by Ben Bova
“What did you feel, just now?” she asked.
“Good. I felt good.”
She pulled back, leaning against the bole of the tree and gazing out across the lake. A trio of white birds, native snow sparrows, dipped across the surface and gracefully skimmed the water, leaving the tiniest of wakes behind them. As she watched them disappear into the trees on the opposite side, she thought for a moment that the birds reminded her of a dream she’d once had, but she couldn’t quite place it. “What was it you wanted to show me?” she asked, changing the subject in an attempt to control the emotions coursing through her.
“Oh, I …” He turned back to the screen, obviously as emotionally affected as she had been by their brief encounter, then tapped at it to start the playback. The image of a native airship appeared, the recording the same one that Jephthah had last broadcast. He pressed the screen, rapidly scrolling through the sequence until the airship raid had concluded.
Jephthah’s face was centered on the screen now. “This is loathsome, is it not?” the recording asked rhetorically. “This is the new ‘civilized race’ discovered at Tsing that the Emperor would seek to hide from you. A race of brutal, aggressive killers that—”
“There,” the man said, pointing at Jephthah’s image in the flatscreen. “Don’t you see it?”
“See what?”
“This is an enhanced image. Can’t you tell? Look there …” He pointed to Jephthah’s hair. “And there. Can’t you see where the reality stops and the computer enhancement begins? The man claiming to be Jephthah is much younger than he appears, I’m certain of it, and has generated an alter ego for himself.” He tapped at the screen to freeze the image. “I doubt that he looks much like this at all.”
Adela slapped at the flatscreen, sending it cartwheeling into the tall grass a few meters from the tree. “You’re a lie!”
“What do you mean?” he said, truly bewildered by her response.
She jumped up, running her hands over her face and back through her long hair as she turned away from him. “You said you were real, that you only knew what he knew! How could you take one look at this and tell so easily that it was all some kind of a ‘simulation’ if you weren’t one yourself? Damn you! Goddamn you to hell!”
He breathed out heavily, the sound so real that she sensed that if she were still sitting next to him she would have felt his familiar breath on her cheek. Had she been closer, would the scent, the warmth have belonged to Javas?
“Adela—”
“Goddamn you,” she spat again. “I was almost beginning to trust you. I almost thought you were real!”
The glade was quiet. Nothing but her own breathing—almost sobbing—could be heard. Even the snow sparrows that had noisily flitted across the lake’s surface only a few minutes earlier were silent, absent.
“I am real,” he said, coming to stand before her. He touched her chin, turning her face up to his. “And I know you.”
Adela stiffened at his touch at first, but as he played his fingertips across her face and down her neck in the way she remembered from so long ago, she closed her eyes and encircled her arms around his strong shoulders. She opened her eyes and gazed up into his, then pressed her lips warmly against his.
An abrupt beeping came from the comm terminal in the groundcar, but they did not even hear it as they fell to the soft cushion of grass beneath the swaying trees at the lake’s edge.
31
VISITATION RITES
The beeping from the comm terminal had stopped, but it still displayed the number 18 in bright red numerals on a small LED screen in the lower corner.
“We have to get back,” Adela said. “A code eighteen is a return-to-base command, part of the system Gareth instituted when he set this place up.” She leaned over the side of the car and thumbed the terminal’s call button.
“Communications have been disabled. Please see your supervisor for information regarding this temporary situation. Communications have been—”
“We have to get back,” she repeated, canceling the call attempt and climbing into the passenger seat. “Something’s going on.”
He likewise got in, pressing the starter. There was a subtle whine that increased in pitch as the flywheel came up to speed. “I can be Javas,” he said abruptly, catching her offguard. “You can make it possible.”
“What are you talking about?” She stared at him, eyes narrowed. “You’re already as much like him as anyone could possibly—”
“I can be him,” he said again. “Give me access to his private files, the years of collected recordings in his sealed personal files at Woodsgate and in the Imperial net. The Gatanni can imprint them on me in such a way that I’ll not only have your memories of me, but the sum total of his life, as he remembered it.”
“His files …?” There was a chirping sound from the dashboard, and a green light glowed on the gearshift indicating that the groundcar drive mechanism was up to speed. He smoothly put the vehicle into drive and pulled it in a wide arc around the glade, heading back the way they had come earlier.
“I … I can’t deal with this right now.” She looked away, out the side of the groundcar, not wanting to meet his eyes. “Not now.”
South Camp was in what looked like a state of emergency when they pulled the groundcar across the concrete perimeter surrounding the dome. People were running into the dome, those with vehicles leaving them parked haphazardly as they jumped out and sprinted inside. There were no metallic spheres that she could see, but that should not be a surprise in itself: In a situation involving a return-to-base order, the flying orbs—with their speed and agility—would be the first inside.
With the liaison bringing the groundcar to a screeching stop, Adela tightly gripped the top of the windshield and stood, calling over the window to the nearest person within earshot.
“What’s happened?”
The woman nearly stumbled as she turned, and she kept moving, walking briskly backward, as she yelled back. “The Emperor himself is here! In orbit!” She turned away and resumed her headlong dash into the dome, not waiting for a further query from Adela.
They shut the car off and left it where it was, and joined the others crowding into the entrance.
“Dr. Montgarde!” A man came toward them, his ID badge orange-striped. He was one of several who were scanning the crowd that was now pushing into the dome through the cargo entrance. He snapped his fingers and five more orange-badges came forward. “Captain Anmoore would like you and the Gatanni to join him in his office. You’ll be going up to the Kiska as soon as you’re all assembled.”
“The Kiska? Why the Kiska? I moved everything I have down here, to the personnel quarters.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any details on anything. I just need to get the two of you to Captain Anmoore.”
She acquiesced, realizing that her question had been a foolish one. Of course the security man would not have been told why; he had only been told to get them, and bring them.
He hustled the two of them through the crowd, pushing and shoving around the edge of the main room to the corridor leading to the office and workroom section. As the security team hurried them into the access hallway leading to Anmoore’s private facility, she saw that every security person at South Camp had been lined up in the main work area of the dome. Someone was addressing them from atop the hood of a cargo lifter, and as she looked close she saw that it was Waltz. He ticked off instructions on his fingers as he pointed to one group of people or another, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying.
Brendan and his liaison were already here, she saw as they entered the room, as were Gareth and the liaison named Allie. There were more security people here, who stood quietly off to one side of the room. Anmoore had been pacing, but turned as they came in. “Good,” he barked to the leader of the security team that had brought them here. There was a coffee urn on a low table in the corner of Anmoore’s office, and he went to it, refilling h
is mug. “Thank you, Cusick. That’ll be all; join the others out in the main section, and help out wherever Waltz needs you.” As the security men left he indicated a stack of cups on the table, wordlessly offering the two of them coffee.
But between the excitement here—and the events at the glade this afternoon—Adela needed no further stimulation.
“The four of you are going to the Kiska,” he announced without preamble. “Since most of the personnel who arrived on the ship were reassigned here or to other ships in orbit, it’s pretty empty right now and has been deemed the best bet for security purposes. All other passengers aboard the Emperor’s ship have already been transferred to the Kiska, but the Emperor himself will remain where he is for now. Also, the Gatanni spheres will stay here at South Camp until the Emperor’s wishes and plans are made known.” He glanced around, his eyes falling first on the two of them, then on Brendan and his Gatanni liaison in turn. “I’m glad there aren’t any questions. Let’s go.”
They filed out of the room, turning down the corridor in a direction that would take them away from the main section and toward, Adela assumed, a private hopper shuttle that Anmoore had arranged for their use.
She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to see that Brendan had come up beside her. His face was a visage of concern.
“Rihana Valtane is here,” he said simply. “She’s on the Kiska, and has already asked to see you.”
The cabin that had been given to Rihana was similar to the one Adela had used during her voyage, and she was privately pleased to see that the former Princess had not rated any better quarters—or any hastily contrived upgrading of her quarters, for that matter—than anyone else had enjoyed. She took a brief perverse pleasure in wondering just how much the ordinary room must have annoyed the woman.
Their first meeting, at the door to the cabin, had been a cold one. No aide had accompanied her to Tsing, something unusual for the aristocrat, and she had even answered the door herself.
They had exchanged pleasantries, banal talk of appearances and clothing, hairstyles and jewelry, that had lasted but minutes before Adela had discarded all semblance of protocol and confronted her directly on why she had come here with Eric.
“Because I am the only one who can identify him for you, that’s why.” Rihana leaned back into the sofa, crossing her long legs and resting an arm on the backrest. “Because I delivered your scientist friend from Mercury, along with his sorry alien companion, to the Emperor … to your son.” She tilted her head, the corners of her mouth turning upward into a pernicious smile. “The one who killed my own son.”
“That tells me why you were permitted to come,” Adela shot back, ignoring the affront against Eric, “and why you aren’t languishing in some detention cell, charged with high treason.” She sat in the chair facing the sofa, her arms crossed in front of her. “But why are you here? What could you possibly gain by coming here that would profit you?”
“No charges have been lodged against me. I gave this man monetary backing, to be sure; call it an investment, if you will. However, I had nothing to do with his actions.” Rihana raised an eyebrow. “But to answer your question: I deal in profit, that is true. But I also deal firmly with those who would stifle my profit.” She rose, the fabric of her sapphire-blue gown flowing as liquidly as a waterfall, and leaned against the armrest of the sofa. “He cheated me,” she said bluntly. “He used me, and lied to me. And I cannot forgive that. You see, I also deal in revenge when it suits me.”
“I do see.” Adela nodded. Then: “And just where do I fit into your revenge plans? And my son?”
She shrugged, sending the gown rippling again, and waved a hand to dismiss Adela’s remark. “That is all ancient history, occurring so long ago that I do not even wish to recall it.”
“Unless it suits you to malign me with it. As you did just now with the remark about Eric.”
They stared defiantly at each other, until finally Rihana broke into an amused smile.
“So, your years of sleep have not dulled your wit after all. It is good to see.” She went to the portion of the sofa directly across from Adela and sat, leaning forward earnestly, all traces of pompousness and superiority abruptly gone. “I have mellowed in my old age, Adela,” she began, and as she spoke, it was as though Rihana Valtane had disappeared, to be replaced by a stranger in her likeness. “I still have my desires and my needs, but things have occurred that have given me a different outlook on who I am. I still want to profit—I suppose that will always be true—but I have been wronged by this man in a way much more personal than by you or your son. Or even Javas.” She slammed a fist into the armrest of the sofa. “Yes! I want revenge against this bastard! I do not deny it. But I also want to correct something that I should never have allowed to happen.
“I let my own desires blind me to this man, allowing him to use me in a way that …” She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I do not wish ill of the Empire, nor do I wish ill of your son. Even I have a conscience, Adela, as surprising as that may be to you; even I have to answer to my own code of honor. I’ve done my share of cheating and lying and stealing, but never—even when I attempted to subvert the Imperial status to my own ends—did I wish to enslave people in fear.”
“And what brought about this change of heart?” Adela asked skeptically. “Surely not your wish to assure yourself a positive footnote in history.”
“No. But neither do I want a negative one.” She rose, and approached the door to the cabin. “I only wanted you to know my motives. They may be selfish, to the last, but for some reason … I wanted you to know that I no longer hold any animosity for you. Do not ask me why.”
Adela walked to the doorway, contemplating the expression on Rihana’s face. The woman was still striking, even though it was obvious that the benefits of rejuvenation were becoming less effective for her. Her features were still strong—headstrong, even—and there was a fire in her eyes that clearly displayed her strength of will. But there was also a look of … what? Regret? Sorrow? She couldn’t be sure.
“In that case …” Adela offered her hand to Rihana, the woman whose son had tried to kill Eric. Whose son was killed by Eric. “I wish you the best of luck in identifying this madman for us. And I also offer you my thanks.”
They looked at each other for several moments; then Adela released her hand and wordlessly pressed the door’s opening plate. She turned for the corridor, and did not look back as the door slid closed behind her.
“To Billy and Cathay!” The Emperor of the Hundred Worlds held his glass out over the remains of the sumptuous meal the Scartaris chefs had prepared.
“To Billy and Cathay!” They touched glasses, the delicate crystal chiming sharply, and downed the last of the fine wine that Gareth Anmoore had sent, with his compliments.
There were only four of them seated here in the commander’s formal dining room. Eric occupied the head of the table, with Lewis sitting at his right hand, Brendan at his left. Adela sat across from her son.
“I had hoped that Cathay would be here with us,” Eric said. “There has never been a time when we have all been together. However, I rejoice in her happiness and welcome a good friend into our family. With luck, we shall all be together very soon.”
Brendan looked at his older brother, as if to beg him to begin a discussion of what was to happen. The young commander, in turn, glanced her way, the question on his face the same as on Brendan’s.
“I think it is best if we call it a night,” Eric proposed before she could say anything. He wiped at his lips with a linen napkin, then pushed himself away from the table. “There will be ample time tomorrow to discuss our plans for the visit to the surface, as well as to set up a partnership of sorts between Mistress Valtane and the security forces here.” He paused. “And to meet our new friends staying on the Kiska.” His reference was to the Gatanni liaisons.
He stood, signaling that the dinner was at an end. There was a bit of idle chatter as they le
ft, escorting Eric to the room Lewis had ordered prepared for him. The corridors were quiet, vacant, cleared of all personnel by the IPC agents.
“Father,” Lewis said when they reached the door, “if you will excuse me there’s a bit of business I need to take care of on the bridge.”
“Of course.”
Lewis shook his father’s hand briskly, and with a nod to the others headed down the corridor.
“I know the two of you are going back to the Kiska,” Eric said to Brendan. “But could I impose on you to wait for a few minutes while I talk to your grandmother alone?”
“Certainly.” Brendan smiled politely, shook his father’s hand and turned to go, addressing Adela. “I’ll let the shuttle pilot know that you’ll be along directly.”
“I need to ask you something,” Eric said once they were inside the stateroom. “Tell me about this liaison of yours … . How much like my father is he?”
Of course he would already know, Adela mused silently. There is nothing that escapes him. “He is, genetically speaking, the same man.” Hearing her voice, she was shocked at how cold and clinical she sounded as she discussed him. “He is more than a cloned organism, and yet he is so much less. All of ‘Javas’ that he is comes from me, and from me alone. My memories, my impressions, my understanding of him. He acts precisely as I remember.” She bit at her lower lip, and stared at the floor. “But of course he acts exactly as I would expect him to; everything he is, is based on what I think of him. And yet …” She let her voice trail off, and crossed to a chair near the holoframe in the corner. The blue glow of the holoframe, on standby as it usually was wherever the Emperor went when he was away from the Court, cast soft shadows from the objects in the room. It felt somehow warming, like a clear sky on a summer’s day.
“And yet …?”
She lifted her head and looked at Eric, who had come to stand next to her.
