“I know that now.” He looks at me. “I tried to apologize to you. The second movement was for you. I created it for you.”
I sigh. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”
He looks up at me hopefully, “You liked it?”
I was entranced by it. I was devastated, opened, made new by its beauty and my part in its creation. I can’t say this. I say instead, “It is worthy of the first Mozart.”
Mozart smiles. “Father?” He looks back at the harpsichord, “He isn’t really my father, but I think of him so. I need to think of him so. My life is very strange. I’ve done what the directors of Vienna Station intended that I do. But I’m not simply a music-machine. You’re aware of how I was created?”
I shrug. “They used some sort of experimental genetic recovery process?”
He nods, “That’s true as far is it goes, but I am much more than they intended me to be, just as father was more than anyone In the Eighteenth Century suspected.”
I look at him. “You said that you were afraid I was working against you. Working for whom? Why?”
Mozart rose. “Will you take a short walk with me? It will be easier to show you than to just explain.”
I say, “Lead on.”
We walk in silence up the path I descended before.
CEO Frederick stares at a holo-projection in the middle of the board room annex. His face is impassive, though he is sweating slightly. He glances at Director Lola, who is sitting in an armchair some distance away. He says, “The girl is with him now.”
Lola shrugs. “So?”
Frederick looks back at the projection. “We didn’t expect her to go to him so soon.”
“So?”
Frederick’s moon-like face clenches with impatience. “Alex did not speak with her.”
Lola reaches for a martini glass on a floating tray beside her chair. “It doesn’t matter. She can be of use to us passively, perhaps more so than if we’d recruited her, as long as she spends a lot of time with our impulsive composer.”
Frederick sighs. “I don’t like surprises. Operation Two Birds must proceed with no interference from Mozart.”
Lola sips her drink. “It will.” She smiles cruelly. “He’s in love. Nothing could be more disabling.”
Mozart is silent as he leads me down a winding corridor. He opens a hatch at the corridor’s end and brilliant, white light floods the deck at our feet. He motions for me to precede him. I step through the hatch into a wide room containing many gleaming machines. Its far wall is transparent.
Mozart joins me and I ask him, “Why have you brought me here?”
He smiles. “I had five brothers. I’d like you to meet one of them.”
“But this is a lab.”
He nods, “Of course it is. This,” he spreads his hands indicating a bewildering array of machines connected by wires and glittering tubes, “is Genuflect’s main facility on Vienna Station.”
I nod. “Well, where is your brother?”
“This way.”
We walk toward the transparent wall. Mozart continues speaking as we walk, “The directors of Vienna Station were unwilling to risk their investment on only one life. Five embryos were created. Five babies were grown.”
“Where are they now?”
Mozart stops, turns, spreads his hands and grins. “I am here!”
I smile. I can’t help myself. He turns back to the transparent wall. “Two of my older brothers died during forced maturation. It is a dangerous process. Hormonal therapies speed growth. Psych matrices along with drug-enhanced states of consciousness speed learning.”
“You have two living brothers?” I ask.
“Yes,” he nods. “Two. The maturation process damaged them both. Johann is here.” He points at the transparent wall.
I notice for the first time that a young man is huddled in the far corner of the adjacent room. He wears a station coverall and clutches a blue pillow to his chest. He hides his face in the pillow. Mozart calls, “Johann? Johann? I have someone for you to meet.”
Johann raises his head and Mozart’s face stares at me. Johann’s gaze, however, becomes frantic, fearful. He claws at the walls to either side. Blood springs from his already broken fingernails. He whimpers in terror.
Mozart motions for me to step back. He says, “It’s all right, Johann. She’s leaving. She’s leaving.”
I step behind one of the larger machines. Mozart continues, “It’s only me, now, Johann. Only me.” Johann subsides. Tears still course down his cheeks, but his lips hint at a smile. Mozart smiles at him. “I’ll leave a chocolate in the tray for you. I’ve got to go now, but I’ll come back later.” He places a chocolate in a rotating drawer and pushes it so that the chocolate is within the sealed room. Johann stares at it but does not move. Mozart retreats to my side. We stand silently for several moments.
At last, I ask, “Is he always so frightened.”
Mozart nods. “Most of the time. He is extremely vulnerable. His mind spins endless possibilities from every tiny bit of information he receives. Many of these possibilities terrify him. Sometimes he is relaxed with me, lucid even and able to do creative work. He helped me with the orchestration of the concerto.”
“Will he get better?”
Mozart looks down, folds his hands. “I hope so, in time. With care.”
“You said you have another brother?”
Mozart looks up. “Yes, Felix. Felix suffered extreme physical deformation during the maturation process, but his mind is sound.”
I look around the lab. “Where is he?”
Mozart smiles. “Not here. He’s in space.”
“Space?”
“Yes, his mind, a very able mind, is linked to a nest of super computers and an extensive industrial facility in the asteroid belt between Jupiter and Mars. He supervises the combined extractive industries of all the orbital stations. It is a very responsible position.”
My eyebrows go up. “Let me get this straight. Beck, Osama, Vienna and the others cooperate on mining the asteroids?”
Mozart shrugs. “Why not? Whatever their differences, they all like money.”
Alex follows Kelly into the practice room. Kelly touches a screen and her holo-violin becomes a plastic and steel contraption. She drops it on a counter. It lands with a clatter. She loosens her bow. Alex approaches her, leans close and speaks softly, “There’s a good deal of money in this for you.”
Kelly inspects her bow and says nothing.
Alex continues, “A very great deal.”
Kelly looks at him. “You want me to betray a friend and colleague for money?”
Alex smiles. “Not betray. Never betray. Simply give her a small gift, one provided by me. Perhaps in celebration of the concert’s success?”
Kelly says nothing.
Alex looks down. “No spying. No further action of any kind. Simply perform one small favor for me.”
Kelly looks away. After a moment, she asks, “How much?”
Mozart leads me through a narrow hatch into darkness. He reassures me, “Come right ahead. It’s okay. The deck is flat and unobstructed.”
I step ahead, though the darkness is absolute. “What is this place?” I ask.
“Next to the mountain habitat, it’s my favorite on the Station. Ready?”
“Ready? Ready for what?”
He chuckles. “Ready for me to open the window?”
“Sure,” I reply doubtfully.
He chuckles again. I hear a faint hum from above. Then the darkness is gone.
Mozart says, “This observation deck is unique, I believe, among all the stations.”
I say nothing. I can’t. I’m speechless. Imagine being inside of a giant’s eye and then having the lids of that eye open to reveal fields of burning jewels, stars. Mozart takes my hand and pulls me forward.
He says, “It is a bit overwhelming at first. I dialed the magnification back to 200% for your first time.”
“Thanks,” I manage to ga
sp.
We stand for an unmeasured time and experience infinite vistas of light. At last, he speaks again. “I’m the youngest, you know.”
I swallow. “The youngest?”
He nods. “The youngest brother.”
“How old are you?”
“Technically, I’m twenty-three. By the calendar, I’m ten.”
I drop his hand. “Ten!”
“Yes.”
I take a deep breath. “Ten.”
Mozart peeks at me sideways. “You liked my concerto?”
“Yes, I liked it.”
“Nothing more? What did you think of it? Honestly?”
I take another deep breath and look at him. “Your concerto was the greatest, most beautiful work I’ve performed.”
He smiles. “Thank you. I’ll have to write down the piano part when I have time.”
I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. I speak carefully. “You haven’t written the part yet?”
Mozart shrugs. “I knew basically what I wished to do, but I wanted to leave myself free to improvise. You played so beautifully! It turned out better than I had imagined.”
I shake my head in wonder and say nothing.
He continues, “I wanted it to be a gift to you, an apology for the way I treated you.”
I smile at him. “Apology accepted.” I take his hand. “Have you ever been kissed by a cellist before?”
Mozart grins. “What kind of question is that to ask a ten year old boy?”
Our lips touch.
A face exactly like Mozart’s, though pale and shrunken, peers intently at a view screen. It is Felix. His wasted body is immobile and attached to many tubes. Sensors and instruments surround him. Suddenly, he smiles.
A woman’s voice, soft and rich, reverberates through his cockpit. “You’ve done very well. All is ready. “Felix’s face brightens with angelic joy. The voice continues, “Soon, a few days at most, you will save your brother from the monsters on Earth, save us all. Be patient, dear. Be patient.”
Felix nods to himself.
I stretch and push a yellow comforter away from my eyes. The room, wood-paneled and full of rustic furniture, looks as though it belongs in a mountain lodge. Various instruments lean against walls and rest on chairs. Sheets of music and books are scattered on the floor. A fire burns vigorously in the vast, fieldstone fireplace. I yawn.
“Want another sticky bun?”
I look over my shoulder. Mozart is standing beside the bed holding two steaming cups. “Is that some sort of joke?”
His eyes are clear as water, his face an innocent lily. “I never joke about sticky buns.”
I move my leg beneath the covers. “I noticed.” I turn toward him. He offers a cup. I accept it. I sip coffee. “Good!”
He sits on the edge of the bed. “How could it not be good here?”
I sip again and look at him. “You apologized to me. You never explained why you did what you did.”
He smiles at me. “Someone distracted me with a kiss.”
I smile. “I’ll restrain myself now.”
He shrugs. “Too bad.”
I persist. “Really, you must have had a reason for treating me as you did.”
He nods. “I did.” He looks at me. “I do.” He sets the cup down on a side table. “This room,” he motions to the paneled walls, “is my retreat. It is secure from any possible monitoring. Only I,” he smiles, “and now you, ever come here.”
“You fear spies?” I ask.
“I do. I have secrets. I know things I’m not supposed to know.” He looks at me. “I had to determine whether or not you’d been sent to discover them.”
I shake my head. “I’m no spy.”
He nods, “I know that. Now.” He rises, walks to the fireplace, turns. “Also, I need your help.”
I snort. “You could have asked.”
“I am asking. Dru, will you help me?”
“With what?”
He looks at me for a long moment. “I need you to help me prevent a genocide, a genocide preceded by a mass murder.”
CEO Frederick holds a fat cigar. He studies it carefully. Finally, he holds it beneath his nose and sniffs its aroma.
Lola, again sitting in her chair, asks, “You aren’t going to light that thing in here, are you?”
Frederick looks up. “Alas, no. Part of enjoying a good cigar is anticipation, you see.” He returns the cigar to a humidor on the table beside him. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Our agent is prepared to act?”
Lola nods. “He’s ready.”
“The packages are in place?”
“They will be in position a few days from now.”
Frederick rubs his hands together and steps lightly to a computer screen. He says, “I’m sure that Mozart is aware of our plans.”
Lola chuckles. “How could he be? You’re paranoid.”
“Still, I feel that something is amiss.
Lola shrugs. “Alex says he will soon have access to Mozart’s rooms. That should ease your doubts.”
Frederick nods. “Perhaps. We should also have emergency response plans in place in case he does know what we intend.”
Lola shakes her head. “Go ahead, if it makes you feel better.”
Mozart picks up a real violin, a Guarneri. “Poor Earth is bloated with people, passions and poisons. It staggers along from crisis to crisis. Food production is at maximum levels now. Should some small part of its incredibly complex infrastructure fail?” He plucks a string.
I shake my head impatiently. “I grew up In L.A. I saw the Figueroa riots up close. More than 8,000 died.
Mozart looks at me. “I know your background. It is one of the reasons you were chosen for the orchestra.”
I am exasperated now. “You chose me for reasons other than my playing?”
“Yes, though your musical competence is faultless, I also admired your determination. You rose above the very mean streets where you were born. I needed a further test, however.”
“Why?”
“You are too perfect.”
“Too perfect?”
Mozart nods. “I need the help of an excellent musician from L.A. You are made to order for my need. You could have been a plant.”
My head is spinning. I ask, “Cut to the chase! Why do you need me?”
He sighs. “That is a complicated question.”
I settle back against the pillows. “I’ve got time.”
He carefully lays the violin on a cabinet. “Yes, well Earth is as you know it to be. The Stations up here are now the source of wealth and power. They range from Glenn Beck and Osama bin Laden—both isolated but with close ties to groups on Earth—to Espiritu and Mandela—both independent and open to settlement for all who meet their requirements. Then there are the cruise ship stations: Mountain High, Rio, and Vienna, all of whose governing bodies slavishly court tourism. The stations differ greatly in focus and purpose. However, all are alike in that they share the enormous prosperity derived from space-generated wealth. They cooperate in mutual defense and in exploitation of new resources.”
“What does all this have to do with me being from L.A.?”
Mozart walks to the bed and sits beside me. “The directors of Vienna Station want a bigger piece of the pie. Perhaps they want the whole pie.”
I look at him. “What do you mean.”
“I have information that indicates they intend to destroy the current power and revenue sharing arrangement. Further, they plan to seize actual control of Earth, as well.”
I nod. “I’m listening.”
He takes a deep breath. “Their plan will is to kill thousands here in space and millions more on Earth. My brother Felix is the key element in their plan. They will create chaos and blame others for it when they take control.”
“When?”
“A few days from now, perhaps a week.”
I think for several moments. “You want me to help you stop them?”
“Yes.”
“Felix?” The woman’s gentle, caring voice sounds in Felix’s ear, awakens him from the lightest sleep. His eyes open. He stares out of his one wrap-around window on the vast complex of machinery he controls. “Felix?” the voice repeats.
Felix answers, “Here.”
“Felix, it’s time. Activate the probe.”
“It’s really time?”
“Yes. Activate all systems.”
A smile twitches across Felix’s pale lips. “Roger. Activate all systems.”
We walk down the forest path toward the stream. Mozart has been silent for most of our return to the habitat. I touch his hand.
“You haven’t explained exactly what the danger is.”
He turns. “I wanted to get back here before I offered details.”
“Why?”
“Our conversations must remain private.”
“How can you manage that with all of the station’s surveillance equipment?’
He smiles. “I’m good with sound.”
I chuckle. “I’ll concede that.”
He looks up. “Also with electronics. I have a personal unit. It’s okay while we’re moving. This place is doubly screened.” We reach a bench by the stream. He offers me a seat. We sit. The sound of water bubbling over and around small stones enfolds us. Mozart adds, “And the stream is an additional screen.”
I look at him. “So go ahead and tell me what the danger is, what you want me to do.”
Mozart folds his hands in his lap and stares at the moving water. At last, he says, “The Directors intend to cause two disasters. The first is a distraction. You know that clusters of asteroid fragments are propelled toward the moon’s processing plants several times each month?”
“Yes.”
“The next cluster will be launched in three days. It will come here.”
I swallow. “The stations will be destroyed.”
Mozart shrugs. “Just one or two. I’ve learned that Osama and Mandela are the intended targets for the kinetic event.”
“That’s monstrous.”
“Yes, and it need not succeed. There are defensive missiles. They might deflect most of the fragments, though even a near miss would cause havoc among all the stations. That would allow the main attack to take place.”
Vienna Station Page 3
