by Ben Bova
Behind him followed another man, his complexion and hair a shade darker. He was somewhat shorter and stockier than his companion, but shared the shaggy hair and beard of the first. He joined the other and offered his hand in greeting, Adela noting that his grip was stronger, more muscular.
The last two appeared in the hatch together, and descended one behind the other. Each had shaggy blond hair and beards and the same fair complexion, but shared no other common features. These two were also the most dissimilar in size, with the first of the pair standing several centimeters taller. The other was easily the smallest of the four, his stance and features almost childlike. They joined the others at the bottom of the steps, waiting for them to move out of the way before stepping down to the concrete.
Ettalira started to present them individually. Beginning with the first to descend the steps, who seemed to be Brendan’s liaison, she introduced him to the academician. Then Gareth Anmoore smiled and accepted another handshake from the next as that man was presented to him. Adela listened politely, waiting her turn, and noticed that the taller of the two blonde men was staring at her. This man, she reasoned, must be the one that was intended to accompany her. Like the others, he was in his youth, with an appearance that put his age somewhere between thirty and forty actual years. He seemed ordinary enough, but as she stared into his blue eyes, she saw something there that called out to her. She studied his face, searching for some reason why this total stranger, an alien at that, could affect her so, but his features and the nuances of his expression remained hidden behind the thick growth of beard—But the eyes. The eyes …
“Wait!” Her heart beat rapidly, threatening to tear itself from her chest. She went to the steps, nearly tripping the short man as she pushed past, and stood looking up at him. “What is this?”
He smiled broadly then, white teeth flashing in a grin she would have recognized anywhere..
“Hello, Adela,” he said, the strong, mellow voice unmistakably that of Javas. “It’s good to see you again.”
Lewis was furious, and stamped back and forth behind his chair, not even deigning to look in the direction of the man seated next to Adela at the opposite end. “I refuse to accept the fact that you are my grandfather!”
“Do not accept it, then,” he replied, the strength in his voice so hauntingly close to Javas’. “For I am not he.”
“Javas is dead,” Adela offered emotionlessly, turning to the man. He and the others had been offered grooming, and his beard was now gone, his hair neatly trimmed such that when swept back it just touched his collar. The resemblance to the former Emperor was now even more complete. “He is half a century dead.”
There were four of them in the small workroom Anmoore had given them at the dome. Ettalira and the others had gone, taking with them the liaisons intended for the two brothers, and had left Adela, Lewis and Brendan alone to questions this particular Gatanni construct.
“Then just who are you?” Brendan, seated on his other side, demanded.
“I don’t have a name; none of us do. We were imprinted with all things that were Gatanni—knowledge, history, language—but given human personality traits and mannerisms.”
“How can you have human personalities?” Lewis turned finally, slapping both hands flat on the table as he confronted him. “How can you look and sound like my grandfather?”
“Javas Wood’s DNA recordings are on file, just as your own are. They were copied and replicated in me when I was built. I will, therefore, look and sound exactly like him; my eyesight, hearing, blood, cell type—everything matches that of Javas Wood.” He turned to Adela, then, saying, “We got our first hint of human personality from you, through Ettalira, and recorded it; then added to it the personality of every human we’ve touched since you crossed the waking curtain. Our personality traits are a meld of all of you.”
“No,” Adela spat. “You act to much like him to be a … a mixture of random personalities. I don’t believe you.”
“I’m sorry.” He turned to her, a remorseful aspect crossing his features. “I’m explaining all of this too fast, and leaving things out. I’m sorry,” he repeated. He leaned forward on the tabletop, clasping his hands in a gesture that reminded her, yet again, of him.
“Why did you do that?” she asked, pointing to his hands. “Javas always used to do that when he wanted to level with someone. Why did you use that mannerism just now?”
He unclasped his hands and looked at them, chuckling softly under his breath. “I don’t know, really; but believe me when I tell you that it wasn’t a conscious action.” He sat back in the chair, striking a pose that made Adela bristle. He noticed. “I did it again, didn’t I? Understand that, unlike the other three with their random personality traits, I have received the partial imprinting of a single known human. I freely admit that.”
“But why his?”
“Because Ettalira wanted to honor you, Adela. When she touched you, she felt every experience, every emotion, every memory of your life, just as you did hers. When they replicated me, she gave me the mannerisms and memories of everything you know about him, and shared with her.” He reached out to touch her cheek with the backs of his fingers, but she pulled away before he could make contact. “Through your memory, I know what your skin feels like. I know what makes you laugh, and what makes you cry. I can search my mind and remember the flavor of a meal we enjoyed together, the touch of your hand against mine, or the way the scent of a firebush flower mixes with that of your hair. Do you still adorn your hair with a single red blossom from time to time? Do you still wear the silver chain with the agate pendant, Adela? When you’re pensive or sad, do you activate the holographic representation of a Grisian forest and stroll quietly through it?” He hesitated, and held out his hand. “Do you remember this?” he asked, taking her hand in his and squeezing it gently three times, the way Javas used to at times when he wanted to say “I love you” silently, secretly, so that none in the Imperial Court would overhear.
Tears welled up in her eyes, and she took her hand away slowly. “You … are not … Javas.”
“Not entirely, no.” He regarded her, his eyes twinkling in the way she remembered, and brushed away a tear with a fingertip as it traced a line down her cheek. “But I could be, if you wanted.”
“I have heard just about enough of this! He’s not even human.” Lewis was at the comm terminal, and banged the control with his fist. “I want station security here immediately.”
“I am as human as anyone in this room, Lewis!” He was on his feet, glaring down the length of the table to where her grandson stood at the terminal, halted in midmessage. The way he reacted to this confrontation, and the way he spoke with strength and authority, was exactly as Javas would have done.
“Wait a minute.” Adela’s voice was soft, yet firm. Why am I doing this? she wondered. What do I feel for this … man? She pushed her chair back and stood, confronting her grandson. “Lewis, don’t call security.”
“Grandmother.” He turned back from the terminal, his face incredulous. “You can’t seriously be accepting what this man is saying?”
“No, I don’t accept it.” She inhaled sharply, letting the breath out in a long, slow sigh, and wiped at her face with the palms of her hands. “But what’s the harm? Ettalira did this as a gift, out of friendship and gratitude; it won’t hurt me to acknowledge that—to acknowledge him as such.”
Lewis, disgusted, canceled his request and slapped at the terminal to shut it off.
Even though the landing pad had been all but cleared before the four Gatanni/human representatives disembarked the hopper shuttle, by the next morning word had spread throughout South Camp of the unexpected surprise presented them by the Gatanni. Half the reaction to what had happened was measured, reasonable, with those already coming to terms with the unexpected turn of events going about their business. These were mostly the younger members of the survey crew located here. Those who were older, especially those who had received reju
venation and therefore remembered Emperor Javas, tried whenever possible to get a glimpse of him any time he was in the open dome. They milled around him whenever he and Adela passed, trying to confirm for themselves that it either was or was not him.
Finally, overcome by the crush of attention, Adela was forced to leave the dome, walking out one of the big roll-up doors used by the heavy cargo lifters.
Once outside, she leaned against the slanted metal sheeting of the dome and reveled in the sudden, comparative quiet—the loud vehicles going to and fro throughout the compound hardly reaching the level of annoyance the pressing crowd inside had accomplished—and enjoyed the heat that seeped up through her boots from the baking pavement, as well as from the metal at her back. Anmoore was here, along with his liaison companion, giving final instructions to a survey team of both humans and Gatanni spheres before they left for one of the western dig sites. The two seemed to have hit it off and, as they took turns addressing the assembled team, it looked as if they worked well together. They bid good luck to the survey team, then started back for the dome, waving to them as they approached. As always, this liaison, like the others, touched frequently with the nearest spheres whenever possible. The man had been groomed, as had the “Javas” liaison, but had elected to keep a trim mustache.
“Where’s your … ?” Anmoore said when they came up to her, then thought better of it and finished instead, “You’re alone.”
She nodded. “It was getting a bit too hectic in there. All the hero worship.”
“From what I’ve seen of the reception you’ve gotten wherever you go, I would think you’d be used to that sort of thing by now.”
Adela laughed, pleased at how Gareth always managed to say the right thing at the right time. Just like Javas always did … Her smile vanished, and with it the moment of good cheer she’d felt. “It’s just too hard to get used to. Tell me something,” she said, addressing Anmoore’s liaison. “What happens to you when this is all over? If this initial phase is successful, and more Gatanni are created—true Gatanni, in your true form and without human mannerisms and imprinting—what happens to you and the other liaisons?”
He made a typically human expression of raising his brow and shrugging at the same time. “The four of us are more human, genetically speaking, than we are Gatanni. I don’t have the identity of any Gatanni in particular, so I suppose we’ll join you, if you’ll have us.” He turned questioningly to Anmoore in a way that told her the subject had not come up.
“Excuse us a moment,” Anmoore said, indicating a refreshment cart several meters away. The man went to the wagon and selected a container of fruit drink, the look on his face a visage of delight at the unexpected flavor of the beverage. “You’d be surprised at how quickly they’re developing their own personalities. I’ll be honest: I find the working relationship we’ve developed to be more beneficial than I’d thought it would be. I can’t speak for your grandsons—I haven’t seen the academician since yesterday, and I understand that Commander Wood has rejected his liaison entirely. I sent him along with a team to the observation deck at Jour Nouveau.”
“So, he’s becoming more human,” she said, hearing the tone of disbelief in her voice. “He doesn’t even have a name, because they didn’t bother to give him one. How human can he be?”
Gareth looked at her, then said, “He has a name now. He asked for one last night when I was showing him around the Blanca, and he was meeting everyone there. I had the computer scroll up a list of every name on the crew roster, and told him to pick any first name he liked. He chose ‘Allie,’ so that’s what I call him.” He hesitated, unsure of how to continue. “If he wants to join us, become a member of the crew when this is all over, he’ll do so with my blessing.” Anmoore looked over to where “Allie” was chatting with a group of off-duty personnel at the refreshment cart, then turned back to her.
“I hold you in very high esteem,” he said. “So I’ll give you the courtesy of speaking my mind to you.” He cleared his throat loudly, looking away so as not to meet her eyes. “I not only revere you and your accomplishments, I’ve found that I like you even more than I thought I would all those long weeks we anticipated your arrival. Your reputation preceded you, of course, and it took some time for me to get over the awe with which I had always thought about you, but I finally managed to let myself relax around you, to consider you as something other than a legend. And once I did, I found that there was a real person there, with feelings and dreams just like the rest of us.”
A small cargo lifter moved noisily by, and he waited for it to pass, using the few seconds it took to better form his thoughts. “Anyway, I found that you’re someone I can be honest with. Do you know what I’ve seen in you since yesterday?” He waited a moment for the rhetorical question to linger in her mind, then said, “I see doubt, and fear of the unknown. I see the things we hate in Jephthah being reflected in your face, your words, your movements whenever he is around. Is this what you want?”
Adela looked at the pavement, not wanting to look him in the face. “Of course not. But he is not who he pretends to be!”
“‘He’ pretends to be no one. He can’t help how he was made, or what memories he’s been given; that was Ettalira’s doing, not his. Why punish him—and yourself—for that?”
“I don’t know, Gareth.” She glanced away, and saw that her liaison had come through the big cargo door, and was now looking back and forth, presumably for her. He had a flatscreen tablet tucked under his arm. “I just don’t know. But he stirs so many feelings within me, feelings I’ve not had in so many years.” She let out an ironic chuckle, still staring in his direction. “More than two hundred years, if you take a look at the nearest calendar.”
He waved when he spotted them, and started in their direction. “Here you are, Captain Anmoore.”
“Please—around the crew and in the dome, titles are appropriate, but we’ve become pretty informal on a one-to-one basis. It’s Gareth.”
“Fine.” There was an awkward moment, as if Anmoore was waiting for him to give his own name, but all he said was “Gareth it is, then.” He smiled broadly. “Mind if I steal the doctor away for a while? With everyone trying to get to us in there, we’ve hardly had a chance to talk all afternoon.”
Anmoore assented reluctantly, and bid them both good-bye, heading back through the cargo door into the dome’s main chamber.
“We have to get away from here for a few minutes,” he said as soon as they were alone. “I have to talk to you.”
“What’s so important that we can’t—”
“Please, Adela,” he said, in a way that was so painfully familiar. “I’m not sure who to tell this to.” He spied a small, all-terrain groundcar and headed toward it. A man with Paloma Blanca-issue coveralls was just finishing unloading the cargo rack on the rear of the electrically powered vehicle, and the moment he saw them he straightened, nearly dropping the last box to the ground.
“Dr. Montgarde! I—”
“We need to borrow this,” she said, smiling, and patted the hood of the still-running open-topped vehicle. “We need to check something out. Would that be all right?”
“Of course, Doctor. I’ll sign it out for you myself.”
She watched him trot immediately over to the dome, leaving the pile of boxes unattended where he’d stacked them, then turned back to find her liaison already in the driver’s seat of the groundcar. “Do you know how to drive this?”
“You’ve driven one before,” he answered, tossing the flatscreen into the back and engaging the controls. “So I can, too.” The groundcar jerked forward, heading away from the compound. He accelerated the groundcar with the hand of an experienced driver, and seemed to know where he was going.
They rode in uncomfortable silence, the groundcar weaving expertly along the rough vehicle path worn into the landscape until coming to a tranquil glade near a moderate-sized body of water. The lake was all that remained of this basin, and occupied the lowest porti
on of the landscape. The setting, the tranquil water surrounded on all sides by trees, was a popular recreation spot for off-duty personnel. As she looked around the perimeter of the shoreline, in fact, she saw two or three groundcars parked some distance away to either side of them. On the other side, she could see the wake of a hoverboat as its occupants looked for a good spot to cast their lines in hopes of snagging the delicacies rumored to swim beneath the surface.
He turned the car off the path and parked it, hopping out and helping her step down. He reached back for the flatscreen, then took her hand and led her to a spot beneath a massive spreading tree at the water’s edge. He sat, bringing his knees up before him, and set the flatscreen on his angled thighs, activating it with a touch of his fingertip to bring up the control window.
“Sit here with me,” he said, patting the dry grass at his side. “I want to show you something.”
Adela sat hesitantly at his side—not too closely—and watched him, almost scrutinizing him as he tapped at the screen.
“I was talking to one of Gareth’s people when you left the dome,” he said, still calling up the screen he wanted. At length a code number appeared in the center of a blue field on the screen, and he paused the display, turning to her. “She directed me to this recording, the most recent sent by this Jephthah person. I remember it, of course, because you have already seen it; but I never actually watched it for myself until now.”
“Who are you?” Adela had asked the question almost without thinking.
“Who do you want me to be, Adela?”
She stared into his eyes and did not stop him as he leaned to her, reaching up to cradle her face in his hands, and kissed her gently. His lips were warm and soft as they met hers, his kiss exactly as she remembered it. But then, she recalled, he was imprinted with her memories—the kiss could be nothing less than as she remembered it.
