Outward Bound

by Juanita Coulson

  Bewildered, Brenna stared as Bolotin wandered across the lawn, mingling with the other guests. She wondered what, exactly, he'd been hinting at. The simplest way to find out, of course, would be to track him down and demand an explanation. But Brenna saw no graceful way to do that, and she doubted the old pioneer would give her the answers if she did. Maybe talking in such cryptic terms made the "horse race" more intriguing to him. She sighed and rejoined the throng.

  Servants cruised the grounds constantly, keeping everyone supplied with refreshments. With only Todd Saunder's network allowed into the party, these world leaders and celebrities knew their reputations were reasonably safe. Their excesses wouldn't become public knowledge. That tempted quite a few of them to overdo matters. As a result, by morning some of the guest quarters would hide scenes of misery. Carissa's personal physician and the Saunderhome med staff would be busy.

  Conversation was the main entertainment, though the upcoming dolphin-human rescue team show was arousing some interest. Sadly, Brenna thought of Morgan and herself and Derek and a devil-may-care SE guard who had been willing to dance with Morgan, last fall. They had stirred up some excitement at one of Carissa's parties that time. But that wasn't going to happen again. Carissa had barely asked about Morgan, no more than the absolutely necessary queries and a few clucks of sham sympathy. She didn't want to be bothered with such unpleasant matters. She contributed generously to Earth's charities. Misery wasn't allowed to touch her personally, however. She found it distasteful.

  Speak of the devil...

  Brenna's aunt floated toward her, a maid and a set of flunkies in her train. The terrier curled over her pale arm, yapping. "Brenna, my dear, I've been having the most wonderful chat with your friends. They're such lively young people, these pilots! So dashing. And Yuri is terribly droll. I just love his cute accent..."

  Yap! Yap! Yap!

  Carissa's conversation was usually studded with these doggy Greek chorus comments. She, or one of her flunkies, carried Carissa's terriers around constantly, like a jeweled ornament. Brenna didn't know if this current favorite was an original purebred pet or a clone. Whenever one of Carissa's dogs died, she would order a replacement from her labs—a puppy bred from the same bloodlines wouldn't do. Carissa wanted a genetic copy of her precious "Snipperkins" or "Jumpsy." Certainly she could afford the staggering expense of cloned pets—dogs, prize cattle, dolphins, and, as the poorly kept family secret proved, human children.

  "I never think of Yuri's having an accent," Brenna mildly protested.

  "Oh, but you've known him forever, my dear. Of course you're used to it. It's so charming, the way he positively dotes on you and Morgan...

  Yap! Yap! Yap!

  With difficulty, Brenna kept herself from swatting the growling, nasty-tempered little bitch. "Uh ... the party looks like a great success, Aunt Carissa," she said inanely.

  "Oh, yes! Your father's speech was the highlight of P.O.E.'s summer session. And of course everyone wants to meet Quol-Bez whenever he's on Earth." Carissa frowned prettily. "He spends so much time away from here, these days. Your family really shouldn't be so dog-in-the-manger with him, my dear, keeping him up on Mars for weeks on end. Hush, Whoozums. Mommy wasn't talking about you. You have a nice velvet cushion, not a smelly old manger!" Brenna felt a bit as if she were coping with a malfunctioning gyroscope. At times, Carissa's chitchat wandered all over the landscape. "Did you notice that the Southwestern African Nations' Premier came? The first time ever to one of my receptions! I'm so thrilled! It's quite a coup, you know. Theresa Wachs has been trying to lure him to one of her charity balls for just years! Perhaps he heard that you and your young friends were going to be here. You know, the glamour of spaceflight and all that sort of thing. Maybe it was the influence of your African fellow. What's his name? Bena, or something like that."

  "Beno. Tumaini Beno," Brenna corrected her. "I hardly think that's the reason. Tumaini was born in the Affiliation of the Rift. They aren't clannish with the southwestern nations."

  "No? How confusing! I assumed they'd all get along with one another. Did you know Beno's wife is active in the Serene Future League, my dear? I wonder if that doesn't cause bad feelings. That Serene Future bunch is so oriented toward back-to-nature..."

  Brenna didn't want to talk about Aluna Beno. She tried to turn the conversation. Compliments did the trick. Superb party. Beautiful dress. New hairdresser? Splendid coiffure. In a way, the compliments were deserved. Carissa put on a good show. She was the reigning socialite of Earth, her power steadily increasing. That climb to the pinnacle hadn't been easy, thanks in large part to Stuart's scandalous appetites for sexual and narcotic thrills. Carissa and Stuart would be a great deal wealthier than they were if she hadn't had to buy off appalling numbers of would-be blackmailers and jurists.

  Carissa insisted on taking her niece on a tour of the grounds. One clawlike hand clutched Brenna's arm, the other cuddled the yappy dog. Brenna submitted as gracefully as possible. It was easier than arguing. Her aunt gestured theatrically, pointing out new additions to the annexes and mansion. Carissa walked in a cloud of rare perfume. If not for the automatic bug traps, she would probably have trailed a cloud of insects as well, attracted by the heady scent. The aging society queen's hair was piled up in an elaborate style, laced with gems—real jewels, not synthetics. The jewels Carissa was wearing would pay for half a Chase spacecraft. Her makeup was extreme, but that was the current mode—purpled lips and gold-flecked cheeks and eyelashes. Brenna looked naked, by comparison.

  Her aunt kept up a running stream of passing greetings to her guests as she walked along. "Haddad! So nice to see you. You know my niece, don't you...? Enchanting evening, Mrs. President ... So happy you could come, Excellency..."

  Yap! Yap! Yap!

  "Giannina, you've been a stranger at Saunderhome ... Congratulations on your election, sir ... What a beautiful gown, my dear!...

  Yap!

  Now and then, between these effusive exchanges, Carissa pumped Brenna for family gossip. Brenna didn't satisfy her, being much too closemouthed. "No, I didn't attend the Protectors of Earth ceremony this year. I watched it on the vid, Aunt Carissa. Yes, Dad's speech seemed to go over very well ... Mother? Oh, she's just fine. She's staying with Morgan while Dad and I are here ... Yes, Morgan's coming along okay. He sends his love," Brenna lied shamelessly. Simpler to lie than to respond to a pointed question with an awkward silence. "The elections? I really don't have an opinion. I'm not an Earth citizen, you know..."

  There were people of wit and intelligence at this affair, people Brenna would have enjoyed meeting and talking to. She began to realize she wouldn't be allowed to do that. Carissa monopolized her, leading her from one small group of guests to another, the silly chatter never stopping. Brenna was tempted to manufacture an excuse and duck out. Yet this was only an occasional nuisance. She was standing in for Dian, and Dian loathed Carissa and her airs even more than Brenna did. If mother could put up with it, so could daughter.

  Brenna gazed out over the lawn, at the important people in their costly clothes, moving about in the ghostly halo-lights. Earth-bound. More than that. These people were planet-bound, mostly. The colonists on Mars and the Moon and the satellites didn't think of themselves in that way—because they didn't feel that way. It was far more than Earth's gravity making the difference. So few Earth-based citizens ever left the planet. But colonists regularly took their vacations on satellites or other colonies—and Earth was usually at the bottom of their list of places they wanted to visit.

  Earthmen are content to remain here for their entire lifetimes. And we colonists don't like to come back here. We think they're limited and narrow. I have to beat the bushes for Breakthrough Unlimited supporters, here. I have hundreds of willing investors, elsewhere. But the funding always flows most strongly here on Earth. To keep the flow moving outward again, my pilots and I have to come to Earth regularly and perform, like ... like those dolphins are going to perform for the tipsy guests.r />
  The Sea-Air rescue teams were starting their show, finally. Many of the guests headed down to the beach to watch, providing the excuse Brenna had been hoping for. Her aunt was obligated to join the crowd, at least for a while. But Brenna had seen the human-dolphin teams in action many times before. It was an entertaining show, yet very familiar. She made her apologies, staying on the upper terrace while Carissa, dog, and flunkies hurried across the grass toward the beach. Actually, Brenna found she could see as well or better from up here. Silvery aquatic mammals leaped out of the water and splashed the guests who stood too close to the shore. Halo-lights made the animals' wet hides shine like polished metal. The human members of the teams body-surfed along behind their dolphins. One woman rode her dolphin, hanging on precariously by a slender cinch. The humans shouted and chirruped to their intelligent sea-living partners, staging a mock race.

  "Excuse me, Miss Saunder." Brenna glanced around. A servant, one of the older retainers who had been at Saunderhome for years, was at her elbow. "Your father wished me to relay a message—he said he was a bit tired and was going to lie down in his cabana for a while. He said if you weren't too busy, perhaps you might drop in." Brenna thanked the man and looked around the area, spotting her people. The junior pilots and Yuri were watching the dolphin show. Yuri was a good scoutmaster. He wouldn't let the green members of Breakthrough Unlimited go overboard on Carissa's potent refreshments. Quol-Bez and Sao and most of the other distinguished guests were either watching the dolphins or sitting or standing around and talking, enjoying the evening breeze. A few couples were even dancing to the corny music. But Brenna didn't see Stuart or his bought-and-paid-for fiancée anywhere. Maybe Stuart was sampling the merchandise before the wedding. More likely, considering his patent dislike of the woman Carissa had chosen for him, he had bowed out as soon as he was out of his mother's reach. Brenna might have done her cousin a favor by providing another handy target—someone Carissa could lord it over and demand attention from. Apparently he had made his getaway while Carissa was towing her niece about.

  Brenna decided to drop out, too, at least temporarily. She would stop at her father's cabana for a while. The easiest way to get there was to go down to the beach and cross the footbridges. But that route was completely blocked by the dolphin show's audience. The other option was the long way around, through Saunderhome. Brenna shrugged and trudged up the terrace toward the mansion.

  Saunderhome loomed above the lawn and the flagstone patios and steps. The main house was a soaring edifice of polarized glass and handmade brick constructed into the side of an artificial hill. Carissa had gone to some pains to capture the essence of the original Saunderhome, which had been built into a natural island peak. She had succeeded rather well. More than one vid-drama producer had sought permission to film Saunderhome as an exotic locale for fictional adventures. If Carissa knew the producer, or thought cooperation would be to her benefit, she sometimes agreed. The place was like a fairytale castle, a blend of ultramodern decor and jungle wilderness.

  Lights shone on all three floors. Some guests were in the public rooms of Saunderhome, watching the vid or holo-modes or live theatrical presentations. The polarized glass softened interior effects, so that all the people and furnishings visible through the windows became golden, smoky shapes.

  Brenna nodded absently to the SE security guards who snapped to attention as she entered the main house. There was no door. Air pressure, precisely engineered, separated exterior from interior. Cool, dehumidified air was invigorating, a welcome contrast to the languid, tropical evening.

  In the main entry, glass and metal rose to a cathedral ceiling that was pierced with high windows, now letting in the moonlight. Gradually Brenna's eyes adjusted to Saunderhome's gloomy, muted hall lights. She suspected Carissa kept that setting because so many of her guests—and Stuart—used mood enhancers and chemicals which affected their vision.

  The public rooms on either side of the entry were pleasant little refuges from the heat and the noisy dolphin show. Brenna nodded to some of the people sitting on the couches and the sling webbing as she moved on down the hall. When she got beyond the public rooms, the halls were empty, except for a few servants and guards. At one point she passed a servants' station and overheard a couple of the maids chattering.

  "Well, if you ask me, that Emigh woman's a fool..."

  "Aaaw, it's the money. Who wouldn't marry him for money?"

  "I wouldn't!"

  "Good thing! He ain't likely to ask you..."

  "That little heiress is goin' to wish old Mrs. Saunder didn't ask her, when she figures out what she's got into..."

  One of the women noticed Brenna and pinched her companion's arm to shut off the gossip. Their faces suddenly turned into utterly blank masks, as if they could wipe what they had said out of Brenna's ears if they didn't look as if they could talk. Brenna smiled slightly. She considered assuring them they had nothing to fear from her, but they probably wouldn't believe her. Carissa had a nasty way of finding out when her servants were getting uppity; quite a few of them had rejoined the ranks of the permanently unemployed because they had forgotten where they were and for whom they were working.

  Brenna took the escalator up to the gallery and walked across to the north annex. The aerial tunnel was glass-walled, like those connecting the three Saunder Estates on Mars. The scenery, though, was totally different. On Brenna's right lay the moonlit sea, blackness dancing with bright diamonds atop the waves. To her left she could see the curving lower levels of the hill and Saunderhome, and beyond those the terrace and the beach and waterways. People clapped their hands and opened their mouths and swayed to and fro, but she couldn't hear what they were saying or doing, couldn't hear the music. The gallery was totally soundproofed, cutting her off from all outside noise.

  The descending escalator carried her down into the north annex. There were some guest quarters here, but a lot more servants' rooms and utility areas. Brenna rarely came through here except to avoid Carissa or Stuart or, as she was doing tonight, to take a roundabout way to reach the opposite island. Her sandals made faint slapping sounds against the tile flooring, echoing along the corridors. There were no windows here, no scenic outlooks on the Caribbean or the party. If Brenna hadn't known her way, she could easily get lost in this maze of interconnecting rooms and halls.

  Brenna heard singing, piping, childish voices. She stopped, listening to the familiar nursery rhyme. No one knew where that song had originated, and few people today realized what the words were really all about. Brenna knew, however, and she winced. She was drawn by the baby voices, tracking them by the song. In an alcove off the corridor she found four toddlers skipping in a ragged circle and chanting:

  "Oh, Lady in the tower, the tower in the sea!

  Look out! The knight is coming, to set the people free!

  The Lady's in her tower. Oh, see the Lady frown!

  The knight will burn her tower up...

  And all... fall... down!"

  The children acted out the final words, giggling and tumbling to the floor in a heap of chubby arms and legs. Then the biggest toddler saw Brenna. His laughter choked off abruptly. He pulled the others to their feet and lined them up in a ragged row, stage-whispering instructions to them. "We be good," he assured Brenna. The little ringleader made a poignant effort to tidy the two smallest babies' clothing and tousled hair. Apparently he hoped that neatness would make a favorable impression on the "authorities"—adults.

  The four looked very much alike, in some ways. All were dark-haired and had strange, pale eyes. Though their features were similar, their personalities were not. The tallest boy looked boldly at Brenna, keen intelligence in his steady gaze. An equally alert but smaller and shyer boy hid behind the leader and sucked his thumb. The other two babies dismayed Brenna. Their expressions were unnaturally sweet yet vacant, with the telltale unresponsiveness of mental retardation.

  "Stan' up straight. Say hello," the ringleader ordered, nudging hi
s siblings. The blank-faced pair mumbled nonsense syllables and continued to smile inanely. With a sigh of exasperation, the assertive one yanked his shy brother's thumb out of his mouth and repeated the command. This time, Brenna heard the unspoken added warning in his words: "Hurry up and say hello, or the adult might hurt us." Blushing, the thumbsucker obeyed, speaking clearly. Then he hastily hid behind his brother once more. Possibly, when no adults were present, he was as expressive as the bigger boy. Brenna realized that it must have been the two brighter children she had heard singing the nursery rhyme. The retardates weren't capable of much except following the leaders. Now she knew who these babies were: the clones Carissa's hired scientists had created from the late Patrick Saunder's genes.

  Brenna leaned forward, hands on her knees, studying the group's spokesman. He faced her bravely, his sharp little chin raised. Brenna noted that if he lived to adulthood, he would likely be a very handsome man, as his "father," Patrick Saunder, had been. "What's your name?" Brenna asked kindly.

  "Anthony," he lisped. When that announcement brought no punishment, the boy pointed to the others in turn. "Bart ... Carl ... Eddie." He hesitated a moment, then added solemnly, "Dwake is gone."

  Drake. Gone. Dead. How did a three-year-old cope with the sudden death of one of his look-alikes? Brenna recalled Dian's comments, a few months ago, that the fifth clone in this experimental group had died of unspecified genetic flaws. Not even Carissa's wealth could eliminate all the risks in this still-radical technique.

  Anthony was watching Brenna with unnerving scrutiny, as if he were probing her mind and trying to anticipate what her next reaction would be.

  "Charming little brats, aren't they?"

  Startled, Brenna stood up, and came face to face with her cousin Stuart. Baby Anthony immediately shoved his siblings nearer to the wall, then stood between them and Stuart, like a tiny warrior defending his family. Stuart grinned at the children, baring his teeth. It wasn't a nice smile. Suddenly, Brenna was frightened for the babies' sakes. These innocents had been cloned when Stuart and Carissa were locked in a frantic struggle for the controlling hand of the Earth-based Saunder empire. The situation had been complicated when Stuart's mistress claimed that her newborn son was a Saunder and demanded her "rights." Carissa had eliminated those "rights," and the unfortunate woman's relationship with Stuart, with these four little children. Patrick Saunder's carbon copies. Gray-area legal questions. A threat to Stuart's eventual inheritance of all Carissa's awesome wealth. She had won then, as she had won tonight, by announcing Stuart's engagement.