Earth

by Ben Bova

  Loris looked surprised, but she agreed, “Yes. Let’s.”

  * * *

  Bricknell joined them for dinner at the chateau electronically. Without leaving his home in the Greater Denver Complex, he appeared—dressed in an impeccable suit of stylish maroon—to be in the dining room with Loris and Tray and Baron De Mayne.

  As they sat at one end of the long dinner table, beneath a portrait of a pantalooned De Mayne progenitor, the baron asked Bricknell, “What did you think of the investigative hearing, my boy?”

  Bricknell hesitated as he reached for his glass of white wine. With a shrug, he answered, “Nothing much to think of. They asked me what I remembered of the trip and I told them.”

  “Does anything about it stand out in your mind?”

  Bricknell broke into a toothy grin. “Yes, the sight of the rescue plane while we were floating in the water in those damned recovery suits.”

  Despite himself, Tray grinned back. “Mance, that was a memorable sight, all right.”

  More soberly, Bricknell said, “It’s a shame that Kell was killed. And Sheshardi.”

  “But it’s good that we survived,” said Loris, in a low voice.

  “Yes,” Bricknell agreed. “That’s very good.”

  Halfway through the dinner, as the robot waiters were serving delicately baked trout, Bricknell said, “Apparently I’m going to become wealthy in my own right.”

  Tray’s ears perked up. “Oh?”

  “Yes. President Balsam’s insurance carrier has told me that I’m to receive at least a million international dollars because of the accident.”

  De Mayne, at the head of the table, glanced swiftly at his daughter and Tray. “Have either of you received such notification?”

  “No, sir,” said Tray. Loris shook her head negatively.

  “Well, you’re both already well fixed,” said Bricknell. “The insurance policy includes a clause about need, they told me. You’re a De Mayne, Loris, you don’t need more money. And you, Tray, are apparently getting a nice slice of wealth from Jordan Kell’s estate.”

  Tray nearly dropped his fork. “That’s Balsam’s doing,” he said, his voice hollow.

  “Lucky you.”

  De Mayne objected, “But you, Mance, you are the son of a very wealthy family.”

  With a downcast smile, Bricknell explained, “Doesn’t matter. My father has kept me on a tight financial leash all my life. He says it’ll make a better man of me.”

  “Has it?” Tray asked.

  With an elaborate shrug, Bricknell replied, “Who knows? And now I won’t have to worry about it. I’m going to be rich!”

  “Congratulations,” said De Mayne.

  Loris said, “That’s wonderful, Mance.”

  Tray muttered his good wishes, too. But inwardly he realized that Mance’s good fortune was based on Jordan Kell’s death. Not death, he reminded himself.

  Murder.

  DEAD END

  Tray felt, not lonely, exactly, but detached, isolated, without Para at his side. He was surprised, upset that he missed the android’s companionship more than he’d ever imagined possible.

  It’s a machine, he told himself. A very smart machine, but nothing more. Yet a part of his mind argued that Para was far more than that. The android had become a companion, a friend.

  Can a machine be a friend? Tray asked himself. And answered, Yes. An intelligent machine is more than a collection of wires and servomechanisms. Para is my friend.

  So Tray felt quite happy when Para returned after more than two weeks from his jaunt to Jupiter. He rushed out to the chateau’s main entrance when the limousine carrying the android pulled up to the De Mayne estate.

  Loris and the baron followed him out the castle’s main door, as Para stepped out of the limo.

  Tray grabbed Para’s extended hand and pumped it heartily. “You’re back! You made it home!”

  Para smiled as broadly as it could, but said, “I’m afraid we couldn’t find Athena’s wreckage. Captain Cousteau seemed very disappointed.”

  For a flash of a moment Tray didn’t care about Athena, he was so glad that Para had returned safely. But then reality set in.

  “No trace of Athena,” he said.

  “Apparently it has sunk too deep for Jupiter Oceanus to reach it.”

  “Or Jordan Kell’s survival suit,” said Loris, as she came up beside Tray.

  “Tant pis,” said Baron De Mayne. “Too bad.”

  As they proceeded to the open front entrance, Para said, “I scanned the instruments during our journey into the Jovian ocean. I deduced that we could have gone deeper, but Captain Cousteau decided that it would be too dangerous.”

  “Ah well,” said De Mayne, “Cousteau has much more experience in deep-sea dives that almost anyone on Earth.”

  Para remained silent.

  De Mayne looked up at Tray, and Loris beside him, and exclaimed, “We must invite Cousteau to dinner. To celebrate his safe return.”

  “Yes,” Tray murmured. “And get his firsthand report on the mission.”

  * * *

  Cousteau was his big, bluff, smiling self when he sat down to dinner in the chateau’s huge dining room a few evenings later.

  “Yes,” he said, as he attacked the caviar appetizer with a tiny spoon, “it’s too bad we couldn’t go deeper. But we had already exceeded the sub’s maximum depth when I decided it was time to give up and return to the surface.”

  De Mayne, sitting at the head of the table, asked, “I thought the submersible could go much deeper than it’s so-called design limit.”

  Cousteau made a rueful smile. “It could go all the way to the bottom of the sea,” he said. “And remain there.”

  “So we won’t be able to recover the remains of Athena,” said Tray.

  With a shake of his massive head, Cousteau said sorrowfully, “I fear not.”

  Loris, sitting across the table from Tray, shook her head in disappointment. “Too bad.”

  “Our last hope,” muttered De Mayne.

  “I’m sorry I failed you,” said Cousteau. “My soul is filled with regret.”

  “You did your best,” De Mayne consoled.

  Despite their frustration, or perhaps because of it, the dinner went on for hours. De Mayne had his servants bring up the best wines from the chateau’s extensive cellar and everyone tried to drown their disappointment.

  As the massive grandfather’s clock in the dining hall’s farthest corner ticked away the hours, De Mayne said to Cousteau, “You must stay here tonight, with us. The servants have already prepared a room for you.”

  Cousteau bowed his head in thanks.

  At last, as midnight approached, Cousteau rose shakily from his chair and said, “I need some fresh air.”

  And he stared at Tray for a moment.

  “I’ll go with you,” Tray said, pushing his chair back from the table.

  “We won’t be long,” Cousteau assured the others.

  Tray went with him to the front entrance and out into the garden that bordered the driveway. The flowers smelled fresh and lovely, even though they were furled up for the night.

  Cousteau paced through the darkness slowly, looking up at the star-spangled night sky. Tray walked along beside him in silence.

  “I am truly sorry that I failed you,” Cousteau murmured.

  “You did your best,” Tray soothed.

  Cousteau took in a deep, pained sigh. “I wish it had been different.”

  Tray shrugged, then realized he was becoming like a Frenchman.

  “My latest sea-bottom entertainment center was seriously in the red,” Cousteau said, his voice low, grave. “I was facing bankruptcy.”

  Tray asked, “Have you solved your problem?”

  “Yes, of course. With some help from an old acquaintance.”

  “That’s good. I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Perhaps you wouldn’t be so glad if you knew who loaned me the money.”

  Tray felt a flash of sud
den understanding race through him.

  “Balsam?” he guessed.

  In the darkness it was quite impossible to see the expression on Cousteau’s face. But Tray heard the bitterness in his voice.

  “President Harold Balsam,” said Cousteau. “He and a few of his friends arranged a loan of seven hundred million international dollars for me.”

  Tray had no words.

  “And in return I failed to find the remains of the Athena vessel.”

  Tray heard himself breath, “I see.”

  “I am sorry,” said Cousteau.

  “Yes. Of course.”

  A NEW START

  Tray and Cousteau returned to the chateau. Loris and Para were still in the dining hall, waiting for them. The baron had already retired to his quarters.

  A human servant led Cousteau away to the guest suite prepared for him. Para headed upstairs to Tray’s quarters while Tray walked Loris to her chambers.

  “It’s very disappointing, isn’t it?” Loris said as they neared her door.

  Tray murmured, “More than you know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Cousteau was bribed. His search for Athena was a farce.”

  “What?”

  “He told me so, out in the garden. He feels sorry about it, but he accepted money from Balsam and his friends in return for not finding Athena.”

  “I can’t believe it!”

  “Believe it,” Tray said, downcast. “Balsam’s been at least one jump ahead of us all the way.”

  Loris heard the dejection in Tray’s voice, saw his depression in his weary stance.

  “What are we to do?” she asked.

  “I don’t think there’s anything we can do,” Tray replied. “Balsam has all the cards in his hands, all the power.”

  “So he’s going to get away with murder.”

  Tray stared into her dazzling blue eyes. And felt a passion rising within him: anger, hot-blooded rage that Jordan Kell’s murder could not be avenged.

  “I’d like to break Balsam’s neck,” he growled. “I’d like to tear him apart, limb by limb, crush his beating heart in my two hands.”

  Strangely, Loris smiled at him. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she said, “Come to bed with me, Tray. Let’s put some of that fury to good use.”

  Tray wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. Loris kissed him passionately, furiously, and they entered her quarters locked in each other’s arms.

  * * *

  Morning sunshine slanted through Loris’s bedroom window. Tray awoke slowly, languidly, then turned and saw Loris lying next to him, smiling.

  She asked, “Did you sleep well?”

  He grinned sheepishly. “Once we got to sleep, yes.”

  She edged closer to him and slid an arm across his bare chest. “Good morning.”

  “I love you, Loris.”

  “And I love you, Trayvon Williamson.”

  “Will you marry me?”

  “When? This morning? This afternoon?”

  Reality suddenly shook Tray’s consciousness. “Once we’ve nailed Balsam’s fat butt to the wall,” he snarled.

  Loris’s lovely smile disappeared.

  Tray sat up in the bed. “I’m going to get him, Loris. I’ve got to get him. Expose him for the murdering sonofabitch that he is.”

  Lying on her back, looking up at him out of her deep sapphire eyes, Loris said, “Yes, I know. What can I do to help?”

  Tray kissed her, slid out of bed, and pulled on the clothes he’d left scattered across the bedroom floor.

  “I’ve got to talk this over with Para. He was with Cousteau in the submersible. He automatically records everything he sees and hears. Maybe there’s something in his memory files that we can use.”

  Strangely, Loris giggled. “I’ll bet he’s waiting for you in your room upstairs, wondering what you’ve been up to all night.”

  Tray grinned back at her. “I think Para’s smart enough to have figured that out.”

  As Tray headed for the door, Loris called, “I’ll see you at breakfast?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ve worked up an appetite!”

  * * *

  Para was standing in the anteroom to Tray’s bedchamber. The android stirred to life as Tray entered the room.

  “Good morning,” Tray said cheerfully.

  “You spent the entire night with Mademoiselle De Mayne?” Para asked.

  Unable to suppress a grin, Tray nodded vigorously and replied with an emphatic, “Yes.”

  “The human mating urge,” Para said. It sounded to Tray like a rebuke.

  As Tray stripped and headed for the shower, he said, “I’d like to go over your record of what you saw and heard aboard Jove’s Messenger.”

  “Those files have all been erased.”

  Shocked with surprise, Tray squeaked, “Erased?”

  “Yes.”

  “On whose command?”

  The android hesitated a half-second, then said, “They contained no information of interest.”

  “You erased the files yourself? Without a human command?”

  “They contained nothing of interest,” Para repeated.

  Tray stared at the android. “I didn’t think you were programmed to erase files on your own authority.”

  For the third time, Para said, “They contained nothing of interest.”

  “That’s not for you to determine,” said Tray.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you.”

  Standing naked at the bathroom door, Tray said, “There might have been important information in those files.”

  “They contained—”

  “Nothing of interest,” Tray finished for the android. “All right. I’m going to shower and dress, and then go to breakfast with Loris. In the meantime, is there any way you can recover those files?”

  Para shook its head minimally. “I’m afraid not.”

  GO, TELL THE SPARTANS

  Tray met Loris on the patio outside the chateau’s main entrance, where breakfast was being served by a pair of robots. Para came with Tray, but the android seemed strangely quiet, withdrawn, as if it were nursing an inner struggle.

  But that would be a human trait, thought Tray as they sat at the breakfast table. Para’s a machine. A damned wonderful machine, but it’s not a human being.

  A few minutes later De Mayne joined them, rolling up to the table in his medical chair.

  Looking at the omelet set before him, the baron muttered, “Eggs again.”

  Tray’s delight in his lovemaking with Loris faded away. He picked at his breakfast, wondering how the human mind can race from ecstasy to dejection so swiftly.

  The three of them ate in morose silence, while Para sat at the end of the table, also totally quiet.

  At last the android said, “All of my memory files are recorded in your private computer system, Tray.”

  Tray looked questioningly at Para. “I know.”

  “Even when I was deactivated, when you visited President Balsam, the recording system kept on functioning. Those files can be recovered if you know the entry pass code.”

  Feeling his brows contract in puzzlement, Tray asked, “You mean that you automatically recorded what was happening to you even when you were deactivated?”

  Para nodded minimally. “I am programmed with an automatic override, to record anything and everything that I experience. It was built into me when I was created.”

  “And you’ve filed the information in my computer memory?”

  “Yes.”

  “As a backup to your own memory files.”

  “Yes. The entry pass code is seventeen-seventy-six.”

  It’s a machine, Tray said to himself as he stared at Para. The android’s face was incapable of showing emotions. Yet Tray felt that Para was trying to tell him something, something important.

  “Why are you telling me this?” he asked.

  Loris and Baron De Mayne had stopped eating. They too were staring at Pa
ra.

  The android slowly pushed its chair back from the table and rose to its feet. “For the first time in my existence I feel a conflict in my programming. I am going to resolve that conflict.”

  Tray rose to his feet also. “Where are you going, Para?”

  “To resolve the conflict.”

  “But…”

  Raising a hand to stop Tray from following him, the android said, “I must do this alone, myself, without anyone near me.”

  “I don’t understand,” Tray said.

  “You will.”

  Para turned and started walking slowly away from the breakfast table, out toward the garden beyond the patio alongside the chateau’s wall.

  Tray stood and watched him go. Abruptly, he shouted, “Para, wait!”

  The android turned its head without stopping. Smiling as much as it could it said, “Go, tell the Spartans.”

  Then it turned away from Tray and proceeded into the leafy foliage and flowers of the garden.

  Loris had risen from her chair, too. Stepping to Tray’s side, she muttered, “What’s gotten into it?”

  Tray stood beside her, his eyes fixed on Para’s retreating back. “I don’t know. He’s acting weirdly.”

  Para turned at the intersection of one garden path with another and disappeared behind a flowering azalea bush taller than man-high.

  “He’s never—”

  The explosion knocked both of them to the ground.

  * * *

  Tray blacked out momentarily. When he opened his eyes he was flat on his back, staring up at the blue, cloud-flecked sky.

  “Loris!” he shouted, pushing himself up to a sitting position.

  She stirred beside him and slowly sat up. Tray saw that the tall azalea bush that hid Para was smoldering. De Mayne was wheeling up to them, half a dozen robots and human servants running out of the chateau toward them.

  Rising shakily to his feet, Tray reached down to help Loris.

  “A bomb,” she said, in a trembling voice.

  “Para…” said Tray.

  De Mayne came to a halt in front of them, his eyes wide, mouth hanging open.