by Kage Baker
The moment is so powerful he can hear, somewhere, the staccato beat of a dance, or it may be his own blood pounding in his ears. “After all this time,” he murmurs.
“Isn’t it fabulous?” she says proudly. “Let’s go show the others.”
“No—” Nicholas seizes her by the shoulders to prevent her from leaving.
“Why not?” At the touch of her, his memories are overwhelming him. She senses what he is feeling and looks up at him in surprise. Her eyes are wide, her lips parted. Young. Is she even eighteen yet? The dance music is louder now. Base viols, trumpets, drums! Bewildered, all she can manage to say is: “A-are you wearing Edward’s cologne?”
Before he quite knows what he’s doing Nicholas has leaned down to kiss her, as he kissed the girl in the garden long ago. And with that kiss, just as though it were a story, Nicholas comes into his power, and knows his strength.
She is aware of the music now, too, she hears the beat summoning, the melody beginning. He lifts his mouth and stares down into her eyes. “The corn has ripened in its time, Rose,” he says. “Wilt thou dance a measure with me?”
“Yes,” she says, and laughs. “Oh, yes!”
She leans in close again. He pushes into her mind with his own, and shouts—for abruptly the illusion of time has fled from him like a thief surprised in a garden. Nicholas has soared into a world of revelation. The music is coming from him now, and it rises glorious as the dawn. He is liberated. Wide-eyed, he gazes at the spirit in his arms, made all of opening roses, corn, milk. Perfume. Blue fire, and the foam of the seventh wave.
Nor are they alone. The figure he has pursued so long turns to face him …
“Do you hear? Where’s that coming from? That’s my favorite pavane,” Mendoza cries.
I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine. How the music plays!
Alec is pounding away in fury, hammering at Edward’s defense, and though Edward is still laughing Alec is beginning to land blows now. Alec’s body is learning how to do damage. Edward is oddly slow, suddenly, letting down his guard. Can he be tiring so soon?
Alec is too wound up to realize that this is utterly unlikely. He takes the advantage, pummeling Edward with increasing speed, blows to the chest, going for the head, there! Edward has put his gloves down, Edward has braced himself and is taking the shots, one after another after another, until he is reeling where he stands but does not fall.
“Bastard, bastard, bastard—” Alec is shouting hoarsely, and suddenly Edward’s face is bleeding. Alec pauses, startled by the blood, uncertain, until Edward wipes it away and grins at him.
“This is so much easier, isn’t it, than thinking? You can’t mend anything you’ve broken, but you can still break yourself. Or me. What am I, after all, but the very image of what you hate the most? Let’s make a blood sacrifice, Alec!”
With a roar Alec strikes out, silencing the voice, summoning all the pent-up fury of years to obliterate the face, the hated face in the mirror, with his fists. Right to the eye, left to the eye, break the damned broken nose some more! Smash the mouth! The lips split, blood runs down, a demon screams its release and soars up and away from him forever and he—and he—
Alec! No hyperfunction! Stand to, I’ll have to call a foul! Stand to! ALEC!
—And it is as though Alec is rushing forward, straight for the mirror in which he is reflected, or is that Edward? The hero he has hated, and loved, and longed to be? The figure grins like Death, opens wide his arms in welcome, and then Alec has passed through the mirror into an unimaginably dark place. It is the Hall of Heroes, seen from the inside; and it is so much blood and shame and horror. Not a plume, not a banner to be seen. Disillusionment, inconsolable sorrow! The iciest of realities, with nothing to relieve the weight of responsibility, ever, especially not the vanity of self-immolation. Nothing to support him but bleak self-knowledge. And this I relinquish to you, my son. Guard it well—
Nicholas and Mendoza stand swaying together, quiet. In the long grass of the garden at their feet is the perfect ear of Mays mendozaii. Around Nicholas, at last, is the faintest shimmer of air, flicker of light. It will never leave him now. He looks down at her and his question is unspoken, even subvocally, but she hears him and replies, dazed: “I’m all right. I feel… seventeen. Or maybe that’s you. Nicholas, what’s happened?”
“We stood together in the presence of God,” he says, with serene certainty. She blinks, looks askance at him.
“I think I’d notice if I were face to face with the Almighty,” she says.
“No, you wouldn’t,” he says in tender exasperation. “But here we stand in Paradise, you and I, all the same. It’s enough.”
“No, it isn’t,” she persists. “Because something amazing just happened, and everything has changed. It wasn’t like this with Edward. We’re going to have to talk about this.”
“We have all of eternity to dispute, beloved.”
“And what on earth will happen when Alec’s set free, too?” She begins to laugh wildly. “When he’s with us? Oh, Nicholas, look at the garden. We never left it, we never lost each other. You were with me all the time—”
Nicholas kisses her again. Their minds flow together, they merge again in the intimacy of eternity … and as their consciousness expands they perceive the commotion on board the Captain Morgan.
Edward staggers backward and falls.
Alec stands swaying, confused, dizzy. The smell of blood is in the air. He feels cold. The world has dropped out from under his feet, as it had from under Edward’s when he received tiny screaming Alec and Nicholas into his hands, seventeen years earlier. The same sense of nausea overwhelms him. The responsibility crushes him. If Edward can fall—!
He looks down at Edward, and utters a hoarse cry of horror. The figure sprawled at his feet is a young giant with tousled fair hair, wearing only old-fashioned boxer’s attire. The face is unrecognizable for its injuries. Abrasions, multiple subcutaneous hematomae, fractured nasal cartilage, dislocated jaw—
Reeling, disoriented, Alec pulls off his gloves. His hands protrude from Edward’s immaculate shirt cuffs, though the rest of the shirt is nasty with Edward’s blood. He raises his hands to his face and it is unmarked, though a harder, heavier face, not as smooth as it should be—and yet he remembers it—
“What’s happened?” he shouts.
You’ve come of age, transmits Edward thickly, painfully. Won back your flesh and your sins. I’ll bear your punishment. Happy birthday.
Alec drops to his knees and lifts—Edward?—by his shoulders. “Deaddy, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, oh, what’ve I done—oh, look at your mouth—Please be all right, please—”
Round one concluded, the Captain informs them cautiously.
“I don’t want there to be a round two,” says Alec, panicking. “This is enough! Okay? Captain, call a draw!”
Well, but it ain’t a draw, son. If you stop at one round, the match is yours, on account of you knocked him down. You win free and clear.
“Er—” Alec pulls back from Edward to ask if he agrees and is horrified afresh at Edward’s blacked eyes. Edward spits out blood and nods.
You’ve won, Alec. You’ve done it. You’ve slain the giant. Are you happy now?
“No,” says Alec, in remorse.
I was never happy when I slew them, either, Edward tells him, pushing himself further upright and fumbling off his gloves. But at least one had the satisfaction of knowing one had done what was expected of a man … for all that that was the most contemptible of lies.
He feels gingerly around his jaw and, grimacing, resets it with an audible click. Bully Hayes scuttles up and offers him a wet towel. He mops his bloody face, wincing. “And now, the child is truly father to the man. As it were. Whew!” Edward shakes his head and climbs to his feet. Alec hovers close to assist him.
“Lean on me, Dead. Don’t fall!”
“No. I’ll be all right.” Edward stretches, works his shoulders and sighs in satisfaction. He
gives Alec a sly look through puffed eyes already returning to normal, as his cuts close, as the bruises roil and vanish under his skin. “I believe I’ve had the best of the bargain after all. How limber one feels at seventeen! I’d quite forgotten.”
“But—How—?”
“How indeed? What has the youthful hero overlooked, in the first flush of his victory?”
“But this doesn’t have anything to do with timewalking,” Alec protests.
You don’t think so, son? Bloody hell, ain’t it dawned on you—
Edward holds up a hand for silence. “If you please, Captain: he’s thinking. Let us savor the exquisite rarity of the moment.”
Alec nearly tells him to piss off, and stops himself. He peers suspiciously up at the nearest camera. “Is that a clue, Captain sir? How the hell could escaping time give you the power to swap bodies with somebody? Unless—”
“The wheels are turning,” Edward coaxes. “He hasn’t got it yet, but I think—yes, I really do suspect he’s nearly—”
God almighty, lad! You might have figured it out yerself ages ago, if you’d been paying attention!
“Unless time and matter are both artifacts of perception—” He halts, a look of shock spreading over his face.
“While we’re waiting, Captain, might I trouble you for a whiskey and soda?” Edward inquires.
With ice, Commander sir? And may I present you with a cigar, sir? On account of we got a son.
“So explain to me,” says Mendoza, narrowing her eyes, “why it was necessary for the two of them to go slugging it out like a couple of cavemen to settle their differences.”
“I think it was a sort of masque,” says Nicholas. They hear the sound of voices coming up the hill. They turn to watch.
“They’re talking to each other,” says Mendoza. “That’s a good sign.”
Alec is wearing, once again, a brilliant tropical-patterned shirt and faded dungarees. Carefree and silly as his garments are, he is climbing the stairs as though the weight of centuries has descended on his shoulders.
“… I never managed to get the growing up part right the first time,” says Alec. “I did everything I wanted to do, but I was never the man I wanted to be. And this is all wonderful, but it doesn’t change that, does it? I still can’t escape what I’m supposed to do, can I?”
“None of us can, if it’s any consolation,” Edward tells him. He has dressed himself in a fresh suit of his own clothing, though the mid-Victorian cut hangs a little loosely on his youthful frame, and his step is as light as though he were a schoolboy on holiday. He spots the two figures on the terrace. “Be that as it may, there are certain compensations for your enlightenment.” They mount the last balustraded stair, and enter the garden where Mendoza and Nicholas wait for them.
“My dear,” says Edward with an ironical half-bow, sweeping off his tall hat. “Might I have the honor of introducing Alec Checkerfield, seventh earl of Finsbury? A very promising young fellow!” He replaces his hat at a jaunty angle.
“Hello, Mendoza,” says Alec, looking sheepish. “I’ve, er, come of age.”
“I can see,” she exclaims. “Oh, Alec, the most wonderful thing has happened! Come here!”
She throws her arms around his neck and kisses him. There is a tremendous rainbowed shock, radiating outward in waves of insulted time. As the air begins to shimmer about their bodies, Alec lifts his mouth in a howl of sheer animal exuberance.
“Ah. I thought this might happen,” says Edward, a little smugly.
“Perhaps our state is multiplied to the next power,” Nicholas suggests. He knows, at last, that this or in fact anything is possible now. “I think—” He looks about them at the garden, which has begun to shimmer as well. Even the house, and the sky and the sea and the Captain Morgan, have begun to shimmer.
“It is a geometric progression,” Mendoza gasps. “How marvelous!”
“Captain!” roars Alec. “Hoist anchor and set sail!”
Aye, son! We’re casting off!
And everything they inhabit—the ship, the sky, the sea, the house, the garden, and they themselves, their whole reality—lifts gently free of linear time and sails into eternity.
PART VI
CHAPTER 27
Catalina Island, 8 July 2355
Aegeus considered himself in the mirror and daubed a little more makeup on his left cheek. He turned to Victor. “What do you think?” he inquired. “Do I look as though I’m about to do something militant?”
“Quite,” Victor replied. “As long as the cameras stay on your face.”
Aegeus looked down at his suit. “You have a point,” he admitted. “Summon a few security techs, please.”
Sighing, Victor stepped out into the hall and waved at the techs on duty there. They approached obediently and Aegeus shouldered past Victor to survey them. “You,” he said, tapping the foremost on the shoulder. “You’re about my size. Let’s see how that combat jacket looks on me.”
The tech shrugged out of the garment in question as Aegeus divested himself of his suit coat. Victor held it while Aegeus tried on the combat jacket, fussing with the pocket flaps, adjusting the fit. He unfastened the clock pin from his lapel and stuck it on the front of the jacket. “Oh, yes, this’ll do,” he said, pleased. “Splendid. Now I feel the part as well. Let’s not waste any of this energy! Are the cameras ready?”
And so the broadcast went out, to all Executive Headquarters, on all channels, very much in the style in which Suleyman’s famous announcement of the liberation of Options Research had been presented.
It began with Aegeus turning, as though distracted from some vital task, and peering sharply into the cameras. He looked solemn, but with a suggestion of controlled and righteous anger. He spoke in Latin: “To all operatives still capable of receiving this warning, greetings!
“Facilitator General Aegeus, Southern European Sector Head, reporting. If you have received shipments of Theobromos from our mortal masters, do not, repeat, DO NOT distribute them as instructed. Do not under any circumstances ingest any Theobromos. As some of you may by now have discovered, the shipments have been adulterated with a poisonous substance.”
Aegeus leaned in closer. In the background could be heard a dim clamor suggesting riot. It was recorded, but only Victor and Aegeus knew that.
“My fellow immortal ones,” continued Aegeus, letting a bit more rage show in his face, “I regret to inform you that we have been betrayed. I have in my possession undeniable proof that, after so many thousands of years of faithful service, we were to be rewarded by abrupt termination. If you doubt me, analyze the contents of any of those prettily decorated boxes with which you’ve been presented.”
He gasped, as though struggling with his emotions. “If you could see the poor devil here who fell for their trap—or maybe you have casualties of your own already. Listen to me, brothers and sisters! You know I’ve never been reckless. You know I always counseled patience with the mortals, even when we uncovered the horror that was Options Research. I was loyal, may the gods forgive me! But this—this is the last straw. The mortal masters have at last shown, finally and conclusively, that they are too vicious, too stupid to be allowed to control the great enterprise in which we have all labored so long. If we suffer this outrage, we are indeed their slaves.” He tore the clock pin from its place and held it up to the cameras. “This should have warned us all, this symbol of their infamy!”
His voice rose, his eyes widened. “We must take control. We made this Company; we are the rightful inheritors of the glorious heritage we’ve preserved for so many centuries. For our own sakes, and for the sake of innocent humanity, we must wrest power from this handful of mortal monsters! Now, before it is too—”
On cue, Victor activated the charge that sent a flare and puff of smoke billowing through the room, as Aegeus winked out from in front of the cameras. He shut them off.
“Oh, that went terribly well,” cried Aegeus in a gleeful voice. “Wouldn’t you say
that went well?”
“I thought so,”Victor agreed.
“Yes, the feces have now well and truly encountered the windmill.” Aegeus peeled off the combat jacket and held it out at arm’s length, considering, before he dropped it. “Not really my style, on the whole,” he decided. “Well. Now to dress for dinner!”
At That Moment in Seattle
Labienus rocked back in his chair, roaring with laughter as the holo vanished in its flash and boom. “Oh, the audacity,” he cried. “The sheer hypocritical nerve of that man! What a little tin demagogue.” He mopped his eyes with the back of one hand. “I’m almost sorry to think he’ll lose. Almost… oh, well, who am I fooling? I won’t regret watching his head come off at all. I will miss having such a worthy opponent, though.”
“No, you won’t,” Kiu told him, yawning behind her hand.
“I will,” protested Labienus. “A man of my own intellect, my methods and aspirations … except for his lamentable dependence on slaves. And the fact that he’s a crude boor. Other than that there’s not much to distinguish between us, really.”
“You don’t think he could be persuaded to your point of view, with a knife at his throat?” Kiu inquired.
“Of course he could,” Labienus said. “But I’d never be able to trust Aegeus. He hasn’t the necessary moral character. Too fond of his comforts! Always maundering on about the mortals and their art, their philosophies, their perishable flesh … ugh. Makes me feel unclean even thinking about it.”
“Well, but what could he do, once you’d exterminated them all?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t put it past him to attempt some in-vitro revival nonsense with mortal DNA,” Labienus replied, getting to his feet and stretching. “There are caches of the stuff hidden away in the Company’s vaults, or so we’ve always been told. I can just see him making a new Adam in his own image, can’t you? And some sweet Eve for a playmate. Disgusting!”
