by Ben Bova
He wasn’t sure what he had expected to see when the doors parted completely. A dozen armed security officers, guns leveled in his direction, bursting forth from the lift would not have surprised him at all. But what he saw there he could never have imagined: a single woman with flowing copper hair, dressed in a gown more befitting an Imperial ball than the hospital section of an orbital station. As she came forward, gracefully and with no small amount of practiced poise, he realized just how beautiful she truly was—but just who was she?
“Let him go,” she said simply.
Rice tightened his grip around Poser’s throat, setting the little man to gagging once more. “I don’t think so. If you come any closer, I’ll break his scrawny neck.” He continued backing away from her. “I mean it. Either you let me into that lift, or I’ll kill him.”
She almost smiled at that, but didn’t slow her pace as she approached. “Let him go, Dr. Rice.”
“You’re not even armed!” he shouted at her, feeling his advantage slipping. “What the hell kind of place is this? You’re not going to stop me without security to back you up.”
“I don’t need security, and I don’t need a weapon. I knew that before I came down here.”
“How could you?”
“Poser told me.”
“He told you? How did … ?”
Rice stared down incredulously at the man locked tightly in his grip. His face was twisted in agony.
“Let … me … go …” he managed to gasp between clenched teeth. His face was beet red, his bloodshot eyes wide in terror.
Rice had already traveled the length of the corridor and felt his back touching the closed door behind him.
“Listen carefully, Dr. Rice—”
“No, you listen! I want access to that lift, and if you or Rapson follow me or hamper me in any way I will kill him.”
She did smile then. “No, you won’t. And unless you do kill him, or at least render him unconscious, you’ll find you won’t get very far. He has an implanted integrator and can control every system aboard this ship.” She paused, allowing her words to sink in. “That’s right, Doctor; this is a ship, my ship. Not an orbital.”
Rice nodded, beginning to understand as the pieces started falling into place. He tightened his grip around Poser’s neck, saying into the man’s ear loudly enough for the woman to hear, “Listen to me, friend: Either you escort me to an escape pod or shuttle, or I’ll strangle you right here and now. Do you understand me?”
Poser tried to reply, but the best he could manage was an unintelligible gurgle.
“Believe me, Doctor, your strangling my personal aide would be no great loss.” At that, Poser’s eyes widened even further, if that were possible. “But before you do, I think you should see something.” She walked toward him, stopping in front of the long expanse of plastiglass. “System!”
There was a pause as the security subroutines in this area recognized her voice pattern. “Yes, Mistress?”
“Lock in to the shield wall in suite D, level four.”
“Ready.”
“Remove opacity and audio dampers.”
Rice suddenly realized, as the wall became transparent at her order, that it had not been plastiglass at all, but rather a generated shield. But it was what he saw inside that stunned him.
The interior of the modest-sized room on the other side of the shielding resembled nothing so much as a small greenhouse. There was a low plastic couch in the center, a small table set to one side. There was also a cabinet against the far wall next to an open doorway that led to what Rice assumed to be a bathroom or galley. There was no other furniture. The rest of the room was filled with plant life of every variety he could imagine. The very lighting of the room itself glowed green as it filtered through the myriad growing things.
The audio dampers off, he could hear the sound of insects as they buzzed around the room, as well as the steady dripping of water falling among the leafy plants. There were other soft, melodic sounds he couldn’t quite identify, but as he listened more closely he realized what it was: Sarpan music, emanating, apparently, from a speaker system somewhere inside. The room must have been incredibly hot and humid, because the walls, furniture, even the ceiling light grids ran wet with moisture; the air itself was a steamy haze.
A naked figure with skin of glistening brown appeared in the doorway, undoubtedly drawn to the living area by the sound now emanating from the corridor. The being had apparently been unaware of their presence until the very moment he entered the room, and came to rigid attention when he saw that the shield wall of his room had unexpectedly become translucent. He stared out at them, his large eyes wide in shocked surprise.
“Oidar!”
The alien came fully into the room, tilting his head at them. He blinked the nictitating membranes in astonishment as he recognized him. “Temple? Is it you? You are alive?”
Before Rice could do anything else, the woman strode defiantly up before him. “Doctor, I’m sure you recognize the Sarpan-normal conditions that are being maintained on the other side of this shielding. You can credit those conditions for keeping your soggy little friend alive.” She paused. “System!”
“Yes, Mistress?”
“On my mark, wait fifteen seconds then discontinue current special environmental settings in place in suite D, level four, and dissolve the shield wall at the same location … . Mark.” The corners of her mouth turned up into an almost sadistic smile. “Well, Doctor, kill my aide if you’d like; but if you do not release him in the next few seconds you will condemn your friend to death.” She took a few steps away from the shielding and leaned casually against the wall on the opposite side of the corridor. “We can all watch as he dries out right here on the floor in front of us. It’s your call.”
Rice released his captive and let the man fall, nearly sobbing, to the floor.
“I thought so,” she said, the slightest hint of disappointment in her voice. “System, cancel last directive.”
18
A CHANGE OF MIND
“She is known as Rihana Valtane,” Oidar said. “I have been treated well at her hands. The small male, I believe, is her water tender; he is called Poser. However, this one has no way of determining the truth of these things.” He tilted his head in an apologetic manner. “Do you know of her, Temple?”
“Yes, but not from personal experience,” Rice replied.
Oidar nodded slowly, his face assuming the familiar pouting expression that indicated he was deep in thought. “So” was all he said as he tapped a webbed forefinger against his lower lip. “So.”
The Sarpan’s speech patterns and mastery of English were old-style, Rice noted. In the last century, the aliens had come to master vocal communication quite handily; but Oidar, asleep for so long, awoke with his speaking patterns intact. Somehow, that was a distinct comfort to him, something solid to grab on to, something known in this situation where so many things remained unknown. It was even a bit relieving the way Oidar used his old nickname. Rice regarded his old friend, and felt good about Oidar’s condition for the first time since pulling him out of the tank back at the sunstation on Mercury. Although his skin was still the dull chocolate brown of Sarpan old age, Oidar’s eyes were bright and inquisitive, and his face reflected the image of the young scientist Rice had known so many years ago. The severe dehydration caused by cryosleep might have made him look older, but Rice could feel that Oidar was just as vital now as he was then.
The Sarpan occupied most of one side of the low couch, reclining in a characteristic position Rice had come to recognize over the years as the most comfortable pose members of his friend’s race could employ on furniture designed expressly for human frames.
Rice ran the fingers of his hands through his dripping hair, plastering it back across the top of his head, then wiped uselessly at his face. Licking his lips, he tasted only his own salty sweat. He had shed all but his undershorts before entering Oidar’s room, leaving the rest of his clothe
s in a pile on the other side of the shield wall, where they would remain dry. Sitting upright on the other side of the couch, Rice was grateful that Oidar had draped a large woven throw over the back of the couch in deference to him, but he was careful nonetheless not to allow his bare back to touch any of the exposed plastic of the couch itself.
The room was a veritable steam bath, and he was forced to reach again for the tall glass of water on the table, wondering if it was the fifth or sixth full glass he’d downed in the two hours they had been left alone by their captors. The water had been cold when first drawn from the tap in the room’s tiny galley, but was now approaching room temperature. He set the container back on the table and, shooing away a pesky dragonfly-like insect, refilled it once more from the pitcher Oidar had provided.
“Rihana Valtane was once married to Javas, long before he became Emperor,” he went on. “Long before our project began.” Rice mused at how it all seemed like ancient history, and yet how most of it was part of his own lifetime. “Several years after being ousted from the Imperial House, she had a son conceived artificially from an ovum fertilized by Javas, and attempted—with the help of a religious cult leader from Earth—to kill both Javas and Eric. Fortunately, it was Eric himself, then just a boy, who prevailed … at the cost of her own son’s life. I wasn’t even involved with the Sun project yet. I had not even met Adela de Montgarde, for that matter, when it all happened; but I always got the impression from what I’d heard over the years that she had a personal vendetta against the Imperial House.” “She is an enemy, then?”
Rice shrugged, but immediately remembered the Sarpan’s weakness for understanding human body language. “Dr. Montgarde warned me of her before going into cryosleep, as did Academician Bomeer before his death. But to my knowledge she hasn’t shown much interest in Imperial affairs since, choosing instead to utilize the many technological developments that have come about to increase her material wealth and position among the interstellar trading Houses. At that, she’s been quite successful; respected, even.” Rice paused and wiped again at his face and neck with the back of his hand. “Next time,” he said jokingly as he reached yet again for the water, “you’re putting on an E-suit and coming over to my place.” He drank, frowning at the water that was now almost as unpleasantly warm as the room itself.
Oidar let the quip pass without comment, then, still tapping idly at his lower lip, replied, “So. If she is who she claims to be … ?” In typical old-style fashion, he let the unfinished question hang in the thick air.
Rice nodded, finishing his friend’s incomplete thought. “Yeah, what does she want with us? That’s just what I’ve been wondering. We’re being used for something, that’s certain.” Rice looked around the room, studying the ceiling first, then walls. Thinking silently for several long moments before coming to a decision, he stood. His head spun dizzily for a second, and he realized that he would have to get out of this heat and humidity before much longer.
“I’m sure you’re listening,” he called out aloud, having no doubt they were being monitored. “So what is it, Mistress Valtane? What do you want with us?” Rice waited patiently for an answer, but no response was forthcoming. “The two of us would like to talk to you about a couple things,” he said, just slightly louder this time.
Nothing happened for several minutes, but when light filled the corridor outside Oidar’s room he knew he had been heard. Someone was coming—the angle was wrong to see who it was, but he had no doubt it would be Rihana Valtane.
“Of course I have been listening,” she said testily when she reached the shield wall. She was dressed more casually than when he had first seen her a few hours earlier. Instead of the gown, she now wore a tailored sky-blue pant suit of a design that seemed more sensible—and more comfortable—for life aboard a starship. Her copper hair had been pulled back, and was fastened behind her head with a jeweled clip just above the collar of her outfit. The man Poser was with her, but this time he offered no pretense of being a medical aide. In fact, his attire matched hers rather closely in both color and design. Rice could see, when Poser turned his head to watch his mistress, a slight bruising above his collar from the rough handling Rice had given him earlier. As he studied the pair, it occurred to him that the garments almost had the appearance of being uniforms, or at least as much of a uniform as this headstrong woman would ever deign to wear. He had to admit, however, that it did lend her a certain air of authority that had been missing—despite her obvious command of the situation—at their last meeting. Rice wondered idly if she had consciously altered her appearance in this way solely for his benefit.
“I appreciate the candor of your conversation with the alien over the last few hours,” she continued dryly, “although I found myself becoming quite wearied with the actual discussion itself. I’d hoped to gain some insight as to how much you already knew, but you chose instead to talk mostly about the progress of the Sun project.” She sighed disappointedly. “That’s what happens, I suppose, when you throw two scientists together for any length of time. Frankly, scientific talk, especially when it’s little more than an update of what he’s missed over the last two hundred years …” She jerked a thumb in Oidar’s direction. “ … bores me to no end.”
“Fine,” Rice snapped back, rising. He approached the shield wall and stood before her, hands fisted rigidly at his sides, and glared defiantly into her eyes. “Let’s talk about why we’re here instead. Oidar has confirmed that we’ve been detained here for nearly three weeks, although you’ve done your best to convince me otherwise. I want to know what you want with us. To start with, why was I drugged?”
She looked the scientist up and down as he stood brazenly before her wearing nothing but his underwear. A brief, sly smile appeared on her lips and she raised an appreciative eyebrow at what she saw. “You do not seem to be any the worse for your treatment,” she mused. “Don’t bother asking any questions, as I intend to tell you only as much as I’ve already decided you should know at this time. But, as it is now obvious that you have been deceived, and that you are indeed being detained, I have decided to inform you of your general situation.” She smiled again, and Rice noted just the hint of several tiny wrinkles at the corners of her mouth and eyes as she looked at him. “I anticipate that you won’t much like what you’ll hear, however.”
She turned to leave, kicking at the pile of clothes at her feet. “Get dressed,” she said in a voice clearly accustomed to giving orders. “I’m afraid you might prove too much of a distraction to me in your present apparel.”
She nodded curtly to Poser, and a vertical section of the shield wall between them immediately became fuzzy. The hazy rectangle remained attached to the wall but extended itself quickly into the room, passing over Rice until he was enclosed in a tall boothlike structure that would form a shield airlock. The airlock coalesced at his sides and back; then the front wall dissolved completely, allowing him to exit Oidar’s room. One of the insects had been caught in the airlock with him, and it buzzed away down the corridor. Once he stood dripping before her, the airlock shrank back into the wall and disappeared.
Her face twisted in disgust and she turned away, her hand to her nose. “See to it that he bathes!” she shouted as she walked briskly to the lift doors at the corridor’s end. “I won’t have my office smelling like some damned swamp.”
Rihana Valtane had not yet arrived when Poser admitted him to her “office.” The diminutive man took a position near the door through which they had just entered, hands behind his back, and stood at relaxed attention as he awaited the arrival of his mistress. Almost ignoring Rice, he held his chin up and stared absently off into the distance in such a way that made his nose appear more prominent than usual. His face reminded Rice of some kind of weasel.
Oidar was right, he thought, staring at the aide. You are little more than a water tender.
“Where is she?”
Poser turned with a surprised, incredulous look that wordlessly asked “
Are you talking to me?” visible on his face.
Rice tried again. “I thought I was to meet with Mistress Valtane. Where is she?”
“Mistress Valtane will be with you in a moment, Doctor,” he replied. “She is in consultation with the pilot of this vessel at this time, and deeply regrets that she must keep you waiting any longer than is necessary.”
Yeah, right.
Rice filled the time by more closely examining the room in which he now found himself, concluding that Rihana Valtane’s office was, without a doubt, the most plush quarters he had ever seen aboard a ship of any kind. He suspected that the Emperor’s own ship was not so marvelously adorned. Designed as a combination study, lounge and command center, the room had obviously been furnished with the thought that she would be spending a great deal of time here.
The plush seating was considerably nicer than any he had ever beheld in a working office, and spoke as much of her vanity as did the other fine appointments. He couldn’t be certain, but the tapestries that hung on the facing wall might just be genuine, ancient Persian rugs, although he had never actually seen one before other than in library holofiles. There was a holograph frame here, of course, that occupied an entire wall of the office. Displayed on it was an old artwork, depicting a noblewoman holding a small carnivorous animal. The woman in the painting was the very picture of innocence and grace, her gentle smile able to lure any man into her confidence. The minklike animal, meanwhile, exuded a vicious, predatory stare, and appeared ready to attack without mercy upon command. While he had no idea what the work was called, or what artist had rendered it, he could definitely see—based on what he knew of this woman—why this particular work would appeal to her. The two subjects of this single work were but two sides of Rihana Valtane.
