found that name linked to Ruby Reed. Harry Jones, a very old and common English name. There was another member of the trio - Richard, nicknamed Dick. No biographical data. Stage names, I assume. Do you remember what happened to Harry?”

  “No. I had forgot… Dick…” Another memory assaulted him and confused him. Dick was his brother but there was something wrong in how he remembered him. Then the images flew away, relieving him of their intensity and their threatening content.

  “Another flashback?”

  “Yes.”

  “I had the scan chamber sample you genetically. It appears that Harry was half Rhyan, whoever he was.”

  “Yes.” Pan felt his heart sink and send its signal to every detector in the room. “I also have Essiin and Earthian blood.”

  “Have you remembered anything about your parents?”

  “Yes. My mother. She died in Keshona’s attack.”

  “If you are Harry, you are old enough to have had at least one full rejuvenation. By a Mnro Clinic. Do you see the implication?”

  “The Mnro Clinic record - and my Citizen Record - must be in error.”

  “I think the Mnro Clinic has sampled your identity enough times to have your record correct.”

  “The director of the Earth Mnro Clinic is an insistent friend,” Pan responded, now even more worried about Sugai Mai. “I’m often checked even when I don’t see the need.”

  “In between the time of Ruby Reed and Harry Jones and your current traceable history lies the Rhyan War. A blank spot, except you remember your mother died in the Massacre. Is that all you remember?”

  “I was in the war. That is what my latest memories involve.”

  “In what capacity?”

  “Those are memories I won’t describe for you.”

  “You disappoint me.”

  “I knew I would.”

  “You were Rhyan military?”

  Pan took a long sip of his wine and set the glass down. “Thank you for dinner, Admiral.”

  Section 014 Collateral Death

  “It’s over. The shadow government has accepted our terms.” He stood at a glass window that gave a view of an arid rural vista. He didn’t respond. She knew something was wrong. She knew everything was wrong. “Where is your mother?” He handed her a plastic card. She knew what it was and what it meant. Helplessly, she asked the questions that would verify and finalize tragedy. “This is her transponder. She isn’t here? She left her transponder here and went somewhere ? ” He nodded. He wouldn ‘t look at her. She couldn ‘t see his face, and that was probably best. The military procedure was quite distant and abstract, until now. “When? Not before the procedure, I hope.”

  He cleared his throat. When he spoke he sounded resigned, but no less grief-stricken. “I told her what I thought would happen, the last time I saw her. She was appalled. Even though she felt the need of it, I don’t think she could justify any loss of life. We discussed the ethics of it for a long time. Finally I told her the mismanagement of the Rhyan Empire wasn’t the most important threat to the Union. We were, in effect, unwilling instruments of that threat. And we would proceed at any cost and at any risk.”

  She turned away from him, spoke to the empty room in the house where he was a child. It was strange that she felt nothing, yet she knew what she should feel. “What greater threat? I’ve never understood your reference. She left the transponder here, so that you would think her safe at home?”

  “I suspect she was with that largest group of nobility. My mother probably tried to arrange their meeting in the isolated estate in order to minimize the loss of life. I suspect she intended to die with them, rather than live with the guilt of killing anyone.”

  It mattered greatly to her that this young man should know how wrong she felt all of this was. She knew it would forever poison their relationship. Fortunately, neither of them would be allowed to remember any of this. “We’ll begin a search for her. We hoped she would lead the new government.”

  “I killed my mother,” he said.

  She closed her eyes and willed the years to pass.

  She blinked. The light of another day went dark. The light of the studio entered her eyes. Rafael still sat on a stool surrounded by his paintings and sculpture. The Rhyan who took Samson in the morning still stood behind Rafael. Time restarted.

  “My God!” Rafael exclaimed. “How can you still sing so well!”

  Fidelity didn’t understand Rafael’s words, not hearing them above the clamor of her thoughts: her reaction to the flashback she just had. Was it a real memory that belonged to her, that spoke a truth of her past? She didn’t want to believe it but it, like the other visions, contained a pain that seemed to fit her, like a well-earned punishment. She felt agony and grief to discover who she had been. It was not a total surprise, for she had some warning of the possibility from a source she had ignored. She took several moments to gather herself together, then managed to speak. “Good evening, Jarwekh.”

  “Good evening, Admiral Demba,” Jarwekh rumbled.

  Rafael turned around to see the big Rhyan. “Jarwekh. Isn’t Pan with you?”

  “He didn’t come. He was invited to dinner. I believe he’s aboard the Navy flagship.”

  “Etrhnk is here.” So soon would she be held to account for her sin against the Navy Commander. So soon would she lose Samson.

  “That is my understanding,” Jarwekh said. “I saw Pan’s communications log.” She knew the Rhyan was a deputy for Pan and had access to
his dwelling.

  “And Captain Horss?” she asked.

  “He remains at the residence. He doesn’t know I’m here.”

  “Why are you here?” She asked the question because she was impatient. Jarwekh seemed in no hurry to do what she guessed he might do. She had seen the tattoos on his arms, knew he was in the Rhyan military at the time of the war. He had been a member of an elite unit serving the royal families, a unit that was almost totally destroyed in what the Rhyans called the Massacre.

  “There was a question I wanted to ask,” he replied in his deep voice.

  She knew what the question would be. What perfect timing, that her memory of Pan and the death of his mother had just assaulted her, proving beyond doubt that the steel person within her was Keshona, murderer of millions of Rhyans. A moment of silence extended to more silent moments, without Jarwekh continuing. “You want to know if I am Keshona.” She was puzzled and irritated that he couldn’t bring forth what must be of unique importance to him. They stared at each other. It seemed unfair that she must inherit this burden of a crime she committed as another person. Curiously, the big Rhyan still didn’t set off alarms in her defense system.

  “Why would he ask that question?” Rafael wondered, a troubled surprise on his wrinkled face.

  “How would you anticipate such a question?” Jarwekh asked. “Unless…”

  “Apparently I bear some resemblance to the commodore,” Fidelity said, “even though official images of her no longer exist. There are a few young female Navy officers who identify me as Keshona, perhaps for the purpose of finding meaning in otherwise boring lives. They often visited Archives to catch a glimpse of me. It was annoying. As to why Jarwekh asks the question - it’s the duty of every surviving Rhyan soldier to seek vengeance upon the person who killed so many of their people. I believe they always carry a picture of Keshona with them.”

  “Let me see it!” Rafael demanded.

  “I no longer carry it,” Jarwekh said. “I thought I remembered her features.”