To Save the Sun

by Ben Bova

  She had hoped to get a report intended directly for her, containing specific results of some of the experiments she had designed, and had made the request in one of her first messages sent to the Moon when she awoke, but that request would only now be arriving there. Besides, she came to realize that with Bomeer directly overseeing the work on the Kowloon, and personally reporting all results directly to the Emperor, Dr. Rice and his alien counterpart might not even be aware that she was, even now, preparing to "join" them in a realtime sense from Luna.

  "I am afraid there has been a slight setback, Sire," Bomeer was saying in the recording. The report was one-sided, merely a recitation recorded for the Emperor to review at his leisure instead of a two-way conversation and debriefing. "We've found it necessary to temporarily halt the experiment while the alien returns to the Sarpan ship to… spawn, apparently. We don't expect it back on board for several days."

  The disgust was as plain on the academician's face as it was in the way he referred to the alien scientist as "it." Bomeer's report remained impersonal and professional on the surface, she noted, but something about the way he presented it brought an amused smile to her lips. She had been immediately taken aback by his appearance when she first saw him in the recording. He had allowed his hair to gray, and she saw tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. But even though the years had managed to show in his face, it was somehow reassuring as she listened to him talk—even though much of his biased attitude was personally distressing to her—that he was the same person she remembered.

  "While it is not necessary, in my opinion, that the alien even be involved with the modeling at this point," the recording went on, "Dr. Rice feels that because of the important role the Sarpan will play in the physical test phase coming up after the current series is complete, that it be there for the entire process. He's really quite adamant about it." He paused, then added, "In retrospect, I suppose the decision to wait a few days longer is for the best, as it gives me time to review the procedure with Dr. Rice with the open lab set at a temperature not resembling that found in your average oven."

  The recording lasted only a few minutes longer, with the remainder of the report covering areas that, not directly related to the upcoming modeling test, held little interest to her. She paid scant attention to what he was saying as she watched the playback. Why does he look so old? she wondered. Bomeer was old, she knew, but could the time she spent traveling to Pallatin and back really account for the change she saw in his appearance?

  She stopped to think of the many messages that had awaited her after coming out of the tank. As she had when arriving at Pallatin, she allowed her personal search software to select and arrange the waiting message strings in order of importance. And, as before, it was the personal message strings that she reviewed first.

  Shunting the bulk of the project-related communications to the team traveling with her, she spent two full days with her personal correspondence. The messages from Javas, among the oldest waiting for her, came first in the queue and were dated from around the time of the recording containing her first look at their son. Subsequent recordings followed the first in rapid succession, allowing Adela to watch Eric's growth as he went from infant to toddler, then preschooler to adolescent. Another man appeared occasionally in some of the recordings and she learned that he was McLaren, who served as both teacher and surrogate parent. Adela realized that Master McLaren would have been present throughout much of Eric's formative years, regardless of whether she had remained behind or not, but she couldn't help feeling a loss that much of her son's upbringing had been trusted to a stranger's hands. No, she reminded herself. It is not he who is the stranger. It is the mother who was never there.

  As Eric got older, he appeared less frequently in Javas' communications. Javas explained in subsequent messages that he'd left the decision to contact her up to the boy, and that he wouldn't pressure him in any way. He still found time to send frequent messages of his own, however, and always went into great pride-filled detail as to their son's development. And just as she watched the changes in her son, she saw the changes in Javas, too.

  She had missed the first direct message from Eric. The Levant had begun its journey home, and she was already in the tank when Eric sent his first recording introducing himself to the mother he had never known. "Hello, Mother," he had said in the twenty-year-old recording. "Let me tell you about myself." Adela had listened in horror as he told of the ordeal the two of them had gone through in Rihana's ill-fated attempt to place his half brother on the throne.

  Finally, even as Eric's communications continued to queue up in her waiting file with increased frequency as she traveled closer to home, Javas' messages became more infrequent. She viewed them all at once over that two-day period, of course, but she noted that the dates between the Emperor's recordings grew more widely separated. At last, only a few weeks out, she viewed recordings from them both.

  Eric, she had learned in recordings dating back eight years, had accepted command of a starship. His most recent recording had come, like many of those before it, from the bridge of a starship equipped with a tachyon dish and was sent first to Luna before being relayed to the Levant. He had grown into a fine young man, and Adela saw much of both Javas and herself in him. She was pleased to discover that his tour would return him to Sol system within a year of her arrival.

  Javas' message, sent with the report she now watched, had also been upbeat. His messages had increased in number as the ship drew closer to home, and he made no attempt to hide his excitement of her coming; but behind his words in the most recent recording, appended to the beginning of Bomeer's report, lay something she could not quite identify. She could not be certain, but he seemed to fear that she would not, after all, come back; that somehow, after forty years' separation, he would not be what she had expected.

  "System!" she commanded suddenly.

  "Ma'am?"

  "Replay current message from the beginning."

  The image froze, then blanked, the corner of her cabin growing dim for several seconds before it started over. Javas reappeared in the holographic image, but before he spoke she again ordered the room system to freeze the image.

  He had aged, of course, as she had expected he would, but in no way did he look… old. His hair had grayed considerably, but still reflected the golden blond she remembered. Javas' face seemed thinner, lined, but the strength she had known was still in his features. Strength radiated from him, in fact, and it was obvious he had kept himself in superb condition. Rejuvenation was no longer within his reach but, like his father before him, he took pride in himself and his appearance. Looking at him now, she allowed a feeling to surface within her that she had denied herself throughout the lengthy trip: She allowed herself to miss him. Her throat tightened and tears welled up in her eyes at how much she wanted to be with him. And as she stared silently at Javas' image in the holographic projection, it suddenly struck her what it was that had bothered her about Bomeer.

  Bomeer's an old man, she realized. He's aged, but he hasn't lived. She had watched Javas age gracefully over forty years' worth of recordings, watched as he nurtured and taught a son whom she had also watched grow from infancy to young manhood. She should have felt older herself, realizing that the man she loved had spent a lifetime apart from her. Even knowing that she had not been there to witness Eric's development failed to make her regret the choices she'd made. For Eric, like Javas since her departure, had lived life naturally, without benefit of rejuvenation. And living life, she knew, was what was important.

  Bomeer had been alive longer than them all, but it was they who had lived. Bomeer had merely collected years.

  The stark image of the gray-headed academician flashed momentarily through her thoughts, and for the first time in her life, Adela felt pity.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  My God, it's hot in here. How in the world does Rice stand it like this?

  Bomeer frowned at Rice, seemingly cool and comfor
table in his short-sleeved shirt and matching white cotton pants, and dabbed frequently at his brow as he listened to the two scientists discuss the replay of the modeling test that he was about to review. The two spoke with an excitement that eluded him, and he only half listened to what they were saying.

  The playbacks of what occurred during each of the modeling experiments were among the few things Bomeer enjoyed about being stuck out here at the test site, seven light-years from Luna. Despite having to endure the environment of the open lab on each occasion, it tied him to an earlier time; a time when protocol and procedure still meant something.

  The Empire of the Hundred Worlds had changed under Javas' rule, although Bomeer wasn't sure the Emperor was directly responsible for all the changes that seemed to sweep the stiff, formal behaviors away in favor of the "New Attitude" of what the Empire had become. With new discoveries had come new ideas, which, in turn, led to still more discoveries. Which, in turn…

  He had had to be honest with himself, however, when he looked at the reasons for what had happened. Much of the changing attitude of the—what was the phrase he'd used with Fain? the "improved version" of the Empire?—had happened of their own accord as an outgrowth of a number of things: the miraculous ability to communicate instantaneously; a vastly improved understanding of medicine; a new openness among the worlds; even cooperation with the Sarpan Realm. But Bomeer had to admit that many of those things came about as a direct result of the drive and vigor possessed by the new Emperor. Javas' excitement at revitalizing a stagnant Empire was irresistible and, more importantly, infectious to all with whom he dealt, from the most powerful planetary governor to the most humble of servants on the Imperial staff.

  It was in this new understanding that Bomeer felt he had no place, for it seemed that he alone was not invigorated by Javas' will. There was no question in his mind that the speed with which the Empire was changing could ultimately do it harm, but his frequent warnings fell on ears made deaf by the euphoria of the New Attitude. And so he sought refuge in those things where he still felt a certain measure of control, and he insisted in following protocol whenever possible; demanding that B be preceded by A in all cases, and that under no circumstances could C be even remotely considered until the lower end of the alphabet had been neatly and orderly dealt with. In this way, he still believed he had control. In this way, he could still feel important.

  He wiped at his forehead again, his handkerchief nearly soaked, and promised himself that the next time he came to the open lab he would forgo at least one of the trappings of the protocol he so dearly loved: He would leave his heavy academician's tunic behind in his stateroom and come in his shirt sleeves.

  Dr. Rice was describing what he was about to see and had row after columned row of figures displayed on the wall flatscreen. As he spoke, Bomeer paid little attention. He had seen these figures before, a hundred times, at least; and his mind wandered to other things.

  Why doesn't it put on a damned helmet or something, he thought bitterly as his eyes strayed to the alien standing resolutely next to Rice, so we can return this facility to human temperature? The alien blinked eye membranes, oblivious to Bomeer's thoughts.

  He leaned his head back to better wipe at his throat and felt a slight dizziness come over him. While he usually relished playing the role of overseeing the experimentation even to the point of restricting its forward motion to better suit his idea of progress, he realized that if he stayed in the open lab much longer there was a good chance of his passing out from heatstroke.

  "Please, Dr. Rice," he said, holding up the hand with the handkerchief, "perhaps it would be better to see the playback and then correlate the figures with what I've seen, rather than the other way around."

  The alien blinked several times in rapid succession and tilted its head inquiringly. "That is possible," it said simply, before Rice could answer.

  "Thank you, Oidar." Bomeer pronounced it with three syllables, "Oh-Ih-Dar," in spite of the fact that Rice had personally attempted on several occasions—in private, of course—to help him with Sarpan names and terminology.

  "Very good, then," Bomeer went on. "Perhaps the sooner we can begin, the sooner I can file my report to the Emperor."

  Rice smiled politely, although Bomeer suspected he hadn't been fooled by his offer to speed up the filing of his report. The young scientist was well aware of how he felt about the environment of an Imperial facility being reset for the alien's comfort.

  Rice led him to the holographic display area in the corner of the lab. There were several comfortable chairs here, and the two of them took seats facing the corner. The alien had gone to the fountain to remoisten the skin of its exposed face and neck before joining them, and Bomeer made sure to select a seat that put Rice between him and the alien. In spite of his efforts, he still felt uncomfortably close to the Sarpan, and wrinkled his nose at the scent it gave off. He wondered—again—how Rice managed to stand working in such close proximity to it.

  "System, dim lights," Rice said. The lighting in the viewing area decreased by half. "Please start playback of file designated as Rice two-oh-four, version one. Normal speed."

  A collection of eight red cylinders appeared in two groupings of four each. Code numbers superimposed themselves in the air above each cylinder as the groupings separated and moved to opposite sides of the projection area to form two pyramids. Once again code numbers, scrolling statistics and intensity readings appeared and changed as the playback progressed.

  As the image changed, Rice gave a running commentary as to what they were watching. "This is the shielding phase of the insertion. The cylinders represent the Sarpan generators that will be used to contain the singularities before they're inserted into the star cores."

  A glowing sphere, representing the contained singularities, appeared at the center of each pyramid. The one on the left was pale blue; the one on the right dark blue.

  "And this shield will be enough to contain them?" Bomeer asked. "The figures bear this out?"

  "Yes, sir," Rice replied. "We've been able to create microscopic singularities—both negative and positive—in the laboratory for many years. They were short-lived, of course, and served only as an aid to the study of black and white holes. It wasn't until the advanced technology of the Sarpan shielding became available to us that we even dreamed of being able to create anything large enough to remain stable. In any event, the Sarpan shielding should serve very well to contain the singularities until deposited in each star. The application in the next phase, the physical test, will bear this out."

  Oidar leaned forward and caught Bomeer's eye. It was smiling, and even though Bomeer knew that the Sarpan tongue didn't even have a word for it, he managed to convince himself that the alien was gloating over its own importance.

  When he looked back to the projection, he saw that two stars had been added to the scene. The images were not to scale for this model, and each star appeared only slightly larger than the pyramids in the projection. Again, a series of numbers and energy values scrolled in the air above them.

  "All right," Rice continued. "While the scale here can't show it, the singularities are in tow to their respective stars, in preparation for insertion."

  Each of the pyramids began rotating slowly, giving the appearance that they were orbiting the glowing containment in the center. The rate of spin increased, and each pyramid moved gently into the stars, taking the glowing spheres with them, until they finally disappeared inside.

  Visually nothing more happened. More numbers appeared and additional statistics scrolled rapidly by, but to his eye everything seemed exactly the same.

  "That's it?" Bomeer asked incredulously, certain that there must be more to the model than what he'd just seen.

  The alien scientist became unexpectedly flustered with impatience and looked pleadingly at Rice. It was clear to Bomeer that his statement had upset it, but he couldn't figure out why. Rice spoke quietly to the alien, then turned back to him, the expres
sion on his face, while completely human, reflecting the same puzzled look he'd seen in the alien's features.

  "Academician, I'm not sure I follow you." Dr. Rice shook his head in frustration and glanced at the alien once more before going on. "I thought I'd made it clear a few minutes ago what we've been doing here during this stage of the modeling. Everything we've said relates to the data stick reports I've supplied to you on a regular basis. What aspect, exactly, don't you understand?"

  He could not admit, of course, that he had only superficially examined the reports contained in the data sticks Rice had dutifully provided him. They had been long and tedious, rarely containing anything new regarding the original theories espoused by Adela de Montgarde, and he had only skimmed them. Worse, even though the two scientists had obviously been more excited than usual, he'd failed to give them his full attention at the beginning of their discussion here today. A wave of embarrassment washed over Bomeer at being caught, and he felt even hotter than before.

  "What I review in your recorded reports and what I review personally here in the open lab are two different things," he said sternly in an attempt to cover himself. "I expect your presentations to be at least as complete as what you send me on the sticks. Is this a problem?"

  A look of subdued anger flashed across Rice's face, then just as quickly disappeared. For a moment, Bomeer thought that Rice was going to call his bluff, but the scientist merely shrugged his shoulders and said, nodding in deference, "You're correct, of course, Academician. My apologies."