Derek grew somber. "How's Morgan? He seemed awfully locked up when I stopped in earlier."
"He's much better now." Brenna smiled with satisfaction.
"Is he? That's great!" Derek appeared surprised but gratified. He studied Brenna's Cheshire-cat expression. "What's going on? Are you up to something?"
They were too close to the others now for private conversations. Brenna chose not to explain. She nodded hello to Sao and Quol-Bez and added her compliments to her father's regarding the luncheon. "Reva's outdone herself. Send-off party, huh?"
Quol-Bez was holding a bowl of minced fruit and an imported seafood delicacy. "It is most gracious, and tasteful." He glanced at Sao. " 'Send-off'?"
"A friendly, festive occasion preceding a journey by one of the attendees," Sao translated.
"Splendid. A new phrase!" The Vahnaj Ambassador balanced his carved wooden bowl on the tips of his skinny fingers, turning the container around slowly and admiring the decorations. Behind his gray head, bright flowers and palm fronds formed a curtain, contrasting with his dark clothes. He looked like a character from a vid documentary—the visiting alien anthropologist exclaiming over the craftsmanship of the natives.
Brenna moved along the table, filling her own bowl. "I hear they're going to give you another honorary degree at the upcoming Protectors of Earth ceremony, Dad," she teased. "How many will that make? Five? Six?"
Todd Saunder was eyeing a sugary confection. "As a matter of fact, it makes eight. Your mother takes fiendish delight in keeping track of the stupid things." He suddenly yielded to temptation and scooped the forbidden food onto his dish.
"I'll tell Dian," Brenna threatened.
"Impertinent brat. You do and I'll cut off your allowance."
Quol-Bez was puzzled by the amusement that caused. Chin Jui-Sao defined the archaic term "allowance" for him, after which his rattling laughter joined the rest.
"You do not wish to receive these honorary certificates of knowledge, sir?" Sao asked.
"If they meant something, I would be very pleased, my dear. But they're devices, shams. It's not me they're honoring. It's my father's gadgets, the inventions that make the modern world possible. The famous institutions handing out those diplomas are a lot more interested in an endowment from Saunder Enterprises than in acknowledging me as a mental wizard, truth be told."
"Dad's just cynical. Maybe that's because he never studied at a so-called institution of higher learning himself. Neither did I."
"That doesn't count, kitten," Todd said. "You space kids had a totally different upbringing, fully computerized, highly stimulated. There's no comparison with formal education the way it used to be. Of course, being at peace makes an incalculable difference. It's impossible to convey to the younger generations what society was like then." Brenna and Derek and Sao were smiling tolerantly. "Don't laugh," Todd said with mild annoyance. "You may find there are things you can learn from us old fogies and from history. Why does each generation think it's making life's discoveries for the first time, ever, in human existence?" It was Quol-Bez's turn to look tolerant, sharing Todd's point of view. The elder Saunder shrugged. "As for education in general, though, I suppose the mass of humanity nearly always has been condemned to illiteracy, or its near-equivalent, unfortunately. You kids don't realize how elitist and well trained the colonial populations are..."
'"Skimming off the brightest and best that Earth has to give,'" Derek quoted. The grand old man of Earth's Progressive Expansionist Coalition had turned that slogan into a popular lament. Derek recited it as a boast, as most "space kids" did. He took it as a compliment, not feeling guilty at all.
"Indeed! The colonies have done that." Todd Saunder shook his head. "It took a supreme effort to get a good education during the Death Years and the Chaos. Oh, you could, if you were lucky and had the intelligence and the desire. Dian's emphatic about that. She says kids taught themselves to read even in the United Ghetto States, when it seemed like the whole world was coming apart around them during the missile attacks. You can't keep people with that kind of courage and drive illiterate!"
"This is true," Chin Jui-Sao admitted. "Perhaps conditions are healthier now that the universities of Earth appreciate how easily their status may be lost by political upheaval." Quol-Bez nibbled his fish and fruit, listening politely. No doubt he had studied human history thoroughly. But he didn't seem bored. "So many institutions of learning ceased to exist in the Death Years and the Chaos and the years immediately after," Sao said. "As I recall, there were almost no major universities open in the North American Union when you were a young man, Todd Saunder."
"No, and it was the Central North American Union then, of course. It wasn't until Fairchild's Peace that the west coast of the continent rejoined the old sections of the Twentieth-Century nation. So many things have changed..." He was looking into the distance, seeing things that weren't there. "We Saunders got off very lucky, even before my father's patents started paying off for us. We had books—it's such a pity most of those are gone. And we had vid tapes. And the best all-around instructors in the world in science and politics and economics and literature. They didn't teach history. They made it."
Brenna's grandparents. Legends. Ghosts. There were times— this was one of them—when Brenna had to grit her teeth to keep from yelling that she was sick of hearing about her famous grandparents. Previous generations haunted their descendants. She and her father and Morgan lived in the shadow of those legends and had to fight to be accepted as individuals.
"Well, that was a long time ago," Todd said with embarrassment. Brenna was relieved. She had expected a "when I was a boy" reminiscence. "We adapt, if we can. That's what intelligence is—adaptation. Times change. We have to try to change with them, if we can. But some things..." He grew morose and set aside his unfinished food. "All our intelligence and technology and Saunder wealth—what's it doing for Morgan? He's just sinking into apathy, and we can't help him."
"That's not permanent, sir," Derek said hastily. "Why, Brenna said he was much better when she saw him."
All of them stared at her. Only Quol-Bez did not seem surprised. "Oh?" said her father. "Really? That's wonderful! I can't get anything out of him but monosyllables."
"Neither can I," Derek said. "At least he's talking to someone. That's important. Dr. Ives insisted we maintain contact with him."
"What did he talk about?" Todd wanted to know. "He's ... he's not becoming suicidal or anything like that, is he?"
Brenna choked on a shocked laugh. "Morgan? Hardly. No, Dad, we talked about business."
Quol-Bez brightened, two pointy fang tips showing at the edges of his lower lip. Todd and Derek were bewildered.
"Business?" Derek repeated. "Surely you didn't trouble him about payrolls and stuff like that?"
"Not at all. I didn't 'trouble' him. He brought Breakthrough Unlimited up. He wanted to talk about it."
Sunlight, concentrated by the solarium's dome, shone through the tropical leaves and warmed faces and bodies. Overhead, birds evolved half an astronomical unit away flew from branch to branch and twittered. Yet Brenna was cold. The sensation emanated from Derek. Icy ripples added to it, sent out by her father's emotional state.
"I thought you were just marking time," Todd said, looking ill at ease.
"I was. Until Morgan was strong enough to express his viewpoint again. He did."
"And?" Derek demanded.
"And what?" Brenna retorted defiantly. "We're going ahead. I'm scheduling a trip Earthside to renew our franchise. We'll need space to conduct tests on the hull material and oscillator..."
"Dammit, Bren! Excuse me, Mr. Ambassador, sir ... but what the hell's going on?" Derek cried. "In the Spirit of Humanity, you can't be serious! How the hell can you do this to Morgan?"
"Easy, son," Todd said soothingly. "I'm sure we can settle this."
"Can we?" Those turquoise-blue eyes pierced Brenna.
"It was Morgan's choice." She amazed herself, maintaining a c
alm exterior while her gut was churning acid. "I didn't bully him, if that's what you're implying. He's been nursing this for weeks. He's bored and frustrated and feeling cut off. He wants to get back to work. Unanimous decision by the voting members of the governing board—all two of us."
"For the—" Derek flung up his arms in exasperation, pacing around the side of the pool. "Get back to work? My God! You're insane. You're responsible for him, Brenna. Have pity! The poor guy's blind."
"He is not blind!" Brenna roared. Derek froze in midstride and gawked as Brenna went on. "He's not a witless infant, either—though too many people are treating him like one, just because he's been hurt. He's responsible for his own choices, and he's making them. Maybe that's why he won't communicate with you or Dad. He says he can talk to Quol-Bez. And he talks to me. So tell me what the special difference is. It just might be that he knows we'll listen to him, believe in him. We don't patronize him. Hell, he hates that! You ought to realize that, Derek, better than anyone."
Her father's arm went around her shoulders. Brenna was trembling. She was as taut as a guy wire, ready to strike out at an attacker. There was no one within easy reach but her father, though. And no one she really wanted to hit. It was the light-speed barrier and prejudices she wanted to chop down. Abstracts. They made lousy opponents.
"Easy, kitten. Please. It's okay..."
Brenna almost flung the platitudes back in his concerned face. She closed her eyes, swallowing the bitter taste filling her mouth. "Sorry," she murmured. With nowhere for the rage to go, it turned back on her, sapping her. "I didn't mean to create a big scene. It's just... Morgan got through to me today, and I had a tiny glimpse of what he's been suffering."
Her father patted her shoulder. "Sure. We understand. I feel the same way. So does Derek."
Brenna dug her nails into her palms, then forced herself to unclench her fists. Futile. She had to stop this. She was volatile fuel, eager for a spark. So was Derek. He was wearing that handsome, graven-in-stone, stubborn mask of his. "My fault, sir. I lost my temper first. I apologize." Ever the gracious gentleman, the future colonial leader, the intrepid stasis-ship captain. Brenna wished he would drop it and slug it out with her, just once.
Quol-Bez and Sao had remained on the sidelines, very discreet. They wouldn't carry any of this tale—much to the newshunters' disgust. A family quarrel. Derek was part of the Saunder circle. They had known him as long as they had Brenna. Sao seemed terribly sad. Quol-Bez's broad face was pale in sympathy for his friend Todd Saunder and Todd's daughter and Derek.
"Let's just cool off," Todd suggested. "We need some clarification here. I need some. Brenna, you're serious? You really mean to continue with Breakthrough Unlimited?" Brenna didn't trust herself to answer, afraid she would trigger another explosion. She nodded, daring anyone to sound off. "But is it ... is it possible for Morgan?" her father asked.
"I'm sure it is. And that's what Morgan wants. What I want. He'll handle the data breakdowns and I'll do the planet hopping and test piloting."
Derek was shaking his head, refusing to accept.
"Well," Todd Saunder said inanely. He seemed stunned.
"Dr. Ives is a very com-pe-tent phy-si-cian," Quol-Bez said suddenly.
His human friend seized on the logic. "Yes! Of course! Helen wouldn't let him attempt anything he wasn't ready for, would she? He really did say he wanted to go on with ... with the FTL project, kitten? Well," Todd said again, searching for words. "I guess ... I guess if Morgan wants it..."
"He does, Dad. So do I." Brenna's gaze was drawn to Quol-Bez. She wanted to probe that alien mind and find out what he was thinking. Did Morgan's accident duplicate similar tragedies in Vahnaj history? Had a Vahnaj counterpart of Morgan Saunder McKelvey been horribly crippled in a failed attempt to break the light-speed barrier? What had happened next? Had he or she survived and courageously continued the quest? And won? Somebody in the Vahnaj star empire had won, eventually. Vahnaj had FTL. They had the stars.
"That's that, then," Derek said, letting out the breath he had been holding. It wasn't a surrender. Brenna recognized the tone. He was refusing to argue anymore. Waste of energy. "All we can do is wish you both good luck."
"Rely on it! Good luck, kitten, to you and Morgan." Brenna's father kissed her forehead. She could sense his terror, though. This wasn't a wish for success—it was a whispered prayer for her survival, thinly disguised.
"Wan shi ru yi," Sao chimed in, wishing good fortune.
"May the best team win," Quol-Bez said, repeating the human phrase he had quoted at the Colony Days gala.
The forms, the semi-congratulations, hoping for a smooth future, went on for a minute or so. Then Derek made a show of checking his wrist mini-terminal. "I'm afraid I have to run, sir. I'm due at Syrtis launch point at 2100."
"Must you leave?" Todd protested, quite sincerely.
"Afraid so. You'll have to be heading out for your ship, too, in an hour or so." The Vahnaj Ambassador was giving his human friend Todd a "lift" to Earth in his diplomatic vehicle— a nice gesture, and a logical one, since their reasons for going to Earth were identical: to appear at the P.O.E. awards ceremony. "Have a safe trip. I know the speeches will be great." Derek shook hands and praised the food and the company, then headed for the door.
Brenna excused herself and followed him through the climate-control locks. The ramp beyond was shadowy and cool, a bit of a shock after the solarium's tropical atmosphere. She ran to get ahead of Derek, blocking his path. "It was his idea!" she repeated.
For a heartbeat, she thought he was going to push her out of the way. But he didn't. Muted lighting formed a nimbus around his pale hair, transforming him. He didn't look like a man but a wrathful demigod, judging her and finding her wanting. "Have a good trip to the franchise-renewal meeting, Earthside. While your dedicated partner..."
"Derek! Stop it! I didn't lie. Morgan proposed it, not me!"
"No, I don't think you are lying. That's worse. It'd be easier to take if I believed you were deluding yourself," Derek said. The anger was still there. There was also a hint of contempt. With great difficulty, Brenna kept herself from hitting him. "Morgan's got computers for eyes, talks in a mechanical voice, and wheels around in a chair full of stera-gel. My best friend, reduced to..." Derek shuddered violently. "And you're going right ahead with this insane project as if nothing happened."
"We know what happened. How could Morgan not know? What's he supposed to do?" Brenna's eyes stung with pent-up tears. "Turn into a vegetable? Let people pretend he never existed? If you're his friend, is that what you want for him?"
"It's because I am his friend that I can't take this. Dammit, why does it have to be manned FTL ships? Go ahead with your experiment—but for the Spirit of Humanity, why not use robots?"
"You could colonize Rruger 6Q's terrene planets with robots, too," Brenna said, lashing back, knowing how to hurt him.
Derek stiffened. "The Kruger 60 worlds aren't going to be colonized by machines, but by human beings..."
"And we're going to go to the stars via faster-than-light ships, not send robots to do the job for us." Brenna stood with arms akimbo, glaring at him. The same old arguments! How could she get through to that closed mind of his? "You say we're crazy-dedicated? That sounds strange, coming from a proponent of cryo stasis."
"It's a proven technique..."
"A journey that far out isn't. It's a gamble, just as Breakthrough Unlimited is."
Derek fought back. "Let's compare scores. FTL experiments have killed four people in your group. Twelve on the military project. And Nakamura's first matter-antimatter test took out a whole space station—what was it, twenty-five personnel? The tachyon 'ship' came to pieces in the lab. That was a first; it killed the metallurgists, but no pilots. Count a plus for Exo-Trans—if they don't insist on trying again. LeFevre's photon bypass is still in diagrams; if they've got any brains, it'll stay there. And what about you? Morgan's got a valid excuse, poor guy! But you! Brenna, what will it
take to make you see what's going to happen?"
No more contempt. Horror and fear, her father's fear, seeing her destroyed in a fiery explosion. Derek drew her into his arms and kissed her, as if he could drive away the fear with love. The hope was a snare for Brenna, too, and she didn't want to escape it, she realized with her own form of fear—fear that she was losing her courage. "You ... you've got some time. You could catch the next Hiber-Ship ferry," Brenna whispered. "If we could just..."
"Talk to Morgan. Stop this idiocy now," Derek begged.
The moment of intimacy shattered. Brenna pulled away. "God damn you! I will not be manipulated like that!"
He was stricken, denying it. "It wasn't... that wasn't what I was doing, I swear. Brenna, you can't. If we mean anything at all to each other ... think what it will mean to Morgan when..."
He didn't finish. It wasn't necessary. When someone else dies. You.
"I know you. If you go on with this FTL project, the next time around it'll be you who climbs into that cockpit. Oh, God, I don't want to lose you!" Derek reached for her again, but Brenna eluded his grasp. Conscious of it or not, he had been manipulating her emotions!
"If you don't want to lose me, drop out of Hiber-Ship Corporation," she said bitterly.
Derek's hands fell to his sides. "I can't do that. You know I can't do that."
"Then maybe we don't mean as much to each other as we claim we do."
A second's silence lasted an eternity. Then, very softly, Derek spoke. "Maybe the problem is that we mean too damned much to each other."
They were being cut to pieces. This was why they had agreed to the truce. This was what happened when they broke it. No visible wounds, but they were cruelly hurting each other just the same. Derek made matters worse; he leaned forward and kissed her gently. Then he hurried away, practically running down the hall toward the sub-surface transport system. As he crossed the balcony, some of the Space Fleet troopers and SE guards stared up at him curiously. They recognized him, and one or two raised a hand and called a greeting. Derek didn't reply. He rushed on, disappearing beyond the exit doors, on his way to Syrtis Spaceport.
Outward Bound Page 23
