The question now is … what will we do with the chances and choices that have been handed back to us.…
I blanked the screen.
For every thoughtful news story or commentary, there were probably twenty that were castigating me — for every reason under the sun.
I laughed, harshly. Here I was, using the protections of the law that had frustrated me to keep myself and UniComm from being destroyed. And was I any better or more noble than Deng or TanUy or the others?
After all, they had used their power to avoid being tied to their transgressions. And so had I. What influence and power I had used was also excessive. I’d killed thousands with the power of the word, a handful with the glider and some with my own hands, and because I was a reluctant champion of sorts, so far, at least, the CAs had covered for me, even destroying evidence.
Could I justify it for the causes I pursued?
Partly, but part of it was simply because I wanted to preserve UniComm, for me, for Majora, and for any children we might have … if they had the ability to hold it. I would not follow Father’s steps. One example of a Gerrat was enough.
Yet … all of that … did it really justify my actions?
Half the PST Trust group was either dead, in hiding, or their resources damaged or destroyed, and I still had mainly circumstantial evidence. My brother had been involved, and I still had no idea exactly what Elora had actually done … because she couldn’t have gotten the stakeholders’ meeting without the cooperation of the PST group. Had she double-crossed them, and been killed when they found out? I didn’t know, and I was certainly not likely to find out. The EDA Trust records were silent on that point.
Everything I’d done had been based on incomplete evidence, hints, and no one, not even me, least of all me, was exactly who or what it seemed to be.
How I envied — in a way — the ancients, with their absolute sureties about an uncertain world. With the effort it took to create records, back then there was greater certainty of their existence and accuracy. Anything in any culture could be changed, altered, misrepresented — but the difference was that in our culture there were fewer certainties, fewer footprints left by the misrepresenters, and far less hard evidence.
Or … was I merely glorifying an aspect of the past, creating a certainty that did not exist and never did? Was that because, like all beings, whether norms, pre-selects, or octagonal ravens, that I wanted certainty in a world that seemed to promise less with every passing year?
For the moment, I let those thoughts go, although they would never leave me, and enjoyed Majora’s massage of my tight shoulders, as we waited — arrogant ravens waiting for the storm to bring down even more arrogant eagles.
* * *
Epilogue
* * *
More than a week had passed before Kewood, UniComm, and the world returned to a semblance of what once might have been considered normal. There were still demonstrations in Ankorplex; the Civil Authorities had sent me a nominal fine for operating an unlicensed flitter, and I’d paid the fine and the exorbitant licensing fee; and I hadn’t quite caught up on sleep. But I no longer looked like a refugee from the riots.
Majora and I were sleeping at Mother’s — together. At our ages, and after what we’d been through, nothing else made any sense, and we both needed each other’s comfort.
I was sitting behind the cherry desk at UniComm, waiting for her, so that we could stroll down to the UniComm cafeteria together and partake of rather bland replicated fare, when the gatekeeper chimed, indicating that caller was Seglend Krindottir. What other legal trouble was I now involved in?
“Director Alwyn … the acting secretary director has requested that I make contact with you.” The wide gray eyes were calm, and her voice was level.
“I’m sure he has, Seglend. Which branch of the Federal Union is insisting that I violated something? Or has regional Advocate Fynbek come up with another problem?” I took a deep breath as I saw the irritation on her face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped on you. You had nothing to do with all of this.”
“You’ve been under a great strain, I imagine.” She was still irritated, but less so.
“You might say that,” I admitted. “People have been trying to kill me for months. My house has been destroyed. So has my fiancee’s. About half the world thinks I’m the greatest villain since the Chaos Years, and the other half thinks I’m a hero of sorts, but not the kind they’d want to invite to dinner.” I laughed, gently.
Her eyebrows lifted. “You expected otherwise?”
I understood why Majora liked her; they were very similar in outlook.
“Not rationally, but one hopes.” I paused. “I never let you say why you called.”
“I’ve been appointed review director of the board you recommended. I’m contacting the members.”
“I’m sorry.” That was a condolence and another apology. “Thank you.”
“The acting secretary director is putting before the Federal Union Council a permanent proposed statute to implement the emergency order to outlaw the use of perceptual testing for any use but diagnostics for private individuals and the parents of underage minors. There’s no doubt it will pass overwhelmingly. That should address one of the problems.”
“One,” I conceded. “What about the use of monoclones?”
“Their misuse has always been illegal,” she pointed out. “We may need to look into the oversight mechanism, but the law is sound.”
“Then there’s the underlying question … the use of the PIAT was only a symptom. Do we address the issue that most pre-selects actually are superior, at least in terms of the structure of our current culture?”
“How?” Seglend’s voice was wryly dry.
I laughed once. “I thought you might have some ideas. I’ve thought a lot, and I don’t, except for self-restraint, and that hasn’t worked wonderfully for more than a few generations.”
“I’ve thought about it for years. I don’t, either.” She nodded. “Except self-restraint, and I agree with your conclusion. There is no workable legal solution, certainly.”
I waited.
“By the way, Daryn, Darius Fynbek was killed in the Yunvil riots. He wasn’t that bad a man, just a normal pre-select.”
I managed not to wince. “I didn’t know.” I could have guessed — certainly hoped — that Darius might have suffered from my edited broadcast of his several threats against me.
“You were pretty brutal to him.”
I offered a crooked smile. “Corruption has its own reward.”
“Are you that pure, Daryn?”
“No. I know what I’ve done. Fynbek, TanUy, Deng, St. Cyril, Dymke, Escher — I doubt that a one of them understands what they were doing. Deng called me. He still doesn’t understand. What I did was legal. It was wrong, but I didn’t see any alternative, and I still don’t. That may be my weakness, but doing something before it’s too late is better than doing nothing because it’s not perfectly pure.” My smile got more lopsided. “And I’ve just given you the rationale used by tyrants and reformers through the centuries. But I understand that.”
Seglend nodded slowly. “Best I inform the other board members. You will receive monthly progress reports, and we will meet, probably in VR session to begin with, after each report. Our last meetings, to develop recommendations, should be in person.”
“I agree.”
Then her image was gone.
“Who was that?”
I looked up to see Majora standing in the office doorway.
“Seglend Krindottir. Secretary Director Pynia appointed her as the chief of the survey review board, and she was calling to confirm my appointment.”
“She’s perfect for that.”
“A brilliant norm with a reputation for fairness and hard work.”
“The secretary director seems to be keeping his word.”
“So far,” I said.
The gatekeeper blipped, and again, there was no ID.
“Don’t take it. We’ll never eat. Everyone’s calling you.” Majora’s voice was filled with humor, and I saw the impish grin. “Oh … go ahead.”
Still, I hesitated, then accepted.
The image was that of Elysa — the Elysa I’d met in Tyanjin.
“Hello.” My voice was more than wary. I looked at the holo image closely. For the first time, I could see the age in the eyes set in a youthful face. “Eldyn made you young, didn’t he?”
“I was always vain, Daryn. He appealed to my vanity. I didn’t know how long it would take, or how painful it would be.”
“You’re going back to Hezira, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “As my own granddaughter. He arranged that, too.”
“Is his daughter going with you?”
“Yes. Hezira doesn’t have pre-select technology. She’ll be happier there.”
“I imagine so.” I paused. “I have a few questions. That laboratory building of Eldyn’s that exploded. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“It was where he did his most important research.”
“All his records were there?”
“Daryn … any answer on my part would be a guess.”
Not that much of a guess, since she had to have engineered the explosion. “So … no one will ever be able to prove just how much of the last plague was alien and how much was created by Eldyn?” I emphasized the word “prove” just a bit.
“Proof is very elusive, Daryn, as you have discovered.” After a brief pause, she added, “Brilliant as he was, Daryn, I doubt that Eldyn could have created octagonal pathogens. Not from scratch.”
“But why you?”
“Me?” she asked softly.
“I don’t understand where you come in.”
“I left Hezira when Amad died. I came back to Earth. Check out the name Meryssa Elysa D’bou.” Her fingers touched her lips, and she blew a kiss. “I like you, Daryn. I would have liked you even more sixty years ago. Try to hold on to the goodness.” She was gone, as suddenly as she had entered my life, changing it in ways I never would have expected.
“The mystery lady,” Majora said.
“I’m grateful for her. Without her, I never would have discovered you.”
She offered her incongruously impish smile, then laughed. “That kind of other woman I can deal with. Let’s get something to eat.”
So we did.
The Octagonal Raven Page 48
