She stood up shakily. “My son ... my son is gone.”
“Gone where?”
She wanted to cry and scream with anger at the same time. She ended up doing neither. “He ran away,” she explained, forcing calmness into her words. “He left a note. He ... ran away.”
Aaron dismissed the guards and then his firm hands gripped her shoulders.
“The Lion is out of colony. He will not return for many days. At any rate, you can’t come pounding on his door as you please.”
She drew a deep breath, nodded. “I’m sorry. But Jerem’s gone. He left early last night, I believe. I didn’t find the note till this morning.”
“Children run away, woman. Such events do not cause Apocalypse.”
“I know, I know. But I beat him.” A sob escaped her. “I felt so mad ... I was furious! I took it out on him.”
For the past several days, she had tried to talk to Jerem, to break through his icy exterior, to explain, as gently as possible, what his father had been like and what a terrible thing her marriage had been. She had been young, incredibly foolish, unable to distinguish a man’s good looks and charming manners from the bitter soul that lay huddled beneath.
Jerem had listened to her words but his own hurt remained too powerful and he refused to respond—until yesterday, when he suddenly blew up at her. At first, she had been glad he was letting it all out. But then his words had turned ugly as he accused Paula of abandoning his father.
His father! That had triggered Paula’s wrath.
Stupidly, she had screamed back at her son, telling him what his real father had been like—an opium-addicted smuggler with an ugly disposition, a pirate thief, rejected by his own clan—a man whose only interest in other people was in how easily he could fleece cash from them.
She had looked her son straight in the eye and told him that the happiest day in her life had been when she had learned that his father had been killed in a squabble with some other pirates.
Jerem had listened to her words with frozen calm. Then he had folded his arms and gazed into her face. He had addressed her with complete disdain, as if he were speaking to a machine.
“My father’s dead. And it’s because you’re just a stupid bitch.”
Paula had lost all control. She grabbed him and yanked him violently across her knee and spanked him with an uncontrollable fury. Screaming, he had run to his room.
Later, Paula had attempted to apologize. The effort had been futile. Jerem stood before her, body awkwardly rigid, eyes glazed. He refused to listen to her words or to hear the sorrow in her voice.
This morning, when she awoke, he was gone.
Aaron nodded. “What did the note say?”
Paula felt calmer, in control again. “It said that he was going to find a way off the colony. It said not to try and follow because he wasn’t coming back.”
“Did he have any money?”
“He stole some cash cards ... from my clothes.”
Aaron looked thoughtful. “Orbital control keeps a record of all shuttle departures. We’ll go there first.”
“Do you really think he could have gotten on a shuttle?”
“It’s the only way to leave a colony.”
Paula swallowed her fear. “But how could he get on board? Wouldn’t your people be suspicious of a small boy?”
Aaron regarded her with scorn. “A Costeau of his age is considered man enough to go where he pleases.”
“Yes ... I forgot.”
* * *
Orbital control was a three-story structure with a glass wall overlooking two small parks. Aaron led Paula up a steep flight of stairs and through an airlock. The third-floor duty room was crammed with communications gear.
A woman with short-cropped hair was on duty in front of a semicircular console. Aaron took a vacant seat beside her.
“Sheila, I need a favor.”
“You got it.”
“A list of shuttle departures during the night. Say between midnight and seven this morning?”
Paula nodded.
Sheila typed into a terminal and pointed to a paper-feed printer in the corner of the room. Paula recognized the printer as an antique.
“Only five shuttle departures during those hours,” Sheila remarked. “Not a very busy night.”
“Our luck,” Aaron said. He withdrew the printout, scanned it slowly.
“Only two possibilities here. Three of the ships were on special clan business. We can rule them out. They would not have taken on passengers.”
“And the other two?” Paula asked.
“One departed for the L4 group. If your son’s on that shuttle, he’ll still be in transit.”
The distant L4 colonies were mostly science- and research-oriented. Paula felt sure Jerem would not have gone there.
“How about the other one?”
“Sirak-Brath.”
She took a deep breath. I must be calm.
Aaron studied the printout. “Sheila, another favor. Contact the Sirak-Brath shuttle and ask the captain if he took on any passengers last night.”
Sheila opened a communications channel while Aaron explained. “That ship was only scheduled to dock twenty minutes ago. The crew and passengers may still be aboard.
“It’s also possible that your son never got on a shuttle. He could be wandering around here in the colony. Perhaps his anger will pass and he will return.”
Paula shook her head. “He won’t cool down so easily. I’m sure of it.”
Aaron shrugged. “Still, he may not have found transport as yet. We’ll check the main docking terminals next.”
Sheila removed her headset. “The captain’s already left ship on Sirak-Brath. But a crewman still on board says that their shuttle carried three passengers.”
Aaron rubbed his tattoo. “Ask him for descriptions.”
Sheila readjusted the headset, then shook her head. “The crewman says it’s none of our business.”
Aaron’s face flashed anger. “Tell him it’s a clan affair.”
Sheila shook her head. “He’s not of the Alexanders.” She paused. “He suggests, however, that he will make the descriptions available to us, provided three hundred bytes are deposited into his account.”
There was venom in Aaron’s words. “Tell him that he may have his three hundred bytes. Tell him also that should we ever meet, Aaron of the Alexanders will rip his balls off!”
Sheila grinned and relayed the message. She laughed. “He intimates that the money was only a jest. He says that their passengers were a pair of colonial traders and a young boy.”
Paula tensed. “Ask him about the boy.”
Aaron gave a nod and Sheila complied.
“He says the boy would not give a name. Tangled brown hair, carrying a small blue-and-white satchel. Paid cash cards for the fare.”
Paula grabbed Aaron’s arm. “It’s him! Is he still aboard?”
“He left ship as soon as they docked.”
She turned to Aaron. “We’ve got to go there! How soon can you be ready?”
“Easy, woman. I’ve no intention of going to Sirak-Brath. Other chores await me.”
“I’ve no way to get there. And I’ll need your help in finding him.”
Aaron turned to Sheila. “When’s the next shuttle going to Sirak-Brath?”
“Nothing scheduled till the day after tomorrow. You know how it is, though. A ship could come along any time.”
Paula shook her head. “I can’t afford to wait. I’ll pay whatever fare you want.”
He eyed her coldly. “I’m not for sale, woman.”
“Then do it for my son,” she pleaded. “He’s only twelve. In a place like Sirak-Brath, he’ll be at anyone’s mercy!”
“A pirate child would know to keep out of trouble.”
“Goddamn you, he’s not a pirate! He’s not mature. He’s a regular child. He thinks he can handle things, but he can’t.”
Aaron sneered. “Does his mother fill his head with such ideas?”
>
“Of course not. But he’s not used to being alone. And he’s gullible! Look, I’ve been to Sirak-Brath. I know the kind of people who live there and I know my son.” She shuddered. “Some bastard will come along and offer to help and Jerem will believe him. He’s used to a fairly honest world, where people say what they mean.”
Aaron smiled grimly. “Is he, now?”
Paula dropped her gaze to the floor. “All right, I deserved that. I did wrong by not telling him about his father. I know that now.” She raised her eyes to meet Aaron’s stare. “But none of that matters. All that’s important is that he’s in a dangerous place and he’s going to need help.”
“I’m sorry, woman, but I can’t. Our shuttle has other business.”
“What the hell is more important than my son?”
Aaron’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Eleven dead Costeaus. They’re more important than your son. The clan seeks to avenge itself against this beast!”
Paula gave a weary nod. So. Again, the Paratwa. “I would like to avenge myself, too, for all the trouble this creature has caused me. It triggered the events that brought me to your colony.” A deep anger took hold of her. “But the Paratwa did not kidnap us and force us to come here. You did that! You, Aaron of the Alexanders.”
She shook her fist at him. “You brought us here and abandoned us. Maybe, deep down, you’re no different from my late husband. Maybe I was right in assuming my husband was typical of a Costeau.”
That got to him. His eyes narrowed. The scarlet penis rippled across his cheekbone.
“Prove me wrong, Aaron of the Alexanders! Show me that you know the meaning of responsibility!”
For a moment, Paula thought he was going to draw back and hit her. Instead, a deep scowl curled his lips.
Sheila laughed. “I’ve never seen the mighty Aaron slapped. You throw your words well, woman.”
“Too well,” he muttered.
“Then you’ll do it?” Paula asked.
Slowly, the scowl dissolved. “All right, woman. You’ve got yourself a ride to Sirak-Brath.”
Relief swept over her. Without thinking, she threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek that was not tattooed.
“I said a ride, woman. We’ll take you to Sirak-Brath. That doesn’t mean we’ll scour the colony for you!”
“Of course not. I wouldn’t expect you to.”
Sheila laughed even harder.
O}o{O
—from The Rigors, by Meridian
A human once approached with an odd request. As was customary, the man knelt between me and lowered his head. He said his name was Peters and that he wished an audience with the great Sappho.
“This is not allowed,” I said. I was about to dismiss him when curiosity phased awareness.
“Why do you wish such an audience?”
Peters trembled. “I want my soul to be overlapped. The people of my domicile say that if one kisses the hands of Sappho, the Gods will bless that person and grant him the power to overlap with another.”
I laughed. “You think that by kissing the hands of Sappho, you can interlace with another human and become like us?”
Peters raised his head. “Yes! We can become whole!” His jaw sagged and his eyes wavered. Sadness colored his words. “Of course, the overlap only lasts for a little while. We can never be whole forever.”
I studied this human for a moment, puzzled by his mad fantasy. I decided that it was a matter to be brought before my master. I bid Peters to rise and walk between me, and a short time later we entered the hall of Theophrastus.
The two men who comprised my master sat beneath a study grid, observing a holohedral projection of a mutated skygene. I could tell that Theophrastus had separated—one tway pursed his lips, the other revealed subtleties of hesitation above the eyebrows. Often, when my master became stumped in his researches, he split in order to contemplate the problem from dual perspective.
I stood silently, the human between me, until one of Theophrastus’s tways acknowledged my presence.
Peters was urged to repeat his request. When the human had related his strange desire, the tways of Theophrastus stared into each other’s eyes and brought on the interlace. A moment later, my united master arose from his chairs.
“This human is either very shrewd or very unstable,” said Theophrastus. “Make an example of him.”
Peters registered only a brief moment of surprise before I killed him. I used one of my Cohes—the lariat technique—a quick decapitation. I grabbed the head from the shoulders before it could bounce across the chamber and I quickly carried both head and torso from Theophrastus’s presence. Naturally, I ordered a human cleanup crew sent in immediately to scrub the floor.
I summoned one of my chefs and then I took the head and torso of Peters back to his domicile.
I posted notice on the communion channel that by order of Theophrastus, all humans from Peters’s domicile were required to dine with me in their cafeteria that evening.
Dinner was not a very satisfying occasion for the humans that night. It was readily apparent that their digestion was being disrupted by the presence of Peters’s head on my table. Several humans became ill and asked to be excused.
After the main course, which was excellent—trout fillets dipped in lime sauce, feathered beans with wild celery and rice—after this, my chef wheeled in the torso of Peters on an examination cart. In front of everyone, my chef skinned several large pieces of flesh from the torso, diced the strips with a carving knife, and then stirred the chunks into his own special cranberry sauce.
Peters was served for dessert. The humans did not want to eat their companion but they also did not want to risk angering me. Their dilemma was intelligently solved. They ate Peters.
I made certain that all the other domiciles learned of our special confection. Never again did any human seek to approach Sappho. Peters had been served as a good object lesson.
He was also rather tasty.
O}o{O
Rome felt the excitement as he entered the conference room. A pair of aides from the Science division, seated opposite Begelman at the long table, were carrying on a frantic conversation with the computer hawk. A financial expert and a corporate watchdog—husband and wife—exchanged data on their hand terminals while engaged in a polite but sharp argument with an adviser on Senate affairs. Three young aides laughed as an old systems engineer concluded an anecdote. Pasha Haddad wore the expression of a man who has just consumed a large and sumptuous dinner.
Rome took his place at the head of the table. “I sense a staff meeting overwhelmed by good news. Let’s have it.”
The financial expert loudly cleared his throat. “We have discovered the basis for Drake’s turnaround on the Sirak-Brath restoration project.”
Perfectly aligned white teeth shone as the financial expert smiled. “What Lady Bonneville told you last week is correct. There was an ICN loan, for point-sixty-three billion, going to the West Yemen Corporation. That loan has now been withdrawn. It is the cancellation of this loan that mainly accounts for the extra money being available for Sirak-Brath restoration.
“We’ve known about the West Yemen Corporation for quite some time. Their main business is manufacturing shuttle replacement parts for the transit industry. They also have substantial contracts with the Commerce League and the Profarmers Union for a wide variety of medium-tech items—everything from elevators to seeding-harvesters.”
The financial expert’s wife, the corporate watchdog, continued. “They’re a common stock corporation, run by an executive board. That board happens to be almost completely made up of La Gloria de la Ciencia supporters. The West Yemen Corporation has been lobbying against E-Tech technological restrictions for years.”
Her husband nodded. “Now the ICN loan—this point-sixty-three billion—was ostensibly to be used for a huge upgrade of West Yemen’s manufacturing facilities in several colonies. But they managed to include enough clauses in their loan agre
ement with the ICN so that, effectively, they could use the money any way they pleased.”
Rome frowned. “The ICN agreed to such terms?”
The financial expert smiled. “Drake himself was the prime signatory.”
The woman continued. “Now it also turns out that the West Yemen Corporation, through their common stock offerings, has, over the past few years, acquired a group of silent partners—people who have purchased large amounts of stock but who do all their board voting by proxy.”
“Of course, there’s nothing unusual about that,” said her husband. “It’s fairly common among the major companies.”
The corporate watchdog could barely contain herself. “What is unusual is the identity of one of these silent partners.”
Rome shook his head. “Someone from La Gloria de la Ciencia?”
The financial expert grinned. “From the ICN’s point of view, even worse. This silent partner is, or should I say was, Bob Max.”
Rome leaned back in his chair, stunned. “The man who was probably responsible for awakening the Paratwa?”
Haddad spoke calmly. “We have no more doubts about Max’s involvement in the Paratwa awakening. Our deepthroaters with the smugglers have confirmed it. Bob Max hired the pirate crew that dove down to Philadelphia and retrieved those stasis capsules.”
The financial expert rubbed his palms together. “Drake knew nothing about Bob Max being a silent partner in West Yemen. When he and the ICN found out about it, they went into an uproar. The huge loan was irregular to begin with, since it could be used for almost any purpose West Yemen intended. Coupled with the fact that West Yemen wholeheartedly supports La Gloria de la Ciencia, and is partially owned by the man who just woke up a Paratwa...”
“The Sirak-Brath restoration,” interrupted Haddad, “was Drake’s response to all this.”
The financial expert nodded. “Drake knows that this whole mess is going to blow up in the ICN’s face. Drake wants to disentangle himself and the ICN. They canceled the loan and made the money available for restoration. Drake automatically scores political points by supporting restoration—something the smugglers on Sirak-Brath, including the late Bob Max, were dead set against.”
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